Bed, Breakfast, and Bondage (Emerald Valley) Page 6

  “It’s a lot to juggle. Do you ever think about hiring extra help?”

  I shrugged. “Lei and I have tossed the idea around a bit. She’s had to turn down contract offers as well for her graphic arts business because we’ve been too busy, and she’ll only get busier once the baby comes.” A sigh escaped me. “Within the next year, we’ll have to come to a decision. Either we’ll have to keep our second businesses going in order to pay an extra employee, or we’ll have to give them up to keep the Emerald growing.”

  “Both choices involve sacrifice.”

  “Life works that way. There are always sacrifices to be made in order to do what you love successfully. You know that. It’s just a question of determining what you want and what compromises and sacrifices you’ll make to achieve it. Leah and I will figure out what’s best for us and the Emerald.”

  The room went quiet, and I turned to look at Devlin. He was frowning.

  “What has you looking so down?”

  Devlin tapped a finger on the edge of the love seat and stared at some point on the opposite wall for a few minutes.

  “I’ve been thinking lately…” The words trailed off, and he seemed to be weighing what he’d say next. “About the choices I’ve made. The sacrifices.”

  He looked so sad, all I wanted to do was make him smile again. “You’ve made a success of yourself, though. You’re doing exactly what you’ve always wanted to do, and you’re where you dreamed of being since you were a teenager.”

  “At what cost? Constant competitions to get my name out there, dealing with clients who want the impossible, fighting every inch of the way to stay on top… It’s exhausting.”

  Slowly, I pushed away from his side and sat up. I studied him, and when he turned to meet my stare, I could see the unhappiness in his eyes. I cupped his cheek. “You’re burning out.”

  “I can’t burn out. Not now.”

  “I don’t think you can order yourself not to tire of it, especially when you take into account how you’ve gone about building your reputation. Anyone would be running on empty at this point. Is that why you’re taking such a long vacation?”

  “It isn’t really a vacation. I quit my last job.”

  I was sure my eyes widened in shock. I’d never known Devlin to quit anything. “Why?”

  “My client, or rather, the reality TV star wife of the man who was writing my paycheck, thought I should be part of the menu, so to speak. I could tell she was like that when I first met her, but the opportunity to have a free hand to create elaborate menus for meals that would be served to her friends on camera was too good to pass up.”

  “I’m guessing you tired of putting her off.”

  “Got it in one. She wasn’t fond of taking the hint that I wasn’t interested, so eventually I got out of my contract. The negotiations I had to do to be released from it left me feeling almost as dirty as her come-ons did.”

  I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “I’m sorry, Devlin.”

  He closed his eyes. “It was the last straw, really. I’ve grown tired of it all, and it’s my own fault. I got so caught up trying to become a star, that I forgot my true passion was the food, not the fame. Quitting my last job has given me time to refocus. Cooking here at the Emerald has let me relax and enjoy what I do best.”

  My heart skipped a beat, and I called myself a fool for it. He wasn’t talking about staying here, and I berated myself for letting the thought pop into my head in the first place. Devlin was opening up to me about his work, and it wasn’t time for me to start being selfish.

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do next?”

  “Actually, I’ve already decided. Before I took the televised gig, I’d started putting together a prospectus for a restaurant. I’ve made plenty of good, solid contacts with interested investors. The exposure from televised competitions and celebrity clientele has made me a good risk, in their opinion. Sad to say, my abilities in the kitchen and menu ideas are the last things to be considered.”

  Pride in him surged through me. “That’s wonderful! Not the last bit, but the possibility of you opening your own restaurant. You’d be great at it.”

  “How would you know? You’ve only seen me in my professional capacity here at the Emerald.”

  I hit his shoulder. Hard. “Don’t be an ass because you’re trying not to get your hopes up. I’ve known you, Devlin Levi, all my life, and I know that no matter what you set your mind to, you’ll be a success. You’ve got brains, talent, and determination on your side. How could anyone not believe in you?”

  He kissed me, swift and fierce. “I was being an ass; you’re right. It’s a big step and an even bigger change, so I’m uneasy talking about it with anyone, even those I love most.”

  My eyes dampened at that. It was the closest he’d come to saying he loved me in years. For the past decade, we’d been so careful not to say those three words, knowing they brought as much sorrow as they did joy. I curled back into his side before he could see the wetness threatening to spill over. I took a deep breath and calmed myself so my voice would be even when I spoke.

  “I’m glad you shared it with me.”

  Rain started spattering the ground outside, and within moments, it was pouring, creating a barrier between the world outside and our spot inside my office. We stayed as we were for a long time, each of us lost in thought over matters which lay beyond the veil of rain.

  Chapter Seven

  Afternoon slid into evening, and Devlin had left again on some other mysterious mission. I had wondered if he was putting something together for tonight, but as my only clue was a text from him saying he was mooching dinner off his parents, I didn’t give too much weight to that theory. When he finally returned to the Emerald, I was in my apartment, putting together a late dinner for myself.

  I heard him call out my name. “In the kitchen.” He wandered in and turned about the small space, faking shock.

  “What’s this? You’re in the kitchen, and there’s no fire, blood, or flood?”

  “You think you’re cute, don’t you? I can operate a microwave, toaster, and coffee machine without disaster occurring, thank you very much. Besides, I keep kosher in this apartment and make life easier by only having dairy and pareve up here.”

  “So you don’t have to actually cook if you don’t want to.”

  “Exactly. Hey, I may be an absolute disaster, but I have to survive. It’s not like I could ask Leah to cook for me every day, though she tends to bring me food out of pity.”

  “That’s why I was at my parents. I needed some culinary tools for tonight, and since the B and B’s kitchen isn’t kosher, I had to borrow from my mother.”

  Curiosity got the best of me. “For tonight?”

  “It’s not time yet.”

  “Candles have been lit.”

  “You have guests coming within the hour, don’t you? I don’t want us to be interrupted. Eat, and then I’m kicking you out of here. You’ll get your present. And trust me”—he swung me around into his arms and dipped me in a foolishly romantic gesture that made me smile—“it’ll be worth the wait.”

  * * * *

  Sean and Carol Bellamy were a charming elderly couple who’d heard about the Emerald from their daughter and son-in-law, who’d stayed at the B and B the year before. It was impossible not to adore the Bellamys; they were bright and funny and talkative.

  I wanted to shove them up to their bedroom so I could get back to Devlin.

  It was terrible of me, I knew, but my thoughts kept straying to Devlin upstairs, making it difficult to focus on my guests. I promised myself I’d do better the next day.

  When the Bellamys were finally settled in for the night, I practically raced up the steps to my apartment. Music was playing, soft and low, and when Devlin came out of the kitchen, he was dressed only in a pair of jeans. Instantly aroused, I started for him but stopped when he pulled something out of his back pocket. It was a spoon with a bow tied around it.

  �
��Happy Hanukkah.”

  His face was impassive, but there was a devilish glint in his eye.

  “I hope this is a clue for tonight’s fantasy rather than some sort of fetish. I won’t judge if it is, but I can tell you right now that I don’t want to be playing with kitchen utensils belonging to your parents.”

  Devlin chuckled. “The former would be correct.” He set the spoon down on the counter behind him and moved toward me.

  Sweeping me into his arms, he slow-danced with me in the small space of my living room. I was breathless, though not from exertion, when he slid his hands underneath my sweater. With languid, deliberate movements, he removed my sweater and bra so that we were both naked from the waist up. Then he spun me around until my back was to his chest. I leaned into him, sighing softly when he moved his hands up to cup my breasts. He teased my nipples until I grew restless, then backed off.

  I whimpered at the loss but didn’t protest further. I watched Devlin walk into the kitchen, then return with a glass of wine.

  “I brought this for you but held on to it until tonight. Take off the rest of your clothes, and wait for me in the bedroom while I finish up in the kitchen.”

  I went into the bedroom, relaxed and energized. I stripped all the way, then lounged on the bed while I waited for him, unself-conscious about my nudity. I studied the ruby-colored wine before taking a sip. I nearly moaned at the rich flavor. “Oh, this is delicious,” I said as he came into the room. “Porto?”

  “Yep. It’s a Graham’s 1963 Vintage Port. A gift from a past client.”

  “Mmm.” I took another drink, and my eyelids fluttered shut in pleasure. “You could be serving up expired goat cheese on cardboard tonight for all I care; this is too delicious.”

  “Should I leave you alone with the wine?”

  “Yes, you’ve been replaced.”

  He snorted, then went back to the kitchen. Clearly he was confident in his prowess, even in the face of such decadence. I sipped my drink again, content to finish the glass while listening for some clue as to what Devlin was plating in the kitchen.

  When he came in, I opened my eyes. Oh, where to look first. The jeans were gone, and the hard-cut planes of Devlin’s now naked body tempted my eye as did his mouthwatering erection. But in his hands he held something I loved almost as much as him.

  “Chocolate mousse!”

  “Dark-chocolate mousse, to be precise.”

  “Can I say that your fantasy beats mine? Because it does. Except…what is that?” I pointed, narrowing my eyes.

  “Usually I call it my dick. If you have another name for it, I don’t want to know.”

  “You should be a comedian. I mean, what’s on the mousse?”

  “Some white-chocolate shavings.”

  “You…you ruined the best dessert ever by putting white chocolate on top of it?”

  He knelt on the bed, straddling my thighs while keeping the martini glass with the tainted chocolate in it level. “I’ll never understand your hatred of white chocolate.”

  “It’s fake chocolate,” I muttered darkly.

  “In any case, it’s not for you. This”—he waved the dish—“is for me.”

  “Your fantasy is to eat chocolate and not let me have any?” I widened my eyes. “That’s just sick, Devlin.”

  “I’m not that brave. I made some for you. You’ll get it—after.”

  I wanted to laugh, but I mock pouted instead. Devlin took pity on me and swiped a finger through the mousse, careful not to get any white chocolate on the digit, before he touched it to my lips. I opened, sucking his finger into my mouth, tasting Devlin and chocolate, my two favorite things.

  To tease him, I let my tongue roll around his finger, hinting at what I planned to do to him later on. I heard him suck in a breath, caught the twitch of his cock out of the corner of my eye. I sucked once more, then released his finger with an audible pop. I grinned.

  “Witch,” he grumbled but without any real heat.

  He took the wineglass from my hand, and I stretched out beneath him, content to go along without further questions. Whatever Devlin had planned, it involved chocolate and sex—there was no going wrong with that.

  As the first dollop of mousse fell on my left nipple, I licked my lips in anticipation. When Devlin repeated the process on the right side, then paused, I grew impatient. A warning look from him stifled my protest for him to hurry it up, however. He rewarded my patience when he began to trace the mousse around my areolae, the much-maligned white chocolate shavings providing a contrast to the smoothness of the mousse I hadn’t expected. I arched up, begging Devlin to put his mouth on me. Instead, he set the glass down and opened my nightstand drawer.

  “I knew you might get impatient.”

  I didn’t know where he was going with that. Then he pulled out some rope. Nylon, if I recalled correctly from the discussion I’d had at the adult shop. I’d considered it but hadn’t been brave enough to buy any.

  Devlin held up the rope in silent question, and I nodded, eager to go further after last night.

  “Tell me. Don’t just nod.”

  I licked my lips again, whether out of nervousness or desire, I wasn’t sure. “Yes. Please, Devlin.”

  A pair of shears followed the rope, and with swift movements, he cut four lengths of the braided nylon before he set the shears back on the bedside table.

  He bound my ankles first, then my wrists, with an efficiency that made me wonder if he’d done this before. If he had, this wasn’t the time I wanted to hear about it.

  “If you get uncomfortable, tell me. Got it?”

  “Yes. Now”—I wiggled, or tried to—“are you going to torture me all night?”

  “I just might.”

  I don’t know why I kept challenging him. Habit, perhaps. Or maybe for the thrill of it. Either way, Devlin picked up the gauntlet and tormented me by finger painting some slow strokes of chocolate around my breasts, then down my stomach, stopping just above where I needed him most.

  Bound spread-eagle on the bed as I was, I could do nothing but submit to his erotic ministrations. When his tongue touched the tip of my nipple, lapping up the chocolate, I whimpered. I felt him grin against my breast before his light licks turned to sucks that shot sensation from my nipples to my core. Over and over, he alternated light flicks of his tongue with the suction of his lips as he moved down my body.

  The frustrating patience he displayed made me want to shout, but it also made me hotter. I felt the wetness seeping out of my body and wanted to clench my thighs together to control the sensation, but I couldn’t.

  At last, Devlin took pity on me. Sort of. With one chocolate-covered finger, he traced the mousse down my labia, then back up, before crisscrossing back and forth to paint my clit with chocolate. I grabbed at the ropes that bound my wrists, needing to yank on something. He was going to eat my pussy like dessert; I just knew it. Yet, even knowing it, I still wasn’t prepared.

  The first plunge of his tongue made me scream. The second made me moan. By the third, I was straining against my bonds, the need to lock my legs around his head and hold him there forever a living thing within me. Devlin’s fingers replaced his tongue, and I curled my nails into my palms as he speared me with those clever digits. Wanting more, I pressed into him as best I could and was rewarded when he danced his tongue around the edge of my vagina, taking one lip, then another as he sucked the mousse off before he devoted his mouth to my aching clit.

  I came in a rush, writhing against him, greedy for more. I heard the glass fall out of his hand, the tearing of foil that signaled what was to come, and lifted my hips as best I could in an automatic gesture of supplication.

  I shocked us both by coming again the second he plunged into me. Devlin groaned, digging his hands into my hips hard enough to leave marks. I didn’t care; I wanted more.

  “I was going to take it slow,” he gasped.

  I couldn’t even form a reply.

  “The hell with it.”


  He took my mouth, and I tasted myself mixed with the sweetness of the chocolate, rich and sinful. At that moment, there was nowhere we didn’t touch, and the connection brought on another surging wave of pleasure. I surrendered to it, to Devlin, and let the orgasm take me.

  * * * *

  Much later, when I could once again move my limbs, I sighed with relief and settled into one of the guest bathtubs. My own bathroom wasn’t big enough for a tub, and if I chose to indulge myself in my own B and B once in a while, what was the harm?

  I heard Devlin come into the room and cracked an eye open. “The Bellamys are across the hall, so don’t get any ideas.”

  “I don’t know; they might have heard you, the way you were screaming earlier.”

  Normally, I’d have been mortified at the thought of my guests hearing me having sex, but I was simply too happy to care at the moment. And that was before Devlin handed me the promised dark-chocolate mousse and climbed into the tub behind me. He took one of my wrists and studied the pinkish marks.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No. My skin is sensitive, is all. The marks’ll probably be gone by morning.”

  Settling back against his chest, I picked up the spoon to dive into my dessert when I noticed what he’d put on top. I burst into laughter at the sight of the miniature M&Ms.

  “Since you don’t like white chocolate,” he explained.

  I turned slightly so I could see his face. “Who let on that I actually like M&Ms?”

  “Leah, of course. I’d always found it odd that you claimed not to like them when there’s no chocolate—except white—that you don’t love. But since they’re my favorite, and you always saved yours for me on Halloween, I didn’t question it.”

  “It’s because they’re your favorite that I pretended not to like them.”

  “And gave me packets of them every November first.”

  “It was only weird once we were in high school,” I said.

  “Especially since we weren’t trick-or-treating anymore.”

  I swirled my spoon in the glass and lifted out some mousse-covered M&Ms. Bringing the spoon to his lips, I gave up my M&Ms in an unspoken message I knew he’d understand. For a moment, the arms around me tightened. Then he took the offering, and we settled back to enjoy the peaceful interlude.