Cockney: A Stepbrother Romance (22 page)

“Oh
please
, sweetheart; let’s not pretend you don’t want every inch of this cock inside of you. Let’s not pretend you don’t want me to make you come harder than you’ve ever come before.”

Between his words and those fingers of his, I feel like I might go insane if I don’t come soon.

“I’m
going
to fuck you, Chloe Caulfield,” he says darkly into my ear; “It’s really just a matter of whenever you say the words, luv,” he growls into my ear.

I bite my lip, swallowing the moan threatening to tumble out; refusing to give in.

“See,” he growls deeply into my ear, “you
think
you’re going to hold out here, but I haven’t even
begun
, sweetheart.”

I whimper as I feel his fingers leave me, but then gasp as I feel his breath, hot on the backs of my thighs. 

“
Oliver!
” I gasp out as I feel his lips slide up the back of my thighs, teasing the skin there. I can feel his tongue slide across my thighs, delving deep between, and I
melt
against the countertop, all but whimpering for him to plunge his tongue into my pussy. He exhales hotly against me, his breath teasing and tickling against my pussy, and this time I
do
moan out loud, arching my back and pushing back - desperate to feel his mouth on me.

He stands, abruptly. I whimper again until I feel his fingers slide back to my heat, sliding through my folds back to my clit as he leans over me again, “Just beg me nicely, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear,
chuckling
. The ass. 

“All you’ve gotta do is give in.” His finger lazily circles my clit, and I’m biting my lip and clawing at the countertop, desperate for release. 

I gasp as I hear the jangle of his belt and the sound of his zipper being drawn down, and then I moan loudly at the feel of his
cock
; hard, hot, and thick against my ass. His lips brush my ear, “You want this, don’t you?”

And I nod.

At that point, I can’t even help it; can’t even stop myself from doing it if I tried. Because at that moment, he’s got me so wound up that I’m almost ready to beg him for it.

“
‘Yes, chef’
; now is that really all that hard to say?”

Almost
ready to beg him.

I take a gasping breath before I shake my head, “Not -
oh God
- not gonna happen.”

I am
clawing
at the edge of coming; teetering on the edge of tumbling off that cliff and shattering in climax, when he opens his mouth again, “Well, that’s too bad.”

And then like a switch being thrown, his fingers leave me, and he steps away as I hear the sound of his zipper again.

Are you fucking kidding me
?

I whirl around to him, my eyes wild and my mouth hanging open to see him grinning at me as he finishes buckling his belt. 

“Are…are you-” I’m clawing for words, my mind still foggy and barely coherent from coming as close as humanly possible to an orgasm without
actually
coming. I blink at him. “Are you serious?”

I stare at him in shock as he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them, smirking at me the whole time as he arches his eyebrows. “I mean, you’ve already
said
them, too.” He shakes his head and sighs dramatically.

“That was different, and you fucking know it.”

Oliver glances at his watch, “Oy, jeez, look at the time, I’ve got to run!” He winks as he quickly darts forward and kisses my cheek. His lips drift back to my ear, lingering there for a moment. 

“
All you’ve gotta do is say it, sweetheart
,” he growls into my ear, almost pushing me back over the edge right there with his words.

And then he’s whirling around and walking out of the kitchen, leaving me panting, disheveled, and more sexually pent up than I’ve ever been in my entire life.

I somehow get the impression that I’m the first girl in history that can say that after Oliver Beckett walks away from her.

I groan and drop my forehead against the kitchen door of
Jolie.

Right, Monday; we’re closed on Monday.

Of course we’re closed, which is why I spent the morning at home.

At home being brought to within an
inch
of orgasm by my cocky, arrogant, swaggering stepbrother.

I blush bright pink at the memory of him leaving me like that in the kitchen; the memory of me opening and closing my mouth as if still searching for words as the front door to the townhouse closed behind me. And then of course, there’s the memory of what came after. The memory of me barely closing the door to my room behind me before I was face down in my bed, my fingers pushing my panties to the side and gasping at the release they brought.

I decide to pretend I don’t remember that it was Oliver’s face I pictured as I came screaming into my pillow. I pretend it wasn’t his tongue I was imaging dancing across my clit, or his thick cock that I pictured fucking me from behind as I brought myself crashing over the edge with my fingers. 

And of course, now I’m so scattered-brained by the whole damn morning that I show at work to
do work
on the one day it’s closed.

Lovely.

I bump my head against the door one more time, swearing under my breath, when the voice behind me catches me off guard, “Be a shame to bruise a pretty head like yours there, gorgeous.”

I whirl to see an older, extremely handsome man grinning at me.

“By the way, the entrance is around the front, luv.”

He’s sharply dressed - well-fit designer jeans and clearly tailored sports coat over a white linen shirt open at the collar. His face exudes a sort of cockiness not altogether different than Oliver’s, though this man’s is more deeply lined and a bit more world-weary.

“Oh, I- uh, I work here, actually.”

He shoots me a white, winning smile, “Waitress?”

“Kitchen, actually.”

He arches his eyebrows and nods, as if impressed, “Ahh, one of Ollie’s crew then?” He chuckles as he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and sticks one in his mouth. “And how is the young Emperor Nero these days?”

I snort, “So you know Oliver?”

“Is it a cliché to say I taught ‘im everything he knows?”

He must see the look of surprise on my face because he steps towards me with his hand out, “Danny Cole, at your service, luv.”

My jaw drops;
the Danny Cole?

He frowns and rolls his eyes at me, as if reading the look on my face. 

“Oh, c’mon sweetheart, I’m just a cook like you. I’m not Jesus fucking Christ, you know.” I grin then, and he seems to brighten as that grin flashes again, “And you? Or should I just keep calling you ‘gorgeous’?”

I blush, shaking my head. “Sorry, Chloe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, chef.”

He rolls his eyes again, “
Please
, we’re not in my kitchen out here, darling; Danny will do.” He winks at me. “And the pleasure is all mine, my dear.” He shoots me a smoldering look that has me blushing a bit more than I’d have expected.

“So what’s got you here this early, darling?”

I smile and shrug, “I thought I’d try and get in before my shift and work on some recipes.”

“Well you’re a keeper, huh?” He winks at me, “Hard worker and a lovely smile to boot?” Danny whistles and grins at me again, “You’re a rare one indeed, gorgeous.”

I’m blushing again at the flirtations from this quite honestly
extremely
handsome man. Sure, he’s being a bit forward and utterly shameless about it, but it’s charming. He might be full of lines, but it’s a nice sort of cultured attention, instead of Oliver’s “spread your legs” type of attention.

“Listen, I was just about to go for a spot of tea down the road. Care to join while you wait for that lazy chef of yours to open his damn kitchen?”

I smile and nod, “Sure. Actually, the place is closed, I’m just an idiot and forgot.” He chuckles and I shake my head, “But definitely, though I’m more of a coffee girl.”

“Ahh, well, I guess I’m just old school then.” He offers his arm, which I take, before he leans in and winks, “Of course, not
too
old there, luv.”

The blush in my cheeks goes bright crimson as I lower my face to hide my grin. 

“And now what do you do at
Jolie
, Ms. Chloe?” Danny asks as we stroll down the south bank street in search of tea and coffee.

“Pastry.”

“And what brought you there?”

I smile, “What, to baking?”

“Indeed.”

“I don’t know, I guess I just love it. My dad baked bread, and I just fell in love with it. The mixing, the making something with your hands.”

He nods knowingly at me, “Making greatness.”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling, “
Yeah,
I guess that’s exactly it.” I grin as I glance at him realizing how good it feels to talk shop with someone like this who
gets it
. Someone who
gets
why a person would want to spend all day in a hot, loud, chaotic kitchen making food for people.

Well, someone who gets it who also isn’t making my head spin with desire and thoughts I shouldn’t be having. Someone who’s name isn’t Oliver Beckett.

“Yep, that’s the spark, isn’t it,” Danny nods, “Finding it at
Jolie
are you?”

“Oh, definitely. Oliver’s amazing.”

“He’s a cocky prick is what he is.”

I choke out a laugh as I turn and raise my eyebrows at him.

“Oh, it’s fine, he and I go way back. I actually know his family from way back in the old neighborhood, truth be told.” He grins at my surprise look, “Oy, don’t let the
tres chic haute couture
that I surround myself in fool you, luv. I’m an East-Ender from
way back;
it’s how I know that little prick.”

“Wait, so you taught him how to cook or something?”

Danny shrugs. “Eh, I taught him how not to get himself cut, burned, or beaten up with that mouth of his in the kitchen, the army taught him a bit more, and then I just showed him where he was fucking up later when he came back.” He snorts, “Oy, he was a little
terror
that one, when he was young. He and that little shit Marco got in with the wrong crew, as it were. It was his mum, you know; she’s the one that asked me to give him his first kitchen job to keep him outta trouble.”

I’m grinning at the thought of a young Oliver running around terrorizing the neighborhood. Of course, in my bizarre mind, young Oliver still has all the same tattoos and the same buzzed-side haircut he does now, which makes the image even more hilarious.

Danny grins at my slight chuckle, “
Oy
, I’ll tell you, any other woman but Ella, and he’d ‘ave been right back on his arse in the street.”

“Ella?”

“His mum.” A shadow crosses over Danny’s face for a half second before he looks away; “She was one of the good ones, I’ll tell you.” He frowns, “It’s her I knew, from way back when we were kids.” He laughs, the sound darker and empty this time, “Course, then she has to go and marry that prick Barney. What she saw in
him
I’ve got no idea.” He shakes his head, suddenly smiling brightly again as he turns back to me. “Anyways,
ugh
. Ancient history; utterly
boring
stuff, isn’t it?”