Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(10)By: Aubrey Irons
To call the look I get from her after that “fierce” doesn’t quite do it justice.
It’s a look that says this girl doesn’t take shit from people. It’s a look that says she doesn’t back down from challenges, she chases them. It’s roaring, and full of all the piss and vinegar in the world. It’s defiant.
And I like it.
Of course, a kitchen’s only got the room for one defiant hot-head, and that would be me. She wants to work in this kitchen, with me?
Well then, she better ask nicely, because I don’t recall her asking at all.
“Look, luv,” I say, leaning closer to her. So close that I catch the slightly imperceptible intake of breath across her lips, see the way her eyes dart around mine, smell the faintest scent of some sort of lotion on her skin. “Our parents might be together, and you might live in the room next to me. And at home, we might chat all chummy like and have dinner and go do whatever it is stepsiblings do. But here?” I smile widely at her, spreading my arms, “This is my domain.”
“Yeah, got it,” she says, frowning at me.
“I’m not gonna be easy on you in there, sweetheart, understand?”
Jesus, I’ve got tattooed, 20-stone tough guys working for me who would’ve already been on their knees begging for a second chance and forgiveness by now. And here we’ve got little miss sassy baker-girl - Ms. Prude, the spitfire - still just giving me lip right back.
I watch the defiant fire blaze in her eyes; that challenging, obstinate way she squares her shoulders at me and purses those plump lips together as she matches my narrowed gaze right back at me, not backing down one bit.
This kind of defiance, and generally not getting my way, is not something I’m too familiar with. When I say “jump” in my kitchen, they say “how high, chef?” And women? Forget it. Even before dad’s inheritance, and even before I ever worked in kitchens, I’d pretty much never heard the word “no” from a girl. I’ve been leveraging my looks and that asshole bad-boy charm girls seem to go ga-ga over to drop panties since I was old enough to figure out how much fun it was.
And yet, here we’ve got Chloe fucking Caulfield: the girl that said no. She said it five years ago, and I’ve been carrying that chip on my shoulder ever since. But now, here she is trying to throw sass in my face at the door to my kitchen domain?
I let my eyes dart for just a second to the way her blouse strains across the soft swell of those perfect tits, arched high as she squares off against me. And I want to strip that shirt from her body, I want to cover those mounds with my lips, and I want to slip my fingers down the front of those pants and tease her until she’s begging me for release.
The wicked little thought of Chloe begging me for anything is enough to get my cock rock-fucking-hard in my loose-fitting chef’s pants. Hard enough that if she looked down, she might get quite an eyeful.
I think it’s really a combination of things that puts the idea into my head, but once it’s in there, it burns like a hot coal.
Stepsister or not, I’m going to fuck Chloe Caulfield, and I’m going to tame that wildness.
The girl that said no? Yeah, I’m going to make her mine. I’m going to have her begging for it; begging me to make her come.
But first things being first, I will have her obedience in my Goddamn kitchen.
She starts to push past me towards the backdoor of the restaurant when I stick my arm out, stopping her as I just lean down a little into her ear. “Listen, I will not be easy on you in there. Do we understand each other, sweetheart?”
She mutters something.
“Fine,” she grumbles.
She turns to me, her brow wrinkled, “Excuse me?”
I grin; okay, this is going to be way too much fun. I look her dead in the eye, “You’ll respond with ‘yes, chef’.”
She narrows her eyes at me, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Do I look like it?”
Everything around us goes still and quiet, as if we’ve hit pause on the whole world as we just stare at each other; a cold war of wills right there at the backdoor of Jolie. It’s tough keeping that gaze, knowing from my position so close to her, I could probably look down and into some delightful cleavage, but I stand firm.
And then, the miracle happens: she nods.
It’s barely perceptible, but it’s there, and that little gesture is my small victory
“Fine, chef.” Her voice is dripping in sarcasm and disdain, and it’s not quite what I’m looking for. But, it’s still sweet, sweet victory to my ears.
“Lovely. Well, we’ll work on that.” I move my arm aside, nodding towards the door. “Go get changed and start prepping, we’ve got a shitload of work to do today.”
She walks away without another word, but I’m too busy eyeing that tight ass of hers in those jeans to bother saying anything this time.
Mercifully, my station in the kitchen is on the other side of the room from where Oliver stands by the service window, barking orders like freaking drill sergeant. So for my entire first shift at Jolie, I’m mostly left alone.