Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115388 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
The decanter emptied with one final drip.
She paused. “But summer never lasts forever. Still. . .this dessert. . .is the sweetness I held onto much later in life. During depression. During any grief. This is without a doubt my comfort dish.”
She picked up the blow torch held it over the bowl and clicked the switch.
A blue flame burst alive from the tip, low and fierce.
I grinned like a boy, so giddy with the performance of it all.
Slowly, she brought the torch to the surface of the custard and her movements were confident and even erotic in their care.
The sugar began to shift under the heat.
First, it glistened.
Then it crackled, darkened, and melted—a slow transformation from soft to sharp. The scent thickened in the air, clinging to everything around us.
Caramel.
Burnt sugar.
Ripe peach skin singed by fire.
Mmmm.
I could hear the tiny pops and hisses as the crust formed.
My cock throbbed against my zipper.
I hadn’t even moved.
When the last corner was torched to a golden crisp, she clicked off the flame. The scents she’d unleashed curled into my lungs—burnt sugar, ripe peach, golden lust. It all rode the air.
Then finally, she looked up at me. “Try it.”
I reached for my spoon but her next words stopped me.
“I’ll be right back,” she smiled. “Excuse me for just a moment.”
My brow lifted. “You’re not staying to enjoy your comfort dish with me?”
That wicked smile came again. “Try it.”
I watched her turn away. “Where are you going?”
Ignoring me, she left the table. Even more crazy, she didn’t head toward the kitchen. She went for a different door—one tucked discreetly along the side wall closer to the band.
I didn’t realize that it was there.
I narrowed my eyes.
Where is she going and why?
I looked in the other direction hoping I could get some clues from Hiroko.
What?
My breath hitched.
Hiroko is gone too? When did she leave?
A ripple of anticipation rolled through my body. The band seemed to shift on cue, playing a melody that sent shivers down my spine. The bluesy notes echoed through the room.
The surprise is coming, and they are setting the stage.
It took everything in me to not rush off after them. I was not the sort of man to sit around and wait while others plotted.
But here I was. . .being a good little Dragon for my Tiger.
At least she left this with me.
I glanced down at the dish in front of me—steam still curling from the caramelized crust, the scent beckoning like perfume at the edge of a dark fantasy.
Mmmm.
I picked up my silver spoon and then dipped it in.
The top gave with a soft, sexual crack.
Oh yes.
That perfect brûléed crust shattered like ice under a flame.
I already know this will be my new favorite dessert.
My spoon sank into the golden custard below and dragged a slice of ripe peach along with it.
Yes, Tora.
I brought the spoon to my mouth and when I tasted it all my soul went to its knees.
Fuck me.
It was more than good.
It was obscene.
No one had better have tried this. Not Reo. Not anyone. Not even the fucking waitresses. Only me.
The crust kissed my tongue with heat, crunch, and a caramel snap that gave way to sweet warmth. The custard was poured silk over every taste bud, thick with cinnamon and smoke. The peach was soft and sweet enough to make my molars ache. Somewhere in the middle—beneath the butter and burn—there was all this unbearable lust.
She could have easily been a world-renowned chef.
This was not dessert.
This was a mouth-fuck of emotion.
A sacred seduction in sugar form.
The cobbler didn’t just melt—it seduced.
It clung.
It whispered lick me again and I obeyed.
I groaned aloud, slumping slightly in the chair, legs spread wide under the table like the heat had gotten to me.
Because it had.
I’m caging her up as soon as I get the chance.
This dish made love to my mouth like it missed me. I moaned as I feasted. Each bite was hotter than the last. Richer. More shameless. I didn’t stop devouring every morsal until the spoon scraped the bottom.
And that’s when I saw it.
What?
This thing. . .glinted up at me.
I set my spoon down.
What is this?
At the very bottom of the bowl, there was this shimmering gold card wrapped in clear plastic.
More surprises.
My breath slowed. My fingers moved automatically, fishing it out with the tip of the spoon. The gold card was elegant. Liquid dripped down its edges.
Tora, you are an amazing woman. No one could ever take your place.
I wiped a thumb across the surface, clearing away the custard film.
Oh.
Black ink in old script stared back at me.
I read the two words.
COME UPSTAIRS.
A dark groan slipped out of me—low and filthy. Every cell in my body braced.
This was the next level.
This was the threshold.
And I was fucking ready to walk through it.
Yes, Tora. Now we are talking.
I rose from the table in one smooth motion, shoving the chair back with a scrape of wood and hunger.