Page 32 of Stolen Dreams
Sad and fucking pathetic.
“Do you now?”
Her head bobs in a wobbly nod. “Use me. However you want. Whenever you want.”
I rake my gaze over her body, and it does nothing for me. Not a flicker of desire or twitch of my dick. It’s tragic.
Years ago, before the drugs gnawed away at her body, she was attractive. Not my type, but pretty in her own way. All buxom curves, fiery eyes, and fierce determination. Now, all she has is hunger for her next fix.
She does nothing for me, but at this point, why the hell not? Let her pay off a microfraction of her debt with her body. So long as I wrap up when I fuck her cunt, I have nothing to lose.
“Alright, Cook. Let’s make a deal.”
“Anything.” The single word is loaded with too much hope as she blinks up at me.
“I fuck you whenever I want. If it’s good enough, I’ll shave off some of your debt.”
Her cracked lips stretch into a creepy smile.
“Make no mistake, Cook. You still owe me thousands. I will collect.”
She stumbles forward on her knees, lifts her hands to the waistband of my pants, and fumbles with the zipper. “You’ll get everything I owe.” She tugs down my jeans, then my underwear, and licks her lips. “I’ll make everything right again.”
And as she strokes my dick, my mind drifts to the curvaceous woman I had in my bed two nights ago. Her thick thighs clamped to my ears as I ate her pussy. Her full, soft breasts bouncing as she rode my cock. Her moans as I pinched her nipples just before she came.
And as Cook takes me to the back of her throat, I close my eyes and get lost in the memories of another woman.
This won’t pay off her debt, but it will assuage my anger, for now.
NINE
RAY
Rolling onto my stomach,I wake before my alarm. The soft light of dawn filters through the edge of the curtains, and for a moment, I enjoy the peace that comes this early in the morning. The calm before the daily hustle. Those first breaths when everything is still and undisturbed.
The soft patter of rain hits the deck and trees outside as I shift the pillow and hug it to my chest. For a moment, I zone out to the rhythmic thrum. Let it lull me as the fogginess of my dreams fades and reality trickles in.
As it does most mornings, my mind skims through a mental to-do list. Monotonous daily activities. Tucker’s short but tedious routine. And eventually, things specific to today. When the reality of what day it is sinks in, everything in me stills then swiftly jolts to life.
Cooking school starts today.
A surge of energy swirls in my chest a beat before my pulse echoes in my ears. I roll onto my back, stare at the ceiling, let the rush flow through me unrestrained, then slowly sit up. Closing my eyes, I cross my legs and take a few meditative breaths. When my eyes open, I feel energized yet centered. Ready to take on the day.
I welcome the unstable throb beneath my rib cage. The irrefutable hum dancing beneath my skin. The thrill and impatience pulsing through my veins. More than anything, I delight in the buoyancy in my limbs—something I haven’t felt in a long time.
Kicking off the sheet, I swing my legs off the mattress, plant my feet on the floor, and stand, stretching my limbs. I amble over to the wall of windows and fling open the curtains. Gaze out at the tall evergreens lining my property, the Bay Cliff Mountains in the distance. Take a moment to appreciate all the good things in my life.
When André and I spoke about adjusting my hours, I feared my culinary career would die an early death. But the more time I’ve had to digest what this change means, the more I’ve let his optimism take root, the more excited I am to take the next step.
Since our conversation a couple weeks ago, I’ve worked hard to focus on the positives. In doing so, I’ve seen how much they outweigh what I thought I’d be losing.
I may not be in the kitchen when all the chaos happens. I may spend less time with the friends and family I’ve gained since I put on my Calhoun’s Bistro chef’s coat. But I don’t regret a single step forward. When I finally accepted this was the path I was meant to take, I felt dizzy. Exhilarated. Ready to go.
Just the thought of teaching Tucker what I know, sharing one of my passions with him, showing him how fun it is to create in the kitchen… a fiery storm blazes in my chest. I love how eager he is to learn. How excited he is toplay with food.
It makes the reward of this next step that much sweeter.
I cross the bedroom for the bathroom, stripping my briefs as I go. Tossing them in the hamper, I crank the water in the walk-in shower and give it a moment to heat up. The glass fogs as I step in and set a towel on the far end of the bench.