What Love Tastes Like Read online

  “Oops,” Tiffany whispered, wishing Nick would do the obvious and come lick the sauce off her. And Nick would have probably obliged her, had not Chef Riatoli appeared at their table, breaking the magic and bringing both Nick and Tiffany out of their passion-induced fantasy and back to the private area of the restaurant where they sat.

  “Oops,” Tiffany said again, this time self-conscious of what had taken place. She hastily grabbed her napkin and wiped away what she could of the caramel down her cleavage. Her face burned with embarrassment, both at what she’d done and what Chef might have seen. What has gotten into me? For all intents and purposes, this was her place of employment, and here she was acting like a love-struck teenager out on her first date. Even as she tried to berate herself, her cootchie cooed at the very idea.

  Nick and Tiffany would never know whether or not Chef Riatoli had observed their intimate playfulness. When he arrived at their table, he was his usual self—jovial and professional. “Was dessert to your liking, sir?”

  “Perfection as always, Emilio. You’ve outdone yourself with this one.” Nick sat back in his chair and wiped his mouth. “What is it called?”

  “There’s no name, sir. I created it just now, just for you, Dominique.”

  “Perhaps you should name it after your student,” Nick said, nodding at Tiffany. “She found it…simply delicious.”

  Chef Riatoli simply smiled and bowed humbly. “Will there be coffee, an aperitif perhaps?”

  Nick did have a particular chocolate liqueur in mind, one he’d like to drink from the valley of Tiffany’s breasts. “Not tonight, Emilio. Just the check.”

  “Please, sir, consider this dinner my treat for your belated return. You always bring us luck when you come. A week after your last visit, our president dined here!”

  Nick rose and walked around to help Tiffany from her chair. “You’re a good man, Emilio Riatoli. The offer still stands for your relocation to Los Angeles. It would be an honor to have you head up the restaurant in Le Sol.”

  Moments later, Nick and Tiffany were on their way back to the hotel. The air between them was charged, full of unspoken desire and restrained expectation. The spell in the restaurant had been broken, or at the very least temporarily interrupted, and reality now accompanied the cool night breeze that caressed their faces. Nick tried to forget about the drops of caramel that even now he believed clung to Tiffany’s skin. Tiffany tried to block the images of sucking and licking. They both had very good reasons, solid, practical reasons why the flirtation that began in the restaurant could go no further. Except for the barest of small talk, they traveled to the hotel in silence, a quiet that continued as they entered the elevator and rode to their floor. I’ll just say good night and go to my room, Tiffany determined. I’ll suggest coffee for a nightcap and then go straight to bed, Nick decided. These thoughts lasted until they walked into the penthouse and closed the door behind them. And then they were in each other’s arms.

  The first kiss was turbulent, mirroring their emotions, their tongues dueling, swirling, as hands explored and caressed. The heat was palpable, undeniable, pushing them both toward the inevitable conclusion. Except it can’t be, the logical side of Tiffany’s brain prodded. But something else was prodding her, something long, thick and hard—burning like a branding iron against her stomach. Tiffany moaned, deep and low, pressing herself deeper into Nick’s arms.

  “Are you all right?” Nick whispered against her ear, his breath hot and moist.

  “No,” Tiffany whispered back.

  “What’s the matter?” Nick said as he ground himself into her, sure he knew the answer and had the cure.

  But once again, Tiffany surprised him. “My feet hurt.”

  7

  Nick’s deep, throaty laughter spilled into Tiffany’s mouth. It was Tiffany’s turn to use humor to try and defuse the intoxicating mood. The effect was at least partly as she’d expected. Nick stopped kissing her. But he didn’t let her go. Instead, after a deep hug, he picked up Tiffany as if she were weightless.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m sweeping you off your feet, brown sugar…”

  “Really, Nick, I can walk—”

  “Not on aching feet.”

  Tiffany was relieved when instead of the bedroom where she thought they were headed, Nick walked over and gently laid her down on the sofa. He knelt by her feet and gingerly removed first one heel, and then the next. “I love these sandals. You have great taste.”

  “Thanks,” Tiffany said, after a hesitation in which she decided to leave out the fact that the choice he loved had been her best friend’s, not hers. She was certain Joy would forgive her this omission.

  Nick massaged each foot for a moment before standing abruptly. “Wait here. Don’t move.”

  Tiffany allowed her head to sink into one of the velvet-covered sofa pillows, the alcohol still providing its own blanket of warmth. The liquor and the heat Nick generated provided an all-encompassing fire, so much so that the idea of getting buck naked and enjoying the balcony breeze held much appeal. Tiffany quickly banished the thought. She may have been tipsy, but shreds of common sense remained.

  The soft sounds of smooth jazz seeped into the room, much like the caramel had earlier seeped down Tiffany’s cleavage. Unlike many of her peers who ate and breathed hip-hop alone, Tiffany also loved jazz. She smiled and closed her eyes, settling deeper into the sofa, letting the velvet caress her. The saxophone bubbled, like the champagne had earlier, and the guitar licks melted into her eardrum, like the veal had in her mouth. Just as she began to enjoy this auditory feast, a hot, wet towel was wrapped around each of her feet.

  “Don’t move,” Nick once again commanded.

  Tiffany simply nodded, as something else besides her towel-wrapped feet became hot and wet.

  Nick forced his mind still as he walked back to his bedroom, quickly undressed, pulled a couple of condoms from the box he always carried with him, and placed them within easy reach on the nightstand beside the bed. He pulled on a pair of black silk pajama bottoms, refusing to think about his previous declaration of “woman” and “complication” being synonymous. He was grown, and so was Tiffany. They both wanted the same thing, and for Nick, the four months since he’d broken up with Angelica and gone without sex had been entirely too long. For him, casual flings were not an option. The last one he’d had, with an independent contractor for one of his projects, had turned into a sexual harassment lawsuit when he’d said no to a more permanent arrangement. To avoid a long, drawn-out, and public court battle, he’d offered her a settlement, which she accepted. He’d learned from experience that sleeping with a female one barely knew could be costly. But you barely know Tiffany. Nick’s lower head answered his upper one. No, but I’m about to! He reached for the avocado body butter he used instead of lotion and fled the bedroom and his cautioning thoughts.

  The vision that greeted him as he turned the corner stopped Nick in his tracks. Tiffany had fallen asleep, and in doing so had turned on her side and pulled her knees to her chest. The jersey dress had ridden up, exposing an expanse of creamy skin and emphasizing the ample amount of buttocks the fabric caressed. Nick’s member twitched its appreciation and moved Nick to action. He strolled over to the sofa, much like a panther ready to pounce. He gently lifted Tiffany’s feet, sat down, and placed them in his lap. He quickly unwrapped the cooled towels and dropped them beside the sofa. Next, he picked up the jar of body butter, but before he unscrewed the top, he couldn’t help but to satisfy a curiosity. He ran light, sure fingers across Tiffany’s skin, and closed his eyes at the confirmation. Soft…like this butter. That question answered, Nick placed a small amount of the deliciously scented concoction into his palm, rubbed his palms together, and began slowly, gently massaging Tiffany’s feet.

  “Umm,” Tiffany moaned. She turned onto her back without waking up. The dress rode higher, barely covering her treasure. Something sparkly winked at him from between her le
gs. Nick forced his breathing to stay slow and even. After all, he reasoned, he had all night to savor this dish, which he was sure would be the tastiest of all the ones he’d eaten that day. He worked on Tiffany deliberately as she continued to doze. After massaging her toes, feet, and calves, Nick decided it was time for Tiffany to wake up and fully enjoy his ministrations. He smiled, remembering events from earlier in the evening, as he lifted her foot toward his mouth and placed a perfectly pedicured big toe between his lips. He began to suck it, his stiff tongue teasing the skin in between her toes. Tiffany squirmed and moaned again. And then her eyes flew open.

  “What…Nick?” She tried to sit up.

  “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart, just lie back, relax, and let me enjoy this second round of dessert.”

  Tiffany wanted to argue, but there was something about the way he was sucking her toes while running a firm hand up and down her legs that rendered her speechless. Of their own accord, her legs fell open, a fact Nick quickly noticed and upon which he capitalized.

  Placing a knee on the couch while keeping his other leg planted firmly on the floor, Nick placed his hands around Tiffany’s hips and slid the dress upward. The material was soft, as he’d imagined, but not as soft as Tiffany. Another mystery was solved as a gold thong—and not a pussy on fire—was the spark peeking out from Tiffany’s dress. I think it’s about time for me to fan the flame, Nick thought as he pushed Tiffany’s knees farther apart and lowered his head to her paradise. Without preamble, and without warning, he dove in.

  Tiffany’s intake of breath was sharp and prolonged. Her entire body tensed at the unexpected yet delicious assault. She was fully awake now, and fully feeling. And she’d never felt anything like this before; a tongue so stiff and so skilled that her first orgasm was immediate, even though Nick licked her through her panties. The intensity of the feeling shocked her, but before she could contemplate what was happening, Nick moved aside the satiny fabric and slithered his tongue between her moist folds. Slowly, methodically, he lapped her nectar, alternately nipping and blowing to heighten the pleasure. The more Tiffany moaned, the deeper Nick traveled, placing his hands under her buttocks and forcing her closer. It felt as if he were reaching her very core, and try as she might to escape the pleasure that was so exquisite as to be almost painful, Nick held her in a firm, authoritative grasp. Just when she thought she’d topple over into an eternal ecstasy, Nick pulled back. But instead of stopping, his tongue became as light as a feather, subtly brushing her nub, over and over. Now Tiffany’s body begged for what she’d tried to escape from just seconds before. She became the aggressor, blindly reaching for Nick’s head, rubbing the soft texture of his hair even as she pressed his head between her legs. His laugh was intoxicating, tinged with knowing and victory. He knew what effect he had on her, and Tiffany didn’t care. She just wanted him both to stop and to go on forever. Nick wanted to go on as well, to the next level of their lovemaking. He picked Tiffany up from the sofa and strode purposefully toward his bedroom.

  The quick, deliberate action had a sobering effect on Tiffany. What am I doing? I just met this man. He’s the owner of a new, trendy hotel with plans for an award-winning restaurant. He could become my employer back in LA. The playful conversation they’d had at the restaurant burst its way into the moment, warring with her tingling love nest and pulsating nub.

  “I should put in an application for sous chef when your restaurant opens,” Tiffany teased.

  “Don’t wait until it opens; send in your résumé as soon as you get back. Put it to my attention.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “When it comes to business, Tiffany Matthews, I don’t play around.”

  Working at a restaurant such as Nick envisioned could do wonders for her career. Nick had made her an offer. An offer that might be withdrawn, she decided, if she gave in to her desires for a one-night stand.

  Tiffany jumped up as soon as Nick laid her on the bed. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” Nick asked dumbly, his lower head once again pushing out all common sense.

  “This,” Tiffany answered, backing slowly away from the bed. “With you.”

  “Why not?” Nick didn’t want to sound like the whining, pimply-faced teenager he used to be, begging his schoolmates out of their panties. But that fifteen-year-old’s voice was exactly what he heard in his ears. “Come on, Tiffany,” he continued, trying to bring the Barry White bass back. “It’ll be good, I promise.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of, was what Tiffany thought. “I’m sorry,” was what she said. And then she fled the room.

  8

  The sunlight awoke her. Tiffany yawned and stretched, belatedly realizing she hadn’t closed her curtains last night. Last night. Fragments of the past evening flitted in by bits and pieces, as if pieces of a dream. The delicious cuisine and stimulating conversation about dreams and desires and…

  Tiffany sat straight up in bed. Suddenly, it all came rushing back: memories of caramel, caresses, coital cultivation by a master. Her body began to tingle as the first mental pictures replayed on her mind’s video. She reached for a pillow and hugged it to her chest. “Last night we almost…” She didn’t finish the whispered acknowledgment, but rather turned on her side with a frown. In the light of a new morning, her decision to think rationally didn’t seem so noble. Even without full intercourse and with her limited experience with three prior relationships, Tiffany knew Nick was an incredible lover, the best she’d ever had. It had been almost a year since she’d been intimate, since a failed, six-month affair with a former classmate ended when he relocated back to New York. Their lovemaking had been satisfying, or at least Tiffany had thought so at the time. How many orgasms did I have last night? Three? Four? Tiffany couldn’t remember, but she knew one thing for sure. It was the first time in her life she’d had more than one in the same night. Why did I stop it? Why didn’t I let Nick finish what he’d started? Tiffany could almost see the look of compassion that would cover Joy’s face upon hearing the story. “Tiffany,” she’d say with a tinge of sadness. “You should have gone Zane.” Zane, she’d been told after looking at Joy with a blank expression the first time her friend had used the quip, was the queen of erotic fiction.

  Tiffany lay there a moment longer, remembering how good Nick had made her feel, both in his arms and with his tongue. His kiss had been powerful, all-consuming, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. And that was just the beginning. When he’d parted her legs and touched her there…

  Tiffany made a decision and threw back the covers at the same time. Joy was right. She needed to “go Zane.” Life was too short to be so careful about everything. Who said that if they made love it would ruin her chances to work for Nick? Maybe it would increase her chances, Tiffany thought. Yes, Ms. Matthews, what about that possibility? Tiffany turned on the shower, determined to let Nick finish what he’d started the night before, for them to share the love they both wanted. Tiffany lathered her body all over, imagining that Nick’s tongue would soon replace her hands. She laughed aloud at the prospect; she was so giddy she’d sing if she could. But she didn’t want to wake Nick that way. She wanted to awaken him the way he’d awakened her…last night…

  After finishing her shower, Tiffany brushed her teeth and finger-combed her short hair back away from her face. She was grateful she didn’t feel the need to wear much makeup. That way the face men saw in the morning wasn’t that different from the one they’d seen the previous night. She lotioned her body and sprayed her hair with perfume. She didn’t want to spray the alcohol-laden product on her skin, didn’t want the acidy taste to get in the way of the other tastes Nick so obviously and so thoroughly enjoyed. She eyed herself in the mirror, pinching her nipples until they stood at attention. After going back and forth between walking in naked and wearing the impulse buy she’d gotten just before she and her ex broke up but had never worn, she decided on the latter. Once again, she had Joy to thank that it was even in her luggage. She sl
ipped the sheer thigh-length white nightie over her head, pulled on the matching white thong, and walked out of her room and toward Nick’s master suite—before she could change her mind.

  Just outside his door, she paused and took a breath. Every fiber of her body was on high alert. There had been no need for her to pinch her nipples; just the thought of what was about to happen had them standing at full attention. Tiffany ran her fingers through her hair, took one last calming breath, and slowly, quietly opened Nick’s bedroom door. She took two steps toward the four-poster mahogany bed and stopped. It was empty. Tiffany’s smile was devious as she looked at the closed bathroom door. She hurried over to the bed and climbed up onto it. Nick’s masculine scent immediately enveloped her, a musky scent mixed with sandalwood. Tiffany pulled up the covers and waited, almost giggling with excitement. She imagined the look that would be on Nick’s face when he saw her—surprise, glee, desire? Tiffany rubbed her body against the nine-hundred-thread-count sheets and breathed in Nick’s scent. Come on and get this, Nick Rollins. I’m all yours.

  Two minutes passed, and then five. Tiffany hated to ruin the surprise of his seeing her ready and waiting in his bed, but after another minute, concern overrode her desire to stimulate through shock. She arose from the bed, tiptoed to the bathroom, and knocked softly. “Nick?” She waited a few seconds and knocked harder, spoke louder. “Nick?” After another few seconds, Tiffany tried the door. It was unlocked and the bathroom was unoccupied. Then she remembered. Nick had mentioned he was an early riser, one of those rare individuals that needed only three or four hours’ sleep a night. He’s probably having breakfast, she decided.