Page 18 of Shades of Ruin (Sharp Edges Duet #2)

“Here,” he thrusts a glass of water into my hand, “drink it all.”

Happy for the distraction, I put the glass to my lips and start to drink.

The water gets stuck in my throat the moment Greyson falls to his knees and starts to wipe away the wetness from my thighs.

His strokes are firm enough that I don’t go into panic mode.

As usual, he seems to know exactly how to touch me.

The harsh way he rubs at my skin eases the tension that’s been building in my body, and I lean back on my hands to watch the delicious sight of a beautiful man on his knees for me.

Seeming to sense the weight of my appraisal, Greyson’s crystalline eyes flick up to mine, his pretty, long lashes doing nothing to soften the ferocity in his gaze.

Swallowing hard, I look away, focusing on the white wall across from us.

“Look at me,” he orders, his fingers suddenly on my jaw and twisting my face toward him.

When I obey, I’m startled to find that he’s risen to his full height, looming over me like a dark force of destruction. His black shirt is loose around the sleeves, a few buttons undone and black ink lashing out from beneath the material. He’s tattooed , I realize in surprise.

His fingers clench tighter, drawing my attention back to him. “You have no reason to hide from me. No reason to feel ashamed. And while I definitely didn’t plan on fucking anyone in my kitchen tonight, I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing right now.”

“I work for you, Greyson,” I sigh, trying to figure out how he sounds so reasonable right now with my naked ass laid out on his kitchen counter. “You don’t think this is all super fucked up? That we made a terrible mistake?”

“How could I?” he asks as a smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve been waiting six months for the goddamn honor.”

I have no response for that, although my pussy is suddenly very soaked and ready for more of Greyson’s cock. Before I can ask if he wants to go for round two since we’re already fucked, the door to the dining room swings open.

“Oh, sorry, chef. I didn’t mean to interrupt something private.

” An incredibly smug Collette is standing in the doorway, streaks of cream and raspberry still caked to her dress from our run-in earlier.

I guess she didn’t get the memo about all the staff being sent home early—or she chose to ignore it.

Greyson turns toward the door and uses his body to make sure my nakedness is blocked from her view.

“Go home, Collette,” Greyson orders, his voice stern like I’ve never heard it before .

“I just wanted to inform you about some complaints we had at the end of dinner tonight.”

“It can wait till tomorrow.” The catty bitch can see he is clearly occupied.

“ Si tu insistes, chef ,” she purrs in response.

Fucking French.

“Oh, and not a word about any of this, Collette. Do you understand?”

She shoots me a petty glare over Greyson’s shoulder before flashing him a seductive smile. “You know your little secrets are always safe with me, Grey.”

I’d like nothing more than to walk up to her and smack that smug look off her face, but I’m currently nearly naked and stuffed with her boss’s cum right now.

The second she’s gone, I release the breath I was holding with a loud, “Fuck.”

“She won’t say anything,” Greyson offers, like it’s supposed to be comforting.

“Like fuck she won’t say anything,” I snap. “Everyone will know I’m sleeping with the executive chef by tomorrow morning.”

Greyson smirks down at me, the severity of the situation entirely lost on him. “Oh is that why you slept with me? Because I’m the executive chef ? Trying to steal Henley’s position out from under him by seducing his superior?”

“Greyson, this is serious! No one will respect me in this industry when they find out. I’ll just be another one of your whores like Collette.”

His face falls. “How did you know about that?

“Like I said, she’s shit at keeping secrets,” I bite back.

“I fucked Collette before she was an employee, and I haven’t touched her since Paris.”

“Oh, so I’m the first girl you’ve fucked at work?” I can’t imagine he’s gone from being a saint to fucking his commis chef on the kitchen counter in one fucking night. This sort of thing is a pattern.

“Not exactly,” he answers, his eyes glinting with guilt.

“ Soy una idiota . I never should have done this.” I slide down from the counter and start to gather my clothes.

“Angélica, stop.”

“No, you don’t get to do this.” He reaches for my arm, but I push him away and pull on my thong and jeans. “ You should have known better. Your position is safe. Mine isn’t.” I tug on my shoes and bend down to fix the laces.

“I know I’m an asshole, but your position is perfectly safe.”

“Sure, until you get bored or find your next workplace fixation.”

“Jesus Christ, I don’t do this regularly.

I have never ever had anything less than a professional relationship with my employees.

This is new for me, too.” I brush past him to get my things from the locker room; this time, he doesn’t let me get away, grabbing me by the shoulders and forcing me to look at him. “You’re different from anyone else.”

“Prove it,” I challenge, arching a brow and daring him to actually try.

“Come home with me.”

I scoff at the fucking audacity. “Goodnight, Greyson.”

He holds out his hands to stop me again. “Okay, okay, tell me how to prove it.”

I consider what it would take for me to trust him. “You let me go home. You don’t argue or try to stop me. You show up an hour early tomorrow morning and teach me something useful —and you keep your hands to yourself.”

“I can do that,” he promises, although I’m sure we can both hear the doubt in his voice .

Pushing my luck, I add, “And you can try to be a little nicer to me in the kitchen.”

His bright blue eyes shine with pure sadism. “Hard no. Besides, you like it when I hurt you, angel.”

I roll my eyes even as my pussy quivers. “Yeah, I figured that one would be a deal breaker.”

“So, do we have an agreement?” Greyson asks, holding out his hand to shake on it.

I leave him hanging and gather my things before heading for the door. “See you in the morning, chef.”