Vera

Lester Harbor, Friday, April 1

God, I hated cooking.

“Put me in a cooking class, and you’ll get a recipe for disaster,” I told Sapphire Blake, my best friend who happened to be my brother Julian’s girlfriend. She signed us up for Italian Cooking with Pietro De Luca.

I scanned the intimate cooking studio, which could pass as a country kitchen straight out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. The scent of oregano and bay leaves assaulted my nostrils.

Fucking shit, is it too late to run?

“You know, Vera,” Saph began, flashing her baby-blue eyes. “Pietro is the head chef at a Michelin-star restaurant.”

“Unless he’s packing a meaty Italian sausage, I couldn’t care less,” I muttered.

“Vera.” Saph burst into laughter. “Is cock all you think about after all the years you spent in law school?”

“You’re damn right that’s what I think about,” I shot back with a smug smile.

“We need to douse you with a good serving of holy water.” Saph chuckled, shaking her head. Loose strands of chestnut hair framed her oval face.

“I like pussy, too,” I teased, running my tan fingers along her alabaster arm. She glanced at me, smiled, and lowered her dark eyelashes.

“I love that you swing both ways,” Saph murmured.

I dragged my fingers through my long, wild caramel hair and blew out a gust of air while waiting for our mystery chef. I toyed with the rolling pin on the bench, only to hear a thud, coinciding with an immediate blinding pain in my left foot.

“Oww.” I bent to rub my throbbing foot.

“Oh, sweetie.” Saph winced, then picked up the rolling pin and placed it on her side of the bench, far from my curious fingers.

I shot them my death stare, and the giggles at the next table died on their lips. Both women had candy-pink hair and dressed like Harajuku dolls: leather miniskirts, knee-high socks, and tanks stretched tight over their chests. Across the aisle, another couple sat in dark suits, stiff and silent, as if afraid to breathe.

“I told you this would be a disaster,” I hissed at Saph as we waited for our chef to arrive.

“Someone’s birthday girl act could use a little gratitude,” she said, her smile twitching as she tried to hold it back.

I wasn’t ungrateful. I just didn’t like cooking. Besides, I couldn’t cook to save my life. “No one wants slop, Vee,” Julian remarked once when I turned risotto into a slush of mush.

“Buona sera,” a deep voice boomed from the doorway. I stared straight into the gray eyes of a very fit, dark-blond Bacchus, the Roman god of the grape harvest, winemaking, and religious ecstasy.

“My name’s Pietro. Tonight, we’re going to cook up a storm.” His voice had that dark, velvety hum… the kind you feel in your chest. Mister Hot-and-Spicy, all marble lines and hungry eyes, swept a gaze over the group and hit us with a grin made for trouble. All I could think was, how soon could I get a taste?

“Alright, tip number one—always sift your flour, or you’ll get lumps,” Hot-and-Spicy said, flashing his killer smile. “And go for strong flour. Trust me, it’ll give your dough a perfect rise.”

“What oil works best?” I asked, popping open the top buttons of my silk blouse as the heat climbed, but it wasn’t the only thing making me sweat.

“Always go with olive oil. Extra virgin’s best for a rich, fragrant crust,” he said, his eyes dragging over me before he turned away. Hunger gnawed at me… food, yes, but also him. I straightened, the silk of my shirt teasing my nipples, and shot Pietro a smile that could thaw the Arctic. Tonight, I wanted more than a taste.

“Let’s start with my signature dough,” Pietro said, throwing me a wink. “No rolling pins here. You want it perfect, use your fingertips… feel every inch.”

I leaned toward Saph, barely keeping my voice down. “Holy shit. He’s edible.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

That night, my hands disappeared into the flour and chaos of pizza dough. I played up the helpless act, shamelessly milking Pietro’s attention… and he was more than willing to deliver. Saph shot me a look, one eyebrow arched, right as our instructor started kneading my dough. Watching his hands work the ball, all I could think about was him gripping my ass and pressing himself deep, his fingers digging in while I lost myself under him.

“Here, try it like this. You want it smooth and elastic,” he said, stepping in so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. He guided my hands to the dough, our fingers brushing, just a quick touch, but it sent a jolt through me, tightening my nipples.

He smelled like black currant and bergamot… rich, addictive. My whole body flushed, heat curling up from deep inside, every nerve buzzing just from being close.

“Honestly, Pietro, you’re the best chef Lester Harbor’s ever seen.” I laid it on thick, channeling Marilyn Monroe’s breathy birthday serenade to President John F. Kennedy.

He shot me a bashful look, cheeks warming to peach, so I rewarded him with a slow smile, fingers barely skimming his forearm. “Cover the dough, let it rise. Now, we make the sauce. You want it thick, heavy on the seasoning,” he teased, glancing my way before heading to the front of the studio.

I couldn’t help tracking the way his ass moved. Apparently, I wasn’t alone. The Harajuku girls at the next table all but drooled, twirling their neon hair, wide-eyed and spellbound. When Pietro turned around with a spoon in hand, my imagination ran wild.

Oh, spank me with your stick, Signor. Spank me hard.

Tonight, I was having Mister De Luca for dessert. And I planned to savor every bite.

“Guys, you’ve been a great bunch tonight. We finished even earlier than expected,” Pietro announced as people left the kitchen studio after we devoured our pizzas at the end of the night.

“Pietro, can you go over the part about kneading the dough with me? I’ve forgotten a few steps,” I lied, walking toward him.

“Of course, sugar. I think you’ll need a little guidance from me about your technique,” he chuckled, shifting his stance. “I’m not in a hurry.”

“Aren’t you?” I bit my lower lip, pretending I didn’t see Saph roll her eyes.

He took a step forward. “I’d like to teach you…”

“I hate to break it to you, but Julian’s car has arrived,” Saph interrupted as she gazed at the window. “He’s here to pick us up, and he’s early as usual.”

I groaned, then turned to the hot hunk. “Can you give my friend and me a moment? I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” he replied, placing his hands in his jeans pockets. “I’m waiting for you, baby.”

I took Saph by the arm, and we stepped out of the classroom. “Sweetie, can you stall my brother for fifteen minutes?” I asked.

“How am I supposed to do that? What should I say to him?” Saph shot back, folding her arms.

“Tell him I need extra help with cooking. He’ll buy it. He knows I suck at making food.”

“Vera, you’re pushing it.”

“I’m asking you as a friend. Cover for me. Use your wits, your charm, or your tits,” I pleaded, staring at Saph’s perky breasts. “He likes your tits.”

“Julian hates waiting.” Saph pursed her lips and tilted her head.

“C’mon. Please? You’re his girlfriend. Give him the blowjob of his life. Anything. Just stall him,” I begged, cupping my hands in prayer.

“Fine. Make it quick,” Saph huffed, then stuck her head in the classroom as I walked back inside. “It was nice meeting you, Pietro. Oh, and Vera here. She’s so single. It looks like you both could use a good fuck.”

“Saph,” I protested, but it was too late. She walked out of the cottage to keep Jules company.

I closed the door and turned to face the grinning hunk, who removed his apron. I couldn’t miss the prominent bulge at the front of his jeans. He smiled, then lifted off his shirt to reveal taut muscles and a smooth, shaven chest.

“Do you have protection?” I asked, unbuttoning my blouse and unclasping my bra to reveal my breasts.

He reached for the back pocket of his jeans and handed me a condom wrapper. “Here, I’ve got protection. By the way, you’ve got great tits, but I want to see your pussy too,” he murmured, massaging my breasts.

“On one condition. I’m in control,” I answered, taking off my skirt and thong.

“Sì. Baby, you’re in control,” he said, licking his lips as his eyes traveled to my shaved pussy.

“I’ll have to set Willy free,” I teased, undoing Pietro’s belt and jeans. My fingers slid inside his cotton boxers to feel his thick, hard meat.

“Fuck,” he growled, then shucked off his jeans and boxers, letting me slide the condom on his cock. I perched on the flour-covered kitchen bench and spread my legs wide open for him.

One swift push was all it took for his Italian dick to fit snugly inside me, and we began the best birthday fuck I’d ever had. Little did I know that sexy Pietro was just an appetizer. My hunt for prime meat in a wicked game of seduction was about to start.

Alistair

Friday, April 1

“Do you love me?” Erin murmured, penetrating my sleep with her hand on my cock. “Tell me, Scotty. Do you remember when we were college kids?”

Did I remember? Fuck, yeah. I stood up from the hotel bed and stretched my sore back. “College was a lifetime ago,” I muttered, glancing at the nude woman on the mattress.

Erin was fucking beautiful, and I was a bastard… a bloody bastard.

“Tell me you love me, won’t you, Scotty?” she begged. There it was. Her demanding pout.

Shaking my head, I replied, “Last night should never have happened.”

Nothing beats the sting of waking up with a woman I couldn’t have. Reality smacked my hangover hard. Erin Everton-Scott was my brother’s wife.

The brunette’s crestfallen face tilted up at me. Loose teardrops rolled down her rosy cheeks as she touched my palm. “You once said you loved me.”

I shook her hand off mine and stared at the minibar fridge. It was nine a.m., and I could use a cold beer to drown my guilt. I frowned, resisting temptation after glancing at an empty Moët & Chandon bottle. It was evidence of our affair.

“We were lovers before you married Saira Quinn.” Erin’s voice quivered as her tears kept running.

“That was eleven years ago. I’m a divorced father in a custody battle for Damian now.”

“Your son. He should have been ours.”

“It is what it is.” I sighed, remembering why I wedded the daughter of my dad’s former business partner. “I had to marry Saira. She was pregnant with my son.”

“You broke my heart,” Erin whispered. “That was why I left town all those years ago.”

Sometimes I wondered if fate was just screwing with me… like when Erin suddenly resurfaced, all smiles and glowing with Oliver at that family party, matching wedding bands on display. She looked better than ever. And I couldn’t help myself.

I took what I wanted.

Even if it meant taking my brother’s wife.

Welcome to the Scott family. Lester Harbor’s oil kings, property tycoons… at least that’s what everyone saw. In reality? We ran the city by day, wrecked each other by night.

I raked a hand through my tangled hair and scrubbed my jaw, the rough stubble catching on my palm. “Oliver trusts us, and we blew it,” I said, grabbing my phone off the mahogany nightstand.

Erin sat on the edge of the bed, eyes rimmed red.

“I’m heading out for a run.” I pulled an old T-shirt and sweats from my bag, ignoring her stare as I got dressed. Her gaze lingered on my torso, but I didn’t give her anything back.

“We’ve still got a few hours before Oliver’s flight lands,” she tried, voice shaky.

I didn’t look at her. “We’re checking out after I shower. I have work to do.”

“On a Saturday?” She sounded small.

“Business doesn’t care what day it is. I’ve got contracts waiting.” My words were clipped, leaving no room for an argument.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I married your brother just to get close to you. Running off with Oliver was the only way I could see you. Your parents never wanted me with you.”

I let the words hang, jaw clenched. “That’s on you, Erin. You used him. We both screwed up. It ends now.”

She stared at me, fury flashing through the heartbreak. “You pig.”

I left her like that… alone in a hotel room, still clinging to someone else’s ring.

I needed to shake off the guilt, but a run wouldn’t cut it. Erin was gorgeous, sure, but whatever I’d felt for her was long gone. I’d already wasted enough time on the past. It was time to let go and move forward.

Friday, April 8

“Scotty?” A syrupy voice floated through the door, followed by two lazy knocks.

I groaned, squinting against sunlight screaming through the yacht’s windows. Artemis was rocking gently. “No,” I muttered, burying my face deeper in the pillow.

“Won’t you join us on deck?” Teresa… maybe Tanya… tried again, her whine scraping the edges of patience. Playboy model, perfect tits, sweet on the tongue, but not a woman I’d ever let carry my last name.

“No, you and the girls go and have fun,” I yelled at the door.

“Okay, Scotty. We hope you’ll change your mind,” Teresa sang.

I rolled over, let my body sprawl in clean sheets. After a night like last, the only thing I wanted was distance. Emotional intimacy had no place here. Teresa and her crew crashed next door in the guest suite. Each would leave with Cartier, roses, and a stack of NDAs, my assistant’s specialty.

I stood, stretching naked, and flicked on the radio. Aretha’s voice filled the space with “Respect” as I grabbed my phone and scrolled through Lester Harbor Daily’s latest drama.

One photo stopped me. Yeah, that was me, shirtless on Artemis, three topless models at my side. Tabloid gold.

Billionaire ‘Scotty’ parties with Playboy models on his luxury yacht.

Hashtags and envy in the comments. But the next shot made me freeze.

That smile… full wattage, caramel hair, brown eyes with attitude. Her face was pure Marilyn with a JD. Lester Harbor’s rising legal eagle: Vera Richland, magna cum laude, Hunting & McCormick. Nothing trashy about her. She was confidence in heels, the kind of woman who made suits look like lingerie.

I grinned. Hunting & McCormick. Brenton McCormick and I went back. He owed me.

I hit call. Two rings.

“Scotty, it’s been a while. How are you, old sport?” Brenton, always a Gatsby wannabe, but a loyal friend.

“Never better.” I watched the sun spill over the water. “You still owe me for the Romanovsky deal.”

“That’s what friends are for. What’s up?”

“Heard you hired a new lawyer, Vera. What’s her story?”

He chuckled, loud as a foghorn. “We’re expanding. Rented one of your buildings downtown.”

“Perfect. Let’s do lunch next Tuesday. I want to meet her.”

He hesitated. “Vera’s… not your usual type. She’s smart. Stubborn.”

“Even better.” I smiled. “Noon, your office?”

He caved. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

We hung up. Game on.

Just as I set the phone down, Erin’s name flashed across the screen.

Another knock at the door. I turned off the phone, opened the door, and let three bare-breasted women sweep in… wine bottles, weed, and hungry smiles. One dropped to her knees, mouth hot around my cock.

For the next hour, I let myself forget everything except the pleasure. Vera could wait.