Sugar
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WpMetadataReadMatureComplete Thu, Nov 23, 20232h 1m
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Fiction
Romance
"My compliments to the chef." ~~~ Twenty-six year-old Kahlia Obisani is the youngest chef to have won the title of Food Doyen in the nation's toughest televised cooking competition. Overseen and judged by the biggest names in the culinary industry around the world, Kahlia became a national sensation when she won the title at the tender age of twenty. With her instant success and prize money, she set up her restaurant, a Michelin star establishment with her leading the helm as head chef. Her winning dish, now her signature dish, is the best selling item on the menu; a sweet dessert with root vegetables as the base ingredients. Thirty year-old Dorian Bankfurth is what most restauranteurs would consider the toughest food critic in the cooking scene. He's built and destroyed restaurants with a single review, putting multitudes of establishments on the map and driving even more into bankruptcy and closed doors. He's cold, judgemental, and cynical, but above all things he's fair. He gives reviews as honestly as he can, and has no problem giving credit where it's due. When his friends take him to award winning Obisani restaurant for his birthday, he's faced with a dish he never thought he'd encounter in his life; a dessert made from root vegetables. The kicker? Dorian hates sweet things. The moment he finally meets the chef behind the meal, both their worlds are rocked in a shocking contrast of sweet and sour. Kahlia's sweet disposition and Dorian's cold glare clash, sparking tension and whispers in those around them. Still, despite his abrasive attitude, Kahlia keeps smiling, infecting the man with a sweetness he hadn't known he was missing, and opening his palate to a whole new world he quickly became addicted to. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. Could he accept the one ingredient his recipe was missing?
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[COMPLETED] After one drunken Friday night, Vesper wakes up and finds herself on a bed, in a room, in an apartment that she neither owns nor recognizes. She discovers that the man who owns the place is the same man who she threw a dollar at, insulted, and slapped because she thought he was a pervert hobo who hovers around bars to make a pass at drunken girls. It turns out that "Pervert-Hobo Guy" owns three apartments, a Porsche, seven hit songs, three Grammy awards, and a broken heart paired with a damaged soul. And don't forget to add these things--a raging libido, a skilled mouth, dexterous fingers, and a certain something that may or may not have caused Vesper's eyes to go wide. ~*~*~*~*~ "Your m-mother... is... outside," Vesper mumbled breathlessly. His familiar scent wafted through her nostrils--something woodsy, something citrusy--something that screamed sex on legs. His intoxicating scent befuddled her mind and she cursed herself for being so weak. Her eyes widened at the feel of his something that's definitely not his belt buckle pressing against the small of her stomach. He wickedly grinned. "That's the point. She's outside so she can't see us." He nipped at Vesper's jaw and suckled on that sensitive spot on her neck. He moved towards her lips again and tasted her mouth from corner to corner. "Sweet. So, so, sweet," he said in between kisses. Vesper was horrified at the fact that her body was betraying her. She's a person with a very strong personality, but one touch of Andray's soft lips and she's pliant. Feeling herself losing control, she responded to his kisses with equal fervor, mouth still closed. She gasped in surprise when she felt his hands move to the middle of her legs and cupped her there. His tongue took the opportunity and delved into her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers. ~*~*~*~*~ This story is intended for mature audiences only. It contains strong language and explicit scenes. Read at your own discretion. You have been warned.

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