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Entering the room, in Chef's whites that were easily as expensive as any Armani suit and being followed by an alakazam in a chef's hat and wielding a tray of h'orderves was none other than Chef Troy.With a sly, almost forced smile, the tall man waved politely to the crowd before motioning for silence. "Welcome, my friends," he proclaimed, his German accent slipping out from time to time, "To my greatest endeavor since 'Coffee Armageddon'... 'Ces Batards De L'autre Cote De La Rue!'"There was more applause, and Miranda made quiet note of who applauded the loudest as she clapped politely, ignoring her Uncle's rather theatrical performance of it. She knew it was only because Chef Troy was feeding him. It was the Festival Coordinator and his wife, though; who seemed to be the most appreciative, exchanging knowing glances with Troy as the alakazam brought the tray to the head table."This restaurant of international cuisine," continued Chef Troy, turning slowly so that everyone could catch. With her reluctance and my insistence we essentially fell on the sofa with her legs somehow over my lap as she lay on her back. I leaned over to kiss her and ended up with both her lower legs against my right shoulder, my body folding her in half. Her flexibility was demonstrated by how easily she accepted this position allowing my mouth to close on hers. There was no doubt her mood was coming back and I could tell that she enjoyed being pushed into it a little. If she wanted me off her she had the strength to literally catapult me away, every part of her body was solid muscle. Everywhere my hands roamed found barely yielding flesh under her clothes and as our kisses went deeper so did her body allow mine closer until her legs were pinned tightly between her chest and mine. I harboured a sexual hunger now that completely consumed me. I had to get to her skin and I didn’t care how it happened. Options floated across my mind’s eye while I enjoyed our tongues dancing together, Jen’s.
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