world could she be lusting after him in all this turmoil?
‘… think, Jill?’
She blinked at Ginger and stammered, ‘Pardon?’
‘What do you think?’ Ginger repeated.
Jill threw up her hands and sighed mightily. ‘I think there’s no way to tell until they tell us. Excuse me.’
She rushed down the short hall to the rest room. Even the camera men didn’t follow them down here. So that was good.
Pressing the lock on the door handle, she rested her forehead to the cool metal door. ‘Calm down,’ she said to herself.
Jill couldn’t do her normal morning runs. Not with the shooting schedule for Best Chef. Plus when she did manage a few times, the cameras had followed her. Unsettling and annoying, to say the least.
She had stopped drinking on camera because they often had to wait hours for a verdict and most of them had ended up a bit tipsy the first time. But for calm Cole. So drinking was out. She’d stopped eating during deliberation because over the few weeks of shooting her jeans had started to get tight. So, basically no stress relief.
Well, not no stress relief.
‘Not here,’ Jill said to herself. But even as she said it she knew that there were no cameras in the bathroom. It’s why when any of them got super emotional or enraged they tended to head for the rest room.
She shook her head. ‘No.’ But even as she said no, Jill pressed her hand to the cool door and leaned against it, her forehead still touching the metal too. But her free hand slid under her chef’s coat and down into her jeans. Past the silly panties she wore for luck that were emblazoned with candy and cakes. Into the humid warmth that was the V of her thighs. When she pressed a fingertip – just one – to her thrumming clit, she let out a sigh that was like a drug addict taking their first hit of their vice of choice. Sheer relief. Bliss. Calm.
Jill added a second finger to the first, already slippery with the juices of her sex. It was the raw sugar dream that did that, she bet. It was imagining him licking that crystalline, diamond-like sweetness off her skin before burying his face between her legs and making her come.
A shuddery sigh slipped free of her parted lips and she slid two fingers deep inside her slick cunt. She pressed her G-spot almost violently and ground her plump, needy clit to her palm as she fucked herself with trembling fingers.
It was just when she skated that crisp clean line of impending orgasm, just when she was ready to tip that she heard him say through the door, ‘Whatcha doing in there, Calvert?’
She reared back a little but kept her hand flat to the door as if that were keeping it closed. She was so fucking close – too close to stop now – but her circles slowed. Somehow, in the stress and need, the slowing made the feel of it that much sweeter. A fresh rush of pleasure filled her pelvis as his voice filled her head.
‘Nothing,’ she said to the door.
His voice snaked through the crack where the door was set in its hinges. You couldn’t even slide a piece of paper in that crack but his voice drifted through just fine. Through that crack and into her brain.
‘I think you are. I think you’re doing something … dirty.’
‘No,’ she gasped. But his voice and the feel and the stress and all of it blended together to create one giant mélange of craving.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Go away.’
‘No,’ he said. She could hear him smile for God’s sake!
Jill shook her head and her tired mind readily supplied her very dirty dream of him putting his mouth to her. Eating her the way she’d seen him eat his competitor’s food. Rolling her on his tongue, licking her to savour each flavour, pressing his lips to her heat and her moisture and …
Her pussy started to flex around her fingers and Jill bit her lip none too gently to stifle any noises she might make. He would know. He. Would. Know. And that made it all better and all worse at the same time.
‘I think you’re
‘… think, Jill?’
She blinked at Ginger and stammered, ‘Pardon?’
‘What do you think?’ Ginger repeated.
Jill threw up her hands and sighed mightily. ‘I think there’s no way to tell until they tell us. Excuse me.’
She rushed down the short hall to the rest room. Even the camera men didn’t follow them down here. So that was good.
Pressing the lock on the door handle, she rested her forehead to the cool metal door. ‘Calm down,’ she said to herself.
Jill couldn’t do her normal morning runs. Not with the shooting schedule for Best Chef. Plus when she did manage a few times, the cameras had followed her. Unsettling and annoying, to say the least.
She had stopped drinking on camera because they often had to wait hours for a verdict and most of them had ended up a bit tipsy the first time. But for calm Cole. So drinking was out. She’d stopped eating during deliberation because over the few weeks of shooting her jeans had started to get tight. So, basically no stress relief.
Well, not no stress relief.
‘Not here,’ Jill said to herself. But even as she said it she knew that there were no cameras in the bathroom. It’s why when any of them got super emotional or enraged they tended to head for the rest room.
She shook her head. ‘No.’ But even as she said no, Jill pressed her hand to the cool door and leaned against it, her forehead still touching the metal too. But her free hand slid under her chef’s coat and down into her jeans. Past the silly panties she wore for luck that were emblazoned with candy and cakes. Into the humid warmth that was the V of her thighs. When she pressed a fingertip – just one – to her thrumming clit, she let out a sigh that was like a drug addict taking their first hit of their vice of choice. Sheer relief. Bliss. Calm.
Jill added a second finger to the first, already slippery with the juices of her sex. It was the raw sugar dream that did that, she bet. It was imagining him licking that crystalline, diamond-like sweetness off her skin before burying his face between her legs and making her come.
A shuddery sigh slipped free of her parted lips and she slid two fingers deep inside her slick cunt. She pressed her G-spot almost violently and ground her plump, needy clit to her palm as she fucked herself with trembling fingers.
It was just when she skated that crisp clean line of impending orgasm, just when she was ready to tip that she heard him say through the door, ‘Whatcha doing in there, Calvert?’
She reared back a little but kept her hand flat to the door as if that were keeping it closed. She was so fucking close – too close to stop now – but her circles slowed. Somehow, in the stress and need, the slowing made the feel of it that much sweeter. A fresh rush of pleasure filled her pelvis as his voice filled her head.
‘Nothing,’ she said to the door.
His voice snaked through the crack where the door was set in its hinges. You couldn’t even slide a piece of paper in that crack but his voice drifted through just fine. Through that crack and into her brain.
‘I think you are. I think you’re doing something … dirty.’
‘No,’ she gasped. But his voice and the feel and the stress and all of it blended together to create one giant mélange of craving.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Go away.’
‘No,’ he said. She could hear him smile for God’s sake!
Jill shook her head and her tired mind readily supplied her very dirty dream of him putting his mouth to her. Eating her the way she’d seen him eat his competitor’s food. Rolling her on his tongue, licking her to savour each flavour, pressing his lips to her heat and her moisture and …
Her pussy started to flex around her fingers and Jill bit her lip none too gently to stifle any noises she might make. He would know. He. Would. Know. And that made it all better and all worse at the same time.
‘I think you’re
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