Following the Rules (The Script Club 1)

He spread a thin layer of peanut butter, then opened the pickle jar. I watched his preparation with amusement, offering an occasional tip along the lines of, “Thinly sliced, please” before blurting, “So…you asked George about me?”

Simon wasn’t fooled. He widened his eyes comically and shrugged. “Yeah. I wanted to keep you around, and I thought he might offer some useful advice. He gave me pickles and peanut butter. Let’s see if it works.”

I licked glaze off my fingers. “You go first.”

“We’ll do it together.” Simon arranged the slices in three neat rows, cut the open-faced sandwich in half, and turned to me. He stopped abruptly and stared at my mouth. “You need to stop that.”

I frowned, pausing mid-lick. “What am I doing?”

“Pitching a pup tent. Look at me.” He glanced at the bulge in his navy shorts and scowled. “No, don’t look at me, and don’t lick your fingers. I can’t take it. Eat this.”

I put the donut on a napkin, wrinkling my nose in distaste as I lifted the peanut butter concoction. “Ugh. This looks nasty.”

I took a bite and immediately made the universal “gross” face before taking a healthy drink of water.

“Yuck.”

“It’s not that bad. Kinda salty, though.”

“Maybe the peanut butter is supposed to go with the Nutella, Reggie,” I suggested.

“Nope. That was the potato chips. And who the fuck is Reggie?”

“You. It’s your new script. You’re the very handsome taste-tester for this restaurant. I can’t serve my patrons until you try it,” I declared.

He lifted a brow and gave a mischievous grin. “I see. And who are you?”

“I’m the owner of a popular Michelin-rated bistro that caters to a very elite clientele.” I glanced at the food stuff piled up on the counter like a backed-up conveyer belt at a grocery store and met his gaze. “You’re also my secret lover.”

“Ahh. So, I’m bangin’ my boss who wants to kill a donut with a pickle? Is this science?”

I beamed. “Definitely.”

Simon gave the donut-pickle combo a dubious look and took a big bite.

Five expressions flitted across his handsome face at once ranging from an overly enthusiastic “awesome” to “I’m about to pass out.” I snickered at his antics.

“Your turn.”

I shook my head and pushed his wrist away. “No, thank you.”

“Don’t argue. Your restaurant flopped, and I bought it from you—for a price. Your line is… ‘Sir, I’ll do anything you want.’ ” He boxed me into the corner, lifted me easily, and set me on the counter. Then he stepped between my thighs and rubbed my cock through my shorts.

“What do you want…sir?”

“Kiss me.”

I rested my arms on his massive shoulders and gave him a peck. “Like that?”

Simon groaned. “A real kiss. I want your tongue.”

I thought about teasing him, but the heat of his body and the needy look in his eyes undid me. I brushed his nose, sealed my lips to his, and was instantly swept away with deep kisses and roving hands. I loved the warmth of his bare skin and the feel of his arms around me…surrounding me, covering me.

Simon bit my bottom lip, pulling back slightly to unbutton my shirt and push it off my shoulders. I moaned when he tweaked my nipples, licking a trail down my neck and across my collarbone before bending to suck each nub. I rested my head against the cabinet behind me, unbuckling my belt and unzipping as I arched to give him room to do whatever he wanted.

Which was seemingly everything. Simon had been a quick study from the start. When he claimed he was interested in exploring his bi side, he’d meant it. He never held anything back. I got the impression that this had been on his mind for a long time. He wanted to experience everything he’d told himself he couldn’t have, and the best part was that he wanted to do it with me.

“Mmm. Help me take these off,” I said, lifting my hips.

Simon scooped me from the counter instead.

“Bed.” He grunted like a caveman and headed down the hallway toward the master suite, dropping me onto his king-sized mattress. He hooked his thumbs under his elastic waistband and lowered his shorts. “Take everything off. I want to see you touch yourself.”

I removed my shorts and boxer briefs, tossing them carelessly to the floor, then glanced around the sparsely furnished room as if cataloging any changes since my last visit.

The white walls were adorned with black-and-white ocean photography. Smaller framed ones of a sailboat and starfish flanked the massive flat-screen TV on the opposite wall. He must have hired a designer. The nautical accents complemented the rest of the house, but they were cold and lacking in personality. Like a model home. However, the ocean view from the sliding glass door was stunning, even on an overcast day. Natural light spilled across the unmade bed, reflecting off any shiny surface.