Page 56 of Matched with the Small Town Chef

His lips find mine, gentle at first, then with growing intensity. Not the desperate heat of our first encounter but something deeper—passion tempered with tenderness, desire woven with emerging love. His hands cradle my face as if I'm something precious, something worth protecting.

"Stay in Angel's Peak." When we part, breathless, he rests his forehead against mine.

"For how long?" I need to hear him say it.

"For good." His voice holds certainty, the same confidence he brings to creating perfect dishes. "Build your new career here. With me."

"My work will take me away sometimes. Your hours are impossible. We're both stubborn and driven and?—"

He silences me with another kiss, brief but effective. "We're also creative problem-solvers. We'll figure it out."

At this moment, in this greenhouse where we began, surrounded by growing things that require patience and care, I believe him. I believe in us—not as a perfect pairing but as ingredients that complement each other, creating something better together than apart.

“I’d like that very much.” I wind my arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

His smile curves—wicked, knowing. “Good. You move in with me tonight.”

"Tonight?" My laugh catches in my throat. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”

“It’s what’s going to happen.” His hands skim down to my hips, fingers flexing. “I want you in my bed. On your knees. Tied to the posts. Completely at my mercy.”

Heat licks up my spine.

“But first…” His voice dips lower, rougher. “We’re going to talk. About limits. About control. About what this really looks like.”

My pulse thrums. “And after?”

“After,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over my ear, “I’m going to punish you.”

"Punish me?" I still. Not from fear—anticipation coils deep and tight.

“For lying to me,” he continues, his tone harder now. “For looking me in the eye and pretending you were just some tourist. For letting me touch you without knowing who you really were.”

My mouth opens to speak, to defend—but he presses a thumb to my lips.

“You’re mine now,” he growls. “And being mine means honesty. No more games. You accept your punishment. We wipe the slate clean.”

“I’m sorry.” I nod, throat tight.

“You will be.” His eyes soften, but only slightly.

The promise in his voice is pure sin.

“Tonight, I’m going to make you feel every bit of what you denied me. I’ll take my time stripping that control from you, inch by inch, until all that’s left is the truth. Your truth. My hands. Your pleasure.”

“Yes, Chef.” A shudder rolls through me.

He smirks. “Say that again when I’ve got you begging.”

“You planning to ruin me?” I grin, already breathless.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, mouth brushing mine. “I plan to ruin you, own you, and cook you a gourmet breakfast after.”

I bite my lower lip, heart pounding.

His mouth brushes my ear.

“Then I’ll start again.”

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