Santa’s Pretty Helper (Cam Show Crush)

2. Gabe

Two

Gabe

With a herculean effort, I turn on my heel and head back to the kitchen. The noise and heat hit me like a slap to the face after the peace and serenity of the dining room. After the utter thrall Bella just held me in. I lean against the wall by the door, just for a moment, trying to get my heart to calm the hell down. It’s jolting around in my chest almost painfully, my breathing erratic. It’s like this every single time I’m around her. Five minutes in her presence and I feel like I’ve been electrocuted.

A part of me wonders if Bella has any idea what she does to me, but I know that’s a question better left unexamined. Because if I thought she wanted me even a fraction as much as I want her, I don’t know that I’d be able to hold myself back, and that’s a road I can’t go down. With a sigh, I stomp across the kitchen and set about chopping onions at lightning speed just for something to do with my hands.

I’ve known Eric Holland for eight years. He started out as a young, cocky chef apprenticing in my kitchen and quickly became both my protege and one of my closest friends. Soon, he started inviting me home for family dinners and holiday gatherings, knowing that my family was flung to the far corners of the world and that I’m not close with them. My parents divorced when I was a teen, and my mom moved back to France. She remarried and I have a half-sister that I’ve only ever met once. My dad splits his time between Vancouver and Sydney, and we only talk a few times a year. There’s no animosity in my family, but there’s no great love or closeness, either.

All of that to say, Eric is almost like a brother to me, and I’ve known Bella since she was twelve. For the record, I was not having these thoughts about her then . I always thought she was a sweet girl, smart and shy, but it never veered into anything sexual until just over a year ago.

The night of Bella’s nineteenth birthday.

Eric invited me to a cozy family dinner, and I came, bearing a bottle of wine to go with dinner, and a candle and Sephora gift card for Bella, expecting an evening with the Hollands like so many before.

But then Bella answered the door, and my entire world tilted on its axis. I take a deep breath, letting the memory wash over me for the thousandth time…

… She’d always been a cute kid, with those massive green eyes and blond curls, but looking at the woman standing in front of me, it was clear Bella wasn’t a kid anymore. She’d blossomed into a gorgeous young woman, with feminine curves I’d never noticed before. It was as though I was seeing her for the very first time. The simple dress she wore clung to her body, the deep V of the neckline showing off the swell of her perfect breasts. My fingers tingled at the thought of gripping her rounded hips, at tracing the flare of her perky ass.

As she smiled up at me, a dimple flashing in her cheek, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. All the air rushed out of my lungs as I drank in the sight of her. My mouth was dry and my heart was doing somersaults in my chest. I felt as though I’d been walking through a desert, and suddenly, here she was, the most beautiful mirage I’d ever seen.

I stood there gaping like a complete fucking idiot, my brain having left the building entirely.

“Hey, Gabe,” she said, flashing that pretty smile again as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Thanks for coming.” The sweetness of her voice washed over me and I just nodded. I didn’t trust myself not to say something completely inappropriate. I couldn’t seem to stop my gaze from drifting down to her breasts, couldn’t stop myself from imagining peeling her out of that dress and revealing all of that creamy skin.

Christ. I didn’t understand what was happening.

“Happy birthday,” I finally said, clearing my throat. I held out the gift bag to her, our fingers brushing as she took it. Her cheeks flared pink at the fleeting contact, and she bit her lip.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Come on in.”

But despite her invitation, neither of us moved for several seconds, staring at each other in silence. Me, because I felt as though the ground had been pulled out from under me and I couldn’t stop staring at the ethereal angel Bella had become. Bella, probably because I was acting like a massive idiot.

She moved aside and gestured me into the house, and I stepped inside, the citrus and vanilla of her perfume wrapping itself around me and making my blood heat. I had the sudden need to have that scent all over my skin.

I couldn’t figure out what the fuck was wrong with me. Why was I suddenly intensely aware of Bella not as my friend’s little sister, but as a woman I wanted to do depraved things with?

The rest of the night went by in a blur, a haze of wanting to be near her while simultaneously fighting to keep my distance while I told myself to get a goddamn grip. To stop being a pervert. To stop lusting after a woman half my age. But it felt as though something irrevocable had changed, and no matter how many times I told myself it was wrong, I couldn’t stop imagining all the ways I wanted to have her. I’d never felt anything like it before. My attraction to Bella was sudden, intense, and visceral. Undeniable, even if I didn’t understand it.

I kept catching myself staring, rapt in her beauty. The delicate line of her jaw, the fullness of her lips, the graceful curve of her neck all captivated me and sent my mind reeling to places it had no business going.

As we ate dinner, I watched Bella slide her fork between her lips, and I couldn’t stop myself from imagining those pillowy lips parting for me. I swallowed hard, trying to push away the image of Bella on her knees for me, but I couldn’t. And I didn’t want to. I wanted to imagine her looking up at me with those gorgeous green eyes, lips wrapped around me as I told her what a good girl she was.

The thoughts were like a flood I couldn’t keep back. I wanted to tangle my hands in her hair, feel the softness of her curls against my skin as I guided her head, helping her to take me deeper. I wanted to see her lips stretched around my cock, to feel the warmth of her mouth, the shy, tentative flick of her tongue.

Has she ever sucked a cock before? That thought curdled the wine in my stomach. The thought of her with another man’s dick in her mouth gave me the intense urge to stab something.

Would she let me come in her mouth? Would she swallow every drop I gave her?

Fuck. Wanting Bella was going to ruin me. Destroy me with what I couldn’t have.

How had I never noticed that Bella was a sexy little angel? And what the hell was I going to do now that I knew? It wasn’t as though I could act on it.

Later, as we sang “Happy Birthday,” she leaned over to blow out the candles on her cake, and all I could do was stare at her tits, transfixed. The way they swelled against the confines of her dress had my cock thickening and pressing against my zipper. I was so hard that I had to discreetly adjust myself beneath the table.

I’d only ever thought of Bella as Eric’s sweet little kid sister up until then, but I vividly remember spending most of the evening cataloging all of the filthy things I wanted to do to her. Things like bury my face between those gorgeous tits and make her gasp and moan for me. Things like make her beg for my cock, pleading for the only thing that would relieve the ache deep inside her.

She looked over at me as she licked a stray glob of icing from her finger, and it was a miracle I didn’t crack a molar, my teeth were clenched together so tightly. Her cheeks blazed pink as she did it again, squirming slightly in her seat. We stared at each other from across the table as my thoughts raced. I imagined burying my face between her thighs and tasting her wet little pussy, of licking and kissing her over and over until she screamed my name. I imagined her nails digging into my shoulders as I fucked her with my tongue.

She brought her fork to her mouth again, taking a bite of cake, her tongue darting out to lick another bit of icing, and I had to bite my tongue to the point of pain to stifle my groan. I wanted to feel that tongue on me, licking up the length of my cock, swirling around the head. I wanted to feel her hands on me, her heels pressing against my ass as she begged me to fuck her deeper.

My hands were curled into tight fists beneath the table at that point, and I couldn’t stop myself from fantasizing that it was just me and Bella there so that I could bend her over the table, hike up the skirt of her pretty dress and fuck her like a man possessed. Like a goddamn animal. Her ass would bounce against my hips as I claimed her, and I’d reach around to stroke her clit, making her come all over my cock.

But beneath the lust, there was something more. Something sweeter and deeper. It was the urge to take care of her, in every single way. With food and orgasms and sweet words. With everything I had.

I was having such a hard time controlling my thoughts that I excused myself from the table and hid in the kitchen, telling myself to fucking stop. I leaned against the counter, gripping the cool quartz, my knuckles turning white as Bella walked in. The scent of her hit me like a hurricane, that soft, feminine blend of vanilla and citrus making my mouth water and my cock pulse.

“Hey,” she said softly, tucking a curl behind her ear. I swallowed hard, telling myself to get it together. To stop drooling over Bella Holland.

She’s not for you. Never was, never will be.

“Hey, birthday girl,” I said, cringing inwardly at how fucking dorky that sounded. She stepped closer, tilting her head up to look at me with those big, innocent eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You seemed…” She shrugged. “Distracted at dinner.”

I nearly choked on my tongue as visions of lifting her onto the kitchen counter and doing filthy things to do her filled my mind. How loud could I make her moan? Would she like it if I gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises as I fucked her into next week?

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” I lied, my voice sounding ragged even to my own ears. “Just a lot on my mind. Work stuff.”

She nodded, worrying her full lower lip between her teeth. I gripped the counter even tighter to keep from reaching out and pulling that lip free with my thumb.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” she said with a sweet little smile. “I wouldn’t want to celebrate my birthday without you.”

The words were simple, but they made something twist sharply in my chest. Her sweetness was warm and soft, and I wanted to lose myself in it. It was torture knowing that could never happen.

Before I could stop myself, I reached out, cupping her impossibly soft cheek in my palm. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away, and for a moment, we just stared at each other, the air crackling with tension.

“You’ve grown into the most beautiful young woman, Bella,” I said in a low voice, the words ripped from my chest, almost against my will.

She blushed but didn’t look away, holding my gaze, green eyes glittering. I traced the line of her cheekbone with my thumb, and she shivered, making my cock ache.

“Gabe,” she whispered, and it sounded like both a plea and a question. I felt as though I was under her spell, entranced by her green eyes, the constellation of freckles across her nose.

One kiss. I could give her one kiss. It was her birthday. Surely I wouldn’t burn in hell for one birthday kiss.

But just then, Eric stepped into the kitchen, shooting me a what-the-actual-fuck-are-you-doing look, and Bella stepped back….

…And that’s when I knew that nothing would ever be the same. It was as though I’d been struck by lightning, the image of grown-up Bella seared onto my retinas. Into my very soul.

Ever since that night, I’ve been obsessed. Every single time I see her, I fall a little deeper. I look for excuses to be near her. I follow all of her social media profiles. I know her schedule, and sometimes I’ll follow her—to campus, to the library, to a coffeeshop—just to get a glimpse of her.

I can’t help it. Ever since that night, I’ve craved her in a way I’ve never craved anything in my life. I want Bella so badly it’s like a sickness in my blood. One I can never cure.

I’m jolted back to the present when the kitchen doors bang open and Hugo Worth sweeps in, his pudgy face mottled with rage. He’s the owner of Haute Maison, and a first-class asshole on his best days. He’s a blowhard who thinks he’s god’s gift to the culinary world, despite having the palate of a toddler. He’s made servers cry so many times I’ve lost count. Normally, he’s not an issue because he stays busy with his other ventures, but he’s here tonight and he’s in peak Hugo form, apparently.

“Holland!” he bellows, and the entire kitchen goes silent, all eyes swiveling towards Hugo. “What the fuck is this?” He’s waving a plate around like a person possessed. There’s almost nothing on it, save for little bits of food and some sauce that makes me think it was an order of duck a l’orange.

Eric looks up from his station, his brow furrowed. “What’s the problem, sir?”

“This shit is fucking cold, that’s the problem!” Hugo roars, spittle flying from his lips. “How many times do I have to tell you idiots that food goes out hot? You’re all a bunch of clowns in chef’s costumes!”

Rage bubbles up inside me, and I abandon my onions and cross the kitchen in a few long strides. “That’s enough,” I say, fighting to keep my voice calm. I step between Hugo and Eric, putting Eric behind me. “You don’t talk to my staff that way.” Especially not Eric, who hasn’t done anything wrong besides have the misfortune of being in Hurricane Hugo’s path tonight.

Hugo turns his furious glare on me, his face going an even deeper shade of red. “ Your staff? This is my restaurant, Mitchell,” he says, spitting out my last name like it’s some kind of insult. “Or did you forget that? That you’re here by my grace.”

I put up with the occasional Hugo tantrum because Haute Maison is one of the best restaurants in the city, and I love what I do. But with every outburst, every bullying gesture, my patience wears a little thinner.

“Your restaurant, my kitchen,” I say evenly, meeting his gaze. “And I will not have you coming in here and screaming at my staff over some made up, bullshit reason. How can the food be cold when the plate’s nearly empty? Give me a fucking break, Hugo.”

Hugo laughs, a harsh, mocking sound that makes my hands curl into fists. “Your kitchen? Your staff? I don’t think so.” He shakes his head, a cruel smirk twisting his mottled lips. “You think you can talk back to me? You think you’re the cock of the fucking walk in your kitchen?” He laughs again. “You’re fired. Get the fuck out.”

Shock freezes me in place, and I can feel every pair of eyes on me. But I don’t look away from Hugo’s face. I refuse to flinch in the face of his sneering, asshole behavior.

“You’re not going to fire me,” I say, keeping my voice even. “I’m the best chef you’ve ever had. If I leave, Haute Maison will be a dumpster fire before Christmas.”

Hugo takes a step closer, craning his neck to look up at me. I’m a few inches over six feet, and right now I’m enjoying towering over him. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. This is my restaurant, not yours. And I want you gone. Now. I’ve had enough of your attitude.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You call it attitude. I call it standing up for my staff against a bullying prick.”

For a second, I think he might hit me. A part of me hopes he does because I’d love an excuse to hit him back.

“Get. Out. NOW!” he bellows in my face. Anger pulses through me, hot and dangerous, but as always, I keep a firm grip on what I’m feeling. With a sneer and a shake of my head, I take the kitchen towel that’s resting on my shoulder and toss it onto the counter.

“Fine. You’re making a huge mistake, Hugo. But you want me gone? I’m gone.”

I turn and stride into the employee area, feeling every set of eyes in the kitchen glued to me as I leave. I quickly gather up my stuff without looking back. I’m not embarrassed. Firings happen all the time in the culinary world, and I don’t regret sticking up for Eric.

And it’s not like cooking is my only source of income. I have a secret revenue stream that I can lean into, so financially, I’ll be fine. It’ll give me time to figure out what I want to do next. If I want to find another restaurant job, or branch out on my own.

I leave through the back door and step out into the chilly Toronto night, the cold air almost shocking as it hits my face.

Tonight, I’m going to go home, drink some whiskey, and stroke myself to thoughts of Bella.

Tomorrow, I’ll figure out the rest.