Warning:Contains sexual content and power imbalance
Rody Lamoree never thought he’d own a Michelin-star restaurant, let alone one that had become the culinary heartbeat of Paris. Fait Avec Amour wasn’t just a restaurant; it was a symbol. With its sleek black and gold decor and impeccably polished floors, it drew the city’s elite to experience its innovative dishes that danced on the palate. Rody had built this empire through years of hard work, elbow grease, and a knack for combining flavors in ways that defied convention. He had risen to fame as a chef, his rugged good looks often attracting as much attention as his food.
But for all his success, Rody was still just a man. A man who made decisions based on impulse, passion, and sometimes, dangerous desires.
That’s how Vincent Charbonneau had found his way into Rody’s life.
Vincent wasn’t like the other applicants who came through the kitchen doors, hoping to gain a spot in Rody’s highly coveted brigade. He was quiet, with pale skin that stood in stark contrast to his dark, messy hair. There was a nervous energy about him, like he didn’t belong in the kitchen, and yet he moved with a certain grace-a fluidity that intrigued Rody the moment he saw him.
“I’ve always wanted to be a chef,” Vincent had said that first day, his voice soft but steady. “But… I never had the chance to go to culinary school.”
Rody remembered the way Vincent’s dark eyes had pierced through him, a vulnerability beneath the surface. It was enough to make Rody forget about the pile of resumes on his desk, the Michelin inspectors who could drop by at any moment, and the dozens of customers waiting for their next meal. There was something magnetic about Vincent, something that made Rody throw caution to the wind and offer him a job.
That was a few months ago.
Now, Vincent was in his kitchen, making mistakes-big ones. His plating was inconsistent, sauces over-reduced, and sometimes he’d forget basic steps in recipes. Rody had his limits, but every time he considered letting Vincent go, the younger man found a way to… distract him.
—
Rody stood in his office, leaning against the edge of his desk. His hands ran through his messy auburn hair as he tried to make sense of the latest feedback from one of their high-profile clients. There had been complaints about the consistency of Vincent’s dishes, again. The others in the kitchen had covered for him, but it couldn’t keep happening. The pressure was mounting.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Before he could answer, Vincent slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him.
“Rody,” Vincent said, his voice low. His fingers fidgeted nervously, but his eyes were locked onto Rody’s. There was always a faint trembling in Vincent’s hands when he was nervous. It was subtle, barely noticeable unless you were paying attention, but Rody always noticed.
Rody exhaled sharply, the tension between them thick in the air. “Vincent, this has to stop. You’re not keeping up in the kitchen, and I can’t keep covering for you.”
Vincent bit his lip and stepped closer, his slender body sliding between Rody and the desk. “I know… I’m trying. Please, Rody.” His voice was almost a whisper, seductive and pleading all at once. Vincent reached out, placing a hand on Rody’s chest, his fingers slowly sliding down over the hard muscles beneath his shirt.
“Vincent,” Rody began, but his voice faltered as Vincent’s hand traveled lower, his fingers playing with the waistband of Rody’s slacks.
Vincent leaned in, pressing his body flush against Rody’s. His lips hovered close to Rody’s ear, breath warm against his skin. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you giving me a chance,” he whispered, his voice dripping with lust.
Rody’s muscles tensed as Vincent’s hand dipped beneath the waistband, his fingers brushing against Rody’s skin. He was losing control, the same way he always did around Vincent. It wasn’t supposed to be like this-he wasn’t supposed to be so easily swayed. But Vincent knew exactly what to do, how to touch him, how to make Rody forget every rational thought.
With a sharp intake of breath, Rody grabbed Vincent by the waist, pulling him even closer, his large hands easily encircling the smaller man’s frame. “Vincent, you’re playing a dangerous game,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.
Vincent smiled, his dark eyes flashing with mischief. He slowly sank to his knees in front of Rody, his hands deftly unbuttoning Rody’s slacks. The sound of fabric rustling filled the room, the only noise against the otherwise silent backdrop of the office.
Even as Rody’s head buzzed with a mix of frustration and lust, he couldn’t bring himself to stop Vincent. The younger man’s tongue was quick to find its way to Rody’s skin, tracing a line up his thigh, teasing him, making him groan softly. Rody’s hand found its way to Vincent’s hair, tangling in the dark strands, tugging slightly as Vincent took him into his mouth.
For a moment, Rody closed his eyes, the sensation overwhelming. Vincent was good at this-too good. And Vincent knew exactly how to use his body to keep his place in the kitchen. Every time Rody thought about firing him, he’d find himself like this-helpless under Vincent’s touch.
Just as Rody was about to give in completely, there was a knock at the door.
His heart jumped, panic flashing through him. He hadn’t locked it. His sous-chef, René, was due for a meeting to discuss the evening’s menu.
“Shit,” Rody muttered, pulling away slightly. But Vincent didn’t stop, his mouth still working, his hands gripping Rody’s thighs as if to hold him in place. Rody’s breath hitched as he tried to form coherent thoughts. He couldn’t be caught like this, not with Vincent on his knees under the desk.
Another knock came, more insistent this time.
Rody cleared his throat, trying to sound normal. “Give me a minute,” he called, his voice strained, but steady enough. He glanced down at Vincent, who looked up at him with those dark, hungry eyes.
Vincent didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, his lips moving faster, more intensely, as if he enjoyed the thrill of nearly being caught.
Rody’s free hand gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white as he tried to keep control. His eyes darted to the door, his heart racing. “Vincent…” he hissed, but his voice was barely audible. He was close, too close, and Vincent was relentless.
Another moment passed, and the knock came again, but this time the person on the other side didn’t wait for an answer. The door creaked open just an inch, and Rody’s sous-chef poked his head inside.
“Chef? I was-” René started, but he froze when he saw the scene in front of him. He couldn’t see Vincent from where he stood, but the position Rody was in-his disheveled hair, the slight tremble in his body-spoke volumes.
Rody quickly straightened, trying to compose himself. “We’ll… discuss the menu later, René,” he managed, his voice strained as Vincent continued his work beneath the desk, hidden from sight.
René’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing his face before he nodded curtly. “Of course, Chef. I’ll… come back later.”
The door closed softly behind him, and Rody exhaled in relief. His hand tightened in Vincent’s hair, and he pulled the man back sharply, lifting him to his feet. Vincent’s lips were swollen, eyes glassy with desire as he stood before Rody, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“That was risky,” Rody growled, pressing Vincent back against the desk, pinning him there with his body. His hand gripped Vincent’s hip, hard enough to bruise, but Vincent just smirked, leaning into him.
“I know,” Vincent whispered breathlessly, his fingers tracing the line of Rody’s jaw. “But you liked it, didn’t you?”
Rody didn’t answer with words. Instead, he kissed Vincent, hard, forcing a gasp from the smaller man’s lips as he claimed him.
Rody’s kiss was rough, demanding, and full of the frustration he had tried to bottle up over the past few weeks. Vincent moaned softly into the kiss, his hands instinctively clinging to Rody’s shirt, fingers curling around the fabric as if to anchor himself.
Rody broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked down at Vincent, whose face was flushed, eyes half-lidded with desire. “You think you can keep getting away with this, don’t you?” Rody growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Vincent’s lips curled into a wicked smile, though his breath was still uneven. “If you didn’t want this, you would’ve fired me by now,” he whispered, his words like a challenge. His hands slid down Rody’s chest, tracing the defined muscles underneath his shirt before resting on his waist. “But here we are.”
Rody clenched his jaw, the frustration building in him. He knew Vincent was right, damn it. Every time he considered ending this twisted relationship, Vincent would find a way to seduce him back into submission, as if the heat between them was too strong to extinguish. He wanted to believe he was the one in control, but Vincent had a way of making him forget who was really pulling the strings.
Without another word, Rody turned Vincent around and bent him over the desk, his hands firmly pressing Vincent’s hips against the smooth surface. Vincent gasped, but he didn’t resist, his body pliant beneath Rody’s. The anticipation between them was palpable, electrifying the air.
“You think you can just keep using your body to stay here,” Rody muttered, his hands sliding over Vincent’s waist, his grip possessive, dominating. “But I’m not the one who’s going to break.”
Vincent’s breath hitched as Rody’s hands explored his body, tracing over the soft curve of his lower back before slipping lower. “I’m not trying to break you, Rody,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. “I’m just trying to show you how much I want to stay.”
Rody’s grip tightened as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the back of Vincent’s neck. “If you really wanted to stay, you’d stop making mistakes in my kitchen.”
Vincent shivered under the weight of Rody’s words, the heat of Rody’s breath on his skin sending a wave of desire through him. “Maybe I need more… *motivation* to get things right,” he said softly, his voice laced with both fear and thrill.
Rody growled softly in response, one hand slipping down to Vincent’s waistband, tugging at it with an impatience that made Vincent’s heart race. Rody was never gentle when they were alone like this-he wasn’t the kind of man who handled things delicately, especially when his frustration was this high. But Vincent didn’t mind. In fact, he thrived on it. He *needed* this intensity, the way Rody consumed him, as if the raw energy between them was the only thing tethering him to this world.
Vincent moaned softly as Rody’s hands roamed possessively over him, feeling the firm strength behind every touch. His body responded eagerly, hips instinctively pressing back into Rody’s. The power play-it was exactly what Vincent wanted. He’d seduced Rody to stay in the kitchen, yes, but in truth, he stayed because he *wanted* this. He *wanted* Rody’s rough hands and the unspoken tension that hovered between them every time they found themselves in this position.
Rody’s control over him was intoxicating, even when it scared him.
“You’re too used to getting what you want, Vincent,” Rody rasped against his ear, voice thick with lust. His fingers tugged sharply at Vincent’s waistband, pushing his pants down just enough to expose the skin beneath. “But what about what *I* want?”
Vincent gasped, a thrill of fear mixed with excitement coursing through him. His body trembled under Rody’s touch, the sensation of being laid bare like this igniting something primal in him. “Tell me what you want,” Vincent whispered, his voice barely audible, breath hitching in his throat.
Rody didn’t respond with words. Instead, his hands gripped Vincent’s hips tighter, possessively, as if reminding Vincent who held the power in this moment. His rough, calloused hands contrasted with Vincent’s pale, smooth skin, sending shivers through him with every touch.
The roughness, the control-it made Vincent melt. His knees went weak, and he pressed his face into the cool surface of the desk, stifling the moans that threatened to spill from his lips. Rody’s hands were everywhere, exploring, claiming, leaving no doubt in Vincent’s mind who was in charge.
The tension in the room built, like a dam on the verge of breaking, and when Rody finally took what he wanted, Vincent’s soft cries were muffled by the desk beneath him. Rody was relentless, his touch rough and demanding, yet Vincent met him with equal hunger, pushing back into him, desperate for more.
For all his bravado, for all the ways Vincent tried to manipulate the situation, there was no denying how much he craved this. He craved Rody’s rough touch, his strength, the way he could unravel him with just a touch. Every time they came together like this, Vincent lost himself completely, surrendering to the force of Rody’s desire.
The office was filled with the sound of their labored breaths, of bodies colliding in a desperate rhythm. It was rough, it was raw, and it was exactly what they both needed.
When it was over, Rody collapsed against Vincent, his forehead resting against the nape of his neck, their bodies still intertwined. They stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, the intensity of their encounter still pulsing through them.
After a long silence, Rody finally pulled away, standing up straight and adjusting his clothes, his gaze lingering on Vincent’s flushed form. Vincent slowly stood, his legs trembling slightly as he straightened up and turned to face Rody. His lips were swollen, eyes glassy with satisfaction, and yet there was still that mischievous spark in his gaze.
Rody stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He was still frustrated with Vincent-still angry at the mistakes, the chaos Vincent brought into his life-but at the same time, he knew he wasn’t ready to let him go.
Maybe Vincent was right. Maybe he couldn’t.
Vincent smirked, sensing the shift in Rody’s demeanor. “Still thinking about firing me?” he asked, his voice soft but teasing.
Rody exhaled sharply, running a hand through his messy hair. “Don’t push your luck, Vincent.”
But the warning lacked its usual bite, and Vincent knew it.
Vincent leaned in, brushing his lips softly against Rody’s jaw. “I’ll be better in the kitchen, I promise.”
Rody’s hand caught Vincent’s chin, forcing him to look up. His green eyes pierced into Vincent’s, the intensity returning. “You better be,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “Because next time, I’m not going to be so forgiving.”
Vincent swallowed hard, nodding obediently, though the smirk never left his lips. “I understand, Chef.”
With one last lingering look, Vincent turned and walked out of the office, leaving Rody alone with his thoughts. The door clicked shut, and Rody sat back at his desk, staring at the papers scattered across it, the complaints, the reviews. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the tension, but even as he tried to refocus, all he could think about was the way Vincent felt in his arms, the way he lost control every time.
He’d given Vincent another chance, for better or worse.
But something told him this wouldn’t be the last time Vincent pushed him to the edge.
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