Stepbrother Bad Boy's Baby Boxed Set(11)



I could hear the lyrics continue while my mind saw Krystal dressed all in whites and pale blues, an almost black haired, black eyed angel who opened her arms to me and clasped me to her chest, not in fake lust or wanton need of f*cking but to comfort me. In her arms I felt something I'd never felt from anyone ever before, a total acceptance of who I am.

"We're dancing for the restless and the broken hearted...." she said to me, kissing my face, which were suddenly wet with tears. In my vision, her dress disappeared, and I was almost stunned by the beauty before me, not just because of its flawless shape but because of its simple nobility. Slipping inside, my cock almost twitched immediately in warning of orgasm, but I was helpless to stop myself. I plunged into this angel in front of me over and over, my lips crying out in wordless need as I neared an orgasm that, somewhere deep inside me, I knew would somehow change me forever. It frightened me, knowing I would be forced to change. If I came inside this angel, I'd have to let go of all the mental armor, all the fronts and the anger I'd felt for so long. Still, I couldn't stop, and it was with a deep moan, down in my soul in a place that I'd not been for a very long time, I felt my orgasm tear out of me, ripping through my body as my cock burst inside the angel, the energy sending white tendrils through me and obliterating all my thoughts and nestling somewhere in my heart before fading away.

It was long moments after my vision stopped that I realized that the music had faded away too, with Meat Loaf back on the microphone. I looked down at Gina, who was still gasping, and I realized I'd just blown a full load inside her, and that she'd also came again. Staggering, I pulled back and out, my cock slipping out of her with an almost obscene schluuuurp. "My God," I gasped, feeling the sweat glistening on my brow. "That....."

"That was the best I've had in years," Gina said back to me, turning and giving me a naughty smile. "God damn Julian, you are one talented f*ck. But I think it's time for us to get back to the reception before they wonder where we slipped off to."

"Uh.... yeah," I said, still with my mind whirling. What the hell had just happened? "That was amazing."

"Thanks, sweetie," Gina said, coming over and kissing me. She reached down and grabbed my cock "that's one nice piece of equipment you have there," then she sashayed over to her dress and pulled it back on, before coming over and actually lifting my pants up for me. Carefully working the zipper back up before sliding the fastener, she reached into my pocket and pulled out her panties.

"Now now, if you want a souvenir you have to ask for it," she giggled as she stepped into the bathroom to clean up. I could tell she wanted me to say something in reply to her slutty banter, but my mind was still too staggered to really formulate anything. "Well, if you ever want to get together again, call me," she said. When she was done, she came over and slipped a piece of paper with her number on it into my pocket in place of her panties. "Seriously, if you're ever in Detroit, give me a call."

With a quick peck on my lips, she turned and got her high heels, leaving me still standing there. I staggered over to the same lounge chair I'd just finished f*cking her in and sat down, still perplexed. What the hell had just happened?





Chapter 7





Krystal - About five weeks later





"Your secret ingredient is...... ribs!"

I looked over at Shannon, whose face narrowed as she slipped into her mental space that I knew she went to whenever she was mentally game-planning. We were in a borrowed kitchen to simulate the fact that we'd be cooking in an unfamiliar space, and we were in the three minute planning period that the producers had told Shannon would be given to her before her time actually started. Of course, due to the magic of television editing, that three minutes would look like about ten seconds, but it heightened the drama that way. The guy acting as official timekeeper, the owner of the private cooking school we were using for this practice, tapped his desk as one minute of the time passed. Two minutes left.

On the chopping block in front of the room was a selection of ribs, with pork, beef and lamb all there. Another secret of the Iron Chef competition is that the producers tell the contestants beforehand that they will be competing with one of five different possibilities for their secret ingredient. So it wasn't like we were walking in totally blind. We even knew who we'd be competing against, one of my culinary heroes, who specialized in Mediterranean food and had a spice palette similar to my own. It made my palms sweat, but I felt good about it.

"All right guys, huddle up," Shannon said. She used a lot of football analogies, her father played quarterback for Nebraska back in the seventies I think. "Okay, here's the plan. Pork ribs broken down into pulled pork for sliders, baby back beef ribs, a lamb crown roast, and pork bits pan roasted for a caramel on a pork fat ice cream. Smith, I want you making up our sauce. Hobards, you're on the creme anglaise and getting the fat off of some pork ribs. Aksoy, you're on the crown roast. Remember, we only have an hour, so you'll need to move your ass."

Moving my ass was an understatement. A crown rack of lamb usually took at least an hour alone to make, half of the time being prep and another half being cooking, before worrying about plating, presentation or side dishes. I'd have to shave time somewhere, that was for sure.

The timekeeper tapped his table, and Horst, who was playing our host and referee, nodded. "Ready? And go!"

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