CHAPTER 203: THE ART OF DISTRACTION [II]

The knife slipped again, this time barely missing my fingertips as pleasure coiled tighter, a relentless crescendo building beneath Adrien’s merciless fingers. He worked them deeper, his thumb brushing just there, and I muffled a gasp against the back of my own hand.

"Look at your hands." His voice dropped lower than before—like smoke wrapped in silk. "They’re shaking."

"They wouldn’t be," I panted under my breath through gritted teeth "if you weren’t doing... this."

"Careful, darling," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "You don’t want to cut yourself."

Across the kitchen, Aria’s voice rose in playful exasperation. "Cameron, if you peel that onion any slower, we’ll be eating at midnight."

"She’s not wrong." His fingers stroked in slow, maddening circles, his other hand pressing mine flat to the counter, pinning me in place. "But you—you’re doing so well. Barely a sound."

Liar. My chest heaved, my entire body strung tight. The knife made a pathetic attempt at dicing another tomato, the uneven chunks mocking my unraveling control.

Then his fingers curled sharply—oh God—and my vision whited out for a second. The knife clattered from my grip.

"Adrien," I whimpered, the plea torn from me.

He stilled, his fingers buried inside me, his thumb a barely-there pressure against my clit. "Pick it up," he murmured, lips trailing the shell of my ear. "Unless you want me to stop?"

I swallowed hard, my hand shaking as I reached for the knife again. But he didn’t let up—instead, he dragged his fingers out just enough to make me ache before pushing back in, slow and deep.

"Focus on your task, Isabella." he breathed.

Tears pricked my eyes. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, the world narrowing to the slick glide of his touch, the way my hips tilted instinctively for more.

The edge was so close.

"Good girl," he murmured, "Keep chopping."

He added a third finger, stretching you just slightly—perfectly—and his voice turned darker, rougher at the edges.

"You’re doing so well," he whispered, his fingers still moving inside of me, the slow, and torturous pace driving me mad. "Just a few more tomatoes, love."

The sound of chopping tomatoes almost drowned out the thumping of my heart against my chest. Every slice was a struggle to keep me focused, my breath ragged and sharp. I could feel the heat radiating from him.

I wanted to scream, to plead for release, but I remained silent, biting my lip. I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, but I dared not look over at Aria and Cameron, praying they didn’t notice the flush on my cheeks.

"Slicing tomatoes has never been more exciting, isn’t it? All the while trying to keep your cool in front of our friends."

Adrien’s fingers curled just right—deep and slow—and a whimper escaped my throat, muffled instantly by my trembling hand clamped over my mouth. My knees buckled, but he held me tighter, his chest a solid wall against my back.

"Easy," His voice was thick, raw with desire. He sounded just as affected. "One more slice."

The knife wobbled in my grip as I forced it down—clink—through the tomato. Juice splattered the board like proof of surrender.

"Isa?" Aria’s voice sliced through the haze.

I jolted, nearly nicking my finger. Adrien didn’t flinch. His hand remained exactly where it was, fingers curled with quiet possession, unmoved by the sudden shift in atmosphere.

I turned my head slightly, heart hammering. "Y-yeah?"

Aria narrowed her eyes, spoon in hand, her gaze flicking between me and Adrien. "You okay? You look... flushed."

Adrien’s thumb pressed deeper, a slow, calculated circle against the most sensitive part of me. My breath hitched. I forced a smile.

"Just... the heat," I managed, voice tight. "Tomatoes are... intense."

Aria raised a brow, "Right." She didn’t sound convinced. "Well, hurry it up. We need those tomatoes for the bruschetta." She turned back to Cameron, muttering something about culinary incompetence.

"Good girl," Adrien purred—and then his fingers were back, sliding home in one smooth thrust. His pace turned merciless.

I broke, my forehead dropping to the counter, my body clenching helplessly around his hand. My muffled moan was lost under the scrape of a pan.

He whispered into my ear.

"You’re being such a good girl, love~"

He praised, his voice smooth as ever.

"Keep being quiet for me. We wouldn’t want our friends to see how... affected you are."

Adrien leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. He knew exactly how to get a rise out of me, and he I know he took great pleasure in doing so.

"You know, I love how your body responds to me," he murmured, his hand slowly withdrawing from my core.

"So sensitive, so reactive." His fingers traced a lazy path up my inner thigh, his touch tantalizingly light.

"But we have an audience, love."

His hand paused on my thigh, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin.

"Our friends are right there, just a few feet away," he whispered, his voice low and teasing, "And yet, you’re trying so hard to maintain composure. It’s quite adorable, really."

He leaned even closer, his lips ghosting over my neck.

"Imagine what they’d think if they knew what I’m doing to you right now."

His hand slid higher, just enough to make my breath hitch. I bit my lip, eyes fluttering shut.

"You’re so close... aren’t you?" One finger dipped low again, teasing the slick heat he’d created. "But we can’t have that—not here."

He pulled away slowly, deliberately leaving me aching and unfulfilled.

"Not yet."

The sudden absence of his touch was like a physical blow, a vacuum that left me trembling and exposed. Every nerve ending screamed, burning with the memory of his fingers, the promise of release dangled and then cruelly snatched away. My eyes snapped open, my vision swimming as I stared at the half-sliced tomato, suddenly the most insurmountable object in the universe.

"You look so beautiful like this, all worked up and needy for me," he whispered. "Can you be a good girl for me and wait?"

The kitchen seemed to spin around me as I struggled to steady my breathing, the air thick with the scent of fresh basil and the unmistakable musk of my own arousal. Adrien’s abrupt withdrawal left me feels like I’d been suspended on the edge of a cliff, the ground beneath my feet crumbling.

"We have all night, love. I can take my time with you. I can tease and please you all night..." He stepped back slightly. "But you have to be patient. Can you do that for me?"

I was still trembling, my knuckles white around the knife, when Adrien’s hand finally left me completely. The absence was worse than his teasing—my body clenched helplessly around nothing, desperate and undone.

His mouth lingered by my ear, his voice roughened now, no longer velvet-smooth but strained, jagged. "You don’t even know what you do to me."

He stepped back half a pace, just enough that his arousal pressed against me for one last moment before he broke contact. I could hear the shudder in his breath, the muttered curse in Italian that slipped past clenched teeth. That razor-thin restraint of his was cracking, bleeding hunger in every syllable.

I dared to look at him from the corner of my eye. His gaze was molten, sharp as a blade, locked on me like I was prey. His lips parted, the muscle in his jaw flexing as though he was one second away from devouring me right there on the counter.

And then Aria laughed again across the kitchen, light and unknowing, and the spell fractured.

Adrien’s hand lifted—slow, deliberate—and he smoothed his thumb over my wrist, where my pulse hammered wildly. "Are you good?"

His thumb lingered over my racing pulse, stroking slow and careful, not taunting—soothing. The contrast undid me more than his fingers ever could.

"You’re trembling," he whispered, softer now, his lips brushing my temple. "I’m sorry, love. I pushed you far."

I shook my head, unable to speak, only clinging to the counter as my body still quivered around the ghost of his touch.

He tilted my chin toward him, forcing me to meet those molten eyes. And the heat there wasn’t cruel, wasn’t gloating—it was undone, tender, and desperate. "You don’t know how hard it is not to take you right here," he confessed, his voice ragged. "But I won’t hurt you. I won’t let them see you like this."

The kiss he pressed to my hair wasn’t hungry—it was reverent. A grounding weight, a vow.

"Breathe with me," he murmured, drawing his palm down my arm until our hands fit together, fingers lacing as though to steady me. His body was still taut with restraint, but for me—he softened, melted.

And though I was left aching, I wasn’t abandoned. Because even in denial, Adrien’s touch told the truth: he would never let me fall.

Adrien’s fingers, no longer predatory, gently guided mine, helping me complete the last few slices of tomato. The rhythmic thwack-thwack of the knife against the board was a balm, a return to normalcy, yet every nerve in my body still tingled with the memory of his touch. He kept his body close, a warm, reassuring presence at my back, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder.

"Almost done, love," he murmured, his voice now entirely calm, devoid of the earlier rough edge. "Perfect for the bruschetta." He even offered a small, disarming smile towards Aria and Cameron, who were shocked.

I managed a weak, almost imperceptible nod, my breath still catching in my throat. I could feel the residual flush on my cheeks, the slight tremor in my hands, but the immediate threat of exposure had receded. He had pulled me back from the brink, not out of mercy, but out of a deeper, more complicated care.

As I finally pushed the last of the diced tomatoes into a bowl, Adrien straightened, releasing me from his secure embrace. The sudden chill of absence was sharp, but quickly replaced by the soft brush of his fingers as he took the knife from my hand, placing it carefully in the sink.

"There we go," he announced, his voice carrying easily across the kitchen. "The tomatoes are ready. What’s next, Chef Aria?" His tone was light, charming, utterly convincing to anyone unaware of the inferno that had just raged between us.