Desserts and hot chefs go together!
When I wrote a hot dessert chef, I had to pair him with a woman who liked desserts. After all, a vegetarian and a butcher just don’t go together :) So I came up with a woman called Violet Cunningham. She not only likes desserts, she has a favorite one: raspberry cream puffs.
Now, cream puffs aren’t that hard to make, as I later discovered after the writing group took me under their wing and into the kitchen. Since I’m not really an ardent baker – I make really good brownies, but don’t do the fancy stuff – I thought there must be some trick to them. There’s not. Especially if you’ve got a good hand mixer!
Here’s the tried-and-true ancient Betty Crocker recipe we made:
1 C water
1/2 C butter
1 C flour
Filling – whipped cream, etc.
Heat oven to 400. Heat water and butter to a boil. Stir in flour. Stir vigorously over low heat about 1 minute or until mixture forms a ball. * Note: I took the pan off the heat and used a mixer to do this. Much easier! * Remove from heat. Beat in eggs all at once, continue beating until smooth. *Note: again, I found the hand mixer indispensable! * Drop dough by scan 1/4 cup fulls 3″ apart on ungreased backing sheet. Bake 35 to 40 minutes or until puffed and golden. Cool away from draft.
Pull out any filaments of soft dough. Carefully fill with whipped cream. Replace tops; dust with confectioners’ sugar. Refrigerate.
Be careful – they don’t last long!
There’s another recipe in the back of my book, Sweet Cravings, out now from Decadent Publishing and below is an excerpt that should get your whipped cream whipping.
I ducked into the kitchen before the bored-looking maître d’ could accost me and found myself heating up at the sight of a stainless steel table. Sous-chefs in white hats and dishwashers with racks of clean plates bustled back and forth down the aisle in front of me, but I didn’t spot the pastry chef in their midst. I almost gave up and left before noticing the light was on in the “secret kitchen.” I gulped.
My knees went weak, and I stood frozen to the spot. Inside me, determination, embarrassment, and heady desire warred. I wanted so bad to turn and walk out, find another caterer, and be done with it. But I couldn’t. There’d be questions. Chuck would want to know why he wasn’t getting the best French-trained chef in town, and I’d be up shit creek without a paddle. What could I say? Sorry, I didn’t mean to have hot, sweaty sex with the guy—if I’d known you’d need him the next week, I would have waited?
Remembering the hot sex had my traitorous feet moving forward, toward the door instead of away. Wrong direction, I told them. Shut up and go with it, my pussy ordered. I bit my lip, swallowed my pride, and knocked.
The door opened and the man himself appeared wearing a chef’s coat splattered with pretty light pink frosting and powdered sugar. One whiff of him convinced me he’d taste positively delicious. My stomach let out a loud rumble, and I put my hand over it to try and squelch the embarrassing sound.
His mouth fell open when he caught sight of me. In fact, he seemed kind of stunned for a second. My fight-or-flight response kicked in. I swiveled on my heel, but he grabbed my elbow and tugged me inside his secret domain once more. “Mademoiselle,” he murmured low and rich as fudge pudding. “How nice to see you again. Please, come in.”
I glanced at his face from under my lashes and found him smiling at me, looking as though he might actually be glad to see me again. Part of me stiffened, vibrating with nervous energy. The rest of me tingled in saucy anticipation. The promise of man and dessert made one once more for my licking pleasure had me close to giggling with happiness as the door snicked shut. As he twirled me in his arms and drew me close, the all-important notes clutched in my hand could have jumped a shuttle for Mars for all I cared.
His mouth surged over mine, his lips warm, wet, and insistent, as though he needed to make up for lost time. I heartily seconded the sentiment, and the kiss turned from buttery hot and soft to spicy and decadent with a touch of dare.
I opened my mouth to let his tongue in, and we both moaned at the intrusion, his hips bucking against mine as he pressed my butt into the table. I clutched his shoulders, pulling him closer as my initial embarrassment waned. He tasted of sweet pastry, and I savored the flavor as I relaxed in his arms. God, the hungers the man awoke in me with just one kiss!
I’d dressed “professionally” for the occasion—stockings, skirt, silk work blouse, light blazer, and heels—so it wasn’t a surprise to feel the heat of his hand brush along the smooth stocking covering my thigh. But I let out a yelp as his strong fingers ripped through the material and pushed the stocking aside, delving under the crotch of my panties, headed directly toward my wetness.
“Spread for me,” he growled.
My sex clenched but my tremulous legs parted, obeying his command to give him easy access. Long, thick fingers slid through my dampness until they were coated with my slick cream before plunging inside my wet core. I moaned into his kiss at the glorious pressure and he chuckled. His other arm held me close as his mouth continued to plunder mine, setting up a tantalizing rhythm with his tongue and his fingers that my body could not ignore. My head rolled back and my hips rocked into his thrusts. I emitted soft, mewling cries every time his cock ground against my clit. It felt so good I thought I’d died and gone to pink frosting heaven. “Oh, God. Please. Just a little more….”
He quickly upped his game, nibbling down the column of my neck and then moving his fingers up to my clit, circling it with my own slippery juices until I was on the brink of breaking apart and screaming my head off. Then he abruptly pulled his hand away. “Dinner.”
“W-what?” Every brain cell in my mind struggled to comprehend the concept of language. It seemed so foreign, so far away, so unnecessary. My hot button throbbed with frustration. I’d been so close….
“Dinner. Have dinner with me. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
I panted, trying to form words. No matter how I rocked my hips, he remained just out of reach from where I needed him most. My fingers dug into his back, silently demanding satisfaction. But he gave me none.
“Say yes,” he commanded. “Or this ends here. Now.”
His demand seemed simple enough and since agreeing would get me everything I so badly wanted I said, “Yes.”
See what else Violet and her sexy chef Max do in his secret kitchen, and if you have time, whip up a batch of cream puffs to eat while you read!
~ Eva Lefoy
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Eva-Lefoy/e/B00CE0EY0G