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<div style="text-align: right">aven miller<br/>
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"Oh, I know I'm not wrong. I'm simply saying that <i>you</i> are," Aven winked, all kinds of smug and warm. She pivoted her head to face him, noting the lightness in his gaze, the syrupy warmth that matched the expression on her face. He was so beautiful - made of sharp planes and an intense gaze. No one would look at Rafael and think the word soft and yet the way he looked at her now had her heart racing, the blood underneath her skin veering, and that tension in her shoulder uncoiling. It reminded her of just how addicting it was to be in his presence - to be with him like this.<br/>
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She'd never say anything like what she'd said to him now, of course. There was a delicate thread of conduct in the cooking industry - one that heavily relied on the roles that everyone had in the kitchen. There was the line cook, the pastry chef, the sous chef, the line cook, and the prep cook. Everyone had a clear job, a clear duty, and during hours, Aven obliged to the role perfectly. She didn't bake creme brulee the way she was doing now, and she definitely did not critique the head chef <i>or</i> the owner even if she had a suggestion of her own.<br/>
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She plucked the spoon from Rafael's hand, pivoting her head in his direction. God, he was beautiful. He had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen and his hair was so soft, and <i>shit</i>, this was going to end in flames. Whatever it is that they were doing wasn't going to come out with some happy ending where no one got hurt and everyone lived happily ever after. Being with him like this was comfortable, easy. Rafael made her feel like she was on some kind of drug with how elated she morphed into in his presence and yet with every drug came the downfall - the low that made a person want to crawl out of their very skin. Rafael was her double-edged blade and Aven was a damn masochist for enjoying him the way she was doing now, especially when she had a perfectly good man who she'd wake up to every morning. Especially when she <i>knew</i> that this aggravatingly inebriating blue-eyed man was going to hurt her all over again.<br/>
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Aven leaned forward and pressed her lips against the crevices of his, a soft sigh respiring from her throat. She tipped her fingers over the scratchy bits of his stubble, honey gaze drifting into a dazed, lazy one. Her lips synced against his smoothly, expertly, because she knew every inch of his body as well as she knew her own. Aven's fingers swept over the to back of his head and her fingers coiled over the thick tresses there. "Testing out the best ever creme brulee isn't a prize? Rafael, I'm hurt," Aven grinned, dropping the expression immediately and fabricating a pout. She pushed both the ramekins closer to them, gesturing for Rafael to crack the top of both.<br/>
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Once he did, Aven scooped up a bit on her spoon from the one that was 'hers' and placed it by Rafael's lips. "Did you have a certain prize in mind?" Aven murmured, dropping her focus to his sensual lips, paying attention to the way his mouth closed around the spoon, tasted the creamy custard with shards of caramelized sugar, and swallowed. The manner was so familiar to how he'd eaten her out just moments ago that Aven's cheeks flushed a bright red and veered her focus back up to his eyes.</div>