Cerise Deland
His Delectable Cook

His Delectable Cook

Totally Bound • July 26, 2013
ISBN-13: 9781781846261 • ISBN-10: 178184626X
PRINT: • Totally Bound • • Amazon
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At Your Service

part of the anthology AT YOUR SERVICE, now available at Totally Bound

When Bess Deveraux secures a position as cook in the household of the delectable devil who taught her the joy of loving years ago, she shows him that she has more to offer him now that she is older, wiser and oh so eager to please all the men in his employ.

Bess Deveraux learnt the joy of loving years ago at the hands of a masterful man. But her family forbade her his notorious company. Now, at the opportunity to not only find that man again but also work for him, Bess secures a position in his household.

Lord Taryn Wentworth has no idea where this delightful woman has been or how she managed to stand before him as his cook, but he is determined to enjoy her, her delectable offerings—and to offer them to his male staff as well.

Taryn knows his lovely cook will agree to revel in every delight he has in store for her. After all, pretty Bess is an expert not merely in the fine art of satisfying human appetites, but in the refined art of pleasing many men at once, offering up her succulent body—in the dining room, on the kitchen table, on the floor and anywhere else her fancy or her master’s leads her.

Reader Advisory #1: This book contains anal sex and the use of sex toys.

Reader Advisory #2: This story has been previously released as part of the AT YOUR SERVICE anthology by Totally Bound.

Read an Excerpt

Bess Deveraux stood before her new employer, prim as a blushing bride, which she most definitely was not, and proud as the virago she wished to become. And all because the man she faced was precisely the type of master she had yearned for since she’d first discovered the joys her body could give her six long years ago. He embodied all the essential qualities she desired in a lord and master—he was handsome, self-possessed, filthy rich and scandal-ridden. At the moment, he was also astonished at her appearance before him. The tick in his left cheek told that tale.

“Mrs O’Brien assures me you are qualified for my household.” Lord Taryn Wentworth sat, loose-boned and maddeningly louche, in a large leather chair, examining her from across his sun-dappled library. The rogue controlled himself so well—too well. Far beyond Bess’ expectations. After all, she knew he had always hated surprises, especially ones she’d concocted.

Bess flushed with pride. Convincing the acerbic housekeeper to choose Bess for the cook’s position had been quite the gauntlet, but she had succeeded. The servant had riddled her with questions for hours about her previous experience and employers.

“She informs me you are experienced with supper parties and balls.” Crossing one long, well-muscled leg over the other, Wentworth pursed his full lips together as his searing sapphire eyes assessed her chin, her throat and her bosom in the cook’s shapeless white attire.

At his gravelly bass voice, Bess refrained from shifting on her feet as her nipples peaked high and hard against the rough cotton of her new uniform. She’d been right not to have donned a corset this morning. Nor worn any pantalets. After all, she had taken this position to be free of all social restraints.

“Bess! Do answer his lordship,” Mrs O’Brien chastised her to respond to the man who had recently inherited this Mayfair house, an older pile in Dorset, an earldom and twenty thousand a year income.

Bess locked eyes with him, the rogue. “I was not aware it was a question.”

“Careful, girl,” O’Brien growled.

Bess caught his lordship fighting a smile. “Yes, of course. Pardon me, Went—” No, not so familiar, Bess! “Sorry, my lord. I am very accomplished at preparing party menus. Game, beef, puddings.”

“Red snapper?”

Bess suppressed a chuckle at his lewd reference. How like the scoundrel to try to make her laugh. “I have it on good authority that my fish is superbly prepared. Always in a savoury sauce.”

He rubbed his lower lip with the tip of one index finger. “How are your sweet things?”

When properly prepared? “They melt in your mouth.”

“Tempting,” he conceded, with a tour of her body from generous breasts to tiny waist and the length of her legs. She had heard his eyes could scald and titillate. Her cunny swelled with the proof. “And what of your cakes? Do you work with chocolate?”

“I can bake one for you, my lord.”


Irritable and commanding this morning, are we, my lord Wentworth? Hmm. “Of course. Marzipan. Vanilla glaze. Whatever you—”

“What do you do with strawberries? Peaches?”

The devil. Her nipples pebbled like strawberries. Eager to have those luscious lips of his sucking them. And her peaches? She squeezed her pussy walls together. Yes. Her peaches were plump and ready to be bitten into. “Such delicacies, I offer ripe and sugared with—”