Hells Kitchen Black Jacket Novels & Stories

The Hale Fortress. Main Kitchen. 02:00 AM. The kitchen was a gleaming expanse of stainless steel and black marble, usually reserved for the personal chefs. But at this hour, the chefs were asleep. The Fortress was locked down. The perimeter sensors were active. The threat level was Green. Oryn stood at the center island. He was wearing his standard tactical pants, combat boots, and a black compression shirt that highlighted the roadmap of scars on his arms. Over this ensemble, he wore a frilly, pastel pink apron that said "Kiss the Cook."

There is something mysterious about the colour, black, that made it more appropriate for a night like this, a night that I would be dining with the actual devil. “Your car is waiting outside.” My housekeeper came to inform me. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Bringing the glass to my lips, I downed the remaining contents of the wine glass in one gulp before I set the glass down on the table. I reached for my jacket and threw it over the strapless dress I had on. A black jacket over a black dress, I looked like the perfect villain, especially with the dark red lipstick I had on—the darkest shade of red I could find in my collection.

He doesn't answer, just nods. I sigh and look around the diner. It's Saturday evening and a lot of customers are beginning to step inside. The bell on top of the door rings, signaling their new customer. I stare at this new customer and cuss underneath my breath. All of a sudden, the place seems small in the presence of my boss, Killian Black. He's dressed in a dark green denim jacket, and black pants. I don't get to stare at him for too long because his eyes meet mine at once.

She knew her way to the kitchen on that floor, there were three kitchens in the building but she was certain the aroma came from the one on that floor. When she quietly walked in, she saw Mr. Blackwood, who surprised her. Unlike most times she had seen him, he was wearing a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his large muscles. He wore a black apron that stuck to his masculine body and didn't hide his forearm as he skillfully flipped something in a pan.

His cock throbbed, dripping pre-cum onto the floor. When she finished, Hellen dabbed her lips with the napkin. “Now wash the dishes. Cuffed.” She stood, went to the kitchen drawer and took out the black leather cuffs—the same ones from the first time. She fastened one wrist to the faucet, the other to the pipe just below. His hands were locked at waist height, body bent forward, ass raised, hard cock pointing toward the floor. Hellen turned on the warm water. Spread dish soap on the sponge and handed it to him.

I down the rest of my brandy, and turn to the vision and reason of everyone here, and she is more fucking beautiful than when she left me. Her body is encased with black leather pants, a thick belt that has three hunting knives in the grooves, and legs that go on for fucking ever are covered with a thick pair of riding boots that are an easy four grand. I take in her leather jacket, it's a dark gray and the hood is material. My frown comes when I get to her neck as she unzips her jacket, and it gets more prominent when she looks at the guy carrying who I guess is an unconscious Harley on his shoulder.

She layered it with a black blazer featuring a structured, sharp structure at the shoulders, giving the impression of a powerful and intimidating silhouette. Her long black hair, which was usually tied in a ponytail, she now let fall straight, cascading past her shoulder blades, providing the only touch of natural femininity to her appearance. Before stepping out of the dressing room, Helga fumbled the inside of her blazer, ensuring the backup Glock pistol brought from the underground path last night was tucked safely behind her leather trousers' belt. That weapon was her best shield, far more reliable than any promise of security in this mansion.

Shruti replied back and laughed at them cynically. Suddenly all men who was watching her nonsense stood straight with a serious expression on their face. Shruti turned towards the place from where she heard some boots sound. She saw a huge manly figure walking from darkness to that yellow light of godown. Behind him a line of men who looked exactly like some goons. Only difference is they were in black suit , well dressed and well disciplined. Shruti's eyes were fixated on that one figure at middle and as his face became clear her mouth opened widely.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t annoyed by how the hostess was gawking. They were sort of matching, which I think was intentional. They were each wearing black dress slacks and shirts. Isak’s shirt was properly buttoned, and the blue in his eyes stood out more with his dark blue suit jacket. Albert’s shirt had the top two buttons open with a rich green suit jacket. And Aidan proved he is the incubus of the trio with four buttons open and a rich burgundy jacket. “Ah, yes. I have your reservation right here. It was noted that one of you has a special dietary need that our chef will follow.” She smiled.

She would not be swayed by his beautiful eyes and well-defined jaw, that dark stubble that covered his chin, cheeks, and the top of his lips…his bronze skin, and long black hair that reached the top of his shoulders. No…she was definitely not affected and definitely will not be affected by the mesmerizing sight of him! “Like what you see?” He smirked, his deep voice bringing her out of her lust-filled thoughts and back to the present. Right. There was a gun pointed at her face. Halle’s eyes roamed across his body again, she avoided his eyes and bent her head just so he wouldn’t see her flushed cheeks. He wore a black leather jacket with a grey shirt underneath, black jeans, and black sneaker