WrappedAroundYourFinger

Wrapped Around Your Finger

Fallon Blake

Plus-sized fetish model and aspiring chef Indigo Hartley has
plenty of tattoos and a fiery attitude to match. When she’s offered a job as a
sushi model for one of Miami’s trendiest restaurants, she jumps at the chance.
Little does this country-mouse-turned-city-vixen know that what starts out as a
modeling job will end up the answer to all of her kinkiest fantasies. Three
days serving as a sub to this hot chef is too tempting an offer to refuse.

Banner Faust has worked his ass off and sacrificed his love
life to become a rock star in the culinary world. On what should be the biggest
night of his career, he realizes something is missing from his life—the
submissive woman he’s always craved. The curvy new model with the blue-streaked
hair and innate submissive nature just might be the one he’s been waiting for.
And when he gets her home—and in his bed—he soon realizes three days will never
be enough.

Chapter One

Anxiety nagged the edges of Indie’s already frayed nerves as
she waited in the dressing area with the other models. The haughty, judgmental
glares from the younger, skinnier Barbie types had her desperately itching to
offer a sarcastic smile and a middle finger. So what if she wasn’t even close
to a size two? She did okay working as a model for the alternative fetish
agency Exquisite Flesh. It wouldn’t make her rich, but it paid the bills and
her tuition at culinary school.

Usually she did pinup shoots and ads for alternative
clothing. Very rarely did she take assignments that required nudity. She wasn’t
actually naked for this, but damn close to it. Who was she to pass up the
opportunity to be a sushi model at a trendy restaurant like Crave?

“Indigo Hartley!”

Indie walked through the curtain and into the dining room
with pride. Well, about as much pride as one can muster while wearing a
flesh-colored thong and paper booties.

The manager, Elaine, stood waiting in her drab suit and
looked rather alarmed. “Oh no, this is the new model? Lance, I thought I told
you that she had to fit the type!” She whirled to face the man who prepared the
display table before them.

“Exquisite Flesh was the only agency that had a girl
available on such short notice. I’m an assistant, I don’t do miracles,” Lance
said with a smirk.

“Chef is not going to be happy. At all. She’s covered in
tattoos and,” she fingered a lock of Indie’s hair, “are those blue streaks in
her hair?”

Torn between mortification and annoyance, all Indie could do
was stand there. The last thing she wanted to do was piss off Chef Faust. He
was the culinary world’s version of a rock star. He was known for being
demanding, flashy and prone to excess, but his talent with food was undeniable.
The chance to catch a glimpse of him in action was the main thing that
motivated her to accept the job.

Her agent hadn’t mentioned they’d wanted to book a specific
type.
Just fucking great.

“I’m sorry that I’m not what you were expecting. I’ll just
gather my things and be on my way,” Indie offered with a polite nod, but was
met with the manager’s sigh of irritation.

“No, no, no. It’s too late to find a proper replacement.
You’ve already been prepped. We’ll just have to make it work.”

Prepped meant she’d been shaved baby smooth and washed
thoroughly with an organic unscented soap. It had been an odd experience,
having unknown people scrub and shave her so completely. Actually she’d found
the whole thing rather arousing. Maybe she should be embarrassed about that,
but right now she was too nervous to put much thought into it.

The manager turned back to Lance. “Take her to pastry and
have them airbrush over her tattoos. When they are finished let Chef know he
will not be able to put the food directly on her skin. Then get her into place
on the table in the corner, the one that’s out of the way.”

“You got it,” Lance responded as he held out a robe for
Indie.

She thankfully wrapped herself in the silk and followed him
into the kitchen. She stopped and stared for a second. She couldn’t help it. It
was as if she’d just died and gone to culinary heaven. There was so much space.
The polished stainless steel and top-of-the-line equipment almost had her
drooling. Everything you ever needed to be a kick-ass chef was in this kitchen.
She could just imagine the high-end, exotic ingredients it would be stocked
with. This wasn’t a place for cooking. No, nothing as ordinary and mundane as
that. This was a place to create art.

“Indigo?” Lance’s voice snapped her out of her trance.

“Sorry, it’s just…this kitchen,” she murmured.

“Come on, sweetheart. Shame really, but we have to cover
those gorgeous tattoos of yours,” he said with a sympathetic smile. “If it were
up to me I would—”

“What is she doing in here?” Chef Faust made a beeline for
them, toweling off his hands as he approached.

It’s him.
Indie’s heart did a little dance. Okay, so
she could admit she was a little star struck.

Meticulously he scrutinized her as he stood waiting for an
answer. He had the kind of intense features that made him appear almost
angry—perfectly straight nose, hard, square jaw, brooding and stormy blue eyes.
The man was chest-achingly beautiful. She knew from the articles she’d read
about him that he was thirty-four, just six years older than her. To have
achieved all of this so quickly, he had to have hunger and drive, two qualities
no top chef could succeed without. She bet arrogance and superiority belonged
on that list too.

“Chef, this is the replacement model. I was just taking her
to pastry to have them airbrush over her tattoos,” Lance replied with an
audible level of anxiety and eyes so huge it seemed as though he was braced for
nuclear fallout.

“May I see?” Chef Faust addressed Indie.

Showing her personal bits to the executive chef of one of
the most acclaimed restaurants in the area was not high on her list of fun
things to do.
This is what you signed up for so suck it up.
She was not
ashamed of her body and Chef Faust could go
sous-vide
himself if he
didn’t like what he saw.

She nodded and let the robe slip off her shoulders to pool
at her elbows. The way he drank her in made it seem as if everyone else in the
room had vanished. Her already hardened nipples stood out like beacons. She
felt the blush creep into her cheeks as she imagined him pinching, tugging,
sucking on them. Where had that come from? Her unexpected arousal unbalanced
her. She hadn’t reacted this way to a man in a very long time. Disconcerted by
the need and lust he’d so effortlessly invoked in her, she averted her gaze
before tentatively settling it on his once more. He ran a hand through his
shaggy, walnut-brown hair as he studied her. “No. No airbrushing. She’s
absolutely perfect,” he exclaimed, circling her.

Lance let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a
laugh.

Had Chef Faust just said she was perfect? Indie with the
extra padding around the hips, a bit of roundness to her belly and lily-white
skin? She followed him with her gaze, watching as he continued to peruse her
body. It should have felt cold and dispassionate. He was contemplating whether
or not he wanted to use her as a display for raw fish after all. But the way he
moved made her feel as if he were a predator and she his prey. It was somehow
sensual, and she was incredibly embarrassed that she was turned on by it.
Attempting to regain her composure, she straightened her spine and lifted her
chin, praying he hadn’t noticed the way he affected her.

“Place her on the center table next to my station. She’ll be
the perfect centerpiece for tonight,” he spoke to Lance as he pulled her robe
up around her shoulders. “Lance will help you onto the table. Rest your head on
the pillow and lie completely still, arms at your sides. You should be
reasonably comfortable. I assume your agent went over what this entails, am I
correct?”

“Yes sir.” Maybe it was her culinary training or the fact
that his presence commanded it, but the formal address rolled so easily from
her tongue.

She couldn’t believe she would be the centerpiece tonight.
Nervous excitement bubbled in her stomach. Her agent had gone over what would
be expected of her. She would essentially be a human sushi platter. This
assignment was on the tame side compared to some of the jobs the models at
Exquisite Flesh were booked for. Unfortunately that didn’t make her any less
nervous about it. Posing for a photographer was altogether different than
displaying your nearly nude body for a room full of diners, but that was only
the half of it. How was she supposed to work so closely with Banner Faust when
she couldn’t stop fantasizing about the body hiding underneath that starched,
white chef’s coat?

“Good. But just in case, allow me to go over a few points
with you. Tonight is the last night of Craving for Death, the event featuring
deadly delicacies. I’ll actually be preparing
fugu
for your display. I
can assure you that I am a licensed
fugu
chef and you’ll be in good
hands. The blowfish will not be placed directly on your skin being that this
sashimi isn’t benefited by the warmth of the body. You are to lie still and
remain silent unless you are spoken to. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.” Craving for Death had been all the culinary
community could talk about for weeks. Chef Faust had received special
permission from the FDA and the U.S. Department of Agriculture to have live
Tiger Blowfish flown in from Japan. A bit over the top, and beyond expensive,
but a huge ordeal considering less than twenty restaurants in the country had
been approved to serve the toxic fish. And they were only allowed to import blowfish
that had already been cleaned and had the toxin removed. Only a chef with a lot
of clout and a lot of ambition could pull off something like this.

“Excellent,” he affirmed. “The main dining room will open in
fifteen minutes. Go ahead and follow Lance out to your table. Thank you,
Miss…?”

“Indigo Hartley, but everyone calls me Indie.”

“Indigo,” he said thoughtfully. “It suits you and those
stunning violet eyes of yours. I’m Banner Faust, executive chef and owner of
Crave.”

Oh God, had she just blushed again? “Thank you,” she managed
softly as she watched him walk away.

* * * * *

Indie nervously fidgeted with the lapels of her robe as she
stood by her table. Chef Faust had not been kidding. She would be the
centerpiece. The table meant for her was placed at the head of the dining room
next to a small station used for preparing fresh sushi. She’d be lying on a
thin silk pad that ran the length of the pale wood. There was a small
cylinder-shaped pillow at one end for her head. The other three models had been
placed on the outskirts of the room amid the black high-top tables and chairs.
She watched as they were decorated with greenery and orchids; seashells
strategically placed over their nipples.

The dining room itself was a juxtaposition of simplicity and
opulence. Dozens of clear glass spheres that contained soft lights seemed to
float from the ceiling. The back wall was a garden of live bamboo. The slate
stone floor actually contained a narrow, shallow stream that ran the length of
the outside glass wall that overlooked the terrace bar. And being sixteen
floors up, the twinkling lights of downtown Miami created the perfect backdrop.
The entire effect was breathtaking. She couldn’t imagine the kind of funds it
had taken to make this a reality.

Lance came out of the kitchen at warp speed, carrying a
stepstool. “We’re about to open. You ready gorgeous?” He was very attractive in
a manicured, high-maintenance sort of way. She happened to like her men a
little rough around the edges with a take-charge personality. Tragically most
men seemed to think asshole was included somewhere in that description.

“Let’s do this,” she replied. She steeled herself as she
shed her robe and got into place on the table. Surprised by how comfortable it
was, she settled herself in and took a deep breath as she heard the patrons
start to wander in from the terrace bar. God, what she wouldn’t give for a shot
of something right now to dull her prickly nerves.

“Just imagine yourself some place relaxing, but whatever you
do, don’t fall asleep. We had a girl do that last season and can you believe
the bitch was actually snoring?” Lance snorted, making Indie laugh.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll have that problem.” As if she
could sleep while people plucked bits of sashimi off her body with chopsticks.

“Hey, at least you’ll have Chef Faust’s damn fine self for
eye candy. Sadly, he’s straight.” Lance sighed dramatically. “But don’t get
your hopes up. He doesn’t date the models either.”

“Oh I’m not—”

“Save it, sweetie. I saw the way you looked at him. You’d
have eaten that man up with a fork and knife if someone had served him to you
on a platter,” Lance said with a smirk. “I’ll be back to help you down when
your shift is over.”

She watched him walk away and suddenly felt very alone even
though the room was full of people. The sound of a cart being wheeled toward
her had her wanting to sit up to see who it was, but she stayed still. Chef
Faust came into her field of vision, a small porcelain cup in his hand.

“I don’t usually allow the models to drink alcohol while
they’re posing, but since this is your first time, I thought I’d make an
exception. It’s
sake
,” he offered.

She tried to sit up, but he shook his head.

“Here, let me,” he murmured as he placed his other hand
behind her head. His touch was gentle, almost caring, or was she reading into
it? He brought the cup to her mouth and she leaned forward to drink. The dry,
earthy flavors of the chilled
sake
washed over her tongue, letting her
know that it was aged and expensive, definitely not the cheap stuff. She
welcomed the bite and instant warmth that flared in her stomach from the
alcohol. He was so close. When she looked up into those gorgeous blue eyes, she
wondered what he’d taste like. God, she needed to get her mind off how insanely
sexy he was and on the job she’d been hired to do.

“Thank you.”
For not noticing that I’m drooling over you.

“I should be thanking you for taking the job on short
notice. You’re the perfect accompaniment to this evening’s delicacy.”

Her face filled with heat. What on earth was it about this
man that made her blush? She never blushed. She was a fetish model, damn it. It
annoyed her even more to know that every blush would show vividly on her fair
skin. Since she was nearly naked, there would be no hiding it.

Banner couldn’t help but smile at the adorable flush that
spread across her skin or the fact she seemed pretty irritated by it. She was
beautiful, every inch of her delectable porcelain skin. And so unlike the
brown-eyed, brown-haired models he hired during these seasonal events. He’d
chosen the specific type to provide a blank canvas to decorate with sushi and
sashimi. They were nothing more than pretty plates. Sounded horribly
objectifying, but it was the truth.