Pam walked into the unfamiliar kitchen, almost shielding her eyes from the glint that was reflecting off the stainless steel countertops. She looked around the brightly lit room wondering where everyone else was. 

And then she saw him. 

A male model, wearing a tight white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, walking towards her in slow motion. He ran his hand through his hair and threw the kitchen towel he was holding over his shoulder. Pam couldn't help but stare at him, her mouth agape. 

"Hey," he smouldered at her. "You must be Pam."

"Um, yeah," she replied, well aware her face was most probably a deep shade of crimson. 

"I'm Jim, but you can call me Chef," he said, his hip resting against the shiny countertop.

"Oh, ok," she almost whispered, doing her best not to stare at the outline of his muscled chest through the tight t-shirt.

"Yes, Chef," Jim replied somewhat sternly, causing Pam to snap her eyes up to his face. "When I ask you a question, you reply with ‘Yes, Chef'. Is that clear?" 

"Yes, Chef," she replied, her voice a little louder. 

"Are you ready," he began, staring Pam down slightly as he moved towards her. She swallowed hard as he bent down lower and leaned closer. His face was so close to hers that she was sure he was about to kiss her. But instead, he reached behind her to lean on the counter, so that his cheek was almost touching hers. "For your lesson?" he continued, his lips so close to her ear. 

"Yes, Chef," she managed to croak out. 

Jim finally pulled back and stood in front of Pam holding out a blue apron with thin white lines on it. "Put this on," he said, handing the apron to Pam. As she took it from him, their fingers brushed, paralysing her. "Need some help?" he asked after a few seconds of Pam not moving.  

She tried to move, tried to speak, but nothing happened. Instead, Jim wordlessly took the apron back from her and gently shook it open. He looped the strap over Pam's head as she looked up at him. He carried on intensely staring at her as he reached behind her to loop the ties around her waist. After securing the apron snuggly low on her front with a knot, he slipped both hands under her hair at the nape of her neck and fluffed it out from beneath the strap. "Thanks," she finally whispered as she touched her neck. She felt like it was on fire from where Jim's fingers had brushed against her skin.

Jim bit his lip as he leaned against the metal counter, his eyes never leaving Pam. "We're gonna make a squid ink and seafood pasta. How's that sound?"

"Sounds amazing, Chef," Pam said, nodding at Jim. 

"It's a dish designed to keep you coming," he paused for a moment, "back for more." He quirked his eyebrow at Pam, whose eyes were bulging at what Jim had said. He chuckled slightly to himself. "Let's start with the pasta shall we?" 

Pam just nodded silently. She watched him pull various ingredients together and place them in front of her. She couldn't take her gaze off his body, the way he moved so fluidly and confidently around the kitchen. He tipped out a mound of flour onto the brushed metal surface and pushed two fingers into it, swirling it around and then rubbed them back and forth as he looked at her, which almost made her choke. He picked up an egg, gently holding the delicate shell in his strong hands and brought it to his lips. He gave it a soft kiss and then deftly cracked it in two, letting the egg white run down his wrist. He scooped the yolk out and held it between his thumb and forefinger, pressing slightly so that it bulged. Finally he squeezed it hard enough so that it burst into the well of the flour on the counter, causing Pam to let out a small squeak from the back of her throat.  

Jim gave her a quick grin before he pushed his fingers back into the flour and started mixing it with the egg, quickly flicking his middle finger back and forth. Pam sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for his next move as she stared at his fingers. Somehow, his t-shirt was gone and Jim stood there, his muscular chest flexing and tensing as his fingers continued working the flour. He then pulled out a packet of squid ink from nowhere and let it squirt all over the mound of pasta dough as he opened it, making Pam grip the edge of the cool countertop. He kneaded the dough hard as he stared at her, and with each stroke, his broad shoulders tensed and his large biceps bulged under the pressure.

"Feels nice and firm," he finally said once the dough was formed into a smooth ball. "Wanna touch?" he asked Pam. She wordlessly nodded and he guided her hand on top of the dough. He placed his hand over hers and with him standing behind her, they both massaged the pasta dough. "Feels good huh?" he whispered to her.

"Yes, Chef," Pam croaked, losing her footing slightly so that she stumbled backwards into him, pushing herself against him.

"You ok?" he asked, placing his hand on her hip to steady her. 

She looked over her shoulder, staring up at him and managed to whisper "Yes, Chef". He stared back at her and she realised he was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her skin. He gave her hip a small squeeze and then moved to the side to start preparing the rest of the recipe. Pam immediately missed his touch, the warm presence behind her. 

Jim glided around the kitchen as Pam stared on, steadying herself against the counter. She watched him finely chop shallots, a piece of garlic, and some herbs, deftly working the sharp knife. After scraping the ingredients into a large pot, he added white wine and tipped in a pile of mussels from a colander. He let them steam as he poured two glasses of white wine from a chilled bottle before adding the rest to the pot. Jim handed one of the glasses to Pam and raised the other slightly in the air in a toast. They clinked their glasses together, staring into each other's eyes as they both took a small sip. As Pam pulled her glass away, a dribble of wine ran down her chin. "You're wet," Jim said as he swiped his thumb over her skin. He brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked it slightly, moaning as he did so. "You taste so good." 

Pam blushed furiously as Jim knocked back more of his wine and vigorously shook the pan of mussels with the other hand. He reached for the ball of pasta dough that had been resting on the counter. "Ready to make the pasta?" he asked. Pam nodded and Jim took her hand, pulling her to stand in front of him. He stood snuggly behind her and slipped his arms around Pam, placing her hands on top of the dough before putting his on top of hers. Jim helped her to work it into a flat disc, pushing his bare chest more firmly against her back with each knead of their hands. "See how good it feels?" he whispered to her, thrusting his hips ever so slightly into her ass. "You did that, it was all you." He stepped away from her, leaving Pam reeling at the loss of contact, and began to push the dough through the pasta machine. He winked at Pam as he worked the small handle, his bicep flexing with each turn. 

In no time at all, Jim was laying out small bundles of the black pasta. Once he finished, he wiped his floury hands on the back of his grey sweatpants and turned his attention to the simmering pan. He lifted the metal lid and the steam wafted towards his face. "Mmm," he moaned with his eyes closed. "It's gonna taste good, I can tell," he grinned at Pam. He scooped the mussels out onto a plate, letting them cool for a second and then picked one up. He held the open shell in one hand and with his other, flicked the mussel back and forth quickly with his middle finger. Pam flushed a deep shade of pink as she stared at his finger, only to realise that he was lowering his head and replaced his finger with his tongue. He gazed up at Pam with a glint in his eye as he worked the mussel with his mouth. 

"Jesus," Pam whispered, her knuckles almost white from gripping the counter top to try and stay upright. 

Jim saw her almost slip and dropped the mussel to rush over and help her. He picked Pam up as if she weighed nothing and sat her on the counter, leaving his hands lightly resting on her thighs. Thighs, that Pam realised upon looking down were bare. In fact, the only piece of clothing she seemed to be wearing, other than her underwear, was the blue striped apron. Before she had any time to ponder the thought, Jim's hands were cupping her cheeks as he pulled her forward. She leaned towards him and their lips met, his hands slipping into her hair. Pam gripped his broad shoulders for dear life as their mouths opened against each other and felt overcome by a want deep inside of her. She opened her legs and Jim's hands ran down her bare back to pull her to the edge of the counter by her ass so that she was flush against his solid body. She snaked her arms around his neck as Jim's lips left hers and he started to kiss his way along her jaw. She moaned as his lips and tongue moved down her neck, teasing her skin which was now on fire from his touch. 

As Jim trailed his lips lower, he pulled the knot on the apron loop so that the ties fell away from Pam's neck and the fabric draped down, exposing her breasts. He carried on kissing, licking, and sucking his way down towards her nipples. He teased her hard bud with his tongue and looked up at her, flicking it quickly. Pam stared down at him, battling to keep her eyes open to watch him. But as he closed his mouth around one nipple and sucked harder, she eventually gave in, letting her head fall backwards.

She felt him fumbling behind her and in an instant, the apron was gone and apparently so was her underwear. As Jim switched to Pam's other nipple, he ghosted her skin with his fingertips, over the soft skin of her stomach, until he reached between her legs. He ran his fingers along her thigh and back up again, just teasing as he carried on playing with her nipples. She leaned backwards with one hand on the metal counter behind her as she clutched the back of his head with the other, holding him exactly where she wanted him. 

Her hips became impatient and started rocking, looking for some sort of friction. Jim grinned against her nipple and as he bit down slightly on it making Pam gasp, he ran his finger up her soaking wet slit. He looked up at her as he pushed two fingers inside of her, and started to stroke her the same way that he'd been pushing the flour mix around before. Pam couldn't help but moan as he pumped his fingers faster and carried on flicking her nipple with his tongue. Jim looked up at her, her face contorted with pleasure, and slowly licked and kissed his way up to her ear. He took her lobe in his mouth and pulled on it slightly with his teeth. "I like to cook," he breathed into her ear, "but I really love to eat out."  

Jim dropped to his knees and pulled Pam even closer to the edge of the countertop, draping her legs over his shoulders. He smiled up at her as he kissed his way up her thigh, intensely staring up at her the whole time. He finally reached her centre, but just left her with a chaste kiss as he began to kiss up her other thigh from her knee. Just as she couldn't take it anymore, Jim finally let his tongue dart out to taste her. He licked her from where her ass met the countertop to her clit and started to flick it quickly, mimicking what he had been doing to the mussel earlier, looking up at her the whole time. He slipped his fingers back inside of her and pumped her hard making Pam scream. He carried on sucking her clit and she came, pulsating around his fingers. 

"You taste better than the pasta," he whispered against her lips, pressing a soft kiss against her slightly agape mouth before he pulled away from her. 

Pam was breathing hard, trying to regain her composure when she realised that Jim was standing in front of her, staring at her. She watched him slowly ease his grey sweatpants down with his thumbs, looking at Pam watching him the whole time. His thick, hard cock sprang free as Jim pulled his white Calvin Klein boxer briefs down. She reached forward to take it in her hand, but as she did, he disappeared. 

-- 

Pam awoke with a gasp. A large clatter coming from somewhere through a wall pulled her from her slumber. "Nooo," she moaned out loud when she realised she was awake. She buried her head back into her pillow and screwed her eyes shut in an attempt to fall back asleep. Her eyes felt groggy and her mind had the cloudy reminiscence of reaching out for Jim, but it just wasn't working. She couldn't summon the Chef back into her dream. She huffed and flapped the covers around her in annoyance. And that's when she noticed that she was alone in bed. 

She stepped out of bed and followed the noise until she found Jim standing in front of the stove cooking something. As she stood in the doorway, watching him dollop pancake batter into a pan, looking like a lankier and less toned version of the Jim from her dream. She noticed he was dressed exactly the same as in her dream; a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, albeit the t-shirt was baggier and greying and the sweatpants had stains down one leg. But as he worked the pan and the spatula, he still looked good. Really good. Pam felt herself grow hot as her dream rushed back to her and she tried to clear her throat that had suddenly gone dry.

"Hey," Jim smiled at her with a lopsided grin. "Pancakes?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes Chef," Pam replied, instantly mortified by what she had accidentally said, her cheeks turning pink. "Um, no, yeah. Pancakes would be great." 

"No, no, no," he laughed, "go back to the Chef thing."

"Oh you know," she tried to shrug. "You're cooking, I was being funny." 

"Then why are you so red?" he grinned walking towards her. 

"No reason," she lied as Jim wrapped his arms around her.  

He picked her up, slipping his hands underneath her ass to support her. "Yeah right," he mumbled as he started to kiss her neck.

"So pancakes, huh?" Pam tried to ask as Jim started walking them out of the kitchen. 

"No, there's something else I'd rather eat," he whispered against her ear, leaving the pancakes burning in the pan. "That ok?" 

"Yes, Chef," she managed to squeak out as Jim's lips found hers.