Chapter 1 (Uncensored): The Rejected Oracle’s Recipe for Ruin
678 Words
Spicy, R-Rated Version 💋
(All content is within Stary’s publishing and policy guidelines, labeled Mature. Reader discretion advised.)
💋 Mature Content: Strong Language, s****l Tension, Symbolic Eroticism, Culinary Metaphor, Dream Combat, and Consent Themes
Amara Noire didn’t cook like she was feeding the soul.
She cooked like she was summoning it, bare-chested beneath her silken apron stitched with moon thread and diss tracks. Beads of sweat clung to her collarbone like ancestral punctuation marks.
Tonight, the kitchen wasn’t metaphor.
It was ritual.
A battlefield.
A bedroom.
She cracked a spice pod between her teeth. Cinnamon flooded the air. Her n*****s tightened beneath her apron, but not from cold—
from focus.
Her hands moved without hesitation. Each slice, whisk, and flame carried muscle memory from warrior training and heartbreak. Garlic bruised. Onion cried. The pan moaned from oil contact.
Across the marble prep station, Zehrin Veilhowl, her ex-lover, Alpha, and former betrayer, stood shirtless. His chest glistened with steam. Dream sweat. Data pain. Emotional repression unraveling.
“Why summon me half-naked into a dream duel?” he asked, licking salt from his knuckles. “Trying to distract me?”
Amara dragged a blade across a soft mango.
“If you’re distracted,” she said, “you came undercooked.”
He bit his bottom lip.
🔥 Round One: Foreplay & Foie Gras
She tossed foie gras into the skillet—meat rich with secrets. The scent curled like foreplay.
Zehrin flinched.
“You’re seasoning memories with desire.”
“No,” she said, pouring honey over duck flesh.
“I’m re-basting your guilt.”
Her hips swayed as she stirred. Cinnamon. Cumin. A dash of betrayal. Her voice was sultry jazz, her ladle a weapon.
Zehrin retaliated, summoning molecular gastronomy—cold flavor beads of statistics frozen with detachment.
She tasted one.
“Still sterile,” she purred. “Still afraid of wet truth.”
⚔️ Round Two: The Meat Course – Erotic Recall
Amara dropped seared lamb onto the hot iron.
A sizzle.
A groan.
Flashback:
They’d made love once on an altar of spice crates in a hidden market.
He’d whispered formulas into her thighs.
She’d traced algorithms down his spine with her tongue.
Now she recreated that night with chili oil and dripping honey.
“Every moan you silenced,” she said, pressing a rosemary branch to the meat, “I turned into marinade.”
Zehrin swallowed hard. His eyes darkened.
“You still want me.”
Amara smirked, brushing the edge of her knife along her lips.
“Wanting you is not the same as trusting you.”
🍷 Interlude: Mouths That Lied, Tongues That Remembered
He reached across the station, touched her waist—lightly, tentatively.
“Can I still taste what I broke?” he asked.
“Only if you eat it with your hands tied,” she whispered, slicing his shirt open with a flick of her blade.
She fed him a bite of fig soaked in truth serum. He groaned.
His knees buckled.
“You always did prefer pain with dessert,” she said.
🍨 Final Course: Miseducation Soufflé (Smeared with Consent)
She served him the final dish—a soufflé that trembled, like his voice.
“Why this?” he asked. “Why seduce me in a dream and break me open?”
“Because I warned you I was prophecy,” she whispered.
“And you thought I was a phase.”
He kissed her then—desperate, data-drunk, full of regret and rekindled heat. She kissed back, once, with teeth.
Then pulled away.
“No climax until confession.”
He panted, eyes wide.
She licked the last drop of cinnamon from his chest.
“Until next round,” she said, blowing saffron into his face.
🌕 The Oracle Wakes (Alone, and Wet with Power)
Amara sat up in her bed, gasping. Moonlight slicked her skin. Her thighs trembled from the echo of him.
She reached for her pen.
“Note to self,” she wrote.
“Forgiveness requires foreplay—and a menu.”
Next Chapter Tease:
👗
- Writer
