Glasgow Goddess
"Jamaican chef Pauline runs the best Caribbean restaurant in Glasgow. When food critic Dwayne gives her a harsh review, she invites him back for a private tasting that changes both their appetites."
Three stars out of five. Dwayne had given her restaurant three bloody stars.
Pauline read the review again, her blood pressure rising. "Competent but uninspired Caribbean cuisine. The jerk chicken lacks authenticity. Service was adequate."
Adequate. Competent. She hadn't moved from Kingston to Glasgow and built this restaurant from nothing to be called adequate.
"Tell that critic I want to see him," she told her manager. "Private tasting. Tomorrow night."
Dwayne arrived at 8 PM, clearly expecting a confrontation. What he got was Pauline waiting alone in the empty restaurant, wearing a dress that showed off every thick curve.
"Mr. Dwayne. Thank you for coming."
"I'm not changing my review."
"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to taste again." She gestured to a table set for two. "Sit."
He sat, watching her warily. She poured him rum punch and went to the kitchen.
What followed was the best meal of his life.
Each dish was a revelation. The jerk chicken was perfect—scotch bonnet heat balanced with pimento sweetness. The oxtail melted off the bone. The curry goat was so good he nearly cried.
"How is this possible?" he asked as she served dessert—rum cake with coconut cream. "This is nothing like what I tasted last time."
"Last time, you came on a Tuesday with a party of fifteen. My sous chef was running things." She sat across from him. "Tonight, you got me."
"I... I owe you an apology."
"You owe me a new review." Her foot touched his under the table. "Among other things."
"Other things?"
"You insulted my food. My life's work." She leaned forward, her cleavage on full display. "I think some... additional compensation is in order."
"Are you propositioning me?"
"I'm Caribbean, Mr. Dwayne. We don't proposition. We state our intentions clearly." She stood and walked toward the kitchen. "Coming?"
He followed.
The kitchen was spotless, stainless steel gleaming. Pauline hopped onto the central prep counter, spreading her thick thighs.
"I've been cooking all evening. Time for dessert."
Dwayne wasn't about to argue. He kissed her, tasting rum and spices on her lips. Her hands pulled at his shirt while he hiked up her dress.
"Been wanting this since you walked in," she admitted. "Angry sex is the best kind."
"Who's angry now?"
"Still me." She bit his lip. "Show me you're sorry."
He went to his knees, pushing her thighs wider. She tasted like the islands—sweet and rich and intoxicating. Her thick thighs clamped around his head as he worked, her cries echoing off the kitchen walls.
"Yes! That's it! Make it up to me!"
She came with a scream, gripping the counter edge. But she wasn't done.
"Your turn." She hopped down and bent over the counter. "And don't be gentle."
He wasn't gentle. He gripped those magnificent hips and gave her everything he had.
They broke a tray of plantains and knocked over a container of rice. Neither cared.
"Harder," she demanded. "Give me that five-star service!"
When they finally finished, they were both breathing hard, covered in sweat and scattered seasonings.
"So," Pauline said, catching her breath. "Reconsidering that review?"
"I'll publish a correction tomorrow. Five stars. Best meal in Scotland."
"And best... everything else?"
He pulled her close. "Best everything else too."
The new review went viral. "Glasgow's Hidden Caribbean Gem: How I Got It Wrong" brought lines around the block.
Dwayne became a regular. Not just at the restaurant—at Pauline's flat above it. Their arguments about seasoning and technique often ended the same way their first encounter had.
"We should do this professionally," he suggested one night.
"What, the cooking or the sex?"
"Both. Partner with me. We'll open another location."
Pauline considered. A business partner who knew both her food and her body intimately?
"Deal," she said. "But I'm head chef. Always."
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
Glasgow's food scene would never be the same. And neither would they.