by Celia Crown
I shush him with my hands to his lips, the heat in my cheeks are burning me. “You’re so embarrassing, stop it!”
James’ voice cuts in, stoic and unamused. “Yes, you should listen to her, Jackson.”
“Worry about her, James.” Jackson nudges his chin to the girl in James’ embrace.
She’s squirming and wiggling to find one weak link between his arm and break free from his constricting hold. James’ massive arm is an iron hold, Mari’s feeble strength doesn’t scratch the surface of the chain as her body slumps in defeat. Her thwarted effort doesn’t go unnoticed as I silently cheer her on, she looks like a newborn kitten with James as the suffocating mother.
Mari giggles, “She’s so cute, can I keep her?”
“No.” James rejects that abruptly.
I am offended, okay. I think I’m an awesome company.
Jackson follows with a firm rebuff, “No.”
“Yes!” I exclaim.
Of course, the men ignore me and nods to each other with a silent conversation flowing through their mysterious eyes. Two handsome men conversing shouldn’t be so entertaining, but they are so attractive that it’s hard not to stare at them.
They have this air of superiority in them that demands attention, but no one will be able to touch that majestic aura around them. One major obstacle to touching their god-like body is their face, they are extremely attractive but when they glare, it destroys any confidence in anyone.
Instead of businessmen who have one suit in three different colors, Jackson and James are vicious brutes that work with their hands. I have experienced the rough fingers and coarse palms of Jackson, it’s a confirmed fact that gentle giant is a front for a savage beast.
My stomach rumbles and mortification flares in my face, I grin sheepishly at Mari who giggles at me. I see her fingers stroking the strong arm around her waist absentmindedly, the size difference between James and Mari makes me swoon.
“Let’s go to lunch.” Jackson pats my hip, I nod in agreement.
I didn’t have breakfast when I woke up at seven in the morning because I couldn’t sleep. Anticipation kept me up all night and early morning, I finally slipped in and out of sleep before I fully woke up and panicked. Kelly prevented me from pacing a hole in her shop as I ramble on about what I should wear so he doesn’t find me desperately looking for his attention.
She suggested a casual look, just a simple cream-colored dress that I wear on a daily. My heels are nude and match the simplicity of the attire I’m going for. I left my hair free of constraints, flowing down my back with messy waves from the braid that I put them in last night.
“What do you want to eat?” I hear James ask Mari.
Her thoughtful face clicks with an optimistic smile, “Coco Crepes!”
That place is well known for their delicious crepes, they have custom flavors and they are always made with fresh ingredients. They don’t have a signature flavor as it is a shop with freedom of creation. I thought about trying it, but the line is too long when they wrap around the store.
“That’s not lunch, sweetheart.” James shakes his head. “It’s trash.”
I gasp, Mari gasps, we make eye contact and glare offensively at James. He cocks an eyebrow at us, Jackson’s chest shakes in mirth.
“It is not trash!” I rasp, a hand clenching above my heart.
Mari nods in harmony with me, “I want to eat that.”
“No.” James stands his ground when Mari pouts at him.
I cheer her on to break his steely self-control, he’s breaking, and I excitedly nod. Jackson turns me towards him, his dark eyes curving with an interested awareness, he cups my cheek and flicks the plumpness.
“I can make them for you,” he offers.
My eyes widen and I nod blissfully, I trust Jackson’s skills and his food because he uses the best quality of ingredients when he makes his pastries. I would taste the freshness of fruits even when they aren’t in season, I could smell the mint in the whipped cream, and the natural colors of the final product.
My hand sits on top of his, I slip my fingers between his and I nod gleefully as I can imagine the flavors bursting through my mouth.
“Thank you,” I whisper joyfully, my heart pounds eagerly.
He chides, “No need to say thank you, darling. I will make a croquembouche if you wish.”
Before Jackson, I would have a cloud of confusion in my head when I heard that word. I did try to learn about desserts but all I saw were big French words and long pronunciations, Jackson gave me the dessert cookbook that he has had since he started culinary school. Over time, I learned more about baking than actual baking.
Just the word croquembouche makes my mouth water with its heavenly appearance. It is entirely made from cream-filled pastries and caramel coating drizzled in a stacked presentation.
“It’s a date,” I quip, dazed by my own words. I shyly look at him, I want our relationship to continue, the misunderstanding tests our strength and I want the both of us to move past it and learn from it.
He smiles, “It’s a date.”
Chapter Twelve
Jackson
Lunch was uneventful; a nice restaurant with reserved seating and a five-course meal with dessert. Nothing too fancy for my Lolita, she has to be eased into a world of luxury or her head would explode from all these stimulants.
A sense of accomplishment hits me when my darling doesn’t have her usually satisfied smile when she ate the tiramisu. I have spoiled her rotten with my desserts that she doesn’t find anything else living up to her taste-bud’s standards.
Lolita and Mari ordered the most colorful thing on the menu, James and I had to put a stop to their orders when the hostess got overwhelmed with the amount of food.
This double-date as Mari called it went off without a hitch, there were stares when we first walked into the restaurant. James and I stood out in a way that everyone thought we were bodyguards, Lolita and Mari stood out for being too angelic with their smiles.
Not everyone has the chance to see the real Marionette in action. I was glad that my darling wasn’t an international spectacle, I wouldn’t be able to handle sharing my lovely Lolita with others. I have no idea how James could do it.
We parted ways after lunch, Mari and Lolita promised each other that they would call and meet up again. James did not share that elation, I could see the displeasure that my Lolita was going to take up his sweetheart’s time.
He made a comment about Lolita finding other friends and she was so insulted that she became speechless, I had to drag her away when she whines at me that my friend was mean.
“Why did he have to hit me where it hurts,” Lolita grumbles softly as we walk down a path towards wherever our feet carry us.
I stifle down a laugh, “He has good intentions, darling.”
“He’s just jealous that Mari and I are friends,” she humph.
This time I let my laugh out, “I don’t think that’s the case. He was being nice.”
She snaps her head to me and gasps, “Nice? That was nice?”
Her little heels click on the cement as I walk on the side of the cars, “You don’t want to see him angry.”
Lolita braves her soul and asks, “What’s he like?”
I cock an eyebrow at her, “Do you really want to know?”
She nearly opens her mouth to respond but she stops, “I-it should remain a secret, it gives him an enigmatic feel.”
I shake my head at her silliness.
“Do you think he and I can be friends?” she inquires with a curious head tilt.
I want to say no, the possessive side of me doesn’t want her to have any men in her life. James and I go way back but it irks me to know that he might take a part of Lolita’s heart.
“This way I have more friends.” her head bobs purposefully as if she had made up her mind.
I point out, “You don’t have friends.”
“Kelly is.” Lolita pouts at me, her pink lips teasin
g me with their fleshiness.
“She’s your boss,” I said.
“Y-you are.” her throat bobs with her swallow.
“I’m your lover.”
She opens her mouth to rebuke, but she stammers before grumbling at me. Her cheeks flush and she weaves her fingers anxiously, her big hazel eyes darting to my face.
“I need friends.” she tries again, I’m not sure what she’s trying to prove.
I watch her expression as I say, “You need me.”
“I do,” Lolita answers effortlessly, not registering what she had said as we continue our walk.
She blinks, she stops and twists her body to face me with a wheeze of disbelief, “Wait—I’m supposed to be mad at you!”
“Are you?” I question, my face void of any teasing smiles.
The air around us is shaky and I want to know where we stand, I can see the internal struggle in her eyes as she purses her lips in consideration. Forgiveness comes easy to Lolita, her compassionate heart has too much love to let hate in.
“N-no,” she murmurs under her breath.
The weight dissolves in my chest, breathing comes easily as I know that she has forgiven me. Forgetting it is another issue, I never want her to put this on the backburner and be a relentless reminder that this whole misunderstanding could have been avoided if I just spoke to her.
“I’m sorry,” I speak from the bottom of my heart, heavy guilt lacing in my tone as she tentatively takes my hand with both of hers.
“You already said that,” she mentions.
I curl my finger around whatever I can grasp from her hands, “And I will keep saying it until you can trust me again.”
“I do trust you,” Lolita sighs, stroking the back of my hand with her soft fingers.
I hear the unspoken ‘but’, I wait for her to get her thoughts together.
“You don’t trust me.” my darling hesitates, looking down on the floor.
I can’t say that it wasn’t true, I think that misunderstanding I saw was a misrepresentation of the doubts that I had in myself; at that time, I thought having Lolita as mine was too good to be true and seeing her being kissed let the insecurities out of me. It’s a transference of my insecurities onto my distrust and blind rage.
I open my mouth and I tell her all of that. Not holding any feelings back, I give her my deepest thoughts and she listens without a hint of judgment.
This may not be the best time or place to have a heart-to-heart conversation when we’re in the middle of a sidewalk and late afternoon where people are walking around. Lucky for us, this street is mainly empty with the exception of one or two cars passing by.
“I want to be with you,” she confesses meekly, gripping my hand and I return the encouraging gesture.
“But I’m scared,” Lolita adds slowly, her lashes flutter faintly to avoid my eyes.
Scared of being hurt by me again, it’s a stab to my heart but I deserve this.
“I won’t hurt you again,” I promise her, bringing her hands up to my lips and pressing them to her small fingers.
“You can’t promise me that,” she murmurs, wetness gathering in her hazel eyes.
My voice is compelling and controlled, “I can.”
She believes me with clarity in her eyes, she never had a reason to doubt my words.
“Can you promise me one more thing?” she asks, passive voice wavering in self-assurance.
I murmur in her fingers, “Anything.”
“Promise me you’ll talk to me?”
It’s a simple promise that makes my stomach knot uncomfortably because she should never have to ask me that, I have told her things that I hadn’t even told James, and he’s my old friend who is more of a brother.
“I promise.”
I take a risk of running my big hand into her hair, perching on the crook of her neck to draw her into me. She’s docile and willing to open her heart to me, I won’t take this chance for granted.
I never should have.
Giving a kiss to her temple as a sign of her faith in me, another kiss on her cheek as a gratitude for the chance she gives me to become her love again, and a kiss to her forehead as a promise that I would be a better man she deserves.
“We should keep moving,” she states faintly, and I couldn’t resist kissing her pliable cheek.
I agree, “Of course.”
I loosen my grip on her fingers, letting her decide to pull away or keep our hands joined. She picks the warmth of my palm over the breezy emptiness, I tenderly hold her hand with a touch too soft for her to move away if she feels too smothered.
Lolita scrunch my hand with a furrow of her eyebrows, she tips her chin down with so much expressiveness in her delicate features.
My lips curve and I close my fingers over her knuckles.
Our bodies are on autopilot when we left the restaurant, we somehow ended up at my café during our walk. There is a little uncertainty in Lolita’s eyes as she stares at the door, the door that bounced back the heart she offered me.
My fingers give a calming squeeze, she smiles with trembling lips.
“We can go somewhere else, darling.”
Her brown hair flies with her head shake, “It’s okay, I want to go in.”
I unlock the door with my key, turning the doorknob as the area greets us with silence. This date with Lolita is important, having problems from the café would be a nuisance, it’s why I gave the staffs the day off while I dote on my darling.
She throws me a questioning look at the darken café.
“Off day,” I merely said.
She takes my answer with a nod as I guide her into the kitchen, the high chair by the counter is where I pick her up by the waist and drops her down on. She got taken back by the sudden shift in her balance that she had to hold onto me for support, I stand close to her for a moment to breathe into her lovely scent.
“Sit here,” I brush her hair back, “I want to make you something.”
Her eyes turn wide with curiosity, “What is it?”
I grin down at her, “You will see.”
She giggles at my mysteriousness, but she nods her head acceptingly. I bend down to her hanging legs, she’s too short for this high chair and her dainty feet sways between the chair legs.
I grasp one delicate ankle in my hand and the other work on the straps of her heels. She must be sore from walking around with these heels, she moans happily when I drop the shoe and massage the tender muscles.
My cock jerks as it thickens and I control myself, ignoring the dull throbs coming from between my legs.
I unclasp the other strap and let the shoe land on the ground. I push them to the side and let her feet step onto my thighs, my hands are naughty as they cop a feel on her pretty legs.
Looking up, I see her hands are on the edge of the chair to support her boneless body as I continue to rub her aching ankles. After several seconds of feeling her smooth skin, I stand to let her face level with my chest.
“Are you making lemon key lime pie?” she treads lightly.
I smile down at her, “Are you craving that?”
A blush marks her awkwardness as she nods hastily.
“Then I shall make you a lemon key lime pie,” I say and immediately her face brightens with such radiance that I had to physically restrain myself from launching at her and kiss her senseless.
I straighten my body, rolling up the sleeves of my white dress shirt. I flex the hard muscles on my arms where her gorgeous tattoo designs wrap around my skin, her eyes are fixated on them and my chest puffs up.
She must have caught on what she is doing and closes her mouth, she darts her eyes somewhere else and I chuckle quietly.
I busy myself with ingredients and the preheat of the oven, I toss occasional glances at her. She sits obediently while watching me walk around the kitchen, her inquisitive eyes changes to amazement as I begin the process of making the pie.
I give her a front-row seat of baking as my work station is set
up in front of her, her attention is solely on the counter as her pink lips round with wonder. I work and she watches, the silence is peaceful and a sense of tranquility washes over with the clock ticking away our time of the day.
“Can you teach me next time?” she breaks the peace as I pour the batter into the pie crust.
“I’d love to, darling.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lolita
His hands are steady and confident as the knife glides smoothly on the thick interior of the pie, lemon filling the kitchen with its pleasant tart scent that makes my mouth water involuntarily. When he lifts the slice of pie, the inside is moist and gooey, I just know that it will melt into my mouth with one swipe of tongue.
Jackson puts the slice down on a plain white plate, the simplicity makes the pie stand out with its bright yellowness and a big spoon twirls a dollop of freshly whipped cream on top of the flawless surface. Jackson pulls out a container from the refrigerator, I peer at the content that’s hidden in the clear container of juicy red.
He peels the lid off and a whiff of aromatic strawberries filling my nose and I moan hungrily, eyeing him as he uses another spoon and a pair of tweezers to lift up a big strawberry sliced and holding on by the round top. With skilled hands, he maneuvers the fruit on top of the whipped cream and scooped some strawberry juices on it.
My eyes trail the dripping pinkness falling down on the white plane, creating a pattern of minimalistic art that pulls the entire creation together with the buttery crust cutting the bright colors with its neutrality.
My butt lifts off the chair, leaning into the tantalizing dessert, I lick my lips as Jackson chuckles at my eagerness.
“Darling, sit,” he said, snapping the lid back onto the syrupy strawberries.
“But I—” I whine, I do as he says with a longing look in my eyes.
The calling of this pie is strong, and I want to sink my teeth into that juicy fruit and creamy pie texture, finishing off my taste bud with the crunchy crust while cutting the decadence with the freshness of the whipped cream.
“Every bite is yours,” he assures me, walking over the refrigerator and putting the container back inside.