by Anthology
It must have shown on my face, because Alexios looked at me and his eyes were filled with a storm. I had thought before that they were dark brown, but now I saw only black. His expression of concern faded away and was replaced by something else. Something raw. Something conflicted.
I let my legs come up and gently touch the sides of his legs. It was an invitation to stay. To come closer. But not so obvious that he couldn’t walk away and let me pretend I’d never done anything so blatant and inappropriate.
My pulse is racing because of my boldness. I cannot believe I just did that. Maybe I am coming down with the flu.
Mental note: Overdose on Vitamin C… As soon as legs start working again.
I don’t know what I would have done if his hands hadn’t slid down from my ribs to rest at my hips. Thank God, he accepted my unspoken invitation. I was ready to explode with wanting him.
His fingers dig into my skin as he slowly pulls me to the edge of the table. The moment my soft center comes up against his hard edges, I nearly faint, moaning with the heat that is searing me.
My hands travel up his arms as his head leans down to meet mine. Our lips come together quickly, desperately, as we both realize at the exact same time that this is what we wanted.
From the moment he walked in my door asking me about pastries, this is what we were meant to do today. This is why I was alone and everyone was sick, this is why I fell, this is why I cut my finger. And who was I to mess with The Fates? What was meant to be, would be, and I, for one, won’t be standing in the way of that today.
His mouth tastes like sugar. He sampled the fondant like any good chef would and now he is the human embodiment of my life’s work. He was sexy before, but now he’s downright edible.
Our tongues move in and out of each other’s mouths, sliding past each other’s lips, tangling together. My breasts ache to be touched by him, and then he’s there, kneading, pulling, rubbing them. I moan again as he pinches a nipple between his fingers and then leans down to bite it through my clothes.
I lift his coat bottom and grab at his jeans, undoing the belt and button along with the zipper.
He does the same with me, yanking my shorts down until they’re falling from my ankles.
The table is shockingly cold for a second or two but then the heat of my body takes over and the feelings that are rushing through me from his touch make me forget anything but the need I have. The need to feel him inside me.
He pauses to put on a condom, and then he’s there, pushing against me. There is little resistance. I’ve never been this turned on in my entire life. There’s flour on his cheek and chocolate on his neck. I lean in and lick it as he pushes into me.
“Mmmm… ” I moan, reveling in the sensation he causes, filling me, spreading me open wide with his slow entry and insistence that he go all the way in before retreating.
When he comes back towards me, penetrating once again, I grab his ass and pull him to me, wrapping my legs around his.
He grinds into me and bites my neck as my head goes back. One of his hands is around my lower back pulling me into him and the other is against my breast, kneading it, pinching the nipple, making me want to scream with not quite fulfilled desire.
The orgasm is building in me, and he somehow knows exactly what to do. He picks up his rhythm and slams into me with every stroke. The table makes scraping sounds as it’s pushed across the floor. His hands now at my hips keep me solidly there against him, though, so I can feel every inch of him invading me, taking me over. He’s grunting with every thrust.
“You are so beautiful,” he growls, hitting into me again and again. The table comes to rest against a wall. Now he has extra leverage, and every time he comes to me, it sends a shock of pleasure through my entire body.
“Oh, God,” I say, feeling the emotions coming, the physical sensations growing stronger, more insistent.
He withdraws from me without warning and grabs me around the waist, pulling me off the table.
“What… ?” I have no time to finish my sentence before he spins me around and pushes me in the middle of my back.
“Bend over,” he orders.
His fingers are there, then, spreading me open as his cock slides into my folds.
I bend at the waist and hang onto the edge of the table for dear life as he starts rocking into me. His fingers are there, reaching around to touch my sensitive spots, making the stroking unbelievable perfect.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “Oh my god.” I can feel my orgasm coming.
He leans over and nips me through my coat on my back.
Another electric shock runs through me.
Both of his hands leave me and then appear at my breasts. He holds onto them like handles as he slides out and then in. Out and then in. My legs are trembling with the effort of staying upright. I ache in places I don’t even understand.
He pulls out and turns me around again. I feel like I’m going to faint. But then I grab him by the shirt and pull him into me, kissing him for all I’m worth. His tongue is hot and slippery. His breath is pure sex. I can taste how much he wants me.
He pushes into me, his stiff cock forcing me to back up until I hit a wall. He crouches down enough to enter me again and then he’s inside me. Slowly, slowly, as if every inch counts for something really important, his cock is fully there. Taking me. Owning me.
I look into his dark eyes as our bodies meld together. What before was rough and hot becomes slow and tender. He’s trembling with need and with the exertion of having sex on slightly bent legs, but his gaze never wavers.
“You are so beautiful right now, with that fire in your eyes,” he says.
I close my eyes as he pushes into me deeply. It’s not enough, though, and I start to feel frustrated.
“Do you want me to finish now?” he asks.
I nod, knowing if I speak I’ll be tempted to say something ridiculous.
He pushes fully into me and then grabs me under my ass and lifts me up off the floor.
I cling to him with both arms wrapped around his neck and my legs crossed behind him.
When we get back to the table, he sets me down at the end of it and then takes his coat and shirt off, pulling them both up over his head together and putting them down on the table behind me. His body glistens with sweat. He steps out of his pants and leaves them on the floor. Slowly he pushes me down and back so I’m taking up the entire length of the table.
His eyes never leave mine as he climbs up onto the table and lowers himself down to me, his cock resting against my belly. He’s doing a push-up over me, the muscles in his arms and chest bulging everywhere. Sweat from his chin drips down onto my neck and slides to the table under my hair that’s come loose from its bun.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.
I laugh. “It’s kind of late to be asking that, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble with your boss. I should have asked you before I started. I’m sorry.”
He actually looks ashamed of himself, so that’s all the reason I need to jump into this thing head first and finish what we started.
“I’ll handle the boss. You just handle me.”
He gives me his lopsided grin and then loses it when his cock starts to press into me. “Here I come,” he says in a low, almost menacing tone.
“And here I come,” I say, as soon as he’s in all the way. I’m not kidding either. This is some kind of crazy magic happening in my kitchen.
The weight of his body pressing down on me and the feeling of his cock filling me is exactly right. It’s exactly what I need.
I move underneath him, following the rhythm being called out by some unseen force — the force created by him and me being together, our skin touching, the sweat from our bodies mingling. I’ve never felt this way before.
“Alexios,” I say, almost begging, “Alexios!”
“I’m here,” he says, picking up his rhythm. “Come for me, baby. Come for me.�
� He’s holding back. It’s a gift. He’s waiting for me to come before he lets himself go. I can tell by the trembling of his entire body that it’s a tremendous effort for him.
It’s all too much. He’s beautiful, he says all the right things, he’s respectful yet commanding, he’s generous, and he can bake the hell out of those cakes. I cannot resist the power anymore.
I let myself float away, be drowned in the passion. Everything I can feel is focused on one place now, and it pulses. Warmth pools in me and then leaves me as I reach my end.
The little death that makes this crazy life worth living comes and overwhelms me. This crazy life where I meet a guy who walks into my bakery and three hours later I’m letting him screw me senseless on my prep table has become the most sensible life I could ever live. Why have I always played it safe? I can’t remember anymore.
Reality seeps back in as his body collapses on top of me and he falls into seizures of release. We hang on to one another while the scent of chocolate and sex mix together and form an atmosphere that’s too sexy to regret.
“I don’t want the cake to burn,” he says a minute or so later when he’s finally stilled, lifting his head from my neck to look into my eyes.
“I don’t want you to do that either.” I smile just the tiniest bit, hoping this won’t be awkward.
He leans down and kisses me. It’s both tender and hot. “You’re a beautiful girl, you know that?” He smiles too. Bigger than I did.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He looks down at his arm. “The tattoos don’t put you off?”
I laugh. “Apparently not.”
“Good.” He kisses me once more on the nose before getting up and throwing himself sideways off the table. He’s up on his feet and pulling on his pants before I can manage to sit up.
“I need to sterilize this table,” I say, slowly sliding off it and finding my clothing.
“And I need to finish this cake if I want a good referral.” He leaves me to take the cake out of the oven while I get zipped up and check my hair in the small mirror near the doors.
The bells jangle just beyond, telling me my lunch rush is about to start.
“I need to go out front,” I say, trying not to feel self-conscious. Will I look as freshly-fucked as I feel? Do I even care?
“Don’t mind me. I’ll just be making the world’s best pound cake,” he says, shaking out a finger he just burned on a hot pan.
I leave without another word. I don’t want to mess up a perfectly good affair that’s bound to go nowhere beyond today.
The last lunch customer is out the door and I’m exhausted. I would have been anyway, seeing as how I haven’t slept in almost twenty-four hours at this point, but add on top of that the mind-blowing sex with a near-stranger and there’s no hope for me. All I want is my warm, soft bed and the ringer turned off on my phone.
My heart starts beating wildly as I turn to go into the back room.
I push through the doors and find the kitchen spotless. The sexy table has been wiped down and sterilized. I can tell by the smell that Alexios used the spray bottle specifically for that purpose.
I wander into the walk-in cooler and find all the cakes done and boxed up. They’re as beautiful as I’ve ever made them. Maybe even more so. The crazy ribbon is perfectly tied around the boxes, as if it’s good enough to be re-ordered and not set on fire.
As I’m walking out into the kitchen again, I hear a buzzer going off. Assuming Alexios is in the bathroom, I go into the main kitchen area and find a note near the sink.
Left you something in the oven and set the timer so they wouldn’t burn. Pass this resumé onto the manager for me, would you?
His resumé is attached to the note.
I look towards the bathroom and then walk back there, hoping I’m not going to find what I think I’m going to find.
But I do. It’s empty.
He’s gone, having left out the back door, apparently.
My heart lurches for a moment and then the timer’s buzzer sounds again, reminding me I have to take something from the oven.
I grab a towel and open up the oven door.
Inside are a dozen croissants. Ten perfectly shaped, deliciously flakey-looking, golden brown French pastries rest on a tray that has never held any kind of pastry on it before, in all the five years since The Sweet Affair has been in business.
I take one off the tray and toss it around in my hands for a few seconds waiting for it to be cool enough to eat. When I bite into it, my eyes close with the bliss that the buttery goodness brings.
Why had I decided that pastries were a bad idea for The Sweet Affair? I can’t remember now.
I move the note out of the way and look over Alexios’s resumé. At the bottom is a handwritten note.
Please ask Anna about me. She and I worked together once.
I smile as I remember back to that day. The day that I decided pastries weren’t really all that fussy, and that in fact, they were quite worth the risk, once one bothers to take it.
Mental note: Hire Greek pastry cook at very next opportunity.
Author’s Note - Elle Casey
Thanks for reading A Sweet Affair!
If you’d like to explore my work in a full-length novel, and you loved this short story, I’d personally recommend starting with Shine Not Burn by Elle Casey.
Shine Not Burn by Elle Casey - on Amazon
www.amazon.com/dp/B00DCCRA38/?tag=lolromance=20
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OTHER BOOKS BY ELLE CASEY
NEW ADULT ROMANCE
Shine Not Burn (2-book series)
By Degrees
Don’t Make Me Beautiful
Rebel (3-book series)
ADULT CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Full Measure (written as Kat Lee)
Just One Night (romantic serial)
YA PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Duality (2-book series)
YA URBAN FANTASY
War of the Fae (4-book series)
Clash of the Otherworlds (3-book series, follows War of the Fae)
My Vampire Summer
Aces High
YA DYSTOPIAN
Apocalypsis (4-book series)
YA ACTION ADVENTURE
Wrecked (2-book series)
YA THRILLER / ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
All The Glory
Elle Casey
www.ellecasey.com
Just Can’t Forget You
Gretchen Galway
DESCRIPTION: They first met as troubled teens, then were driven apart.
Now their paths have crossed again, for a second chance at love.
Melissa has shrugged off her past to begin a fulfilling career in horticulture—and isn’t looking for anything that remotely resembles trouble.
But Eduardo is definitely trouble. All grown up, he’s more dangerous than ever, with dark eyes that lead her into temptation… and a sensitive heart that knows her deepest secrets.
Can the seeds of the past grow into a future that blooms?
Just Can’t Forget You is set in the world of Gretchen Galway’s bestselling Oakland Hills series.
GENRE and LENGTH: Contemporary Romance, stand-alone short story of about 45 pages (11,400 words).
HEAT LEVEL: Sensual with some adult scenes and language.
Turn the page to begin reading JUST CAN’T FORGET YOU by Gretchen Galway, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.
Just Can’t Forget You
Gretchen Galway
1
MELISSA’S MOTHER ALWAYS CALLED HER at work.
She could’ve ignored the call—it was only her third week on the job at the nursery, and she had a reputation to establish—but Mom would call every fifteen minutes in a rising panic until she heard her daughter’s voice. Better to get it over with.
“How’s my favorite mother?” Meli
ssa asked as she picked up.
“Are you all right? You didn’t answer right away.”
Even before Melissa had attempted suicide as a teenager, her mother had worried excessively—and since that little incident a decade ago, she’d been as clingy as a fabric-softener dryer sheet on a fleece sweatshirt.
“Fantastic,” Melissa said. “I’m potting a rare South African perennial. At my new job. Which is where I am right now. Working.” Hopefully her mom would get the hint.
No such luck. “You could be a scientist at Harvard,” she said with a tragic sigh. “Instead, you’re a gardener.”
At seventeen, Melissa had been a stressed-out, suicidal wreck at the top of her class, but at twenty-eight, she was happy and content with her quiet, unimpressive life. Unlike her parents. “Don’t make me feel bad. I just might try to end it all again.”
Her mother made a distressed noise in the back of her throat. “I don’t know how you can joke about that. After what we all went through.”
Melissa had always felt guilty about the attempted suicide—so guilty it woke her up in the middle of the night—but her therapist had given her permission to move on. “How’s Dad?”
While her mother launched into a discussion of her father’s golf game, which was the center of his life since they’d retired to Phoenix, Melissa used her free hand to scoop potting soil into a plastic nursery pot. She loved her new job. Golden Gate Horticulture in El Cerrito, California filled over a city block and was one of the most prestigious, well stocked, and expensive nurseries in the San Francisco Bay Area.
The pay was terrible, of course, but she didn’t have many expenses. She knew she was lucky. One of the greatest gifts of all—the freedom to do what she loved—was hers, and she’d finally learned to appreciate it.
Across the rows of shaded camellias and rhododendrons, she heard the trill of the store phone inside the main building. “Mom, I’ve got to go. I’m at work.”
“But—”
“Love you, love Dad. Bye!” She shoved the phone in her back jeans pocket and jogged into the main building, where the nursery’s owner, Ian Cooper, was ignoring the phone ringing next to him. Her boss was a very shy man who only talked to the plants if he could get away with it.
Out of breath, she picked up the receiver and smiled at Ian. “Golden Gate Hort.”