by Vivien Vale
Especially when I have a different smoking hot piece of man candy on my mind.
Ugh. But no. I shouldn't text Aaron right now. The last thing I want him to think of me as is needy.
Instead, I flip open my laptop and continue my chat with Ms. Winters. Our previous chatlogs are on the screen, but I'm ready to try a new angle.
Tell me, I type into the input box. What's a classy lady like yourself doing with your free time?
I expect a little bit of a delay, but I can see that she's writing her response immediately.
What free time, cupcake? She writes back.
Ugh. She’s hilariously good. Cupcake! Like Mr. BadBoy is some kind of dessert.
Which, I guess, he's sort of supposed to be. Just like a cupcake, in fact. The kind that you feel a little guilty about after you eat it but, when you think about it, you have to admit that you enjoyed it the entire time.
I lay back on my bed, thinking of something clever to say in response, but then I look at my screen and see she's typing again.
Although, I'll admit that I do love a good creampie, Ms. Winters writes back.
My jaw just about slams into my mattress in surprise, although I could hardly tell you why. That's typical Ms. Winters. Entirely. Says whatever the hell she wants, whenever the hell she wants to. Double entendres abound.
And no matter what you say back to her, she's always got a witty little comeback to snap your way without missing a beat.
If I were a lesser man, I'd say you were suggesting something, I type to her.
Darling, you are, and I am.
My heart skips a beat. For a second, it's like I really am Mr. BadBoy. Falling into her sinister little web of seduction. Then she sends a follow-up:
You should know that baking has always been a passion of mine ;)
Sounds like you enjoy your indulgences piping hot, I write back with a giggle.
Naughty! You're being even fresher with me than my cinnamon rolls.
Do those cinnamon rolls come with icing, or should I bring my own?
Mmm. I adooooore icing. I'm sure I could help you whip up a batch.
We could use my special recipe, I suggest, but admittedly, I'm fucking losing it. This is too hilarious and if I keep laughing like this, I'm not going to be able to keep up with Ms. Winters' infamous wit.
Sounds like you're looking to put a bun in my oven, she writes back, and that fucking slays me.
I'm going to have to bring you a different kind of icing if you keep being such a tart, I write back. Remember to miss me.
I'll think about it, Ms. Winters says back. She signs off before I do, cheeky little cunt.
All of this dirty talking has my juices flowing. And not just my creative juices, either. It's sexy, going head to head with Ms. Winters in such a battle of wits!
I can see perfectly the way she works her magic. She reveals little bits and pieces of herself, hiding behind her sexuality the way normal women usually hide their sexuality behind who they really are.
Small talk with Ms. Winters comes with big implications. She's so candid about her cunt and tits that she must leave men popping boners when they imagine something so simple as the color of her eyes.
But falling in love with Ms. Winters isn't exactly on my to-do list for the night. In fact, the only thing that I have planned for the evening is a little dirty talk on my own time.
I reach for my phone and start composing a message to Aaron. Imagine my fucking surprise when, just as I'm about to hit send, my phone buzzes as he messages me first.
How do you feel about cinnamon rolls? The text reads.
I nearly fall off my fucking bed. Nooooo way.
He sends me another message. This time with a picture. He's currently out somewhere, half-way through a bite of a cinnamon roll nearly the size of his head.
I get butterflies in my stomach at just the sight of him. Sexting has gotten even hotter because I know what Aaron looks like. And feels like.
Aaron makes me want to lick my damn phone screen and not just because of the massive cinnamon roll in the frame. It's not the only thing in that picture that looks good enough to eat.
Doesn't look like it's gonna fit, I text back with a giggle.
I get that a lot.
Late night craving?
Only for you, he messages back.
Which, obviously, makes me melt.
How's the icing? I ask.
Nice and hot. Want me to save you some?
Loooooove icing, I send back with a giggle. Maybe I'm learning a thing or two from the Ms. Winters School of Seduction after all.
Yeah? Where you want it?
In and around my mouth, baby.
Anytime you want. The special recipe, just for you.
I toss my phone back down on the bed and reach into my nightstand, grabbing my vibrator instead. As I ease it between my legs, I'm not surprised to find that I'm already slick. Sticky, even. Just like a cinnamon roll.
I gently turn the vibrator up to full blast and imagine lying back on a bed of fluffy cinnamon and sugar dough while Aaron's cum shoots all over my face and body.
When I lick it up, it's sweetly delicious. Melts in my mouth like cream cheese frosting with just a hint of cinnamon.
I orgasm thinking about it, grinding the vibrator against plenty of cream of my own.
Aaron
I rock up to Chloe's apartment with a box full of cinnamon rolls in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
Yeah, I know roses are customary. In a pinch, daises will do. But this girl is a writer, and if I know anything about writers, it's this: they'll forget to water their fucking flowers faster than you can say Dostoyevsky, but they'll never forget to water themselves with a good bottle of wine.
I made sure to set this date after our last little sexting session. Not because I just couldn't help myself or anything, but because dammit, Chloe is a clever little minx. I'm always left wondering if she'll be as quick in person as she is behind the screen of her cellphone, and she never seems to disappoint.
I can hear the bell ring through the door; it’s a pretty little chime that kind of reminds me of Chloe's giggle. Clear as a bell, even when she's trying to muffle it by holding her hand over her mouth.
The door swings open, and for a second, I'm taken aback.
At first glance, this is Chloe—same hair, same bone structure, same height, same eyes.
But something feels off to me too. And not just because this girl looks like she's preparing to measure me for a coffin.
"You're…not Chloe," I say, laughing a little and narrowing my eyes.
"Damn right. Here, let me take those off your hands." Not-Chloe takes the liberty of relieving me of the box of cinnamon rolls and the bottle of wine. I surrender them, a little dumbfounded. "And stop looking at me like I just stole your wallet."
Aw, fuck. Right. Riiiight. I forgot that Chloe had a twin sister. I was so wrapped up in her that night at the club that I barely glanced at her sister.
"There." Not-Chloe laughs. "You figured it out. I'm Cassie, remember? Come on in."
I follow Not-Chloe—Cassie—into a spacious living room. Looks more cozy than high-fashion, which is surprisingly comforting. It's the kind of living room you can sit down in and not worry about what furniture you're ruining with your presence.
Makes me consider hiring a redecorator.
"Oooh!" Cassie coos from the kitchen. "Cinnies! Yum!"
"Those are for—" I say, but it's way too late for that.
Cassie beams at me from the kitchen with icing all over her face, somehow having managed to fit half of the biggest cinnamon rolls in the city all the way into her mouth all at once.
"Pfank youb!" she calls out, and all I can do is laugh and shake my head.
In front of the television in the living room, a guy who looks like he walked straight off the pages of a GQ is sitting. He looks like every other billionaire his age that I've met—effortlessly well-groomed, with a smile like a r
ogue congressional candidate, and understated but expensive clothes.
I sit down across from him, and his eyes slide over to me. He gives me a little nod, and I give him one back.
"So," the billionaire asks me. "Whose ass is bigger?"
"Ah…" I begin, even though I'm not sure what to say next. If this guy means between Chloe and Cassie, after all, I wouldn't touch that with a hazmat suit on.
"If he says Khloé's, murder him!" Cassie calls out through the kitchen.
"Kardashians," the dude on the couch explains, pointing to the television where a tiny brunette is currently mistaking a teacup pig for a chicken. "Cassie thinks Kim's ass is the biggest, but personally, I don't think implants should count."
"Wouldn't that eliminate the entire family?" I joke.
"Exactly!" Cassie exclaims. She runs across the living room on her tiptoes and tumbles into the billionaire's lap, shoving the other half of her cinnamon roll into his face. "Aaron, meet Ethan. He's wrong constantly."
"Enjoying the wine?" I ask, nodding to the bottle that Cassie has taken the liberty of uncorking.
She holds it up like a trophy.
"It's no boxed Moscato," Cassie admits. "But I'll live."
"Shit, man," Ethan says through the last mouthfuls of cinnamon roll. "That's a nice vintage. It's almost like it deserves to be in a glass."
He tickles Cassie's sides as she responds by drinking it directly from the bottle in huge gulps.
Normally, this would kind of disgust me. Happy couples doing happy couple shit, right? But there's something oddly sweet about these two, like they know each other so well, they've earned the right to be disgustingly cute.
"What do you do for a living, Aaron?" Ethan asks. "Must be some kind of big shot, if you're letting my girlfriend binge drink your four-hundred-dollar wine like a college freshman at her first rager."
"I'm in business," I say. As to what that business is, I leave it vague. Generally for the best, really.
Thebadboys.net is always going to have a hell of a reputation. Cassie and Ethan seem cool, but I'm not exactly keen on sitting in front of The Kardashians and answering questions all night.
"You're a porn star, aren't you?" Cassie jokes, narrowing her eyes in mock accusation. "That's why Chloe won't shut the fuck up about you."
"You got me. It's a rough life having sex with beautiful women on camera for money, but somebody's gotta do it."
"You're doing porn now?!" Chloe's voice echoes down the hall, so I hear her before I see her.
But when I see her, good god, even a guy like me has to do a double take. And even then, doesn't quite seem like it could possibly be real.
She’s in a cute little suede skirt, kitten heels, and a black off-the-shoulder top that hugs her tits like they've been vacuum-sealed into it.
"Yeah." Cassie giggles, breaking the silence. "Aaron here just won't shut up about his huge porn star dick. He talks about it almost as much as you—"
"Aaaand that's enough wine for you," Chloe announces, recapturing the bottle from Cassie's hand. "Did you give her this?" she asks me with a sly little grin.
"More like she took it from me by force," I admit.
"Yeah, you've gotta watch out for that." Chloe's smile lights up the entire room, and without even thinking about it, I find myself smiling back. "So where are we headed?"
"Double date!" Cassie announces. "Double date. It'll be, like, too fun."
"Tacky!" Chloe laughs. "Don't act like your trashy ass isn't already glued to whatever drama Kim and Kourtney are getting into."
"Ugh," Cassie groans. "No, it's Scott right now. Suuuuuch a dick. Totally the biggest ass."
"Where are we really going?" Chloe asks, sliding up against me.
I slip my arm around her waist and draw her away from the television, bottle of wine in hand.
"I brought cinnamon rolls too, you know," I mention, teasing out our destination for a little longer.
"Unf. And I will totally destroy those when I get back, don't you worry. But right now, spill! I wanna know where we're headed."
I shrug nonchalantly. "Well…you like books, right, Chloe?"
Chloe licks her lips. They're glossy and fire-engine red. And yeah, it's impossible not to imagine them being wrapped around my cock, but when it comes to Chloe, what else is new?
"I figured a nerd like you might like taking a little trip to the library," I tease.
Chloe laughs at that. She's so fucking cute when she laughs too. She doubles over, shoulders shaking, with one hand over her mouth and the other over the bottle of wine.
"God, sorry," she says, still giggling. "Either Cassie got me proximity drunk or—"
"I'm just that intoxicating?"
"Something like that." She grins, the biggest cheesiest grin I've ever seen. Some girls give off that vibe that they're afraid to smile, but Chloe shoves her happiness right in your face without a hint of hesitation or regret. "Library sounds like a blast, nerd."
"Yeah, on second thought, I'm rescinding my offer for a double date with you guys," Cassie calls out from the living room. "You boring dorks have fun!"
"We'll schedule one soon," I promise them. "You know, the planetarium is just beautiful this time of year."
"Oooh," Chloe adds. "Or we could always check out the science and history museum?"
"I've got it. Couple's physics lessons."
"We could tour a nuclear power plant!"
"Oh my God," Cassie groans from the couch. "Go fuck in the sci-fi section already and let me lose my brain cells to reality television in peace!"
I shrug, offering Chloe my arm. She takes it, doubling over again as she does. It's like she can't stop laughing, which is, interestingly enough, the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my goddamn life.
"And leave the wine!" Cassie yells after us as we slip out the door.
Like a good sister, Chloe carefully sets it down on an end table as she slips past me. I smack her ass and she squeals, running and giggling all the way to my car.
Chloe
Honestly? When Aaron told me we were going to the library, I thought he was joking.
In the passenger seat of his fuck-me red convertible with one hand on the wheel and the other on my bare thigh, I thought he was a fucking riot.
When we pulled up into a parking spot and he jogged around the car to open my door for me? I thought Aaron was the funniest guy on the entire planet.
But when he took me by the hand and led me down the sidewalk with the NYC Public Library looming just ahead?
Yeah, that's about when I started to realize he might actually be serious.
By the time we were inside, I kind of got the feeling that he wasn't kidding at all.
A library date. Holy fucking shit.
It's not that I don't like books, okay? Obviously, I am a total bimbo for books.
I've dug books out of the trash before. I'm well-versed with the preorder when my favorite author announces a saucy new title, and barring that, I'm not above throwing down with some other nerdy ho in a bookstore at midnight.
When momma needs to read, momma reads, dammit!
But here's the other thing: I'm pretty fucking hot. I'm not going to pretend like I'm not a complete babe in favor of that faux lack of confidence bullshit because, well, look at me, for fuck's sake. You don't tickle the fancy of a guy like Aaron without a little oomph.
As such, I've kind of gotten used to guys going the extra mile for me. If Aaron was any other guy, he would've pulled out all the stops tonight—fancy dinner, fancy drinks, fuck on a helipad beneath the moonlight, whatever. The works!
But obviously, shit hasn't always worked out for me with other guys. So while I'm a little taken aback that Aaron's idea of blowing me away is taking me to a public library, I'm more than willing to give it a shot.
Libraries have always felt comfortable to me, like second homes. This way, at least I don't have to worry about calling the waitress “Mom” when I'm trying to get a refill on my wine glass
or (gasp!) using the oyster fork for the salad course. The shame!
It's after six in the evening now, and the crowd inside has thinned out. Apart from a few stressed-looking NYU students and some plucky librarians, it feels like we almost have the place entirely to ourselves.
"Darling," I say and fake swoon as Aaron pulls me into the stacks. "The public library! How decadent! You shouldn't have!"
"Oh, but darling," Aaron says, pulling out an obnoxiously rich-sounding accent that, strangely enough, almost suits him. "For you, anything."
"As long as it's public and totally free?" I tease.
Look, it's not like I'm not going to give him shit about this. He's too cute, this is too silly, and he's way too much fun to make fun of.
But my teasing has a price. Suddenly, Aaron grabs my wrist and presses me up against one of the bookshelves, holding my body there with his own weight.
"Admit it," he says, his lips mere inches from mine. "You're a book-loving slut, and you think this is ridiculously charming."
"Let's say I do." I bite my lip, focusing my gaze on his gorgeous mouth and considering how badly I want him to be kissing me with it right now. "What's in it for me?"
Slowly, Aaron looks down the aisle one way, and then the other. Confirming that the coast is clear, he takes my jaw in his hands and kisses me with the passion that only a man who finds romance among books can provide.
"Okay," I admit with a little laugh. "This is kind of hot."
"That must make you a bibliophile." He grabs my hand and resumes tugging me deeper into the rows and rows of books. "If you liked that, then you'll love this."
"I might," I coo after him.
His legs are so damn long, and he's moving with such purpose that I have to trot along on my kitten heels just to keep up. "What is it?"
"I'm buying you a book."
If I'd only been drinking that fancy wine Aaron brought me, I could have done a spit take. Alas, Cassie has probably crushed that bottle single-handedly by now, and instead I can only ponder whether this is too romantic to be real or too lame for words.
On one hand, I do love books. I really fucking love books. It's a thoughtful gesture, and it means that he's taken the time to pay attention to my interests. Major points.