Her question takes me completely off-guard.
‘He’s not here right now.’
‘I can see that,’ says Mum. ‘The question is why not – or is the answer obvious?’
‘We had a disagreement.’
‘Surely this trumps disagreements?’
‘I thought he cheated on me,’ I tell her. ‘But his assistant is convinced his ex-girlfriend drugged him. I know it sounds crazy, but she really believes that’s what happened.’
‘Do you believe her?’
‘She has no reason to lie.’
‘Not even to cover for her boss?’ asks Mum.
‘I don’t think she’d do that.’
‘So call him. If this has taught me anything then it’s that every minute is precious and yet we take it all for granted. We get distracted by the minutiae of life when we really shouldn’t. Go, call him.’
‘I don’t know, Mum.’
‘OK, then don’t call him.’
I sit and ponder. Mum chuckles to herself. ‘Please, sweetheart, just go and call him.’
‘How come you’re so wise, Mum?’
‘I’m not that wise,’ she admits. ‘Otherwise I would have seen this coming.’
‘But if there were no surprises I suppose life would be dull,’ I say, reaching a rare moment of clarity.
‘And life has always been about highs and lows. Go, call him, and I’ll be here waiting when you get back.’
‘Dad will get through this, won’t he?’
‘Yes,’ murmurs my mother. ‘I think he will.’
I wind my way through the hospital corridors until I find myself outside once more and my phone starts chattering, announcing the arrival of a new message.
I know I should hate him, but HB is awesome. Cleared the backlog and baking up a storm. Think he might be innocent. Call me. Carly XXX
I hit the speed dial and wait for the familiar sound of my best friend’s voice.
‘Any news?’ she asks.
‘Dad’s still in surgery. What’s with the message?’
‘I don’t want to be seen as a turncoat but your boy turned up at the bakery and wouldn’t leave. He just set up in the back and cracked on clearing the backlog and now he and the rest of his team are on an all-out baking assault. I think he’s innocent.’
‘That’s the general line of thinking,’ I admit.
‘But what do you think?’ asks Carly. ‘What does your heart tell you?’
‘I was so angry with him before.’
‘But that’s before you knew the truth. What about now?’
‘I’ve been trying not to think about it.’
‘You’d better start considering it because we’re about to leave.’
‘You’re coming here?’ I say.
‘Yes. I’d like to say more but it’s probably best you see it, really.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You will soon enough,’ she says.
Carly hangs up, leaving me curious. I don’t have to wait long. The truck is a monster, easing its way into the hospital entrance. An army of helpers disembark from a fleet of support vehicles and then they start unloading.
‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ remarks Carly, appearing out of the chaos.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s a full-scale cake assault. We’ve been baking all afternoon. HB put the word out and it wasn’t long before every other bakery in the county was in on the programme.’
‘What programme?’ I ask.
‘I guess it’s like feeding the five thousand but with cake,’ she suggests as we watch tray upon tray of cupcakes being unloaded and delivered to the hospital to be distributed to staff and patients alike.
‘Who’s funding this?’ I ask.
‘It seems that HB has very deep pockets,’ remarks Carly, spying the man himself coming through the crowd. ‘I think I see a crate requiring delivery.’ And she eases herself out of the way.
‘What is this?’ I ask.
‘Penitence, maybe?’ suggests Matt.
‘But you didn’t do anything wrong, did you?’
‘I seriously misjudged her. I should have sent her away the moment she arrived but I thought I could protect you.’
‘You should have just told me.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I’m sorry too.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ Matt tells me.
‘I turned and fled like a coward. I didn’t give you the opportunity to explain.’
‘You had far more important issues to deal with.’
‘I guess.’
‘How is he?’
‘He’s still in surgery.’
‘I can offer you a cupcake.’
‘What flavours do you have?’ I ask.
‘We have a few options,’ admits Matt with a wry smile.
I feel my own lips starting to curl. He has a habit of making me do that and I am suddenly aware that being around him makes my spirit feel lighter. There is a chink in the darkness.
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Now there is a question. Let me think.’
How could I have suspected him of wickedness when his heart is so pure? I want to kiss him but just then I spy my mother coming out of the hospital and such thoughts are sidelined.
‘I have to go.’
‘I know,’ he says. As I turn to leave, he squeezes my hand and a little more weight falls from my shoulders.
Chapter Thirteen
Cupcake Heaven
‘Do you trust me?’ he asks.
‘Yes, I trust you,’ I reply, watching his eyes as he places the silk scarf over my eyes and ties it securely so my world is now dark. It doesn’t feel dark, though. My father is out of surgery without complications. The doctors feel positive about him making a full recovery. I feel the weight sliding from my shoulders.
Matt gathers me in his arms and lifts me onto the stainless steel worktop. The bakery is deserted. I came back because I knew he’d be here. Everything is tingling just like the first time that I saw him. The anticipation is sensational.
I feel his hands on the buttons of my shirt and I go to help, but his hands close on mine.
‘Trust me,’ he whispers.
‘I do,’ I whisper back.
Gently, he peels my shirt away. I feel the buttons of my jeans pop. Too many thoughts invade my brain. He unlaces my trainers and it takes all my self-will not to pull off the scarf and find his lips but I resist, just about. He slides my jeans off my hips, pulling them gently away.
And then something unusual occurs. Matt binds my left wrist with a cord. Then he slips the cord over my right wrist. I don’t fight it but soon enough my arms are tied securely above my head as I lie on the worktop. He does the same with my ankles and the thought occurs that this is getting seriously kinky and my heart beats a little faster. Who knew I was into a little kink?
‘Now that I’m completely at your mercy, whatever do you intend doing with me?’ I ask, as innocently as I can muster.
‘I’m going to do everything to you,’ he murmurs, his voice so low and husky it reverberates through my soul and makes me ache for him. ‘The art to good baking is to always be prepared. So I have prepared my ingredients with care and now we are ready to begin.’
‘So what is on the menu tonight then, chef?’ I ask, straining to hear him remove clothes – or is it just my imagination starting to get trippy?
‘You’ll see,’ murmurs Matt.
‘Hurry up,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so hot for you right now and I don’t think I can wait.’
I can feel the tell-tale moistness in my crotch as I start to imagine Matt parting my thighs and pressing himself into me.
‘Patience is a virtue,’ he replies.
‘Apparently so,’ I mutter.
‘First we must prepare the cooking area to ensure it is free from blemishes.’
The touch of his hands, the caress of them against my skin, makes me i
nhale involuntarily.
‘Easy,’ he whispers.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ I murmur. ‘You know what’s coming and I wish it was me.’
He touches his lips to my mouth to stop further conversation. A hungry kiss that draws me in then leaves me breathless when he pulls away suddenly.
The chocolate is warm as it hits my stomach and cascades over my naked skin. I feel it pool in my bellybutton and can’t help the giggles that escape. The chocolate splashes onto my breasts, still hidden beneath the silk of my bra, and now desperate to be free. My nipples are like lightning rods, hard to the touch and screaming for release. He must be able to see how hard they are and yet he does nothing to relieve my suffering. What kind of torture is this? The cocoa powder falls lightly on my skin but he does nothing more.
The chocolate is warm against my thong, soaking through the itsy-bitsy material until it is hot against my skin and my body starts to ignite as the sensations dance with my imagination and all that pent-up lust and wanting is ignited.
His tongue dances over my nipples so quickly and so softly that I barely react and then they are left crying out for more. His fingers tug my thong away and I arch my back to allow him ease of access. He pushes my legs further apart, revealing my sex in all of its natural glory to him, and the sensation of hot chocolate being poured onto my flushed skin causes me to cry out. His lips are hungry as they press against mine. His tongue licks away at the chocolate before burrowing deeper, pushing itself between my lips, breaking through the chocolaty barrier.
I gasp. He knows my body too well. He knows exactly what buttons to press, and when his fingers start to assist his tongue I have to bite my tongue to stop myself screaming the house down. This is too much. I can’t hold out much longer.
‘Please, please untie me,’ I beg, my voice hoarse with desire. ‘Let me see you. I need to touch you. I need …’
As if by magic, the bonds that once bound me are now loose. Ripping off the scarf, he stands before me, jeans unbuttoned, top off, ripe for fucking. Releasing my bra I let it fall to the floor as I swivel on the worktop, spreading my legs to wrap around him. He bends to meet me, our lips finding each other’s with practised ease. I clamp my legs around him, and our kisses become more indulgent as the lightning strikes tearing a hole in the roof of the bakery. Manoeuvring my hands into his jeans, I find they are no barrier at all to a committed girl with lust on her mind. It is then that I spy the saucepan on the hob.
‘Don’t move,’ I whisper, taking a kiss with me for good measure as I trip lightly across the bakery floor. Matt watches as I retrieve the saucepan, knowing exactly what is on my mind. ‘Are you ready for this?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow.
‘Be my guest,’ he replies gallantly.
Hooking my fingers in the waistband of his shorts, I hold the saucepan at an angle and start to pour. Matt smiles as warm chocolate pours into his underwear, covering his crotch. Setting the saucepan down, I smile at him and proceed to peel his jeans and shorts away. He is hard and proud and covered in chocolate and tastes just about perfect as I kneel before him and slide his cock into my mouth. He tastes unbelievably good as I slide him further and further in, and as Matt pulls out the friction of his cock against my mouth is almost too much to bear for both of us.
I want more. I need more. I need him between my thighs and I need him there right now. I back him up against the worktop with his cock in my hand. We kiss, our bodies rubbing against each other, and then we slide until he is under me and his cock is in me. Straddling my lover in the middle of my bakery: what would the staff say? I know exactly what Carly would say. You go, girl. Yes, I’m going, Carly. I’m going straight to nirvana, riding Matt’s cock into oblivion, and it feels …
Well, you can guess!
A Seduction in Silk by Kay Jaybee
Chapter One
The night Imogen met Michael Levenstein, she was sitting at the bar wearing a fashionably short skirt, a pair of impossibly high stiletto heels and she was sipping a cocktail.
It had been a bad idea coming here, because men frequently followed her out of the club; men and boys, who assumed just because she was an exotic dancer, they had a divine right over her legs. The boys followed her in groups sometimes with their hands in their pockets walking right behind her and talking too loudly and making comments and whistling; the older men, studying the back of her legs like a cat studies a bird in the grass, tensing up ready to pounce. Already, that night, some guy had come too close to her and put his hand on her thigh and it irritated her, the way they always seemed to be touching her up or thinking about touching her up. Just because she had these damn legs, yes, this curse of a pair of legs.
Early on when she was 17 she’d learnt that, although not a show-stopper, she was a passably pretty fräulein and men gazed at her because Imogen had other more enviable attributes; she oozed sex, she oozed it from every pore. She’d always been a bit too fond of butterkuchen and when she was a child Imogen had constantly been caught with her fingers in the cake bowl, or stealing one of her grandma’s honey cakes to feed her insatiable appetite. This had given her an exceedingly attractive, softly rounded body with plump arms and legs, and ample hips. It was when she sat down or bent over though, that you really noticed that the show-stoppers were her legs, which she had inherited from her mother – the silk stocking whore. Guys had been known to jerk off on street corners looking at Imogen’s legs and simply the sight of her leaning against a park bench easing out the creases in a pair of her fine silk stockings was enough to get them panting like rutting dogs.
On the day, quite some time ago, when she walked into the Blue Palm Club for the job, Luther said he’d never seen a girl like Imogen. He said she had jerk-off legs, a particularly powerful destructive weapon which was capable of some kind of erotic conjuration. Luther had seen a lot of women in his time but Imogen’s legs turned his insides to water.
‘Hitch up your skirt and put your foot on that chair,’ Luther asked. Imogen did so.
‘Now move around a bit.’
She wasn’t a trained dancer at all, in fact, up until that point in her life, she’d never done a dance class but Imogen had an easy, show girl way of walking with a forward thrusting gait which was very sexy and she could pose exotically, not unlike a hooker, tantalising the audience by crossing and uncrossing her legs and occasionally touching them with her long red fingernails. When Imogen came along Luther’s takings went up by 70 per cent. Well, every guy enjoyed looking at a silk stocking whore. Often, men came up to her and whispered things in her ear such as, “hey, how about I cream your legs, your fabulous fucking legs,” or, “Liebchen, I want to get down on my knees and worship your hose and next I want to lick you all over.”
Michael Levenstein wore a nice light wool suit and he didn’t have the hard-bitten look of most of the guys who frequented Larry’s bar and that was what captured Imogen’s attention. Now, if I wanted a boyfriend, that’s the kind of man I’d go for, she speculated. He had smoothly rounded Nordic cheeks and unruly hair which he kept running his hands through, it was his eyes though which melted her. Michael’s emerald green eyes were as much show-stoppers as Imogen’s legs.
She stirred her drink with her finger. Goddamnit, now he was looking at her legs. Ah well, it was a fact of life. Her mama would have warned her about Michael’s kind. He was what Mama would have called smooth, as smooth as the best pair of silk stockings; a man too attractive and pretty for his own good. Well, it hardly mattered since she wasn’t in the market for romance. Imogen had learnt how to instantly size up men. It came from a strong sense of self-preservation and living when she was younger like a tramp and having men continually coming up to her and cornering her so that they could slide a hand under her skirt and feel her silk stockings.
She stroked the stem of her glass in the suggestive way she might stroke a man’s cock and then she uncrossed her legs. Her heart was beginning to beat a little bit faster like a butterfly against the wings of a
jar. That was another thing her mother had warned her about. Be careful you don’t beat your wings too hard against that glass illusion, ’cause one day you’re gonna hurt yourself. Christ knows she couldn’t afford the danger of a love affair although, a quick hard fuck to appease this gnawing frustration would be good.
Michael Levenstein must have been thinking of something amusing, because he was smiling and the smile was crinkling the scattering of lines at the corner of his eyes. He had the look of a man who had been stung by a savage wasp and she knew the look well. It was as if his eyes had become magnets and they were attracted to the opposing magnet of her legs and now that irresistible force was steering him to look again. He was fighting it and it amused her to watch him resist that attraction, as he watered his scotch down a bit more and glanced at her in the mirror over the bar.
Imogen experienced the stirring of something she hadn’t felt in a long time and it was real jaw-crunching desire. The more he looked at her, the more she was considering how much she’d like to fuck him and to hell with the consequences.
As if making a sudden decision, he loosened his smart tie and the top button of his crisp, starched white shirt and, slithering off his stool, Michael Levenstein walked unsteadily and as if a little drunk across the room towards her, before passing directly by her and through the door at the end. That room led to one place and one place only, it led into the men’s washroom and she wondered if he’d gone in there to jerk off. Men often jerked off after they’d spent a while or so considering her legs and she found it crass and a little unbelievable how shallow a man could be in that respect. You never saw a woman eyeing a man’s cock and then slithering off a stool and going to the powder room for a gratifying orgasm, or – she pressed her hand to her mouth, to stop a giggle – perhaps you did.
Imogen picked up her packet of cigarettes and turning it around in her hand she shook one through the tiny hole she’d made in the end of the packet and she watched it ease out like a kind of “hard-on” cigarette, before pushing it back with the tip of her finger like she might a man’s belligerent cock. ‘Hey, get back in there where you belong. I sure as shit gave you up and I’m not reneging on that promise to Anni.’ She’d promised a lot of things to Anni and somehow she meant to deliver. For instance, a nice apartment overlooking the park, pretty clothes and shoes and a little holiday.
Seduce: A Cariad Romance Three Book Bundle (Cariad Collections) Page 14