by Penny Wylder
My clit throbs with need. Fuck. At this rate I’m going to have to sneak into the bathroom to rub one out.
I duck out front, phone in hand, to avoid Jen stumbling across me again. And of course, I run smack into Lara coming in from the street, just arriving for her afternoon shift.
“Hey, careful there,” she scolds as she catches my phone.
I reach for it, flushing bright red.
Too late.
Lara squints at the screen. Her eyes go wide. Then her smirk does too. “Is this him, then?”
“No,” I spit, grabbing the screen and turning it off. My cheeks are still telltale neon red. “Maybe,” I amend with a sigh.
She laughs. “Well he’s definitely ripped. So how did telling him you weren’t interested anymore go?”
I am in danger of setting this store on fire with my blush.
Lara’s eyes widen all over again. Her mouth drops. “You didn’t.”
“I…”
“Oh my god. Look at your face.” She bursts into laughter. “Of course you did. Shit, girl, you are glowing.”
“Shut up,” I mumble, waving a hand.
“How was it?” She grabs my hand and, with a quick check over my shoulder at the back of the store where Jen is still busy working away, tugs me outside, to the safety of the parking lot out front. “Tell me everything,” she gushes.
“It was… fucking amazing,” I admit.
“Details,” she presses in a low whisper.
My cheeks burn even brighter. “Hell no! TMI is a real thing, Lara.”
“Oh god, you’re the worst. But fine, was he into the same stuff as you at least?”
I swallow hard, and manage to nod.
She beams. “That’s great! Hey, a guy just as insanely kinky as you, right? What is your thing, is it butt stuff?”
I groan and wave a hand in her face. “Stop it, Lara.”
“Foot fetish! I bet it’s a foot fetish.”
I burst into laughter. “Stop guessing.”
“Food? Maybe you like whipped cream smeared all over? I mean, you love baked goods…”
“You are the absolute worst,” I mutter as I push past her and storm back into the bakery.
“Well, at least you got your money’s worth, right?” she calls after me.
That’s when I stumble over my own feet, halfway back into the front of the store. Because I realize… I never paid.
At least, I don’t think I did? I never put my credit card on that website—I selected the cash payment option when it asked.
“What’s wrong?” Lara comes up beside me to peer at my expression. “What, was it that pricey?”
I shake my head. “It was fine,” I bluff. Then I sidestep her and pull up the site on my phone again, scrolling to payments. But nope, no card info. And I definitely chose cash. Damn. Maybe he charges me later, like an invoice or something? I refresh my email. But I don’t have any new messages from him. And I don’t have anything in my inbox about payments, either.
Weird.
Lara, for her part, has finally given up on asking questions, it seems. She turns to head back inside. “Well, at least you’ll be a little less of a stressball now,” she mumbles.
I stick my tongue out at her backside. Then I head back into work, still refreshing my inbox. Still confused.
That confusion only increases when an hour later, Lara ducks into the back room. “Carmine? Customer to see you.”
I dust flour off my hands, run them under the tap quickly, and duck out of my apron to head to the front. Halfway out the door, though, I freeze.
Lara leans in close, that mischievous grin on her face again. “Honestly, Carmine, way to pick ‘em. I didn’t even know guys like this existed in real life, but…”
Across the shop, Caleb leans in the doorway. He’s dressed in even better clothes than he wore last night—a really nice shirt along with dress slacks. The shirt sets off his jawline, and makes his gray eyes seem even more piercing than usual as he grins at me. The lopsided grin isn’t helping my knees function properly either.
“Is he as well-hung below the belt as above?” she whispers.
I manage to stomp on her foot without giving too much away, I think.
“Good morning,” I say when I’ve recovered enough to cross the store toward him.
He takes a moment to let his gaze drift over my body in that way he has, drinking in every inch of me before he responds, the grin still on his sexy fucking mouth. “You look good today, Carmine.”
“Back at you,” I respond, unable to help myself. “Tell me, do you always stalk your clients after encounters, or did you make a special visit just for me?”
His eyes dart past me when I say the word client, probably looking for Lara. But she’s too good at reading situations to have stuck around for this—I know she ducked into the back room to give us privacy.
Caleb relaxes a little. “It’s not normal practice, no. But then again, you aren’t normal, are you, dirty girl?”
“Only as filthy as you,” I remind him, voice lowered so Lara won’t hear me from the back room.
His grin widens. “Actually, I came to ask a favor.”
“You never charged me,” I say, already reaching for my wallet. “Did you forget, or…?”
But he’s shaking his head and wrapping a hand around mine, closing the wallet again between us. “I don’t want your money.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “Why not?”
“First round is free.” He winks.
“Sounds like bad business practice to me,” I point out with a raised eyebrow. Mostly to disguise how hot that makes me feel. My pussy is already getting wet just at his proximity.
He laughs and steps closer. His scent wraps around me, warm and familiar already, even after just one night together. “I’m kidding,” he says, and my heart sinks again.
Damn.
But he’s still holding my wallet shut.
“I didn’t charge you because I need a favor,” he says.
My brows contract, and I tilt my head with a frown.
“My sister needs a cake for her daughter,” he explains. “It’s her birthday on Monday. She actually…” He glances past me at the calendar on the wall. “She actually already booked one with you guys, but you got in touch and said you needed to cancel it next week. You offered a huge discount on another cake at a later time, which, don’t get me wrong, we totally appreciate, but it’s my niece’s birthday, and she had her heart set on this cake…”
My cheeks flush. Figures. You go and cancel just a few orders when you’ve gotten yourself snowed under, and what do you do? Decline to bake a cake for a nice little girl. A nice little girl who’s the niece of the hottest man on earth. The man who stuffed you fuller than you ever imagined possible just last night…
My whole body heats up with the memory of our night together, and it takes every ounce of energy I have to step away from him and draw in a deep breath of air. “I think we can work something out.” I frown at the calendar. “We’re booked solid today, but tomorrow, I could come into the store on my own and make something…”
“Actually.”
I glance back at him, eyes widening.
He lifts an eyebrow, still wearing that grin. “Would you like an assistant while you do?”
I blink. “Both our cooks will be off tomorrow, since it’s Sunday…”
“I meant me, silly.” He steps closer once more. I let him. I’m pinned between him and the counter now, the hard edge digging into my side. But I don’t move. I’m too distracted by the way he’s gazing down at me, desire white-hot in his eyes. He trails a fingertip up my arm, from my wrist all the way to my shoulder. It sends a riot of shivers throughout my body—not to mention a wet sensation starting between my thighs. “I’m eager to help you in any way I can, Carmine. I remember how much you enjoyed my assistance last night, after all.”
I swallow around a lump in my throat. “I… This is my… I work here, Caleb. We can
’t hook up in the store.”
He laughs softly. “Who says I want to hook up with you here?” He tilts his head and playfully pushes my bra strap off my shoulder. “Although, now that you mention it, that does seem like just the dirty idea a girl like you would come up with…”
I clear my throat loudly. “Caleb.”
He laughs again. “I’m kidding. I’ll behave. I promise.” He steps back and fixes me with a stern look. “That is, if you can keep your imagination in check, filthy girl.”
My cheeks flush.
His smile widens. “Perfect. So see you tomorrow.”
“But.”
He raises a brow.
I clear my throat. “This is just a professional arrangement. Trade for a trade.”
His eyes search mine. “Of course, Carmine,” he says. Am I imagining the note of disappointment in his tone when he says that?
I must be.
I nod. “See you tomorrow, then.”
I watch the door swing shut behind him. But it takes far longer than that for my heart to stop racing. And as for the pool in my panties? Well, that’s going to take even longer to dry.
6
Caleb is waiting outside by the time I reach the bakery the next day. It’s strange to be arriving here in the afternoon, with the sun already brightly shining and the rest of the street around us—normally a fairly quiet little row of cute corner stores—completely silent as opposed to just chill. But seeing the hot-as-hell slice of man leaning against the doorframe wearing a confident smirk and eyes that want to devour me whole waiting for me eases the blow of being here on my only day off.
“You’re early,” I point out as I step up to his side and unlock the door.
“I was looking forward to seeing you.”
The simple way he says it, without any preamble, all while he’s eying me up like I’m the hottest girl in town, makes my whole body catch fire. Before I can respond, he cracks another of his half-smiles, the ones guaranteed to knock any girl in eyesight down to her knees—because to keep her upright under his gaze.
“That, and I want to get a taste of your work.”
The way he says taste, all sultry and sexy in his thick London accent, makes me think he’s talking about more than just my cake. The ones I bake, anyway.
“You won’t be disappointed.” I lock eyes with him. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s satisfying cravings.”
“Now that, I believe,” he answers with a soft laugh as I finish unlocking the door and lead him inside.
He behaves—for the most part anyway—while we get the bakery set up. He satisfies himself with only passing touches—standing a little too close beside me while I show him how to prep the batter; reaching around me to grasp my hand where I’m holding the mixer handle while we stir it. Even those small touches—plus his proximity, just looking, smelling, feeling the way he does—are driving me wild.
But he’s actually listening to me too, I realize. When I tell him to prep another batch just like the first, he adds all the ingredients in the right order, remembering the steps I showed him. He even stirs it correctly, not too fast in case he whips it into too much of a fluff.
“Why did you want to learn to bake?” I ask. “Why not just have me make this for you?”
“Needed to learn how to make one of these so I can hide a nail file in one later for prison breaks,” he says, smirking.
I snort and roll my eyes, elbowing him. “Seriously.”
“Seriously?” He catches my eye for a long moment, then glances away. “My niece loves your cakes. I wanted to learn the secret.”
My cheeks flush. “I’d better be careful not to give away all my trade secrets then, huh?”
He laughs. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not exactly a pro baker here.”
“No,” I admit. “But you’re learning fast.” I side-eye him while he pours his batch of batter into the smaller tiered pan we’ve prepped. The one I made first is already proofing. “You’re a good listener.”
Caleb catches my eye. “Why do you think I’m so good in bed? I always listen to what my partner wants.”
My cheeks flare red-hot again, though at least now, with the ovens preheating, I can blame the blush on the heat in this kitchen. But his comment is making my mind run to places I don’t want it to. I’m thinking about him with other people. Other clients. I’m thinking about him listening to what other women want—delivering their dirty, sexy, kinky fantasies the way he fulfilled mine.
It makes my body flush for a whole different reason. It makes my stomach turn over and my muscles tense. I hate thinking about him with another woman.
Which is stupid. Crazy. It’s not my place to think like this, not about him. He’s an escort. It’s his job to do this kind of thing.
I’m his job. I need to remember that. I can’t go mistaking this for anything more than what it is—a business arrangement. Just like this cake we’re baking. He’s just another extension of my company, another business partner. So what if the service he’s providing is white-hot kinky sex? It doesn’t change the fact that I need to remain professional about things.
And professionals do not get jealous about their business partner’s other jobs.
If he notices the way I’ve gone quiet, he doesn’t say. He just finishes pouring his batter and waits for my next instruction.
Once we have the cakes baking, we turn to the frosting. I show him how to mix different colors.
“What did you have in mind for the decoration?”
He tilts his head, considering the cake in the oven and the frosting between us. “She really loves the ocean,” he says. “Her whole birthday party is aquarium themed. So maybe something with an ocean vibe to it? Mermaids, she loves those, too. God, the number of mermaid dolls I’ve bought her…”
Watching him talk about his niece opens up a whole new side to him. His eyes light up, and his attention drifts away, an open-hearted smile on his usually devious mouth.
“You spend a lot of time with her?” I ask as I start to prep some blue frosting.
He joins me, hands just inches from mine as he works on another tube. “As much as I can. I babysit when I don’t have classes.”
A whole new side to my escort. Who knew? I side-eye him. “What classes are you taking?”
“Physician’s assistant.” He shrugs. “Not exciting, I know. But I want to help people. And, you may have noticed,” he says as he traces a finger up my arm, leaving a playful streak of icing there, “I’m good with my hands.”
“Mm…” I meet his gaze steadily, chin high, and smirk. “I might have noticed that.”
“Only maybe?” He steps closer, the icing suddenly forgotten beside us. “I must be losing my touch.” As he says touch, he lets his other hand slide around my waist, and down, cupping my ass, not quite squeezing. Not yet.
“You could always provide me with a demonstration,” I point out, batting my eyes.
He squeezes my ass hard, strong enough to pull me forward a step. Suddenly, my hips are pressed against his, his thigh between my legs, as he runs his other hand along my neck to cup the back of it and pull me up toward him. We’re nose-to-nose, an inch apart, just a bare breath of air between us.
We haven’t kissed. Not once, not in the whole evening we had together. I’m suddenly terrifyingly aware of that now. And all too aware of the tingle in my lips, the pulse in the air between us. I want to kiss him.
“You want to see how I’d decorate you?” Caleb smirks. He traces that hand down the nape of my neck, around toward my collarbone. His fingers dance along the neckline of my shirt, and his other hand slides between my ass cheeks to grip my ass harder, draw me against him. I can feel the hard press of his cock against my thigh. He wants me. Fucking badly.
I want him too.
I flatten my hands against his chest, then run them along his body, down across those sexy washboard abs. I can feel his muscles through his T-shirt and I trace the edges of them. “I wonder how
creative you’d get with your frosting technique,” I dare him.
Before I can react, he has my shirt bunched in a fist. He draws it up, over my head, my apron going with it. He tosses them in a heap beside the counter and bends me backwards over his other arm, so my whole chest is arched up toward him. With one deft shift of his fingers, he unclasps my bra and lets that fall to the side too. He dips a finger in the frosting and trails a line down the center of my chest, between my breasts.
“I’d start by outlining the basics,” he says. “Everywhere I want to lick, highlighted.” He dips his finger again and traces it around the edges of my breasts, underneath each one. My nipples start to go hard, despite the heat in here, despite the fact that he hasn’t even come close to touching them yet.
When he circles my navel in another dose of frosting, I finally snap to my senses. I slide my thigh against his bulge, along the length of his cock, as I lean up toward him.
“No sex around the food,” I say.
His gray eyes have gone dark with desire, hot with lust. “I thought you wanted me to play with my food,” he counters, smirking.
“No.” I smirk right back. “I only want you to play with me.”
“Fair compromise.” Without another word, he steps backwards and kicks open the office door. The tiny single-desk office with our one shared computer. The computer where I first stumbled across his website. The place where this whole mess started.
It seems fitting, therefore, when he tugs me inside after him and kicks the door shut behind him.
He bends me backwards over the desk, my chest exposed, still covered in the trails of blue frosting he left all over my skin.
True to his word, he sets right about licking those clean. He delves his tongue into my navel first, swirling it around, nipping lightly at my skin as he licks up every last trace of frosting. I gasp at the sensation, especially when he returns to lick up the line he left up my abs to between my breasts, his tongue hot and wet and flat against my bare skin. He traces his tongue under my breasts, one at a time, licking up all that frosting, and then, just when I think he’s going to take my nipple into his mouth, he leans up and pulls me toward him.