by Rosie Chase
“Sam, wait—”
“Go talk to your friend,” I said. I looked around at the opulent light fixtures, the marble floors, the uniformed men holding the door open for rain-soaked guests. This wasn’t my world. It never would be.
I was here for one reason. Win the job.
Had I put that in jeopardy by eating shawarma and ice cream and kissing Michael like I needed to believe in something besides just setting one foot in front of the other?
“I hope I haven’t put myself out of the running,” I said, my voice cracking.
He shook his head in surprise. Sad surprise.
“Sam… no. Of course not. I’m only sorry you didn’t have a good time tonight.”
I hit the button for the elevator.
“I had a great time, Michael. That’s the problem.”
I stepped onto the elevator and was followed by a gaggle of old ladies talking about the bourbon trail. The door closed and I leaned against the back wall and waited for my floor.
When I got to my room I sat on the bed and sighed then, almost robotically, I pulled up the sleeve of my still-wet coat and looked at Rei’s number.
Chapter Six
Within five minutes Rei was knocking, softly, at my door.
“You ok?” she asked, when I stood aside and let her in. “Your room is trashed. Did you get robbed?”
I groaned. “No that’s just… that’s just how it is.”
“Hey, I was kidding,” Rei said, gently. “Come on, let me help you.”
She came closer, put her hands on my shoulders and then crinkled up her nose.
“Jesus you smell like a wet dog,” she said.
“It’s the wool jacket,” I said. I was used to it. Used to this old coat and its weird old smells and my messy existence. Why hadn’t I taken it off? Or cleaned my room? Or… tears came to my eyes.
“Okay, Pink Hair,” Rei said. “You’re clearly having some feelings here. And they’re not going to get better with you wrapped up like a soggy burrito. Let’s go. Come on. Everything off. I’m gonna put you in the shower.”
I let her take off my jacket and hang it up on the back of the desk chair. I slid my t-shirt over my head, kicked off my boots. My jeans were stuck to my skin. I had to lay on the bed with Rei yanking to get them off. Suddenly, I was in my underwear.
I expected her to make some snarky comments but, instead, she marched off into the bathroom and started the shower. After a couple of minutes, steam was rolling out of the room.
“Let’s go, Sam.”
“You’re treating me like…” I actually didn’t know. I didn’t have words for what Rei was doing. The only person who’d ever treated me this way was Nellie. And she was my friend.
“I’m treating you like a friend who doesn’t want you to spoil your chances at this job by catching pneumonia because you fell asleep in some gross, wet slump. Get your ass in there. Get warmed up. When you get out, I’ll still be here.”
And she was.
She was propped up in my bed watching Eat The World, with Michael Godwin, on mute. I laughed a little at the screen. This show was ten years old. The first time I saw it, I was sixteen. I’d just started working at Apple Butter and I was… enchanted. The show lit three fires in my young heart. One for Michael The Cake King Godwin. One for baking. And another for travel. My whole life up to that point had been so claustrophobic. But watching a gorgeous man eat exotic foods on faraway beaches lit something small and hopeful in me. Something I knew I could never have.
“I fucking love this episode,” Rei said, cutting through my thoughts.
She’d already made it halfway through the mini-bar and she popped a potato chip into her mouth as the old episode showed a younger version of Michael trying a bit of fancy French Patisserie. I bit my lip as I watched him lick his fingers.
“Nellie keeps texting you,” Rei said casually.
I wrapped my towel closer and grabbed the phone from the foot of the bed.
There were several texts. Mostly along the lines of, Are you ok? Did you get murdered? Let me know.
I grabbed clean underwear and one of Eric’s old band t-shirts and disappeared into the bathroom where I texted her back.
Sam: I’m fine. It was fine.
Nellie: Just fine?
Sam: Yeah. I’m beat. Gonna hit the sack. Talk to you tomorrow?
Nellie: Sure thing. Get some rest.
I slid on the underwear and t-shirt then wrapped my hair in a towel.
“Are you here because you think sex is on the table?” I asked Rei.
She snickered and cocked one of her characteristic eyebrows. “Have you seen your table? There’s no fucking way we could have sex on that thing. Don’t maids come in here every day?”
“No, I don’t let them. It weirds me out. Is there any beer left or did you drink it all?”
She scooted off the bed, opened the fridge, and handed me a cold one. I rifled through my jeans for my pocket knife and popped the top.
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t fuck you, Sam,” she said. “Just… sheesh. Not when you’re like this. You look like you’ve been hit by the feelings truck. It’s not really my thing.”
I rolled my eyes.
“So did it not go well with the Cake King?”
I snorted, almost inhaled a mouthful of stout, and shook my head. She sat back on the bed and I joined her, both of us leaning against the headboard.
“Was he really so bad? I thought he was so glamorous.”
“He took me to some hole-in-the-wall Lebanese restaurant. And then to this weird ice cream social. I rode a motorcycle. It was surreal.”
“Sounds like he’s more down to earth than you’d think. Given he’s the actual King of Cake.”
“Yeah. He is. But at the end of the day he pulls up to this place,” I gestured around with my hands at the gilt lights, velvety curtains, and million-thread-count sheets. “On a bike that costs more than anyone I know can even imagine having. And the thing is… he could wreck that bike or, I don’t know, just fucking lose it. And then the next day he could just get another one. No big deal.”
Rei nodded like she understood. There was a gap between people like Michael and people like me. It was a gap that felt unbridgeable. A chasm of difference.
We were quiet for a long time. TV Michael wandered around a cobblestone street, ducking into a Parisian cafe. Rei took a long drink of beer.
“I’d be surprised if I don’t go home tomorrow,” I mumbled.
“Then you should get some sleep tonight,” she said, throwing back the rest of her beer. “Give that vibrator over there another spin and then dream about someone who’s not the Cake King.”
I glanced at my bedside table and, yep, there it was. My battery-powered bestie. I should’ve felt mortified but, with Rei, I didn’t. She might work at a popular bakery in Los Angeles. And she might have a carefully cultivated cool-girl mystique. But, I was beginning to understand that she was just as low-rent and ridiculous as I was.
“Doubtful,” I snapped. “If anything, I’ll dream about him more after that kiss.”
“He kissed you?”
I nodded gravely.
“Was it good?”
“I almost came right there in some ice cream lady’s backyard.”
“And yet you’re not with him, right now?”
I shrugged.
“Okay, weirdo. I’m gonna go back to my room and masturbate with my own vibrator and I can guarantee you, I will be thinking about the Cake King so… you just… you just mull that over, I guess? I don’t know. I’m kinda drunk. See you tomorrow.”
She got up and ruffled her hands through her hair and opened her mouth to say something else when there was a knock at the door. We both stared at it and then back at each other like we were in some kind of horror movie.
“Be right there,” she hollered then came close and hissed. “If that’s The Fucking Cake King and you don’t bone him tonight, you’re going to regret it. You’re clearly i
nto him.”
“Rei, he’s a judge. He’s… I mean, he’s the judge. I think.”
“First of all, this whole thing is ridiculous. It’s not like this is some kind of blind-judged State Fair pie contest. And it’s absolutely not a reality show… no matter how much it feels like one. There are no rules except what Michael makes and he seems fair and, if he’s not fair? He’s still into you.”
“But what will people say? What about the other bakers?”
“I’m the only one who knows and I’m telling you to bone him.”
“Rei—”
But Rei wasn’t listening. She scooped all the shit off the table and all the clothes off the floor and threw the whole mess into the closet while I stood there watching her, confused. Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her back pocket and smirked.
“Oh nice,” she said in a low voice. “Just got a booty call. See you tomorrow.”
Before I knew what was happening she’d given me a big smack of a kiss on the forehead, turned off the TV, and thrown open the door to reveal Michael standing there. He was holding his wet motorcycle jacket, looking sad and surprised and absolutely gorgeous.
“She’s freaked out,” Rei said plainly. “But I can’t stick around because I’ve got some dickin’ to do. So… do your best, buddy. Any hints about tomorrow?”
His mouth dropped open.
“Nah, nevermind. I like a good surprise. See ya, Sam.”
She turned one last time, winked at me, and then she was gone.
“Oh my God,” I said, meeting him at the open door. “I’m so sorry. Rei is…”
I paused, at a loss for words. I didn’t know what the fuck Rei was except, weirdly, my friend. I think?
“I don’t care,” he said softly. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry Ollie pulled me off like that. I know you’re not… I know something’s wrong.”
I laughed a little. A sad laugh. A little bitter like burned caramel. It should’ve been sweet but it had been forgotten and untended instead.
“I’m okay,” I lied. And then I swung the door open for him. I hoped my room didn’t smell too much like Sam Musk and Wet Coat. I was suddenly grateful for the way Rei bulldozed my mess into the closet. Well… until Michael tried to hang his coat in there.
“Oh no— I mean, let’s hang it in the bathroom so it can drip dry.”
And that implied he’d be staying around for a while.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Huh?”
He glanced down and I followed his gaze. I was wearing a t-shirt. No bra. And my fourth best pair of panties. Fuck.
“Oh. I mean… No it’s—”
“I’m sorry about kissing you like that I just really—”
But I couldn't let him get out an apology. I couldn't let him voice any regrets about that kiss. It didn’t matter that I could never have him for real. That I could never seem to have anyone for real. If I could have Michael Godwin tonight, wasn’t that at least something?
I rushed forward, into his arms, and he responded. His strong palms pressed into my lower back, pulled me close. I wrapped my hand around his neck and that’s all it took. His mouth was on mine. Hungry and hot. He tasted like chocolate stout beer and vanilla and the scent of him, spicy and wild, crashed through my senses.
I turned us both toward the bed and we landed on the twisted covers without breaking the kiss. It was all gasped breath and hungry moans. I maneuvered on top of him, stripping my t-shirt over my head.
“Sam… are you—”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” I blurted.
He grinned, ran his hands up my stomach, over my breasts. He rubbed strong, nimble fingers over my nipples and then pulled me down to him, sucking one nipple into his mouth.
I groaned and leaned into him. Michael ran his hands up and down my naked back, caressing, as he sucked, nibbled, bit. Underneath me, I felt his erection grow and harden and I rocked against him. He moaned around my nipple, vibrating the sensitive flesh. I dug my fingertips into his shoulders and he bucked against my hot center.
“Fuck,” I moaned.
He pushed me backward and I went, tumbling and giggling, landing with my head at the foot of the bed. He stripped off his so-soft t-shirt and I stared at the muscular lines of his body. And, yes, those muscles were gorgeous. Long and lean and so perfect I’d almost think he was a dancer and not a baker.
But… there were old scars there, too. Some were kitchen scars I could easily recognize. Several on his forearms—scorches from a hot oven rack. A smattering on his shoulder—hot oil burns. One jagged line ran down the back of his hand—a slipped knife. Something tugged at my heart. Some sense of familiarity. Kinship. Some understanding that we were the same.
“You’re beautiful,” I said.
He smiled.
“You are. You are incredible,” he whispered.
I sat up and pulled my underwear off as I kicked my legs in a fruitless attempt to help him. He patted his back pocket and then rolled his eyes at the ceiling. He didn’t have a condom. I frantically tried to remember if I had one in my bag. If it was expired…
“Fuck,” he hissed but then, a mere second later, grinned down at me. “I’m going to make you come tonight, Sam. I’ll give you something you won’t forget. And I’m not even going to fuck you.”
I gulped. Was I actually hallucinating? Had I finally checked out of reality and gone to live on Sexy Street in a permanent kind of way?
But no. This was all real. This was the real Micahel Godwin between my legs. The real Michael Godwin’s hands on my thighs. The real Michael Godwin talking to me just like he did in my filthy fantasies. The real Michael Godwin’s eyes boring into me like he knew me.
“And if I can’t make you come tonight, Sam, I’m going to get that vibrator over there and fuck you with it until you scream for mercy.”
Fuck. Did everyone in this hotel know about my vibrator?
And then he was ducking between my legs, planting his face in my sex and licking me like I was the best dessert on the planet. Like I was a thing so delicious I had to be devoured and savoured all at once. He moaned at the taste of me and I wrapped my fingers in his hair, remembering the fantasy I’d had the night before.
But no longer a fantasy.
The fire in my belly was real. The feeling of Michael, lavishing my sex with attention, curling up through my sensitive lips and then touching the tip of his tongue to my clit, was real. I pulled his head closer, pulled his mouth closer, until his lips, his teeth, his tongue became my whole world.
“Fuck, Sam. This pussy is something else,” Michael breathed over my open sex. “You’re so fucking wet.”
I writhed, pushing against him. But he brought his hands up and held me down. I groaned with the pleasure of the restraint. He left one hand on my hip bone and brought the other down between my thighs.
“Oh… Michael… Jesus.”
I felt the pressure building as he slid a finger inside me and beckoned for me to come. I responded. Almost there. Burning up.
And then he pressed his tongue to my clit, licking and flicking, but never letting up. My hips pushed up but met the resistance of his hand and that was it. I went over the edge. It had been so long and never that good and never that quick. And never, ever, had I just wanted more and more and more. Every day. Every night.
I cracked open like a crème brûlée and inside I was all warm, gooey, sweetness. I was heat. I was pleasure. I was beautiful and ugly and delicious. I was coming apart and whole at once.
I opened my eyes, still coming down from my orgasm, and Michael was grinning smugly at me, licking his finger.
“You’re so fucking hot, Sam Davis.”
“You’re not so bad either,” I breathed.
He leaned back on his heels and grabbed my vibrator from the table. He tossed the thing down, onto my belly, and I giggled.
“It’s my turn,” he growled. “And I want to watch you.”
&nbs
p; I felt my eyebrows raise. Felt my heart thunder in a new, nervous way. Was he fucking kidding? Why the hell would someone want to watch me masturbate?
“Really?”
“You’re the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Michael said, leaning forward, sliding his fingers along my wet, slick folds. “And I want to watch you come on that vibrator while I come on you.”
Oh. Oh. Fuck. Yes.
The ache that had only just released in my core returned. An exhilarated shiver traveled up my spine and I took the familiar form of the vibrator in my hand and gave Micahel a coy smile. I pressed the little silver button on the vibrator’s bottom and trailed it down my belly, over the blonde curls of my mound, and onto my sex.
“That’s it,” Michael breathed. He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled himself out, giving his dick a long stroke. “That’s it. Make yourself come for me.”
I trailed the vibrator along my sex, barely grazing my entrance. I was already so keyed up, so sensitive, so ready, I knew it would take just seconds for me to go over the edge again. Especially when The Fucking Cake King was looking at me like that. Those startling honey eyes gazed with cool, easy desire as I writhed below him, running my rumbling vibrator delicately against my entrance.
“Oh, fuck yes,” he growled, stroking his length with one hand. He wrapped the other around my knee and dug his fingers into my flesh.
I ran one hand up, onto my naked chest. My nipples were tight. They ached, painfully, for touch. And I would touch them. In front of Michael. For him. For myself.
I pinched one between my knuckles. Hard. Harder. And I bucked up into my vibrator, dipping the tip of the small device into my sex, wetting it, and then pulling it back out. All the while, I watched Michael. Watched his need grow, watched his hand pick up speed, watched his hips jerk with frenzied desire.
Touching the vibrator to my clit, pinching my own nipple, biting my own lip, I knew I was beginning to come undone all over again. And now Michael was watching me. He was getting off on watching me. Literally.
I pressed the vibrator, hard, into that most sensitive bundle of throbbing nerves and Michael gripped my knee, his eyes closing. He gazed at me through long lashes. Fuck, he was gorgeous.