by Rosie Chase
“Sam… this is a private beach. See that—” He pointed behind me to a house on a hill above us. It was a beautiful home on stilts, the lights glowing, warm and welcoming from inside. “That’s my house. This is…”
“Fuck,” I gasped through another kiss. “This is your beach.”
He nodded.
And then my arms were over my head and I was following him to the wet sand and the waves were crashing around me as I half-screamed, half-giggled. Michael pulled at my water-logged jeans.
Fuck, I thought, sand is going to get everywhere.
But then Michael’s mouth was on mine again and the water splashed over us and my hips were bucking toward his and I didn’t care. All I wanted was this. This thing I thought I would never have.
I kept one hand on Michael’s shoulders. I didn’t want to let him go. I dug in. Pulled him closer. He reached around my back and, with a flick, my bra fell away.
“Oh, Sam…” he whispered, pulling away. With his knuckles, he raked one nipple, then the other. I shivered and he pulled me closer, wrapping his mouth around one nipple. Tugging it with his teeth. Sucking.
I moaned. I let my free hand drift down to Michael’s jeans, popped open the button, maneuvered in to grasp his length in my hand.
“I want you, Sam,” he breathed across my breasts. “I want you.”
Already, I was dizzy with the taste of him. The smell of him, like spicy cloves and wood smoke and sweet tea. The feel of his body against mine. The hot, hard muscle of his arms and shoulders, his stomach and thighs. And then he trailed sure, strong fingers down my stomach and into my underwear. I felt the press of him against my hot, wet sex and I saw stars.
Another time, another Sam would’ve asked, For how long? How long will you keep me before you throw me away?
But I didn’t.
I didn’t want to know the answer.
I only wanted now.
“You have me,” I breathed, pushing into his hand, letting his fingers slip into me.
I felt the effect my words had on him. The way his whole body tensed and hardened even as it seemed to melt against mine. The way his erection twitched in my hand. Maneuvering his cock out of his boxers, I ran my hand up and down his hard thickness. The thrum of his pulse matched mine.
“Oh fuck, Sam,” he moaned.
I felt the heel of his hand against my clit and I grinded against it, his fingers still inside me, stretching me. He knelt forward again, sucked my nipple into his mouth, bit down.
A wave crashed over us. The sand under us shifted. I didn’t care. The whole world could fall away and all I would know was the feel of Michael Godwin’s mouth on my breast, his fingers working me like he knew me. Like he knew exactly what I wanted, what I needed. Like it was his mission to give it to me.
“You feel so good,” he rasped against my tight, aching nipple.
I held tight to his shoulders, pulling him as close as I could.
“Fuck me,” I said. “Fuck me, Michael.”
He growled through a wicked grin, reached around to his back pocket, and pulled out a condom. Thank God. I couldn’t wait another second. I was already on the edge of just telling him to fuck me raw. But he ripped it open with his teeth while still holding my body close to him as he rolled the condom on.
I was greedy, hungry, anxious. I was drunk on desire and I arched toward him, not caring if I seemed desperate.
Another wave splashed around us. I was shielded from most of it by Michael’s body but I had the fleeting thought that he was soaked.
“Are you cold?” I blurted.
He laughed a little, under his breath.
“I just need in that sweet pussy and I’ll be alright.”
And then I felt the head of his cock press against me and I let out a little whimper.
“That’s right,” he said. “You want this?”
“Yes,” I gritted out. “Yes.”
He pushed in nice and slow and I felt every hard, thick inch of him, until he was buried up to the hilt.
“Oh, fuck yes, Sam. God, you feel good.”
He held me tight, sat back on his calves, lifted me with him. Easy as pie. Like I weighed nothing. And then I was astride him, riding him. What had begun as some kind of tribute to a sleek, 80s music video became hungry, messy.
Michael gripped my hips and worked me, pounded into me, so our bodies thundered together and each crash as he filled me, completely, brought stars to my eyes. My head lolled back as his hand slid down to my ass, held me tight, slowed me down.
“God damn, Sam. You’re fucking killing me.”
The growl of his voice. The desperate hold on his control. The way he looked at me through those long, black lashes, the ambrosial honey shining in the moonlight. Like he would devour me. Eat me whole. And I would thank him for the privilege.
He pulled me close and I grinded my clit against the base of his cock. The pressure built.
Another wave crashed around us. Salt water splashed my face and I tasted it and then his mouth was on mine again, his tongue sweeping past my teeth, claiming me. He released me with one hand only to smack my ass, hard.
I moaned into his mouth. Felt a growl build in his chest and emerge as he released me only so he could bite my bottom lip. Another smack. Harder.
Another wave.
And I wasn’t cold. I was burning up. I was on fire.
“That’s right,” he rasped into my ear even as he bit it. “Make yourself come on my dick, baby.”
And I was gone. I tumbled off the sand, off the sea, into the stars. My body was the moonlight. It was the cool waver of silver on the water. I was liquid in Michael’s hands and he drove into me like I was a rag doll.
“Fuck yes, Sam. I’m gonna fuck this pussy so fucking hard.”
And I felt his cock grow immeasurably, impossibly harder and hotter and then he was pulsing inside me and I felt a distant, sweet satisfaction from the knowledge that I’d made him come. I giggled, insensible. Unguarded.
Safe.
He held me close. Kissed my hair, my neck, my cheek, my lips.
“I want you,” he said.
“I think you just had me,” I giggled. “Again.”
“I want you, Sam,” he whispered, his warm breath sliding across my neck, giving me chills.
And then the cold began to creep in.
Chapter Eleven
Michael’s house was beautiful, of course. There were pictures of his big, happy family all over the place. Pictures of his sister, his cousins, his mother. There were drawings on the fridge from his cousins’ kids. Ancient and new cookbooks, adventure novels, and travel guides were jammed into the many bookshelves on one side of the huge, open living room.
He gave me a pair of his sister’s sweat pants and one of his own t-shirts to wear around until our clothes washed and dried in his gleaming, space age washer-dryer combo. His shirt was so, so soft. I thought, fleetingly, of ways I might smuggle it out of the house. Maybe I could casually wear it out. Never return it. Smell that spicy clove and firewood smell whenever I wanted.
He started up the fireplace, not with a remote control, but an old-fashioned match like a regular fucking person. And then he disappeared to take a call. I wandered around the house in silence. The place was so clean. The furniture was all white and soft and there were jugs of pottery and beautifully woven baskets and it all looked very posh and delicate and beautiful. I was afraid to touch every single thing so eventually I sat on the edge of an oversized ottomon and pulled my phone out of my backpack.
There was a message from Rei.
“Where’d you go today???”
Then another, from two hours later.
“Seriously, you okay?”
I almost dropped the phone when it started to buzz. And Rei’s number popped up on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Pink Hair!”
“Oh my God, please don’t make me regret answering this call.”
“Where are you? Did you g
o out on the town?”
“I mean…”
“I thought maybe you went home and…”
“Why would you think that?”
“You just seemed down today. You back in your room? Want me to come down? I have an entire third of a leftover pizza just sitting here.”
I snorted.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m… I’m in Port Kenolee, Georgia.”
“Port Keno… how the fuck did you get down to Georgia? And… why?”
I watched the flickering flames in Michael’s fireplace. From some room, deep in the house, I heard the low rumble of Michael’s voice. He was still on the phone. He sounded like he was arguing with someone.
“Oh shit,” Rei suddenly said. “Are you with the Cake King?”
“Yes,” I hissed.
“Does he live on a private island?”
“No it’s— it’s a beach.”
Rei snorted and I heard her open up a bottle of beer.
“Did you fuck him?”
I hesitated and she took my nonanswer for what it was and started cackling.
“Jesus, Sam. That’s fantastic. He’s amazing, right?”
“He’s not…” I stood up and walked to the mantle, felt the warmth of the hearth on my legs as I looked again at the pictures of Michael’s family. I touched the silver frame of one old photo. It was Michael as a child with his sister and cousins playing in a creek, holding up a wriggling crawfish. In the photo he was beaming, his smile stretching ear to ear. “He’s not what I thought he was.”
“Yeah,” Rei said. She took a bite of what I assumed was pizza. “He seems really fucking cool. I’m glad you came around on him.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she said. “So will you be back tomorrow?”
“Why? Do you miss me?”
“Girl, yes. With Adrienne gone, I only have Maya to pick on and she takes everything way too seriously. But for real, if you get a chance, you should have jet sex. Just, you know, so I can hear about it later.”
I rolled my eyes, walked away from the fireplace, toward the window. Outside, the moon shone over the ocean and I watched the waves roll onto the beach.
“Whatever,” I said.
I hung up and, when I turned around, Michael was standing there. He leaned against the entry to the long hallway, holding my clothes. They were fluffy and folded and he was smiling in a sweet, goofy way that I found surprisingly sexy.
“That was uh… Rei,” I said.
His mouth cocked up at the side in a vaguely sardonic way. No longer sweet. No longer goofy. But definitely sexy. I wanted to kiss that mouth. Wanted to be fucked by that mouth. Again. I shook my head at the thought. What was wrong with me?
As if he could see into the gutter of my thoughts, Michael took a step toward me. And another. He put the clothes down on the sofa and I met him halfway. We were inches apart, the fireplace crackling beside us.
All I could think about was stripping down, Michael taking me on the floor, mounting me from behind. Smacking my ass. Driving into me. Holding me by the throat. Pulling my hair.
He brought his hands up, ran the backs of his fingers through my still-damp hair, onto my cheeks, my mouth. I shivered but I wasn’t scared. I knew I should be. I knew I was supposed to shy away from the very idea of something so filthy. So depraved.
He leaned in, brought his lips to mine. He was so gentle. At first. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he pulled me close. Kissed me harder, deeper. We kissed like we were starving for the taste of each other. Like this is what we’d been missing our whole lives. And yet, deep down, it wasn’t really complete.
I knew I wanted Michael.
And, yeah, right now he wanted me.
But what about tomorrow? Or the day after?
I pulled away from him, picked up my clothes.
“We should probably… uh…”
“Alright, Sam. Let’s get you back before you turn into a pumpkin.”
I reached for my clean t-shirt and, as I was sliding it over my head, Michael said, “Oh, and by the way, you’ll wanna brush up on your petit fours skills before tomorrow morning.”
He said it with a little joking laugh but it didn’t help. His words brought the whole fantasy crashing down. Yes, I’d ridden in a private jet and eaten amazing food and seen the ocean and had amazing sex with an amazing man.
But this wasn’t my real life.
Right now, my life revolved completely around an insane baking competition that meant the difference between success and starvation for me. For my family.
I’d let myself forget that for a few hours.
It had felt so, so good.
But Michael was right. This was all just magic.
And Michael might be the Cake King but I wasn’t a princess.
I was a poor-as-dirt baker from a poor-as-dirt town. I had no prospects except what I’d made for myself and, as I slid into the passenger seat of Michael's gleaming convertible, I didn’t look at the ocean or the Spanish moss or the beautiful man beside me.
I looked at my recipes.
Because my skills were all I had. They were what would save me.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, as I was sleepily wrestling myself into my running clothes, an envelope with a gold stamp slid under the door. I rubbed my eyes, trying to read it, trying to understand the whole time exactly how it was that I happened to be having beach sex in Georgia the night before and was now standing in Louisville, Kentucky getting ready to, once again, bake for my life. I laughed out loud at the whole idea of it. The weird, nonsensical direction I had gone when that very first letter had arrived at Apple Butter.
The question still stuck in my head, How did they know about me?
I blinked and tried again to focus on the present, on the printed words in front of me.
Today you will be making three sets of petit fours on the theme of love. Basic ingredients will be provided. Please request additional ingredients no later than 8:00.
It was six now.
I had two hours to plan. Three sets of fancy, bite-sized, confectionary. On the theme of love. Yanking on my shoes, I heaved a sigh and reminded myself that I was competing for the job of a wedding baker. A society wedding. Doubt crept in around my heart as I rode the elevator down to the ground floor, as I walked down to the waterfront.
This was probably all for nothing. I’d taken time away from Nellie and Eric and Apple Butter when they needed me and… why?
Who the hell was I?
I started running but felt sluggish. My feet felt like overworked dough and my muscles were sacks of flour. I felt heavy. Awkward.
I breathed deep. Tried to clear my head.
And then there was someone beside me. Graceful but grungy sneakers tapped the pavement in an easy, long stride and I smelled soap and malty tea and cut grass.
“Hey,” a voice said, all eager and cordial. I realized I knew the voice and looked to my left. It was Tom, Michael’s assistant.
“Hey,” I breathed.
“How was Port Kenolee?”
I laughed.
“It’s crazy, isn’t it? I had the same reaction when I went. Everything about him… he was nothing like what I expected him to be.”
We tap-thumped in time together, passing other early exercisers. A white-haired man in running shorts that were probably older than me. A group of tai-chi devotees. A couple of chicks who looked like they were on their way to a yoga class. The sun was burning the fog off the river and making everything clear.
“You know,” Tom continued, “I came to the States for a job that didn’t pan out. I was just about to leave and face my family when I met Michael in a coffee shop. He was trying to keep organized. He’d double booked himself and he was absolutely gutted.”
“I can imagine. He’s so…”
“Decent,” Tom said.
“Yeah.”
“So I told him I was looking for a job and that I’d probably be a good assist
ant. He asked me about where I was from and stuff about my life and what my dreams were. He hired me on the spot. No resume. No references. I’ve worked with him nearly eight years now.”
I laughed. That sounded exactly like the Michael I’d spent the previous night with. The Michael who put family and decency and personal values before everything else. The kind of man who loved baseball and apple pie and Christmas morning. The kind of man who, if you didn’t know he was famous, you’d never think he was rich. The kind of guy who would never speak to me except to place an order.
Again, the question that had been bothering me since I got that first letter echoed through my head.
Why me?
I sighed as I ran and then pulled up to a stop. Tom halted with me and I looked at the river. A woman was rowing a scull through the water. A path only she could see.
“Why am I here, Tom?”
He turned his big brown eyes on me, his mouth ticking up just a little.
“I mean… Danielle, Rei, and Maya are all working for big deal bakeries. Danielle’s food is objectively gorgeous. Rei’s flavor profiles are inventive and original. Maya’s dedication to the details is… almost too intense for words.”
Tom smirked.
“I’m just a poor chick from the sticks, Tom. I’m nobody. And I’m supposed to go in there and make a crap-ton of cutesy little window display desserts? I’m supposed to be good enough to bake a cake for Michael’s sister? A famous actress? A woman who’s eaten actual Parisian petit fours? A woman who’s been around the world. I’ve never even been out of the south. Last night was the first time I’d ever seen the ocean.”
“You asked me why you’re here.”
I nodded, any words I might have said catching in my throat.
“You’re here because of me,” he said. “I hiked the Appalachian Trail this spring. Well, part of it. My friend Taylor and I did a whole rambling adventure thing as part of her job. Anyway, we were finished and getting ready to go home. I was hungry. We happened to see the Apple Butter sign from the road.”
My mouth dropped open.
“You came to the restaurant?”