Kneading You

by Simone Belarose

  Never would have known how much I was missing. And then knowing my luck, when Claire did come back I’d still be with that other girl.

  Maybe we would have patched things up, but we’d both be comfortably unhappy with different people in our lives.

  Wouldn’t that have been painfully ironic.

  Instead, I was available - almost pathetically so - when Claire came back and maybe that proved to be the opening that allowed our relationship to blossom.

  When I looked down at Claire I saw a pensive look on her face. “What’re you scheming at now?”

  “Thinking how to use the interest your female patrons have in you to bolster the business,” she said blithely.

  “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

  She turned her head to look at me, a devilish smirk aimed at me. “I sure hope not.”

  19

  Claire

  “C’mon Thomas, you can’t hide from the camera forever.”

  Despite being gorgeous and absolutely ripped to shreds with like zero percent body fat, Thomas was camera shy. I didn’t know if it was a confidence issue or a general reluctance to being filmed, but it certainly put a strain on the whole social media profile I was trying to build for him.

  This was a major step in improving the business. After looking over the business top to bottom while I hung out in the kitchen watching him work and handle customers I realized what was missing.

  Exposure.

  He was already extremely handsome, astonishingly well-built and made the most gorgeous pastries, coffee and baked goods you could imagine. The problem? Not a damn person outside of this little dinky town knew about it.

  In the words of marketing, he had no presence.

  With a little outreach, I managed to get him set up on all the social media platforms, the website would be finished in a day or so thanks to a contact from my side project where I helped her get her foot in the door at a marketing company as a junior web developer.

  She’d already shown me a sneak peek of the site, complete with photo album section, member login, shop, and hooks into all the Game of Scones social media accounts. It looked amazing.

  While she was putting the final touches on that, I was busy trying to record and take pictures of Thomas doing what he did best. Which is, make beautiful tasty treats. All those photo albums needed some delicious content.

  Which would be a lot easier if he’d stand still and do his work without constantly trying to hide his face from the camera.

  “Okay,” I said trying to keep a rein on my voice from sounding annoyed. Which I was. “I’m going to sit over here and put the phone away over there while you make those…whatever they are.”

  While I talked, I decided to do something slightly sneaky. Instead of holding up the phone I wedged it between two fluffy towels so it would stay upright, made sure Thomas was in the shot when he was busy at the stand mixer and hit record.

  Videos worked so much better than pictures, and I think Thomas just needed to feel relaxed. Which didn’t seem possible with me hovering around him snapping pictures and instructing him to make that sexy pout he made while he was thinking.

  “This is millefeuille,” he said, enunciating the french word with surprising authenticity. “Some people know it as a Napoleon.”

  I still had no idea what that was, but he was mixing an absolutely massive amount of butter together with a paltry amount of flour.

  “And all that butter you’re putting in over there?” I prompted, sitting off to the side at the counter so he would focus on me and hopefully not the rather conspicuous phone.

  Luckily, he only had eyes for me and I felt the familiar flutter of butterflies in my stomach when he looked at me that way. I could have had sparklers and fireworks going off in the corners and it felt like he’d only see me.

  It was enough to make a girl giddy.

  Thomas gave me a curious look. It wasn’t that I hadn’t shown interest before, I was fascinated with what he made but I rarely prodded him with questions. I gave him my best innocent smile. “I’m interested! I should know what you’re making, I am your business partner you know.”

  His shoulders relaxed and while he transferred the buttery mixture to an aluminum pan lined with plastic wrap he gave me one of his tantalizing hooked smiles. “Firstly, I’m making puff pastry.”

  “The stuff you can just buy in the store?”

  Thomas froze what he was doing and gave me a dirty look. “I make everything from scratch,” he said emphatically. “Premade dough is full of chemicals and stabilizers that no proper baker would touch with a ten-foot pole. They’re fine for something to make at home, I wouldn’t expect anybody cooking from home to have the time or inclination to make this from scratch.”

  “But?” I said, unable to stop smiling at how worked up he was getting.

  “But.” He returned to his work. “It makes an inferior product. It’s devoid of any depth of flavor and nuances. It’s soulless.”

  “Which is why you make everything from scratch,” I said, voicing the reason. “Doesn’t that make everything take longer?”

  “Of course it does,” his tone suggested I just said the sky was blue. “The thing is, there are no shortcuts when you want to make something great. Life is not about the shortcuts, it’s about the effort we put into our lives and the people we care about. I care about this, I care about the people who come into my bakery and I want them to experience the best I can make.”

  This was gold. I tried to keep it together. If he knew he was being recorded and pseudo-interviewed he’d flip. Instead, he was at ease around me and genuinely wanted to answer my questions.

  Back and forth we went, I’d ask a simple question and he’d give me a lengthy explanation about what he was doing and why. A few times he moved out of camera shot and I asked if he could go back.

  “Why?”

  “Because I can see you better over there.” Which, technically wasn’t a lie. My camera could definitely see him better and I’d be watching him through it soon enough when I edited the footage together.

  Eventually, he took a break to go handle the customers that were coming in and I took the liberty to pause the recording and send it over to my laptop so I could start editing it.

  Using the bakery’s kitchen as my office felt right somehow. I took up the last counter in the long island that nearly bisected the room, far enough out of Thomas’ way without being too far from him.

  He was an absolute gentleman about my work, never snooped or peeked at my screen which was a good thing because I was editing the footage together to showcase his candor and philosophy of baking.

  Without realizing it I had cobbled together a great intro video for A Game of Scones. Thomas was relaxed, he gave thoughtful answers to my questions, and all the while kept working. I don’t think it could have turned out better if we had scripted the whole thing.

  After the shop closed and it was time for Thomas to start prep for the next day, I managed to convince him to put just his apron on, shirtless. At first, he resisted, but when I unbuttoned my white dress shirt freeing my breasts in their lacy black bra he practically ripped off his shirt.

  I set the phone up again when he was getting his shirt over his head and watched him from my usual seat. This was for me, a private video that I selfishly wanted. Maybe it was a bit wrong, but it was hot.

  By the time he had finished, I was practically fanning myself. “Thomas,” I just barely managed to say.

  “Yeah?”

  “You need to come here.”

  He was at my side in an instant, all concern and worry. God, I loved that man. Here I was practically ready to leap on him, camera or no camera, and he was worried about me.

  I don’t know what came over me, but I grabbed his flour-dusted cheeks in my hands and pulled him down for a deep, longing kiss. Confident he’d stay there, I let one hand slide down the side of his abs where the apron was open and feel around until I reached the ridged hills of his h
ard stomach.

  My hand slipped into his pants and wrapped around the base of his cock with an electric jolt that ran from my arm down to my toes. He barely needed any coaxing to get hard. In seconds he was straining against the jeans he wore.

  Thomas’ hand glided up my thighs and under my skirt. His fingers hooked my panties out of the way and gently caressed me. There was a momentary pause as he realized I was already soaking wet. I grinned against his stilled lips and playfully bit them.

  A hungry groan escaped his lips like a trapped animal and he thrust one, then two fingers inside me. I gasped at the sudden sensation that rippled through me like a stone dropped in a still pond.

  Questing strong fingers slid in and out of me. I tried and failed to still my hips as the need began to take hold of me for more. His free hand reached down and cupped one breast, then the other scooping them out of their lacy prison. His palm achingly rubbed my hardened nipple as his fingers ventured deeper, hooking upward to the spot he found before.

  Lightning burst through me, there was no other way to describe it. Just a gentle touch and I quivered with excitement and pleasure. My hands worked to free his engorged cock from his jeans. I fumbled with the zipper, barely able to still my shaking hands as he gave me slow teasing circles that hinted at bliss to come.

  His tongue parted my lips, danced with mine, he still had a slight hint of coffee and I loved it. I put both hands to the task of exploring his length, occasionally reaching one hand down to cup and fondle his tightened balls. He twitched appreciatively at the attention.

  Our breath came hot and heavy, we had to break the kiss for air several times. Foreheads pressed tight against one another, chests heaving. I could feel myself getting close, but he was going too slow, torturing me with pleasure but not enough to push me over the edge.

  I want to blame hunger and a raging need for what happened next, but I know in my heart that I just needed Thomas. I needed all of him, right at that moment.

  My hand wrapped firmly around his hot, thick member and I pulled. At first, he groaned in pleasure, but when I didn’t ease up he got the hint and staggered closer to the stool I was perched on.

  His fingers left me with a stark feeling of loss. I grit my teeth and guided the stiff crown towards my lips, felt them part with excruciating hunger for more. They soon got their wish as Thomas’ girth filled me. I stretched around him, yearning for more. Felt every substantial inch ease into me until I could take no more.

  For a moment time stood still. I held onto him with both arms looped around his neck. We were both too afraid to move, the yearning hunger and need for once momentarily silenced.

  I could have this, came the unbidden thought. I could have this every day if I wanted it.

  And then it came on again like a tidal wave threatening to drown us both. My fingers dug in as I pulled him as hard and close as I could get to him. Felt the same need for closeness, for every inch of our bodies to be touching from Thomas, his muscled arms wrapped around me securely.

  There was no gentle easing into this. Thomas thrust with desperate abandon into me and I wrapped my legs around him, pulling myself down to exaggerate the motion.

  Urgency and torturous greed drove us on. Every worry, every concern about the bakery, about Thomas, our relationship, it all fell away. Connected to him like this, our bodies in sync, there was nothing that could come between us.

  I stopped being Claire, and he was no longer Thomas. At that moment, we were one. Decadent bliss enveloped us. I never wanted that moment to end, I didn’t want to go back to being just Claire.

  I needed Thomas like a fish needed water. He was my other half and together, we could - if even for a moment - be whole again. Distantly aware of Thomas’ groan and cursing I was lifted up on a wave of building pleasure that flooded me and filled me to the brim.

  There was no room for thought, for doubt or worry, everything was perfect. Nothing could ruin that. I clung to that moment with everything I had.

  Slowly, thought and reason came back to me.

  The first thing I became aware of was the warm water trailing down my cheeks. Tears. It took me longer than it should have to realize what they were. My head was resting against Thomas’ broad chest. Somewhere in there he had lost the apron and stepped out of his pants so he was stark naked in front of me.

  Head down to prevent him from seeing I squeezed him as tightly as I could to me as if I could replicate that feeling of closeness again. That overriding want to be one. To be whole.

  Tears squeezed from my eyes as he comfortingly, lovingly stroked my hair and held me against him. “I love you,” I heard him mutter. I froze, he must have felt the stiffening in my body and he pulled away.

  Frantic, I looked up afraid I had hurt him. He saw the tears there and whatever he had been thinking slipped into concern and worry. His own feelings forgotten. “I’m fine,” I said with a shaky voice.

  Thomas gently passed a thumb over each cheek, wiping the tears away. He kissed me again and held me even tighter to his chest. He didn’t say a word, but his actions spoke volumes. I was safe here in his arms. It felt like nothing could hurt me, and I wanted so badly to say the words back to him.

  But I couldn’t.

  “You don’t need to say it back,” he muttered into my hair. “I’m here when you’re ready. I’ll always be here.”

  20

  Thomas

  So I may have, accidentally, totally fucked things up.

  The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, like some sort of ventriloquist trick. Claire had been practically molded against my body and when those words fell out of my mouth she turned as hard and rigid as steel.

  I had meant them. I did love her, but I didn’t intend on telling her yet. I knew things were going fast and I didn’t want to scare her. And it seems I did just that.

  We went back to my place, both so tired from the day that Claire spent barely two minutes on her laptop before we retired early to bed. She barely said two words to me since the kitchen, but rather than being cold and distant she was warm. Loving.

  It was like she was trying to tell me she felt the same way, without having to say the words. Was I reading too much into it?

  It felt like I was just seeing what I wanted to see. Claire was never the type to beat around the bush, she was a force of nature and if she felt a certain way she let you know.

  And I was okay with her not saying it back. I knew if she loved me, she would tell me in her own time no matter if I said it first or not. While it wasn’t when I would have chosen to say it, I was happy I did. It was out in the open now and there was no taking it back.

  That morning I woke up with Claire snuggled up in my arms and I felt on top of the world. I had everything I wanted right here.

  I could stand to lose the bakery if I kept her. I would fight for it, I would go down swinging. But with Claire at my side, I knew things would be okay no matter what fate had in store for me.

  What could you do about a town that was dying around you? People weren’t going to drive hours out of their way just to visit my shop. I liked Claire’s idea about letting people order online and shipping products out, but that was its own headache.

  Most of my pastries were best the day they were made, the further out from that day the worse they got. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint somebody.

  If somebody ordered from the west coast, by the time their food arrived it’d already be stale. To deal with that, I’d need to impose some sort of restriction, not to mention many of my pastries required to be constantly refrigerated.

  The variables had my head spinning. When I voiced my concerns, Claire seemed to think I was exaggerating the issue. In the end, I relented to her expertise and hoped that I was wrong.

  Nothing quite like a bad string of reviews for a new online shop to put the final nail in the coffin. I’d be sunk before I ever ventured into that market. The only idea I’d managed to get my head around that might work is ha
ving a limited supply of products available to purchase and ship.

  That meant I could control what would potentially go bad. Which cut out most of my goods, but left enough that people could still get a sample of what I made without totally ruining the experience if they tried to order a cheesecake instead of say, a croissant. One keeps for a few days and travels well, the other does not.

  Slipping out of bed I gave Claire a kiss on the cheek and started breakfast. On my way out of the bedroom, I threw on some clothes and nudged the thermostat up on my way to the kitchen.

  I wasn’t a big social media person, didn’t have a Twitter or Facebook account even when they were the most popular thing in the world. So it wasn’t something I had expected to be barraged by when I turned my phone on to listen to some music while I cooked breakfast.

  Suddenly A Game of Scones had thousands of followers, retweets, and apparently was trending. When I clicked on one of the links I saw why. A mixture of shame, embarrassment, and betrayal coiled up inside me like a snake ready to strike.

  I felt sick.

  The reason so many people were talking about me, was because there was a video going around of me baking shirtless with just the apron on. What I thought was a private moment between Claire and me was out there for millions of people to see.

  I turned the phone off and set it down in on the counter in disgust. I couldn’t look at it anymore.

  I’m not sure why I was so upset by it. Was it because she hadn’t told me she was filming me? I’d caught a number of other clips in there that I didn’t remember her recording either.

  So what if I was shy? Couldn’t she have been honest with me and told me what she was doing? At the very least didn’t I deserve to know before she posted the videos?

  Rather than make breakfast I sat at the table in the morning light, hands fisted, trying to make sense of it. To see her side of the story, but I couldn’t get over the way it made me feel. Waves of heat rolled over my face and made me feel sick to my stomach.