My hand finds it’s way to the small of her back and then her ass, where I squeeze a healthy handful and press her into me. She grinds herself into me, the friction of her belly against me like bliss against my rock-hard cock.
I bend my neck down and tilt her chin up. She closes her eyes, body still swaying and pressing to the music. Her head extends toward me, mouth open. I take her invitation, kissing her recklessly, plunging my tongue into her mouth and finding hers, swirling against her, losing myself in the moment. Fuck she tastes good.
“What the fuck?” demands a familiar voice.
I open one eye, not ready to break the kiss. When I see Tara staring at me, face a mask of fury with hands planted on her hips, I reluctantly pull back.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tara asks Sandra. She punctuates her question with a hard push to Sandra’s chest.
I move between them instantly. “Don’t put your hands on her,” I say carefully.
“Or what?” asks Mark, moving to stand beside Tara.
“Please, give me an excuse to break your fucking teeth,” I say dryly to my brother.
Mark tries to smile off my threat, but I can see the hint of discomfort in his features. “Of course. My big brother, the barbarian. Everything ends with a threat.”
“Yeah. Sounds about right. So fuck off. Both of you.”
Tara looks at me and shakes her head. “You’re supposed to be watching Roman and you’re here groping this slut, drunk off your ass?”
“Watch your mouth,” I warn. “ And Roman is with Lyla. He’s taken care of.”
“Slut?” asks Sandra. “If I’m a slut for dancing with a single guy, what are you for fucking your ex-husband’s brother?”
“Dancing?” asks Tara. “It looked like you were shoving your tongue down his throat to me.”
I sigh, realizing this is going nowhere. “Tara can fuck Mark all she wants. Just like you can kiss whoever you want,” I say, pulling Sandra close and kissing her hard and deep, moving my hands across her until I don’t even hear Tara trying to get my attention anymore. When we finally pull apart, Tara and Mark are gone.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get some more drinks.”
Sandra’s face is flushed and her chest heaves for breath. “Don’t you have to drive Roman home?” she asks.
“Nah,” I say. “Lyla’s taking him home and getting him in bed. She’s a good kid. She will stay over until I get home. I’ll just toss her some more money if I’m late.”
Sandra bites her lip. “I think I just completely ruined things with my best friend. Yeah, I could use a drink.”
I grin. “I could use a few dozen.”
35
Sandra
I start the long walk to my bakery, hardly thinking about anything else on my walk besides the throbbing pain in my head and the lingering confusion about last night. Reid and I had so much to drink. I can barely remember anything. I hardly even remember getting out of bed.
I unlock the bakery and get to work. I still have about thirty minutes before Jennifer and Lauren are due to show up. I use it to mix up a batch of dough and start separating it to sit out for proofing. I have a regimented system for proofing my dough, and I stick a timer onto the tray and set it for specific times based on the type of dough. Most bakers just set it and pull it after at least a day has passed, or two days, depending on the type of dough. I control it down to the hour, and that’s part of what makes my product so delicious.
My employees know every last ingredient needs to be measured and added to the most careful degree. I take pride in my product, and I’ve spent countless hours experimenting with tweaking the amounts of each ingredient to find something close to perfection. But the work is never done, which is half the fun. I’m always looking for new ways to improve my recipes.
Before long, I’ve forgotten my headache and lost myself in the work. I’m covered in flour and crusty dough up to the elbows when Lauren arrives.
“Hey, girl!” she says cheerily. “I was hoping you’d be in today.”
I look up from the dough I’m portioning out and smile apologetically. “I know. I’ve been a shitty boss the last couple days.”
Lauren’s a few years younger than me, and she’s wearing the uniform with just enough of her own twist on it that I can’t quite get mad at her for it. Where she’s supposed to wear black pants she has opted for yoga pants, and where her shirt is supposed to be white without decals, hers has a small, decorative pattern around the hem. She has straight, brown hair and an upturned nose that’s just a little bit too big on an otherwise almost perfect face.
I’ve known Lauren since I was in high school, but like everyone else I was friends with, she went to the local school here while I went to Pensworth Academy in the next district over. Pensworth was full of stuck up, wealthy beyond belief, and completely out of touch kids. I didn’t make a single lasting friend there. The only people I ever enjoyed were the kids from other schools I got to meet when we traveled for theater and band. I fell in love with this little town when we first came here my Freshman year. I met Tara, Lauren, and Jennifer at a band meet and never lost touch with them.
Tara was my age, while Lauren and Jennifer were there as middle schoolers, but we still hit it off all the same. Now Lauren and Jennifer are working here to pay their way through their final years of college, and I can hardly believe how far we’ve all come only for it to all end because of Reid’s greedy brother. I’m not going to just lose my bakery and my ability to give my friends a job, but I’m going to lose the town I spent my childhood dreaming about moving to. It still doesn’t feel real.
This place has been like a beacon for as long as I could remember. It was like the shining light beyond the bars of my prison, at least that was how my melodramatic teen self thought of it. If I could just get away from the dinner parties, bow ties, gowns, and fake smiles. If I could just make it here. Everything would be okay. I could forge my own identity and make my own life. Everything would be perfect.
Lauren puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me a sympathetic look. “You’re our friend first, Sandra. Boss second. We’re happy to cover for you.”
I smile, feeling tears threatening to form.
“Besides,” adds Lauren casually, “As our friend and boss, we know you’ll find some way to reward us.”
I laugh. “Is that right?”
Lauren shrugs, dragging a finger through the flour on the table idly. “I mean. If we could come in an hour later for the rest of the week, it’d really help to regain the strength we spent covering for you.”
“Deal,” I say, smirking.
She does a small jump of joy and hugs me. “You’re the best.”
My smile falters a little when I realize losing the bakery is going to mean having tell Lauren and Jennifer they’ve lost their jobs too.
“What’s wrong?” asks Lauren.
“Nothing,” I say. “I uh, just have had a strange few days. Living next door to Reid Riggins has been…”
Lauren quirks an eyebrow. “Sexy?”
“Try confusing.”
“What’s to be confused about? Which hole you want him to put it in first?”
“Oh my God, Lauren,” I say, slapping her arm. “You’re unbelievable.”
“No. Reid Riggins is unbelievable. You let me know if you ever need someone to watch the house for you. I’ll keep an eye on Reid too, you know, just to make sure he doesn’t come around and mess with your things, or wear too much clothing. It’s hot out, he shouldn’t be risking overheating, you know?”
I’m about to tell her to get to work when I hear Jennifer arriving. “You’re back!” She squeals. Jennifer is shorter than Lauren and I. Her black hair is cut pixie style, framing her heart-shaped face and soft, feminine features. Where Lauren has a sort of forceful power to her personality and frame, Jennifer is delicate and fragile. She has narrow shoulders and a slight build and she’s easily the sweetest person I know.
“Sandra just a
greed to give us an extra hour of sleep every day for the rest of this week,” says Lauren.
Jennifer’s eyes widen. “Really? You didn’t threaten to beat her up or something, did you, Lauren?”
Lauren scoffs. “Sandra didn’t make me take it that far.”
I eye her. “Like you could take me.”
Lauren drops into a fighting stance and fires a slow-motion punch at my face. I gently slap a flour-covered hand across her face, easily getting inside her slow-motion defense. For a moment her face is frozen, a white handprint on her cheek and flecks of white still drifting down from the impact. Then her surprise melts to laughter. Jennifer and I laugh along with her. It feels good to forget my problems, even just for a moment.
The three of us effortlessly dive into the work. I continue prepping dough, Lauren decorates a cake for Timmy Watkin’s 14th birthday, and Jennifer sets up the display cases with fresh product. Before long, the shop is buzzing with activity as person after person strolls in and collects their daily treat. At least ninety percent of my business comes from regulars. Once I figured that out, it made ordering supplies every week extremely simple and efficient.
It’s getting close to my lunch break when the door swings open in a way that causes me to glance up. Reid Riggins storms in, clad in a white shirt dusted with oil.
Jennifer and Lauren freeze beside me as well, transfixed by the sight of him. “I could stare at those forearms all day,” mutters Lauren. She rushes up to the counter to greet him.
“Reid, what a nice surprise. Can I get you anything, hon? My treat.”
Her treat? She’s damn right it will be. I’m not about to give away free products to him, especially not so Lauren can try to get in his pants. I try not to acknowledge the jealous pang in my chest. He’s not mine. I’ve spent a lot of energy trying to convince him and myself of that. I have no right to be jealous.
Reid completely ignores her, stepping up to the counter across from me and glaring. “Sandra. I need you to come outside, now.”
Lauren purses her lips in a way that says she will accept her defeat, for now. Jennifer stares at me, mouth slightly open and eyes wide. It would almost be comical if the look on Reid’s face wasn’t intense enough to burn holes straight through me.
“You… what?” I ask, feeling more than a little confused. There’s also a distant hint of pride in knowing he came for me. He looked straight past Lauren, hardly even noticing her because of me.
“I need you outside,” he says.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m in the middle of something,” I snap. My anger is a little forced, but he doesn’t need to know that. The last thing Reid Riggins’ arrogance needs is a helping hand.
Jennifer’s small hands press into me, leading me out of the shop. “Go to him,” she says a little teasingly, dragging her words out slowly so they ring melodramatically severe.
“Use protection, kids,” says Lauren a little bitterly.
Both Reid and I glare at her and she shrinks back a little, holding her hands up in self-defense. “I’m just saying,” she mutters. “STDs are no joke.”
Somehow I’m coaxed outside and then the door closes behind me, bells chiming faintly as it shuts. I cross my arms, trying to hold on to my anger because it’s the only thing keeping me from melting in front of him. He’s too much. Too much man. Too much handsome. Too much muscle. Being this close to him makes it all so overwhelming that I could lose my train of thought in a split second if I’m not careful.
“You drove my car back up here to give it to me? You live next door. It would have made a lot more sense to just… I don’t know, wait until I was home?”
“Maybe I just wanted to see you. You look cute in that uniform.”
“You really--” I clear my throat, blushing like an idiot and remembering to scowl. “Reid. I told you I was busy. Thanks for giving my car back, but I really need to--”
“Who said I was giving it back?” he asks. The corner of his mouth pulls up in a playful grin. “You’re going to learn how you fucked it up in the first place so I don’t have to fix it again. Get in,” he says, yanking the door open.
I find myself obeying. I’m not normally one to be easily cowed by a man, or anyone for that matter, but something in his voice broaches no disagreement or argument. He expects obedience, and there’s an undeniable power in the force of that expectation.
I wait for him to get in the driver’s seat. He turns the ignition and shifts into drive. “See this?” he says, pushing on the stick just slightly until it glides somewhere between neutral and drive.
“Yes,” I say a little hesitantly.
“This is what you’ve been doing. I don’t know how often. But you’ve been thinking the car is in drive when it is actually here. Every time you drive like this you’re grinding the shit out of your gearbox. That caused a chain reaction and started fucking everything up.”
I nod. “I understand. It uh, won’t happen again?”
He smirks. “You know, if you didn’t know how to handle a stick, you could’ve just asked. I’d be happy to let you practice with me some time.”
I shake my head, looking out the window. “You know, you’re unbelievable. How do you function in society?”
“I don’t,” he says.
I let out a surprised laugh. “I guess you’re right. I hardly see you away from that shop of yours, and when I do, you tend to leave a trail of pissed off people in your wake.”
“It’s that bad, huh?”
“I might be exaggerating. Just a little.”
He gets out of the car and comes around to open my door. “Come on,” he says, helping me out carefully, making sure he lifts me slightly to keep me out of a small puddle. “You looked busy in there. Go ahead.”
“Thanks. You can just leave the car in the parking lot.”
He laughs, already getting into the driver’s seat of my car and revving the engine. “Sweetheart, if you want your car back, you’re going to have to come by the shop and ask nicely. Maybe we can even have a repeat. I’ve never been much of a believe in the one night stand. Call me hungry, but I always go back for seconds.” He spins the tires, pulling away and leaving me in a haze of smoke.
I stomp back inside the bakery. Lauren spots me and comes up to the counter, obviously hungry for details. “You have to--”
“Not now,” I say, weaving through a few customers to get behind the counter and then to my back office. I step inside and close the door, cradling my head in my hands, trying desperately to remember more than the fuzzy images I have of the festival.
As much as I try I only see the same, confusing blur of images, none of which are good. Sweating skin moving against mine, a cock so perfect I have to be making it up, and those eyes. Those unmistakably piercing, green, smoldering eyes. They stare into mine as he…
I can’t be imagining it wrong. I guess it could have all been some alcohol induced dream, but I’ve never dreamed up something like that before. Not in my entire life. Reality creeps in on me, inch by inch. The feeling settles in my stomach, cold, hard, and unrelenting. I made a mistake. I made a mistake with Reid. Now all I can do is hope to God he was carrying a condom and thought to use it. But for some reason he doesn’t strike me as the type to think much about something practical like that, especially not when he’s hammered.
I want to close my eyes and sleep away the last dregs of this hangover, but every time I close my eyes I see flashes of memory. My hands on my thighs as my dress rides up and I grind myself into Reid on the dance floor. His hands on me. Sparkling water and naked flesh. His cock.
I shiver. Why do I have a memory of his cock? There’s no way in hell I would have slept with him, no matter what he just said before he pulled away. I try to convince myself that the slight throb between my legs is just a side effect of the hangover, and not my core trying to recover from his big, thick…
I cover my eyes with my hands and groan. I did not sleep with him. I wouldn’t do that.
I drag myself to the back office, ignoring how much the girls need my help with the midday rush for a minute to throw back three pain relievers.
My head is just hurting more and more as the day goes on, meanwhile Reid looked perfectly happy and alert. He probably even woke up early to go for a jog, hit things with his wrench, and rub grease and oil on himself. It’s almost frustrating to think about how sexy he is. Even the way he stands seems seductive. Long, lean legs planted wide, powerful torso tapered to a narrow waist, strong, muscular forearms crossed under his ripped chest. He’s just so intense. Ugh. I shake my head to get the image out, which only jostles around the ball of hangover-pain. I wince, clutching my temples and sighing.
Just knowing Reid lives so close sends a thrill through me that I can’t suppress, no matter now ill-advised it is.
Reid Riggins. Never in a million years would I have thought… He’s the antithesis of what I want in a guy. He’s brash, arrogant, rough… Rugged, hard, strong, and powerful. I shake my head, more carefully this time. Am I just falling into the trap of thinking I can fix him? That I can somehow exert my will and turn him into a well-groomed, nice boy who will open doors for me and massage my feet at night?
Every time I move, the faint soreness between my legs makes me more and more certain that I slept with him. Given how much we both had to drink, I think the chances that we had safe sex are next to zero. What would I do if I was pregnant with Reid Riggins baby? I’d say goodbye to the last shred of my life that wasn’t an utter disaster, for starters.
I grin at my own thought. Maybe it would be a disaster. But I’ve seen Reid with Roman. He’s a good dad. He’s a damn good dad. He loves that boy more than anything, and he was willing to put up with Tara’s bullshit for Roman’s sake, until she cheated. At least I don’t have to wonder about that part. Reid would make a great father.
Knocked Up and Punished Page 24
