Wrong Number

by Laura Brown

  “No.” Hell no.

  “Good.” She turned me toward my bedroom and walked me there, her hands not leaving my shoulders.

  I settled face-first on my bed, biting back the urge to ask her again if she was sure. In fact, I couldn’t think of anything to say. Conversation had always flowed effortlessly between us. It was odd to have nothing being spoken. Not uncomfortable. Different.

  Avery straddled me. Her breath against my neck was the only warning I had before she pressed a kiss to the bottom of my hairline. My body reacted, but she moved to my shoulders, digging her hands into the tight muscles. I relaxed into the mattress.

  “For someone who hadn’t had a massage before last night, you’re not too bad.”

  Her head appeared in my line of sight, dark hair falling behind her. “I’m a fast learner when properly motivated.”

  She gave me a quick kiss that was far too short, before resuming.

  I let myself fall into the lure of her hands as they moved up and down my back, creating an illusion of being everywhere and nowhere, to the point where I didn’t quite realize how far down she’d gone until I felt her on my calves.

  I tensed, partly because she had her hand on a part of my leg where burn and surgery scar met. Even through my jeans, I was sure the area didn’t feel normal. Avery didn’t even pause, she kept moving, and I didn’t miss that she gave extra time to where my leg was the most stiff.

  Then her hand was under my pant leg, around my messed-up ankle. I closed my eyes, the sensation foreign and calling back memories of physical therapists, the last people willing to get handsy with my scars. She moved as though it didn’t bother her, as if my left leg had no scars at all. Something deep inside shifted, a healing that my leg would never see. And yet, those old words faded, being replaced by this sensual moment.

  She shifted again, this time, giving me no warning before her lips connected with my skin. On my ankle. She didn’t stop there, continued pressing gentle kisses to my skin as far as my pant leg would rise. My heart damn near stuttered, and for the first time ever something involving my messed-up leg turned me on.

  When the material grew taut, I rolled over. “You finished?”

  The smile she sent me could turn an angel dark. “I’m missing a few areas of your leg. Perhaps you should lose the pants.”

  “Not yet.” I grabbed her hands and rolled her beneath me. “My turn to play.”

  I lowered my head until our mouths met with hard, greedy kisses.

  “I didn’t play. I didn’t even cop a feel of your ass.”

  “Your loss.”

  I resumed kissing her, needing her mouth against mine, her tongue teasing. Her hands made their way to my ass and squeezed. I ran mine up her side until I wrapped my hand around her breast, molding my fingers to her, rubbing my thumb against her nipple.

  Our kiss intensified. I wedged one leg between hers. Her hands moved under my shirt, playing with the edge of my jeans. And since Avery was Wrong Number, she already knew I had nothing on under there.

  “You gonna remove the pants yet?” she asked when we broke apart for air.

  “Not yet.” I did, however, grip the edge of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

  “Hey!”

  “You still have some clothing on.” Granted, the bra was sheer; I couldn’t take my eyes off the tight peaks of her nipples.

  “Then at least lose the shirt. An eye for an eye.”

  I reached back and yanked it over my head, before tossing it aside. “Better?”

  Her hands were on my bare chest, leaving trails of fire everywhere they touched.

  “Yes.”

  I claimed her mouth with mine, before kissing down her neck. I kept going until I took one sheer-covered nipple into my mouth.

  Avery arched into me, her body wiggling against me, and any thought about my leg, or the fact that I had legs, vanished. I folded her bra cup down, before finally licking the spot I’d been dying to get to for weeks now.

  “Tastes just as sweet as I thought,” I said.

  “What?” Avery picked up her head.

  I climbed back up her body. “I said, tastes just as sweet as I thought.”

  Her lips curved and she wrapped her arms around my neck. “Is that so?”

  “Definitely.” I kissed her again, stroking my tongue against hers. Her skin was warm and smooth against mine, the heat of her begging for more.

  Or perhaps that was just me.

  I put enough air between us to pop open the button of her jeans. She sucked in a breath as I slipped my hands into her pants, stroking her over her wet panties.

  “Jake.” Avery gasped, clutching onto me. Her skin was flush, and I knew I had a few promises to live up to. Namely, making her come.

  I pushed her panties aside, stroking her before pushing one finger inside. All the while, I watched her face, the way her breathing accelerated, the way she squirmed. The way her eyelids closed and she fisted my sheets in her hands. Texting Wrong Number had been fun. Watching Avery enjoy herself was ten times better.

  Then she moaned. Make that one hundred times better.

  I bent, taking her exposed breast back into my mouth. Avery grew louder, her movements more frantic, and I picked up my pace, hitting something that had her clawing at my back.

  Maybe I needed to make that one thousand times better.

  Her core tightened around my fingers and her back practically levitated off my bed, before she collapsed into a boneless heap on my mattress.

  I removed my hand and licked her juices. Yeah, I was going to need more of that.

  “One down, three more to go.”

  Avery laughed and ran her hands through her hair. “You’re not serious about that, are you?”

  I settled down next to her. “Very.”

  I shifted onto my back, bringing her across me, claiming her mouth once again. She broke the kiss, sitting up and sliding her bra straps down her arm, before unhooking and tossing it aside. Her breasts swung free and I reached up, taking both into my palms.

  She leaned against my pillows, hips digging into mine; my erection trapped between us and begging for more.

  “I’m usually not like this,” Avery said.

  “Then I really have my work cut out for me.”

  I pressed a kiss to her cleavage and her arm faltered. I caught her and moved us both to our sides. Her hands went to my jeans and popped the button. She had one hand inside and around me as she unzipped.

  “Better,” she said, her lips meeting mine.

  It took all my strength not to thrust into her hot hand, doubly so when she left my mouth and kissed a path down my body, before wrapping her lips around me.

  My eyes all but rolled back into my head. I lost myself in the feel of her lips, teeth, and tongue on me, fighting for control. There was no way I was coming anywhere else than inside her. And not her mouth.

  She had a good enough suction on me that when she moved, I popped free. Her lips continued to my hip, thigh, and down my leg, making me realize she somehow had removed my pants.

  I froze, the age-old panic seizing me. I raised my head to find Avery straddling my bad foot, her lips on my knee. The lights were on and I was naked, with her willingly seeing and touching my burns and scars. “What are you doing?”

  “You lived up to your promise. I’m living up to mine.”

  “Not yet. You’ve still got two orgasms to go.”

  “Well, when you put it that way…”

  She shifted off me, removing her pants and panties all in one.

  “You’re gorgeous.” I reached for her.

  “Says a man hoping to get lucky.” She climbed back on the bed.

  “You’re here with me. I’m already lucky.”

  “Speaking of lucky, you got a condom? Because if not, that would be very unlucky.”

  I rolled over and opened my bedside table drawer, pulling out a foil package. Avery licked her lips. She took it from me, biting open the package. I had to fist m
y sheets as she rolled the latex down my length, everything in me ready to tumble over the edge.

  Then her mouth was on mine again, her body under me, and all I could think of was how perfect she felt. Especially when her leg rubbed against my scars.

  We were too busy kissing to say anything else. She wrapped her legs around me, opening to me, and I took the invitation, pressing into her warmth, inch by inch, prolonging the moment for both of us. We stopped kissing then, holding each other as close as possible, until Avery curled her hips into mine, sending a new wave of pleasure through me. I reared back, almost leaving her body before thrusting back in to the hilt.

  “Oh,” the sound tumbled from her lips. I kept up the deliberate, torturous pace. Slow, steady strokes destined to drive us both mad. She clutched at my shoulders, her hips picking up speed. “More.”

  I gave her what she asked for, setting a pace that had her glorious breasts bouncing and the sounds of skin slapping filling the room. Avery added her voice to the orchestra, her head falling back as her body tightened around me.

  I tried to keep going, to fuel her and bring her to the cliff again, but she was intoxicating when she came, and ended up pulling me along with her.

  Her arms wrapped around me as we lay together, fighting for breath.

  “That was worth the wait,” she said.

  I picked up my head. “See? Those texts were a good thing.”

  Avery laughed and I got off her, depositing the condom in the trash before curling up beside her. “You really kept this leg hidden? No one got you to reveal?”

  It had been one of the many fights Diana and I had, but her “get over it” attitude didn’t make me comfortable with the concept, not like Avery. “No one.”

  She placed a hand on my cheek. “They don’t know what they’re missing.”

  “You’re a rare woman, Avery.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I have my own disability—what type of a hypocrite would I be to have a problem with someone else’s?”

  I kissed her again. Because I had to. Because I could. She brushed herself off as being average. I knew the truth. She was special.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Avery

  I entered the bakery in stealth mode, attempting to attract zero attention as I headed to my station. I may have left Jake an hour prior, but I feared my face all but screamed about the multiple orgasms I had. It was a safe bet most of my coworkers knew Jake and I were seeing each other. Didn’t change the fact I preferred to keep that particular part of my life private.

  Either the place was quieter, or my ears were adjusting to the new sound level. I managed to pick up a conversation between two male voices.

  “You need to move faster if you’re going to get caught up.”

  “Man, I’m too hungover to even care right now.”

  “You know better than to drink too much and get too little sleep.”

  “With these hours, you think I get any sleep?”

  I angled my head, searching for the two talking. I found Patrick and Mario standing by their mixers, doing nothing.

  “I’ll speed up the times. It’ll be fine,” Patrick said.

  I knew what he usually baked, and most of them would fail if he messed with the times.

  “I wouldn’t recommend doing that,” I said.

  Both guys looked at me with unpleasant expressions. I got it. I hadn’t exactly communicated with them in the past.

  “Why not?” Patrick crossed his arms, and if I read him correctly, flexed.

  “If you speed up the times, you’ll get air in the dough. Better to be running behind than to have a dead batch.”

  He stalked over to me. I forced myself to stand tall. I already knew he was into intimidation. There were too many people here for him to get away with anything.

  “You think you’re so smart because you’re getting chummy with Jake?”

  And there it was. “Actually, I was trying to save your ass. Go ahead. Speed up the times. See how that goes for you.”

  I turned back to my work, but Patrick grabbed my arm. A nervous tremor threatened to break through, but I refused to give him the satisfaction. I held still, even though I wanted to rip it free and deck him.

  “I will do that. And it’ll be fine. Stick to your business. Cupcake Girl.” He said the last two words with a sneer, as if baking cupcakes was something to be looked down at.

  He let go of my arm, vibrating the ground as he stomped away, and I braced myself against the counter, working at calming my pulse. For a talented baker, he had no idea the mess he’d be making.

  Someone switched the music on, ending my ability to eavesdrop and explaining why I was able to in the first place. Better this way. If he said anything, at least I’d miss it.

  I stayed in my own world, in the pleasure of creating sweets for people to enjoy later on that day. About an hour had passed before voices rose to shouting level. I paused in my meticulous frosting work to find Patrick having a hissy fit that included tossing his baking pan on the floor with a loud bang. Warped and burnt rolls tumbled out. Did that idiot mess with the temperature as well?

  “What the hell is going on here?” Nell wiped her hands on a towel as she approached the chaos. She stopped short of one roll and kicked it lightly with her sneaker. It wobbled rather than rolled away, showing off light and dark coloring.

  “The ovens aren’t working correctly,” Patrick said.

  Nell straightened and made eye contact with the rest of us. “Anyone else having a problem?”

  We all shook our heads.

  “They’re using different ovens.” Patrick gave us all not-so-pleasant glares.

  “Some of them. Not all.” Nell bent and collected a roll. “Start over and get it right. You know how to do it.”

  Patrick grabbed his pan and threw it into the sink with a loud metallic clang that reverberated in my head. More sounds of his hissy fit followed, but the rest of us returned to our work, giving him as wide a berth as possible.

  I had my frosting rhythm going again, albeit slower to account for any more outbursts, when Nell appeared beside me. “How you doing on time?”

  I glanced around my table and did a mental tally of where I was with everything. “Good.”

  “Can you squeeze in something else?”

  I put down my mocha buttercream frosting. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Got anything to help fill in Patrick’s gap?”

  “I’ve got a recipe I whip up for the holidays that’s short on time. It’s nothing fancy but—”

  Nell waved me off. “No. That’s fine. Make it.”

  She walked away before I could say anything else. I had no clue if she’d asked anyone else or not. Didn’t matter. I didn’t have time to investigate the other bakers. I had to get working.

  *

  By the end of the day, my feet and back ached, but each breath felt deeper, the sure signs of a productive day. I had tuned the world out as much as possible and only caught a few tantrums from Patrick. Served him right for messing with the recipe in the first place.

  I used the back of my wrist to attempt, for what felt like the thousandth time, to get stray hairs off my face. No matter how many times I readjusted my ponytail, I always ended up with flyaways destined to trap themselves in my mouth or eyes.

  “Your ponytail is a mess. What have you been doing?”

  I turned to Jake standing behind me. I probably had flour and frosting in my hair, and there he stood, looking delicious in snug jeans and a Henley. He had a day’s worth of scruff adding to the appeal, and those perfect waves. Meanwhile, I had a flyaway stuck to my forehead.

  “You think I sit here and look pretty?”

  He leaned into me. “No, I think you work your ass off and look hot as hell doing so.”

  I blushed, the warmth crawling up from my neck and settling in the tips of my ears. There was no way I looked hot, not after a full day of work.

  “Here, let me help.” Jake moved behind
me, his hands going to my hair.

  I stood still, wondering why this felt intimate. He was a hairdresser. This was what he did.

  He pulled the band from my hair, then finger-combed my locks back, his fingers brushing against my scalp.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t get enough hair during the day?”

  He bent until he was beside my ear. “Not yours.”

  “See if you can figure out a trick. My hair’s always falling out and trying to get into the food.”

  “There’s one surefire way to keep your hair out of your face.”

  When he didn’t say anything more, I angled back to him. He let my hair free, but I didn’t pay attention to that, not when he wore that smirk.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “Trust me?”

  “Right now? No.”

  He flicked the end of my ponytail.

  “A haircut.” His gaze roamed over my face. “A pixie cut, maybe with some highlights on the ends.”

  I resisted the urge to clutch my hair. “That’s not short. That’s short-short.”

  He nodded. “You don’t trust me?”

  I laughed and headed to the sink. “I’ve never had hair that short, not since I had hair to begin with. I like playing with it.”

  He leaned beside me as I turned on the water. “You think you can’t play with short hair?”

  I scrubbed soap into my hands. “Not like putting it up in a ponytail or a bun or anything like that.”

  He held up a hand, ticking off items. “Clips, headbands, gels, more fun than even a braid.”

  I grabbed a paper towel. “If I consider it, will you let me get back to work?”

  A light all but danced in his eyes. “I’ll take what I can get.”

  Then he kissed me, in the kitchen. It was a quick peck on the lips, but it was there, sending a confirmation to anyone watching that we were, in fact, a couple.

  I moved back to a final wipe down of my station; a nagging feeling crawling up my spine. Jake was the absolute worst person to get involved with during my time here. When I left, and my plans had not changed, couldn’t change, I’d not only be leaving him but his mother’s bakery. He was also the only one I’d been interested in for far too long.