by Penny Wylder
He leans down to suck my right nipple between his lips, his tongue rolling across the hard little nub. I bury my hands in his hair, arching my back. He swirls his tongue around me, teasing, taunting, drawing the pleasure out. Then he lets go and shifts sides, catches my left nipple next, while his right hand slides up to cup my right breast again.
I moan and spread my legs, and he slides his other hand between them to tease my inner thighs, trailing his rough, strong fingers up along the fabric of my jeans, tracing the inseams.
“Still don’t believe I’m good with my hands?” he asks, peering up at me.
I grin down. “Not convinced yet…”
He undoes the clasp of my jeans and slides one hand down the front of my pants. His fingertips push the fabric of my panties aside and delve right between my legs to cup my pussy. I gasp and arch forward to grind my clit against the heel of his palm, but he draws his hand back, doesn’t let me make contact fully. Not yet.
He spreads my pussy lips and trails his finger back and forth along my slit, slowly, painfully slowly. “You’ve only seen one side of what I can do to a girl, Carmine.” His eyes bore into mine, white-hot.
“What are some of your other specialties?” I ask, one eyebrow lifted.
“Well, there’s teasing…” He presses a finger against my entrance, almost hard enough to slide into me. Almost. I buck against his hand, and he releases, drawing back, tracing my pussy lips again, his finger now slick and wet with my juices. “I’m particularly good at getting girls to beg for what they want…”
I lift an eyebrow. “You want me to beg you to finger me?”
“No, of course not.” He swirls his finger along my slit again. At the same time, he presses his palm against my clit, rubbing gently in slow, smooth circles, applying just enough pressure to make my clit throb. He notices the twitch, and his grin widens. “I want you to beg me to taste you, Carmine. Right here in your office at work.”
“And what do you get out of this if I do beg you?” I ask. I’m proud. My voice almost remains steady the whole time.
He smirks down at me. “What do I get?” He touches my breast with his other hand, curls his fingers down to tug on my nipple, just hard enough to make me sit up and gasp. “I get to taste the filthiest little girl in town, of course.” He leans in, so close that his breath tickles my neck. “I’d love to eat you out right here, in your office. I bet your sexy little cake is more fucking delicious than anything else in this store.”
I moan a little, arching against his hand, as he continues to gently rotate against my clit. “I… can’t… say I’d complain,” I murmur, losing myself as I start to buck against his palm.
“But you aren’t begging for me either.” He catches my eye and tsks, shaking his head. “On the other hand, I could just get you nice and wet for me…” He flicks his finger along my slit once more, coating himself in more of my juices, proving how wet I already am. “And then leave you to your own devices. You do have plenty of those. Perhaps you’d prefer.” He steps back, and slips his hand out of my pants.
I groan in frustration and sit up to reach for him. He laughs and wraps an arm around my waist. Then he drops to his knees in front of me.
My breath catches in my throat. The sight of this sexy, hot as hell man kneeling between my legs sets me off almost as much as the feeling of his fingers exploring my pussy.
“Go on, Carmine. You know you want me to.” He leans in to catch my jeans in his teeth. With one sharp tug, he draws them down my hips. I watch as he inches them down further, further, until they fall to my knees. Then he sits back up and traces his tongue across the front of my panties.
I moan. I can feel his hot, wet tongue through the thin fabric. Surely he can taste me through it too. I’m soaking at this point.
I gaze down at him through hooded eyes, lust driving me wild. “How... much begging are we talking?” I manage to ask between pants. The panting only gets worse when he bites the hem of my panties and tugs them down my hips after my jeans.
Reflexively, I check over his shoulder to see that the door is closed. But there’s no one else here today. I have nothing to worry about.
I glance back at him, still breathing fast.
He grins up at me and licks his way from my knee all the way up my inner thigh, almost to the crease where my leg meets my hip. “Only a little.” His eyes go dark, mischievous. “I just want to hear you scream my name.”
“Caleb…”
He laughs, deep in his throat, and pushes me backwards across the table once more. Then he spreads my knees and bites my inner thigh, quick and sharp. I cry out faintly.
“You’re going to have to do way better than that, dirty girl.”
“Caleb, please…” I start, swallowing my pride.
He smirks up at me, and kisses his way a little higher. A little closer to my pussy. “Better. Be more specific, Carmine. I need details.”
“Caleb, please lick my pussy,” I gasp.
His tongue hovers just beside my pussy lips now. He leans up to plant a kiss on my mound, his lower lip almost grazing my clit. “Louder. More.”
“Please, Caleb,” I cry out this time. “Fucking eat me out.”
He pushes my legs even wider, grinning. “That’s more like it.” Then he cups my ass, pulls it off the table with both hands gripping tight on either cheek, and delves his tongue into my slit.
I moan and buck against him, the sensation overwhelming—his hot wet tongue against my sensitive skin. He licks from back to front and back again, over and over, sloppy and wet and messy, his hot tongue exploring every inch of my cleft. Then he pushes deeper, presses his tongue between my lips and inside my pussy, and I cry out louder, leaning back against the table.
He swirls his tongue inside me, making my hips buck. Then he pulls my pussy against his face and laps his flat, planed tongue along my clit, and I gasp, the pressure starting to build. He keeps going, licking me hard and fast, and at the same time pushing one finger into my pussy. He laps at my clit as he fingers my pussy, adding another finger, then another, until he has three fingers deep inside me, curling them up against my inner wall, stroking my G-spot while he licks and sucks at my clit.
Soon I’m screaming, head back, spots dancing in my vision as the orgasm sweeps through me. He doesn’t stop, just keeps licking me, and before long, a second one hits me, making my pussy clench and my body shake as I moan desperately.
Then I hear a distant beep, and I rocket off the desk, breathing hard as I grab for my jeans.
“Where’s the fire?” he asks, laughing.
I nod toward the kitchen. “It’ll be in there unless we go rescue that cake.”
7
Against all odds, we manage not to burn the cake and Caleb leaves for something else he has on his schedule. He kisses me goodbye—a long, hot, searing kiss that’s just reminds me again how fucking good he is with his tongue.
But as I watch him drive away while I lock up the bakery, I can’t help but wonder where he’s off to now. Who he’s off to now. What other clients might be on his schedule.
Does he feel about them the way I feel about him? Does he feel so comfortable, easy, normal with his other clients?
I shake myself out of it. I can’t go thinking like this.
But it’s a hard mental image to shake. I spent all night with it stuck in my brain. Even when I whip out my favorite vibrator, the little egg that slides right into my pussy and rests at my G-spot, pulsing vibrations that usually curl my toes and drive me wild with hardly any imagination required, the mental image still sticks.
I can’t get Caleb out of my head.
Worse, I can’t stop wondering if this might be more than what it seems. If he might feel something for me, more than he’d feel for a client. Is this more than just the business arrangement it appears to be?
Impossible.
He meets me at the bakery the next morning, right at 9am when he said he’d be there, prompt as usual. Lara is up front, con
sumed in her work, but she stares open-mouthed as Caleb strides through the doors, dressed in yet another slick button-down top and those dress pants again, the ones I desperately want to rip off his sexy body. Lara winks at me and slides into the back room. I’m going to be treated to no end of prodding questions later, I’m sure. But for now, I can’t say I’m mad about him being here.
“Here you go,” I tell him, passing over the box that I tied up with aqua ribbons this morning, cake inside.
He accepts it, smiles. “Pleasure doing business with you, Carmine.”
My heart sinks. I force myself to ignore it, to keep smiling. “You too, Caleb.”
He lingers before the counter. I find myself drifting closer to him, unable to help it.
“Anything else I can help you with?” I ask finally, when he still hasn’t made a move. I tilt my head back to meet his gaze, and find those sharp gray eyes fixed on mine.
“Definitely. But I don’t think I should detail that in mixed company,” he responds, grinning.
My cheeks flush. “You’ll have to send me the details later.”
“I could.” His gaze drops to my chest, then follows the angles of my hips to my legs, bare beneath my apron, since I wore a skirt to work for once. Maybe, possibly motivated by the fact that I knew Caleb would be stopping by. “Or, better yet, you could come with me.”
I blink and tilt my head. “What, now? You’re busy.” I laugh and nudge the cake box in his hands. “Or have you forgotten your niece already?”
“Come with me to the party,” he clarifies. “It might not be the most exciting bash of the year, six years olds, you know, but afterwards…” He steps closer and circles an arm around my waist. Tugs me against him, so I can feel the hard muscular press of his chest against my breasts. Not to mention the way his thigh digs between mine, makes me all too aware of the ache that’s starting to grow in my clit, the same way it does anytime he’s around. “I promise, I’ll make it worth your while,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.
I shiver and sink into his embrace. Savor his familiar scent, the feel of his arm around my waist. It’s tempting. So damn tempting. But… I heave a sigh and force myself to step back, just as Lara pops out of the kitchen door. She freezes in the doorframe, wide-eyed, clearly having thought it would be safe to re-enter by now. I wave a hand at her to stay while I shake my head at Caleb.
“I can’t today. I’ve got to work. We have two orders to finish up today, and then—”
“Carl and Jen can handle those,” Lara butts in.
I spin to stare at her, wide-eyed. “But…”
“I was just in the back talking to Jen actually. She’d love the chance to take on a little more responsibility. Let her try it out today. They’ve got their marching orders, things are trekking along.”
That wide-eyed stare shifts into a frown. “But the timing…”
“I’ll keep on top of the kids,” Lara says, shaking a finger at me now. “You deserve to take some time off for once in your life.”
I flash a single, panicked glance over my shoulder at Caleb. But he only spreads his hands, innocent.
“Don’t look at me,” he says. “I’ll only tell you your friend is right.”
“I like him,” Lara replies, flashing him a quick wink past me. “Good head on his shoulders.”
“Who said you guys are allowed to gang up on me?” I grumble.
“Pretty sure that’s BFF privilege numero uno,” Lara points out. “Ganging up on you when you’re being silly. Go and have fun at…” She glances past me at Caleb. “Whatever you two are up to.”
“Unless work was just an excuse,” Caleb answers quickly. “In which case, I completely understand. Hanging out with my 6-year-old niece might not be your idea of a great Monday…”
“Okay, I didn’t think he could get any more adorable, but now…” Lara waves a hand.
I snort. “I’d love to go, Caleb.” I flash Lara one last look. “But only if you’re sure.”
“Get out of here before I shove you out the door,” she scolds, reaching over to accept the apron I’m untying from my neck.
“Fine, I can take a hint,” I call over my shoulder. I’m nervous about leaving the shop in Lara and the assistants’ hands. But I can’t deny it—those nerves flood away in an instant when Caleb reaches down and catches my hand in his, our fingers entwining.
We take his car, drive to his sister’s house on the outskirts of town. When we climb out of the car and he catches my hand again—unafraid to hold it in front of his family, apparently—I can’t help thinking yet again that this has to be something special. Unique.
There’s no way he’d bring me to this party if ours was a purely business relationship. Right?
Caleb’s sister, Beth, turns out to be his stepsister, I learn as he introduces me to the bubbly blond with a strong American accent.
“So glad you could both make it,” she gushes as she tries to corral a small herd of 6-year-old girls, currently stampeding through the house on their way from one birthday activity to the next. “Oh, and the cake!” Her eyes light up. “I’m in love with your bakery, Carmine. Caleb was telling me you gave him a special class and everything, I about died of jealousy.”
My cheeks flush bright red, thinking about exactly how special that class was. Pretty sure his sister wouldn’t have wanted the version of baking class that he got. “No trouble at all,” I hear myself saying as Beth leads us through the winding hallways of her house toward the kitchen.
“Still, it’s so sweet…”
I lose track of the conversation when we reach the kitchen, which is packed with people. I lose my grip on Caleb too, and find myself fumbling through the chaos, trying to find some people I recognize.
More than a few seem to recognize me, though, and after I spot Caleb trapped in a conversation with a few older guys out back by the grill, I let some neighbors pull me into a conversation about the bakery business. We chat for a few minutes, mostly them asking questions about how hard it was to get started and how much they’ve heard from their friends that they need to try our cakes.
Then the conversation drifts toward mutual friends, play dates for the kids, and other topics I can’t follow, and I politely excuse myself.
I’m trying to make my way back across the kitchen when I catch a snippet of a conversation that freezes me in my tracks.
“Where do you think he knows her from, anyway?”
“Who knows? Probably his company, if you can call it that.”
“Can you believe Beth is okay with him doing that? I hear his own mother disowned him, you know, when it came out.”
“So do you think she’s a client or…?”
“Surely not. Even a whore must have the dignity not to bring his work to a six-year-old’s birthday party,” one of the neighbors says. “It’s just not appropriate.” She doesn’t even bother to lower her voice on the word whore.
I spin around, face bright red, fists clenched with fury. “You’d think using that sort of language would be the thing that’s not appropriate,” I say, scowling.
The woman flushes. Clearly she thought I was out of earshot. Her friends all blush too, avoiding my eye.
“Who asked what any of you think, anyway?” I ask, my voice rising a little. I can’t help it. I’m too angry. “It’s none of your business how Caleb decides to earn his living.”
“As long as you don’t mind that your man earns his money giving it up for other people, you’re right, what business is it of ours?” One of the girls laughs. The others join in.
“Personally I just can’t imagine being all right with that,” the first woman adds, shaking her head at me, as though she pities me. “Going out with a man who would toss you aside the second a woman with a bigger purse came along.”
I push past them. Screw these women. Screw their judgmental attitudes and their know-it-all smirks.
And screw the way their words sink into the pit of my stomach. Make me confront wha
t I’ve been hiding from all along. Because deep down, I know they’re right.
This isn’t anything more than a business relationship. And I’m already in way over my head.
I elbow my way out the back of the house and head for the path to the front. I’ll catch a cab out front. I can’t stick around here any longer. Can’t be paraded around as if I’m Caleb’s friend, or girlfriend, or something, anything besides what I actually am. Nothing more than a client.
I’m halfway out the gate, up the gravel driveway toward the street, when a warm hand closes around my bicep.
“Carmine.”
I freeze in the driveway, chest heaving, eyes stinging. I don’t want to turn around. To see the expression on his face when he confirms it. “I have to go, Caleb,” I say.
“I’m sorry. Those women, Beth’s neighbors, they can be real judgmental assholes at times. But they don’t know me, they don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“Judgmental attitude aside,” I respond slowly, “they’re not wrong, are they?” I finally turn around, and find him frowning at me, hurt in those stormy gray eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not upset at you, Caleb.” I shake my head, chest tight. “Just at myself. This was… stupid. I should have known; this is just business. I let myself get in too deep, let myself believe it was something it isn’t.”
“Stop right there.” He closes the gap between us, gripping my other arm now, his hands tight around my shoulders. “Carmine… This is not just business.”
I swallow hard. Keep my eyes locked on his.
He bites his lip and shakes his head once, hard. “I didn’t want to say anything, not yet. I didn’t want to freak you out. But… I haven’t seen anyone else. Not since I first saw you.” His frown twists a little. “Not since some time before that either, actually.”
My brows draw in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He jerks his head back over his shoulder, gesturing at the party. “A couple months ago, one of Beth’s neighbors found the site I work for. She called my mother, told my entire family back in London.”
