by Fifi Flowers
Table of Contents
Chapter One…
Chapter Two…
Chapter Three…
Chapter Four…
Chapter Five…
Chapter Six…
Chapter Seven…
Chapter Eight…
Chapter Nine…
Chapter Ten…
Chapter One…
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TUESDAY:
A Double Shot
FIFI FLOWERS
Champagne Girl Studio
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
Copyright © 2017 Fifi Flowers
Kindle Edition
Cover Design by Susan Garwood of Wicked Women Design
Formatting by BB eBooks
Published by Champagne Girl Studios
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
www.FifiFlowers.com
WARNING: This book contains sexually explicit material and is intended for adult readers only.
Other Books by Fifi Flowers
-Windows Series-
A Window to Love
-Awakening to You Trilogy-
Awakening to You in Boston
Awakening to You in LA
Awakening to You
-Downtown Series-
Just A Number
-Brother Duet Series-
Drawn to a Cowboy
-Encounter Series-
Reclining Nude in Chicago
Taming the Curator
Falling in Paris
-Encounters Holiday Series-
Love Me Now
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Excerpt from Wednesday: With Lots of Cream
Other Books by Fifi Flowers
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Fifi Flowers News
Chapter One…
Driving the dark streets to the café, I was always a bit freaked out passing over the Coronado Bridge from my little beachy shack, I called home. It was probably one of the tiniest cottages on the island and my neighbors probably wished that I would sell the property to a developer so that my house fit in with their beautiful remodels or already bigger homes. I had inherited the house from my aunt who was rumored to be the mistress of the man that owned the property that hers backed up to.
When he passed away the lady of the house found out that he had left the possible love shack to my aunt and that the property was to be divided down the middle. When the new dividing fence went up she had to flip the layout of the house a bit as the back of her house became the front. Along with the guesthouse becoming a house on its own, came a new address; switched from the original avenue to the avenue that was behind it. Being creative, she flipped her bedroom to what had once been the front living-room. The back of the house once the original back of the cottage became the front and her bedroom became the new living-room. It sounds a bit confusing but it worked with a new front porch and new set of French doors added for the new entrance.
My aunt was happy to still have a place to live and stayed even though the widow of the property gave her nothing but shit, asking for the land back. Refusing, they ended up selling their new assessed portion of the land. She was in the beginning stage of her illness at that time and not in the position to worry about relocating. And when the new owner started with his offers to buy her out, she ignored them too. Besides she really loved the house—it was filled with great memories she always said. I knew that I had so many stories to tell about the summers there with my cousin Pansie and me staying with her since we were pre-teens and beyond.
Pansie and I are still very close, we even work together in her café, a coffee, pastry, and comfort food place called Cafélicious in downtown San Diego. She was able to start the place thanks to inheriting a large sum from our aunt who never had any children of her own. I have ownership of the pastry part and it works out perfectly for both of us. She paid for the kitchen equipment that I use initially which I promised to pay back once I received royalties that were part of my portion of the inheritance tied up in litigation. Pansie told me that I didn’t have to pay for the equipment since she needed it for more than pastry.
When we first opened we only served coffee and pastry until lunch requests came in from the after-breakfast crowd. In the beginning, I had made a few soups here and there along with some breakfast and lunch sandwiches on request, but I could only do so much. Adding Vin, a recently graduated culinary student, into the mix was fucking fantastic! And it worked out perfect with him in the kitchen in the late mornings and beyond since I was only in there rolling out dough, wrapping and refrigerating it for easy baking the next day until I left by three-ish p.m. We got along perfectly well, as he stayed to his side of the middle worktable, and cooked on my stovetop with his items stored underneath… and he was funny and fun. He now heads up an open-kitchen in the café that was part of an expansion two years after we opened the doors. Pansie no longer uses my kitchen for anything, so it is only logical that I own everything in it outright for my baking business.
The other improvement or necessity we made was to bring an intern in for my afternoon work and to get extra baristas for Pansie. I don’t know what we were thinking when we opened the doors with only the two of us working everything. With a bit of help to our day it was a joy to work in the café doing what makes me happy.
I have always loved to bake since I was a kid. My mother and her sister, Pansie’s mother, were forever creating something and teaching us girls. I was the only one that took our early training a step further by going to culinary school to learn the art of making pastry while Flower, my nickname for my cousin, went off to study for a business degree.
Okay, maybe I should confess to originally going for a different reason besides my love of turning flour and sugar into delicious treats. There was a man involved—more like a beautiful boy—that talked me into school and rooming with him. Turned out there was only one bedroom which was fine with me seeing as I wanted more with him. However, once he became popular with our fellow female students, I found myself sleeping on the couch wearing headphones to drown out the moans that had been mine in the beginning. Young and dumb, I allowed him to call the shots between us, taking whatever attention he gave me. Then we worked several star-studded catering gigs for the Hollywood award season and I lost my roomy altogether as he got offered a full-time internship with a famous chef.
Truly, it was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. With him out of the picture, I had the apartment to myself and was able to focus more on me. Finally taking the whole baking and pastry program seriously, I really excelled at honing my skills, and two years later I had an associate�
��s degree. Fresh out of school, I was ready to put my training to good use working in a few different bakeries on a part-time basis. The other time I helped my mother with her cake decorating business until Pansie came and took me away from all of them.
Together she and I outlined everything we needed for the kitchen along with the best layout for the café taking into account that she planned to expand when she took over the shop next door. She didn’t want to have to remodel everything and she wanted to stay open during construction on the other half. Once we had it all to both of our satisfaction, she hired a contractor to bring the dream to life. Starting a kitchen from scratch I have to say is amazing; having everything placed according to how you like to work—there are no real words to describe the exhilaration.
Shopping for the equipment, I was like a kid in a candy store—moaning over stainless steel items; refrigeration, large deep sinks, shelves, a moveable table with a shelf below, mixing bowls, utensils and the heavenly side-by-side, glass front ovens with multiple racks. I swear angels could be heard singing as I drooled, gazing at it installed in my very own pastry kitchen. Let’s not even go over my reaction when I first used it… just imagine a grown woman squealing and jumping up and down. I never took my eyes away from the glass double doors of the ovens for a full twenty minutes while six trays of different cookies turned from dough to round beauties. I nearly cried when the timer went off and I still had another timer yet to ding on the full length oven to the left of the double stacked ovens filled with muffin trays. What a sight to behold!
Fully in control, I learned how long it took to get the bakery cases filled for the first customers of the day beating on the door for caffeine and sugar fixes. I knew after a few run-throughs that I needed to be in the kitchen no later than three a.m. since our doors opened at five-thirty a.m. sharp. In the beginning, Pansie came in to help but it was too much for her to stay all the way to ten p.m. after I left around three or four p.m. to get enough sleep to get up the next day and bake all over again. So once I had timed and planned what to bake when and what were our hot ticket items, I made coffee and ran the front counter until Pansie rolled in around eight a.m.
And to be able to create my sweets and Pansie her specialty coffees we needed a restaurant delivery service to bring supplies to us. We had tried to do the buy-it-ourselves method of going to a large quantity warehouse shopping, filling both of our cars up and then lugging it all back to the café. Too much work! We also found that we worked better with a company that supplied restaurants regularly and had itemized lists online—even checklists. We were sold immediately on one that had an open delivery slot on Tuesdays at three-thirty a.m. and made sure we had our order all figured the day before.
Going over last minute stuff to be delivered the next morning, I glimpsed a hot specimen of a man sitting at table a few big steps away, and instantly my naughty mind raced to having him make a special delivery. If I wasn’t so tired and was more fixed up I might have walked over introduced myself and asked him to come home with me to be my fuck-buddy for life. He looked like he knew all of the right moves and could provide me with much desired attention, as he was focusing on me at that moment too. I wasn’t seeing or imagining things, there was an instant raw connection going on between us that could be felt clear across the room. My panties and nipples let me know too that they were interested in him as well.
“Looks good, Marzi,” I heard two different voices say.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I replied, but we were all talking about completely different things. “Great… see you tomorrow,” I managed not taking my eyes off of him until I turned to walk through my kitchen door.
Damn! I fanned myself with the printed invoice before confirming that the supply list was correct and that we were good to go, then I said my goodbyes. Once I removed my apron, I hung it on a hook, grabbed my purse from a cabinet, and walked out the café’s front door turning briefly to see his table empty. Another damn escaped my mouth, there was no chance of him following me back to my lovable little shack for a good no-strings-attached romp.
Chapter Two…
Bright and early the next morning, the usual three knocks followed by another set of three—our usual signal that it was safe since I didn’t have a peephole—I opened the door. Shock invaded my face when the man I caught a glimpse of in the café the day before stood before me wearing a food supply company shirt. The very man that I said silently to myself, “I’d like him to make a delivery to me,” as I was asking Pansie and Vin if they needed me to make a last minute addition to our lists. They were usually pretty good about last minute add-ons as long as they came in by three o’clock the day before delivery.
Who knew that my wish would come true, I thought watching him wrangle the dolly filled with boxes inside. Stacked up, he disappeared out the door as I continued to finish loading trays, and then returned with more items.
“Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”
“Ahh… Mike,” he said looking down at his shirt as if he couldn’t remember his name. “I’m filling in today. Who are you? I’ve never seen you before either.” He started moving things around the kitchen as I started loading the oven racks with croissants and other flaky pastries filled with cheese and chocolate.
“Marzi.” And there was the look that said what?! “Marzi, short for Marzipan, seriously, my mother was a Home Ec teacher at a high school.”
I always thought it was her that named me but I had found out with recent inheritance papers that it was given to me by my favorite aunt—the same one that gave me the adorable little cottage. Maybe this is a good time to mention that my aunt’s name was Tambourine, but she went by Moreen given to her by her sisters Sunrise (Sunny) and Joplin (Linny). Their mother Ethel was a hippie who worked as a rock-n-roll festival promoter along with her husband Eugene. My guess is that they were against common, standard, establishment names such as theirs. I guess it is kind of cool to have a different name—it is always a good conversation topic to break the ice in an awkward moment.
“My name is different too, I understand.”
“Mike is out of the norm?”
I cocked my head to the side waiting for that explanation, maybe it had another unusual spelling or was short for something other than Michael. Or maybe he was just being a smart ass. He didn’t seem like one. In fact, the more I stood looking at Mike as he seemed to be searching for words, I took in just how fucking handsome he was. His dark brown hair was combed perfectly in place and I had the overwhelming urge to run my fingers through it to pull him in for a sweet kiss on his lush lips. And once again, his dark eyes stared back at me with such intensity I felt my nipples pop right to attention, sending a zinging sensation straight down into my panties. Damn!
Breaking our eye contact, he turned his head and looked down. “I love frosting.” I watched him reach into a bowl of vanilla icing that I had just made while waiting for my batches of pastry to be done. Not shy, he scooped up a good amount and moved it toward his mouth.
Not thinking, reacting fast, I grabbed his finger before he could put it into his mouth and sucked it between my lips, mimicking what I would do to his cock. Licking up the length of his finger, I twirled my tongue around the tip playfully. Keeping eye contact, I saw his eyes darken as I took his whole finger into my mouth, sucking and rolling my tongue. I moaned, I was actually turning myself on as much as him evident by the way he swallowed hard. Satisfied with my performance, I pulled back with a pop and grinned wickedly. I wasn’t sure what had come over me, but the next thing I knew he grasped both sides of my face and captured my mouth. His tongue slipping between my lips agape… tangling with mine.
“You robbed me of tasting the frosting,” he said, breaking our kiss with a grin.
“Sorry.” I reached my finger into the bowl and swiped the frosting against my lips.
“I’ll take that as an invitation.” His mouth attacked mine more aggressively this time, totally taking care with his strong hands ti
lting my head for the best connection. Never in a million years had I been kissed like I was his last dying meal. Nibbling my lips, sliding his tongue against mine, sucking it—amazing! I couldn’t get enough and it seemed to be the same for him as he lowered his hands from my face and pulled me harder into his body. With my arms wrapped around his neck, my body melted right into his, wanting to get as close as possible to him.
“Not enough I murmured against his lips.”
“Just getting started.” His voice was soft and so fucking sexy.
He pulled back after untying my apron and pulled it over my head along with my shirt. Leaving me in my black bra, he moved the lacy cups down exposing my pebbled nipples. Breathing heavily anticipating his next move he didn’t disappoint as he leaned down to graze them with his lips. Pushing into his mouth, I moaned and my hands weaved their way into his thick hair to keep him from stopping. I had heard of women orgasming from nipple-play alone and with his mad skills I finally believed that it might be possible, but I wanted more… so much more. I wanted to feel him inside of me. I wanted to experience his full length. His sizable bulge up against me earlier when he kissed me so deeply told me that it needed to be felt… to be rode hard.
When he moved back up for a kiss, on my mouth, I grabbed for the button and zipper of his jeans and sprung him free. Never had I been so happy that I had worn ballerina flats. Easy to slip out of them, I helped him slide my jeans and panties down my quivering thighs, and I stepped out of them. Bare, he lifted me up with his big strong arms and I wrapped my legs around his narrow waist. So ready, he eased me onto his massive erection and then thrusted deep up inside of me.
“Oh my God!” I panted until his lips captured mine.
Up and down he moved me on his thick cock. Friction hit the right spot inside and out, and before I knew it, I was rolling into an orgasm like no other ever—I had never achieved one from straight up fucking. Over and over we moved until he delivered the goods up inside of me with me throbbing around him. I wanted to stay on him until he was ready for another round, but my ovens had other ideas as they started sounding their alarms.
