“Well, hello there,” she oozed, her bright honey-colored eyes shining at me. “You never came back like you said you would.”
“Sorry about that.” I gave a little shrug. “I’m just now getting a chance. It’s been super busy over at the bakery.”
“Even this early in the morning?” she questioned, her brows tacking together like she didn’t quite believe me. What was with the skepticism among Sweetopia employees? First Buster didn’t buy that I was British or studied art history, and now Ellie was incredulous as well.
“Even this early. Those cookies are addictive!” My lips spread into my most charming smile as I prepared to go in for the kill. I wondered what it would cost me: a kiss? A grope?
Ellie slid out from under the desk, and I immediately noticed she was wearing a somewhat short, tight skirt that didn’t seem like the thing a children’s theme park gift shop manager should wear. She leaned up against her desk, crossing her arms in front of her chest and pushing her small breasts together to form some semblance of cleavage. It was less than impressive, especially compared to what The Red Velvet Queen flaunted in her corset, but I could tell she was trying desperately to pull off the sexy look.
“Still interested in that secret staff meeting?” Her voice was laced with seduction, and she finished her question by shamelessly biting down on her bottom lip.
“Actually, yes,” I answered, stepping closer to her. “Very interested. That’s why I came to see you.”
Her lips quirked down into a pout. “Is that the only reason?”
“Well, I—I am thinking about taking a full-time job here at the end of the season, and I just sort of want to know what to expect…benefits-wise…”
She laughed. “A young, healthy guy like you probably wouldn’t have any issues with the health plan here. It’s not the best, but…you’re single, right?”
She put a lot of emphasis on the word “right,” and I began to grow uncomfortable when she stood up and moved toward me, slipping her arm around my waist.
She was cute, kinda, in a flat-chested sort of way. She had nice eyes and a decent smile.
But she wasn’t Jolie.
She wasn’t even in the same universe as Jolie.
What on earth was I talking about? I wasn’t dating Jolie. We’d fucked in her dressing room, and I’d barely seen her since. It wasn’t like I was in any way, shape, or form beholden to her.
I can have my cake and eat it too. What could be more “sweet” than that, pardon the pun?
Besides, fidelity had never been my thing. I’d never given up a chance to explore something new, something different, especially when it was so easy, so effortless…being handed to me on a silver platter.
“Why don’t you come a little closer?” she purred, grabbing hold of a fistful of my pink polo shirt and pulling me closer to her waiting mouth.
I snapped, jerking back at least three steps. I don’t know who was more surprised by my reaction: me or her.
“You’re single, right?” she reiterated, her eyes bouncing between mine in a mixture of embarrassment and desperation.
Fuck. I can’t do this.
I had absolutely zero desire to touch this woman or be touched by her.
“Sorry, but—” I stammered as I looked into her eyes, pleading for a second chance, “—but I really just want to know about the meeting. I—”
“You’re not gay, are you?” Her brows furrowed as her face froze in a sharp expression of disapproval. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
Maybe she is a Seinfeld fan too? “No, I, uh—”
“Ellie, can you come help this customer? He’s trying to return something, and it’s not in the original packaging,” came a voice behind me.
Hot damn. Saved by a fellow employee. I knew she wouldn’t understand why, but I shot her the most grateful look I could muster before hightailing the hell out of there. On my walk back to the bakery, I kept asking myself over and over again what the hell my problem was.
I was so close to getting what I needed, but I couldn’t seal the deal.
Jolie
I thought my session with Theo would distract me from everything going on with my son River and his medical treatment, but it turned out that the only thoughts that could distract me from anything were the ones about Marcus.
And those weren’t exactly welcome.
Not when I was supposed to be tying Theo up and rendering his hiney red as a lobster. While my hands and mouth and body were present in the room, cracking the paddle over Theo’s backside and clobbering him with a litany of insults and curses (he really, really liked that shit), my mind was divided in two. Half was focused on River and the fact that his doctor wanted to admit him to the hospital for a week for what was commonly called a tune-up. I wanted to push it off as long as possible, till the end of summer if we could, but Dr. Grimes said it wasn’t advisable. They wanted to put him on some high-powered antibiotics, a week inpatient and the rest at home. My mom said she would take care of him, but how could I let my baby stay in the hospital and not be there for him?
Summer was the busiest time at Sweetopia. Though my boss, the Director of Characters, claimed to have spoken with the Sweets about my situation a few times, no one seemed to care about me or my son’s illness. Last week when I missed a few days, my boss basically said that I had better not miss any more time that summer. That’s why putting River’s tune-up off till fall would work so much better. There are smaller crowds and reduced hours at the park, and it would be easier for me to get away. Not to mention if we were able to get the Sweets to re-evaluate their health plan and leave policy after the strike we were organizing—I would hopefully be in a better position to pay the hospital bills and take time off.
In any case, the guilt just fucking stabbed me, twisting a knife right into my back.
I was drowning in the guilt most days. How could I have given my precious son this disease? His father and I were both carriers, apparently—not that his father even stuck around to see him born. I tried to find him once upon a time, shortly after River’s diagnosis. I planned to sue him for support. The asshole signed away his rights, saying he never wanted to be contacted again. What kind of man could just abandon his own son? A sick one at that? Only a true monster.
No wonder I have let the other half of my mind drift to Marcus again and again. I know he’s young and just a temp worker—he could never be a partner for me or a father figure for my sons, not that I’d even want anyone in that role, no matter how much my mother thought I needed someone to fill it. But he was fun. The time I spent with him I was able to forget for just a moment how royally sucktastic my life was, pardon the pun.
I saw him earlier today right before I left. He was on break and came to see if I was on break too. Of course, I wasn’t. So he just stood at the back of the throne room and made faces at me, trying to get me to break character. Silly boy. Somehow I managed to preserve my queenly countenance. It took every drop of strength I had, though—no wonder I didn’t have the concentration I needed for Theo tonight!
When I got back to my dressing room, there was a little note taped to my mirror. I don’t know how he got in; I guess my assistant must have let him. The note had a little drawing of a fire with flames shooting up like fingers. Underneath he printed, “Sorry I missed you today, Hot Stuff.”
How cute is that?
“Mistress Magenta?” Theo’s small voice came muffled from behind the latex mask he was wearing.
I bent down to look my sub in the eyes. He usually took his punishment without comment, so I was worried I’d gone too hard. “Yes?”
“May I use the restroom?” he asked, his voice quivering.
“Yes. Go ahead.” I unhooked his collar from where he was tethered to the bench we were playing on. Ordinarily I would have made him do something for me in exchange for the freedom to go piss, but I was obviously off my game tonight. And I needed to wrap up this session. I rented a space in a dungeon, and it was
scheduled for another session with a different dominatrix at the top of the hour.
I didn’t feel like I had given my all today as either a mom, a queen, or a Domme. I’d let too many thoughts of Marcus and his mouthwatering cock seep in.
I pledged to do better tomorrow.
7
Jolie
My vow to do better was quickly forgotten when I found Marcus waiting outside my dressing room. He wasn’t wearing his Sweetopia logo shirt yet, but rather a charcoal gray tank top that showed off his arm muscles. How could he be totally ripped and be a nerd too? It just defied logic that someone like him, the perfect dichotomy of brains and brawn, could exist.
“What’s up?” rolled off his tongue as he pushed off the wall to lean toward me for a peck on the lips. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you in the past week.”
I bristled when his lips hit mine. I knew there were cameras in this hallway and hoped he’d get the hint when I flashed my gaze up at the one aimed directly at us. I dug my keys out of my purse and quickly unlocked the door. There were no cameras in my dressing room. Thank god.
“Sorry.” I gestured to the rolling chair in the corner my makeup artist used when she worked on me. A glance at the clock above my mirror warned that she’d be arriving in only ten minutes. I had some makeup on, but she would do my eyes and lips, then come back at lunchtime to touch them up after I ate.
“I’ve never seen you without all your makeup on,” Marcus observed as he rolled the chair close to me.
“Sorry to disappoint you. The eyelashes are fake.” I arranged my gown around my thighs as I took a seat, the boning of my corset digging into my ribcage. I must have put on a few pounds in the last few weeks. My costume seemed tighter than normal. Stress eating, I decided. Because of River.
“Whatever,” he retorted, his dark eyes shining, “you look beautiful just the way you are.” He ran a finger down my arm and then took my hand into his.
“I bet you wouldn’t say that if you saw me out of costume,” I snapped back. Then I instantly regretted it.
“What, are you like hiding a third leg under there or something?” His lips turned up into a soft smile. “I have pretty much seen what you’ve got, Jolie. Maybe not all at once, but I’ve seen enough to know you’re stunning, in or out of costume. You are a fucking work of art—and I should know, I’ve studied plenty of art.”
I desperately fought off a blush that wanted to creep out from behind my ears and across my cheeks. What the fuck is that about? I don’t blush. How could I be falling for all his lame lines and cheesy attempts at flirtation? I think the accent lowers my defenses or something. Or maybe it’s the scruffy beard.
Then again, knowing he could back up those cheesy lines with that massive cock he harbored between his legs was probably a major contributing factor. Just watching the way his eyes trailed down my arms, across my cleavage, and then back up to my eyes was making my nipples hard. I wanted his hands on me, his lips. I wanted him to have his way with me again like he did a few days ago. I had thought of nothing else—even though I knew it was wrong for me to obsess. So wrong.
“So what are you doing here this morning, Marcus?” I questioned, struggling to keep my voice even, smooth. My chest was heaving under his thick, hard stare, knowing he was working hard to refrain from touching me. I couldn’t tell you how badly I wished his restraint would fail.
“I wanted to see you,” he answered without hesitation. “Like I said, I missed you most of the week. Is everything okay?”
I gulped. Did he really want to know if things were okay? Because god knew they weren’t. Things were far from okay, in fact. Everything was a mess between River’s medical issues and Reed having some problems at school. Between my two damn jobs and the Sweets offering the fucking worst health insurance plan on the planet. Sometimes I wondered if I’d be better off not even working and trying to get government assistance. But no, I had to prove something. I had to prove that a single mom could do shit herself. That she didn’t need a man to take care of her.
And I was proving that, right? I was sitting on a fucking throne, after all. What more could I want? I was torn between feeling ungrateful for what I had achieved and wanting more, more, more.
“Jolie?” When he said my name, he gripped my hand in his, and there was true concern etched into just those two short syllables. I noticed he said it like a French speaker would, with a “jzho” at the beginning. It was the way my mother pronounced it. Most other people I knew said it with a regular “J” sound, like “Joe-lie.” The way it came off Marcus’s lips made it sound like the most beautiful word in the universe.
“I’m sorry.” I glanced back up from my hand in his to his eyes. “I just have a lot going on. My makeup artist is going to be here any minute to finish me up.”
“Right.” He squeezed my hand again. “I just…wanted to spend a little time with you.”
He was the sweetest guy. No wonder I was feeling butterflies. It wasn’t just because of his ridiculous skills, but because of that deep, soft voice, that look in his eyes…that look that almost asked if he could take care of me.
Like I needed taking care of!
I straightened up, feeling the boning in my corset dig in as I filled my lungs with all the air they could hold. “Maybe we can catch up later?”
His fingertips grazed across the thick velvet fabric of my dress before his hands flew to my waist. Next thing I knew, he was pulling me onto his lap, the material of my dress swallowing up his thighs until I was solidly perched upon him. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer, just used his finger to tilt my chin toward his before claiming my lips with his own. He hungrily sucked my bottom lip between his teeth before his tongue delved into my mouth, parting my lips in conquest. I felt myself swoon in his embrace, and when I caught myself, tried to straighten back up, his grip around my waist only tightened, forcing me to succumb to his advances.
The problem was, succumbing was all I wanted to do. I couldn’t fight him off. Yes, I could have pushed him off physically; that wasn’t the issue. I simply could not will myself to do so. His draw was too powerful, his lips too entrancing.
The knock came loudly on the door, almost a pounding, and my heart leapt in my chest, taking off at a gallop as though it might just burst right through my ribs and corset. “Oh, shit. You’ve gotta go.”
I jumped off his lap, amused by how disoriented he was, like he was still lost in the moment of kissing me. It took him several seconds to recover before he stood up, and there was no way he could hide his extremely visible erection making a huge tent in his khaki pants. He pulled his uniform polo out of his back pocket, where apparently the tail of it had been tucked. I hadn’t even noticed; I was too busy staring at his bare arms.
He smirked as he pulled it over his head, and fortunately it was long enough to cover up his arousal. The pounding at the door came again, followed by my assistant yelling, “Jolie? Jolie, you in there?”
“She walked in on me naked once, and now, even though she has a key, she always makes sure I’m dressed first.” As soon as I said it, I realized how frightening it made my naked body seem. And reminded me that this thing with Marcus could never go past secret trysts in my dressing room.
He just laughed, like he didn’t believe a word I was saying. “Can I come back after our shift? Please? I want to do that thing again—”
My eyebrows arched. “‘That thing?’”
“What I did the first time I was in here…” His voice trailed off as if he couldn’t quite get the words out.
Wasn’t that adorable? He couldn’t just say he wanted to go down on me.
I should say no. I should say hell no. I didn’t have a session after work, but I did need to get home to get River packed up for the hospital. My mother was taking him in the morning.
“I really can’t, Marcus…”
“Just fifteen minutes,” he pleaded. “Just give me fifteen minutes, and I promise you won’t regret it.
”
I couldn’t prevent a smile from lifting the corners of my mouth, but I added an eyeroll as my sole defense. “Alright, fine. But fifteen minutes tops.”
He leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. “I’ll see you at five, then.”
Cy
I knew I had some intel to gather before meeting Jolie back in her dressing room at five, but Colleen was getting suspicious of all my bathroom breaks.
“So, are you a smoker or something?” she asked, her head tilted like she was trying to figure me out.
“What? No,” I fired back, not able to hide my offense.
“IBS?” she guessed again.
“Huh?” I stared at her, no idea what she was talking about.
“Irritable Bowel Syndrome,” she enunciated in a whisper.
“Eww, no.” Though, now that I thought about it, going along with that would probably garner me a free hall pass for the rest of the summer. I could just say my bowels were on fire and in danger of erupting. Like Mount Vesuvius or something. But no, I didn’t want to go there.
“I’m just trying to figure out why you’re disappearing every few minutes, Marcus. Can you help me out here?” Her brown eyes were wide with a mixture of concern and frustration.
“Sorry, I’ve just been trying to find out more about this meeting happening next week. Everyone’s been so hush-hush. I’m trying to assimilate and infiltrate the Sweetopia culture, and you’re all shutting me down at every turn.” I crossed my hands over my chest as though I was really flummoxed about the whole thing. Maybe I could trigger her empathy switch?
“Why do you want to do that?” she pushed, and I felt the strong possibility of another anti-Sweetopia rant bubbling to the surface.
Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology Page 50
