by Snow, Jenika
Whipped
Jenika Snow
WHIPPED
By Jenika Snow
www.JenikaSnow.com
[email protected]
Copyright © July 2019 by Jenika Snow
First ebook publication © July 2019 Jenika Snow
Photographer: Regina Wamba
Cover Model:
Image provided by: Regina Wamba
Cover design by: Lori Jackson
Editor: Kasi Alexander
Content Editor: Kayla Robichaux
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.
Contents
Synopsis
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue One
Epilogue Two
About the Author
There wasn’t much I wanted out of life but having my bakery succeed, being able to continue doing what I loved to do, and finding a woman who could make me feel whole.
And then the moment she walked into my bakery, I knew there would be no other for me.
For months, I watched her sit at that little table in the corner and read. For months, I thought of a million different things I wanted to say to her.
I might not have stalked her, but I sure as hell wanted to. I thought about it. Finding more out about Zara, and all the things I wanted to do to her, had become an obsession.
Zara was gorgeous and curvy … exactly the type of woman I fantasized about having by my side.
But finding the courage to man up and go after what I wanted—her—was harder than I thought. I guess when you find the perfect person for you, the idea of being rejected could turn anyone into a coward.
Until one day I wasn’t willing to let her walk by without me saying something to her. I couldn’t stay away. I wanted more.
Whipped, that’s what I was, but only for Zara.
Chapter One
Zara
“You want me to handle that?” I sat up straighter in the chair and stared around the boardroom. I was the only woman in a roomful of men, all of them staring at me. “You want me to be in charge of the dessert catering… for the event I helped organize?” I tried to keep the bitterness out of my tone, but I was failing miserably, and by the uncomfortable expression on many of the guys’ faces, it looked like it was affecting them.
Normally, there wasn’t anything demeaning or bad, per se, to be the one to organize the dessert catering, but in this instance, it definitely devalued me.
“We think you’d be the best person to set that all up,” Richard said and gave me a smug smile. I might’ve thought he was just being an asshole—well, more so than usual—but he wore that smug expression daily.
It was hard working for a multimillion-dollar advertising company, when sexism and discrimination was very real in the workplace. As the assistant to the social director, I wasn’t someone who ran and got coffee, made copies, or set up daily appointments. I helped with organizing events, drafted proposals, and did about a hundred other things.
“You’re the best candidate.”
I lifted an eyebrow and stared at Bryce. His words stung and frankly pissed me off.
“I’m the best candidate?” I glanced at all of them. “You guys thought I would be the best person for this job?” I gathered up my papers and files, stood up, and stared around at the ten men who had their focus trained right on me. “Why? Because I’m a woman? Because you think I’m obsessed with eating desserts? Is it because of my size?” I could see my words were hitting home.
Good.
They needed to be uncomfortable.
They needed to know they were crossing lines.
“Let’s not forget I have a degree, a higher degree, in fact, and a more prestigious position than several of the men currently in this boardroom.” More shifting in their seats. More awkward glances.
They obviously didn’t know who they were talking to when they decided to call this meeting.
“Let’s not forget that I’m not some errand girl. I do serious work here at the agency.” Although my words were strong, my voice even, I was hurt.
“We didn’t mean anything by it. We just figured you knew the best places to go, the best catering for the party. We certainly don’t want Kevin ordering frozen brownies and stale cookies to serve to the donors.” Richard was trying to cover his ass, that was clear.
I breathed out slowly and shook my head. “I’ll do this, because I’m a team player and this is for the company, for a good cause. But I know exactly why you tasked me with this job, and gentleman, I don’t shit where I sleep.”
There was a murmur from the men.
I turned and left, not saying anything else as I closed the door behind me. Maybe I should have kept my mouth closed and just agreed. But why? I was done bending over and taking it in the ass, so to speak, by everyone around me.
A lot of people, including myself, had worked damn hard to make this charity dinner a success. And I wouldn’t let my pride or some ignorant coworkers get in the way of it all.
I headed straight to the bathroom and closed the door, exhaling roughly and feeling my anger turn into disappointment, which turned into me just being downright sad.
As I looked at myself in the mirror, I realized the woman who stared back at me had stopped taking shit in her life a long time ago. At twenty-five years old, I’d earned a college degree, held a pretty damn good position at this firm, and loved every aspect of my life. Sure, I was a “bigger” girl. I had curves most people didn’t and couldn’t appreciate.
Throughout my life, I’d dealt with people making comments about my size. And of course, it had hurt. Of course, it had been another chip out of my self-confidence. But the older I got, the more I realized that what other people said didn’t matter. I realized I really didn’t give a fuck about anyone else.
I grew to love the way I looked, loved my womanly curves. I accepted a lot of things in my life, but what I would never accept again was someone putting me down because of my gender, my position, or the fact that I wasn’t some svelte runway model.
Nope. I was not that girl anymore, and it felt really damn incredible.
* * *
I knew exactly where I was going for the catering, and it was strictly for selfish reasons.
I walked down the busy street and headed toward Knead You. I had a list of things our company would like to see on the dessert menu, and although I should be professional about all of this, the truth was, I was anxious to see the owner.
I only knew his first name—Max. I could have probably found out more with a simple Internet search. But the mystery kind of turned me on, if I was being honest.
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk when I saw the sign for the bakery.
Knead You.
It was cute, clever, and almost like fate had drawn me to this very place.
> My heart started beating doubletime. A couple times a week, I stopped in and had coffee and a pastry, read my favorite romance novel as I sat in the corner, and tried not to stare at Max. But going there so frequently was just an excuse for me to see him. And I swear I could feel his gaze on me, could tell he was interested when he looked at me, when he gave me that sexy half smirk.
Or was that wishful thinking? Did I want him so much I projected him desiring me as much as I did him?
I rubbed my palms down my jeans, looked at the heels I decided to wear, and wondered if I was trying too hard. Hell, I’d gotten done up like I was going to some high school prom instead of going to make a catering order.
I exhaled slowly, people all around me pushing and shoving, the city life something that took getting used to.
Then I made my way toward Knead You, telling myself not to look like an idiot and stumble over my words.
Of course, that was easier said than done, and more than likely I’d end up doing just that.
But I thought I acted pretty calm and collected when I came into the bakery those couple times a week. Although the exchange was short, just a few words, I didn’t look like an ass by putting my foot in my mouth.
Or maybe I did and Max was just too nice to say anything.
I grabbed the brass handle and pulled the door open, the little bell that hung above it dinging as I entered. Instantly, the smell of fresh roasting coffee, vanilla beans, and something delicious baking filled the air.
The inside of the bakery was chilled from the air conditioning, a nice reprieve from the summer heat of the city crushing me. I could hear voices and the soft hum of music coming from the back, but where I stood, I couldn’t see anyone.
Maybe he wasn’t even working today? That thought filled me with disappointment.
I walked over to the case of fruit pastries and bent at the waist, looking at them. A million and one things were moving through my mind, and as easy as this day should’ve gone, I had a feeling it was going to be a lot harder than I expected.
And I knew it was because I couldn’t seem to control my arousal where Max was concerned.
Chapter Two
Max
Soft and full, warm and molding to my hands.
You had to find that sweet spot and massage it real good.
Dough.
It was a passion, the life force of any good bread or perfected pastry. I could spend hours just kneading it, working it to the perfect consistency, texture.
“The baklava should be done soon, Max.”
I lifted my gaze to see Charlie, one of the employees at Knead You—one of my employees. I’d owned Knead You for the past five years, a small bakery in the center of the city that I had put my blood, sweat, and tears into, built from the ground up.
Custom desserts, classic recipes, special orders, and even hard-to-find sweets were what I focused on baking and selling. Not to mention a good cup of coffee to go along with it.
The scent of yeast, chocolate, something cooking in the oven, and coffee beans always filled the interior of the bakery. Over the years, we expanded slightly, adding a few bistro tables inside. We opened at nine every morning, and by ten, most of our inventory was wiped clean, completely sold out.
I lifted the mound of dough and put it in the metal bowl, covering it with a towel and walking over to the big stainless-steel basin sink. As I washed my hands, I heard the little bell above the front door sound as someone entered.
I looked over to where Charlie was, saw he had his headphones in and was working on an egg wash for a set of pastries. Then I looked at the clock.
Noon.
No doubt it was her.
She was here.
It had been two days since she’d stopped in. Please, let it be her.
At this point, I felt like I was going through withdrawals from not seeing her.
“Be right with you,” I said, and even though I couldn’t see who had entered the bakery, I knew who it was. I anticipated this every single time.
I quickly finished washing my hands and grabbed a rag to dry them. Then I headed out to the front counter. I could see the top of a female head, the sun bouncing off the light brown strands and showing golden highlights.
My throat instantly tightened and my cock started hardening. I wasn’t a pervert, I swore, but she always gave me this immediate reaction.
And then she stood and everything else faded away.
Zara.
She was looking at the display case of fruit-filled puff pastries, her rosy lips pursed slightly, her perfectly arched eyebrows knitted as if she were in deep thought. I didn’t really know her, not as if we were friends.
But she came in a couple times a week, always ordered a cup of coffee and whatever dessert we had available. Then she’d sit at one of the tables and read a book for half an hour.
I swore I tried not to stare, but I always failed. She was so fucking gorgeous, and watching her drink that coffee and slowly eat that pastry turned me on like nothing ever had before.
Zara.
So feminine sounding.
Only reason I knew her name was because I’d looked at her credit card the first time she’d bought something here. And ever since that first time seeing her, I’d been hooked.
That had been months ago.
I imagined a lot of fucking things about her, about her life. I even pictured licking off the powdered sugar that would cover her fingers.
She was so damn beautiful the very thought of her consumed my thoughts. And I didn’t even fucking know her. But I sure as hell wanted to.
I wanted to learn everything there was to know about Zara. I wanted to know her likes and dislikes, if she always took her coffee with three sugars and one cream. What was her favorite pastry? Did she prefer chocolate or fruit-filled? I’d make whatever she liked every damn day if she wanted.
I’d give her whatever she wanted so long as she kept coming into the store so I could look at her.
I’m not even ashamed to say I thought about finding out where she lived more than once, looking up her phone number so I could call and hear her voice.
I wasn’t psycho. I was just a man who wanted a woman more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.
And that’s the point it had gotten to. But instead of stalking her, which to be honest I’d thought about doing more than once, I told myself I’d grow a set of balls and actually talk to her the next time she came in.
And that time was right now.
I cleared my throat, and she snapped those gorgeous blue eyes up to me. Shit, she was stunning, with the sun coming in and highlighting her hair. And then there were her eyes, her full, pouty pink lips—and my raging hard-on got harder by the second.
I didn’t even want to start thinking about her body, but it wasn’t like I could stop it. I hadn’t been with a woman in the last five years, not since I put all my time and energy into making this bakery a success.
But then Zara came along, and all that twisted. The world tilted, my hormones raging like I was some adolescent teenager.
I tried not to deviate from looking at her eyes, but I found my gaze lowering on its own to her chest.
Fuck. So hot.
Her breasts were nice and round, perfect for my hands. And her curves... luscious. She was full and curvy, and I knew once I had her—because there was no way I could stop myself—I was going to love every perfect fucking inch of her.
She started talking, and I could see her pink, plump lips moving, but there was this buzzing in my head, this ringing in my ears. The only thing I heard was the pounding of my heart, the rushing of my blood to my veins.
I knew my reaction was like this because I intended to actually talk to her today, that I planned to ask her out. I could hear myself telling her she was mine from the very beginning. I could even see myself telling her that the very thought of her with another man made me see red, had jealousy so thick in me I couldn’t breathe.
But self-prese
rvation had me shutting the fuck up. I didn’t say any of that, because no doubt that would scare the hell out of her.
“Hello?”
Her voice pierced my foggy head and I cleared my throat.
“Are you okay?” She looked concerned as she leaned slightly forward.
Damn, she smelled so good, like flowers and honey, like summer and everything that turned me on.
My heart was racing so fucking fast. And as I stared at her, the same words were playing over and over again.
You’re mine. At first, I thought I said those words in my head, but as her eyes widened and she leaned back slightly, as if she were startled, I realized I said it out loud.
“Excuse me?” Her cheeks were pink, her mouth slightly parted. She looked shocked, maybe scared.
I mean, I couldn’t blame her. I just told her she was mine. How in the hell was I supposed to clean up this mess? And although it was true I’d seen her as just that from the very beginning, it probably hadn’t been the smartest thing to say if I intended to have her fall for me.
Well, fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I...” Shit, what the hell was I supposed to say to save my ass?
“Did you say I’m yours?” Her brows were still knitted.
I shook my head. “I said fruit ring. We have a special on fruit rings right now. Puff pastry and powdered sugar. Any fruit you want can be put in the center.”
The look on her face told me she didn’t believe me. And I had to admit, I sounded like a fucking idiot. Fruit ring? God, this was going downhill so fucking fast. At this rate, she’d have a restraining order on my ass.
