Dandelion Dreams

by Amali Rose

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine. Is everything okay?” Cassidy eyes me dubiously, and I can’t say I blame her.

  “My baby sister. She’s having some boy trouble.” She shrugs her shoulders, and my eyes are drawn to the graceful slope of her neck. I notice some tattooed script along her right collarbone. The tail end is just peeking out under her white sweater, and I find my fingers twitching, wanting to explore and discover the words she found so meaningful that she tattooed them on her body.

  “You can take off for the day, I’ll be fine here. You go.” The words have left my mouth before I even realize what I’m saying, and even after I realize the idiocy of what I’ve just done, I have no desire to change my mind.

  “Seriously?” Even as she questions me, Cassidy is putting her jacket on and gathering her purse. “Are you sure?” This is thrown over her shoulder as she makes her way down the hall. Stifling a smile, I wave her off and watch her race away. She flies around the corner, headed for the elevator when a wave of dread washes over me. This woman is going to be trouble. She is a mess of contradictions, both enchanting and bewildering. If I’m not careful, she’ll be my undoing.

  Cassidy

  Staring out my window, I zone out as my arm starts to ache from mixing the batter as quickly as I possibly can. Forcing myself to push through, I focus on a single bird swooping through the sky. Yep, I can do motherfucking zen just as good as anyone, I think smugly. Although come to think of it, can it be considered achieving zen if you’re thinking about achieving it? I mean does my mind need to be completely emp— ding. The timer alerts me that I have been beating the batter long enough. Thank Christ. Pouring the cake mixture carefully into the lined cases, I mentally scan through everything I need to continue. This weekend has been crazy as I busted my ass to complete this order. Two dozen cupcakes, a mixture of banana caramel, chocolate indulgence, strawberry shortcake and my very own chocolate, peanut butter and M&M recipe. I can’t contain my pride as I peruse the already completed treats, all boxed up and ready to go. Marking things off my checklist, I realize I am practically done. The last six cupcakes are now in the oven, and the cream cheese frosting is all prepared and ready to be applied as soon as the cakes have cooled down. I glance down at the flashing clock on the microwave, and see that I still have four hours before Tamara, one of my best customers, will be here to collect her order which is destined for her daughter, Katrina’s, baby shower this afternoon.

  I have to admit, designing these cakes was an experience. I deeply regret Googling ‘baby shower cakes’. Bodily fluids have no place in cake decoration.

  Grabbing a water out of the fridge, I flop down on the sofa and immediately get lost in the giant cushions. The vibrant yellow usually perks me up, but right now I am so exhausted I don’t think anything could do it.

  While trying to decide if I can be bothered moving to the bathroom to indulge in a bubble bath while I wait, my phone vibrates on the coffee table. Looking over, my heart stutters in a completely juvenile manner when I spot Sunshine flashing on the screen. I quickly school my features into a scowl. I find it helps keep my inner hornball on lockdown.

  Snatching up the phone, I swipe the screen and bark out my greeting. “It’s 10 am on a Sunday, what the fuck do you want, Sunshine?”

  “Always a delight, Crazy, not much of a morning person, huh?”

  “What. Do. You. Want? Wait, did you just call me crazy?” My voice rises to a level that I’m pretty sure only dogs can hear, as I practically growl with indignation. His answering chuckle does little to calm me.

  “Look, as you pointed out, it is the weekend, so technically, we’re off the clock, and I’m not your boss. And you have to admit, you are a little bit crazy.”

  “Well,” I sulk. “It’s still not polite to point it out.”

  “Noted. Look, I’m afraid I need a favor. I hate to ask, and trust me, I really do hate to ask, but I seem to have misplaced my key to the filing cabinets in my office, and I need it quite urgently. I don’t suppose you could bring your key in?” I let his request sink in momentarily, while I try to figure out if I’m pissed at, or impressed by, his audacity.

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to come in to the office now. On a Sunday. You want me to spend forty-five minutes on the subway, just so I can walk in, hand you a key, and then turn around and spend another forty-five minutes on the subway to get home. Is that what you’re asking me?”

  “Yes.” At least he has the good sense to sound contrite, but that doesn’t stop the snort of condescension that escapes me. “Wait, no, take a cab, and I’ll pay for it. Both ways.” Much better. He’s a quick study, I can work with that. I pause for effect. I know I can make it back in plenty of time to finish the last cupcakes before Tamara arrives at three o’clock. Still. He deserves to sweat for a minute.

  “Ugh, fine.”

  “And you’ll come straight away? I really do need a file from there as soon as possible.”

  Looking at the clock, I see the cupcakes have another thirty minutes left in the oven.

  “Yep, I’m leaving right now.” Hanging up the phone, I lay back down on the sofa with a satisfied smile lighting my face.

  An hour later I stroll into Mason’s office, and one look at his murderous expression makes traipsing down here on my day off totally worth it. Sitting behind his desk, he has both his laptop and his computer open, each screen displaying a number of spreadsheets. I can’t help thinking what a depressing way to spend your weekend that must be.

  “Aw, why so blue, Sunshine?”

  “You said you were coming straight down here, it’s been an hour. I’ve been sitting here twiddling my fucking thumbs for an hour.” The ferocity of his tone matches his expression, and I just about squeal with glee.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I had cupcakes in the oven.” Shrugging, I hand over the key he has been so desperate for, and turn to leave.

  “Cupcakes? You… bake?” He sounds so confused, and for some reason I find myself feeling defensive.

  “Yes, I bake. Why is that so strange?”

  I’ve never seen him so lost for words, and if I didn’t have the feeling that I was being insulted right now, I would be thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. But I do, so I’m not.

  “You just don’t seem like the baking type, I guess.”

  “The baking type?” I practically spit the last word out. “What the hell does that even mean?”

  He at least has the good grace to look embarrassed as he considers his response.

  Gripping the back of his neck, and rubbing it with a pained look on his face, I am momentarily distracted as I watch his large hand knead the skin beneath it. Yeah, hand porn. It’s real, and it’s beautiful.

  “Look, I guess I just think of women who bake as kind of sunshine and rainbow types. And you’re more… a fire and brimstone kind of gal.”

  My feet move toward him completely of their own volition while I quietly seethe. “I. Am. Not. I am a sweetheart. I love unicorns and shit.”

  “Oh well, if you love unicorns, that changes everything,” he scoffs.

  I glare up at him, my neck craning as his six-foot-three frame towers over me. He glowers right back at me, and as his chest rises, it brushes against my breasts, and I realize how close we are standing. The atmosphere changes in that one moment, the air now thick with tension. I desperately want to touch him, to run my palm along the scruff that constantly covers his jaw. Maybe stand on my tip toes and brush my lips across his. I squash the impulse though, knowing it won’t be enough. Knowing that the desire to follow through and fuck the deliciousness standing in front of me will be too much to resist. I’m a woman who tends to act recklessly when emotions and sex are involved, but the need to protect this, whatever this is, overwhelms me; even in the face of my impulsive nature.

  I move to take a step back but stop when Mason raises his hand and cups my face. His thumb gently swipes along my cheek before he removes it and I see a
small smudge of frosting on the tip. Raising his thumb to his mouth, his tongue sneaks out and licks it clean. My pussy throbs at the sight before Mason’s following smirk brings me back to my senses.

  “Shit.” My hand flies to my face, scrubbing, in an effort to remove any other stray traces of icing. The mood broken, Mason backs away, his grin growing at my struggle, before he shrugs. “So, you bake. It’s nice to have a hobby, I guess.”

  My eyes narrow, and once again I am reminded that this guy is a grade-A asshole. No matter how intensely my body reacts to him, or how many moments we have, I can’t go there. It would only end in murder. His, obviously, and orange really isn’t my colour.

  “You really are an assmunch, aren’t you? It’s not a hobby, it’s a business. A rapidly growing business. So shove that up your ass and rotate on it.” I turn on my heel and start to storm out when his deep voice stops me in my tracks.

  “Cassidy, wait.” I pause on the threshold to his office, in two minds whether to continue or not.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be an asshole, you just surprised me, that’s all.” I look back over my shoulder, and seeing that he looks suitably repentant, I turn and lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest. Watching him take a seat at his desk, I’m reminded of my first day, and my first sighting of him. He’s still blowably hot, I can’t deny that. It’s just a pity his personality is more prick than prince.

  “What’s your business name?”

  “Huh?” His question rouses me from my thoughts.

  “What do you call this ‘rapidly growing business’?”

  Ignoring his tone that is straddling the line of snide and condescension, I answer shortly. “Cupcakes by Cassidy.” He lifts an eyebrow, and I have this odd feeling that I’ve disappointed him.

  “Not particularly original, is it?”

  My jaw clenches at his remark. Is he purposely trying to piss me off? Because if he is, he’s doing a fucking spectacular job.

  “It’s not so easy to come up with a name, you know,” my voice sounds petulant, even to my own ears. “Cupcakes by Cassidy is easy to remember. It does the job.”

  “I guess. I just never figured you for someone who would settle for mediocre. But it’s really none of my business.” I feel my shackles rise even further, and I’m about to launch into a counter attack when he continues. “Bring some cupcakes in this week, and we’ll use them in meetings. If they’re good, we may be able to look at contracting you for some freelance catering. No guarantees, obviously.”

  My mouth drops in surprise, and he laughs at my reaction. “Close your mouth, Crazy, you’ll catch flies. I can be a nice guy. Now get out of here, I have work to do, and you’re a distraction.” He throws me a wink before returning to his work, and I make my way out of the office wondering what the hell just happened.

  Mason

  I throw my pen down on the desk and a low, pained groan escapes me. This account is doing my fucking head in. Although, if I’m being honest with myself, they all do. Dealing with arrogant, entitled assholes day in and day out. Kissing those asses just so I can get a signature on a dotted line. That will then increase the bottom line for another bunch of selfish asswipes. Asswipes who happen to own this company. Who I should be grateful for. Instead, all I feel is shackled and suffocated.

  Pulling out my phone, I open my banking app and ensure that the money transfer went through to Mom earlier today. This is the third transfer I’ve made in as many weeks, yet she still continues to work herself into the ground, and honestly, it pisses me the fuck off. I’ve worked my ass off for the last nineteen years to be in this position. To be able to provide for her, the way she provided for me.

  I watched her all those years, working shifts around the clock. Constantly exhausted. And for what? To pay rent on some shithole one-bedroom apartment, where she slept on a fold-out sofa because she refused to let me take it. Putting food on the table for me, while I watched her live off ramen and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. My mother sacrificed everything for me, and this was supposed to be the pay off. This is what all my hard work was supposed to be for. Instead, she continues to work herself to the bone. And while I managed to talk her into upgrading to a nicer two-bedroom apartment in a better neighborhood, it’s still not what I want for her. Unfortunately, it turns out I inherited my stubbornness from my mother.

  Sighing, I scrub a hand up and down my face before checking the time. I should let Cassidy know that she can leave, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it yet. I would never admit it to anyone, but having her in the office brings an air of lightness. Her quick wit, and even her snarkiness, helps to quell the disquiet I find myself experiencing more often than not.

  Turning, I look out my window and take in the New York skyline. Lit up at night, it really is an extraordinary view, and one that I have slowly begun to take for granted. Although that seems to be the theme of my life at the moment.

  Snatching up my coffee mug I head out to grab some more caffeine, and figure I’ll send Cassidy home on my way. Opening my door, I see that she’s not at her desk, but that’s not altogether uncommon. The woman honestly has an attention span of a gnat sometimes, and I’ve learned that allowing her a bit of freedom to goof off occasionally, actually increases her work productivity. Go figure.

  Making my way up the hallway, my ears are suddenly assaulted by a loud crashing noise and a string of expletives.

  “Stupid, fucking cunt cracker. Ugh, you motherfucking cunty douchehole. I am going to end you!” Dropping the mug, I race ahead, feeling the adrenaline start to surge at the thought of Cassidy in trouble. My fists are already curling into balls, ready to take out whoever is hurting her. The noises get louder as I approach the copier room, and my heart rate accelerates. I throw myself through the doorway only to be met with the sight of Cassidy bent over the copier machine, ass up and swaying high as she smashes the copier with a fist while continuing to berate it.

  My body sags as I realize the threat of danger is non-existent; however, as I take in the view in front of me, a smirk plays across my lips, and my dick quickly stands to attention.

  With a final curse, Cassidy straightens, and just when I think her tantrum is over, she lays one hell of a kick on the machine before slumping over it dramatically.

  “Everything okay in here?” My voice is laced with humor that I don’t even bother trying to hide, even though I know it will antagonize her to no end.

  Her body tenses at my words, but she doesn’t move. “The copier won’t work, and I need these copies, and I’m hungry, and today has sucked ass, and you guys have way too many meetings, and it’s like you don’t even try to make them fun. And I really need these copies.” She spits this out without taking a breath, and if her tone wasn’t filled with defeat, I would be chuckling at her dramatics. Instead, I find myself instinctively moving toward her, the need to comfort the drama queen overwhelming me.

  Reaching her, I notice out the corner of my eye that the copier is unplugged. Containing a derisive snort, I lean over to stick the plug back in. I’m ready to give her shit when I feel her move beneath me, and I realize that in the process of fixing her copier woes, I have positioned myself right behind her, our legs pressed up against each other. My dick nestled against her ass. It feels fucking incredible. Then just when I think I have my body under control, her round ass wiggles slightly, as if trying to introduce itself to my cock. I stifle a groan and she stands up, her body now completely flush with mine. My hips intuitively press forward, and I hear a low moan from deep in her throat.

  She turns around unexpectedly, and her hand finds my neck, pulling my mouth down to hers. Her tongue invades my mouth with a savagery that seems befitting of Cassidy. There’s nothing gentle, or soft about this. It’s down-and-dirty mouth fucking. Her hands find my chest and she pushes me backwards. I allow the movement, curious to see where she takes this. Slamming my back into the wall, I smile inwardly. Her fight for dominance is cute. Futile, but cute.


  Breaking our kiss, I pull back and look into her eyes. The blue is unique, unlike any I’ve seen before. A bright cerulean, her eyes echo the complexity of her personality.

  “What are you doing, Crazy?”

  “Well, Sunshine, I’m pretty sure I’m about to fuck you.”

  “You don’t say? Lucky for you, I’m good with that.” Grabbing a handful of her pastel hair, I pull back roughly, exposing her neck. My mouth bites down, and the sound it elicits causes me to bite even harder before I lick the sting away. Moving my attention to her mouth, I lick along her bottom lip while my hands coast along the lines of her body, exploring and tracing every curve; desperate to discover every inch of her. Finding the hem of her skirt, I yank it up in one fluid motion. I kiss her harder, my cock swelling painfully against my zipper as I allow a hand to drop to her pussy. I trace along the red lace panties that have me about ready to blow my load from one glance, before pushing them aside and teasing my middle finger along her slit. She’s so fucking wet, it’s taking every ounce of my self-control not to push her against the nearest surface and slam into her.

  My finger starts thrusting in and out, and she writhes against me, her body showing me what she needs, and I sure as hell am going to give it to her. The noises she’s making are undeniably carnal, and when she lifts her leg and wraps it around my waist, opening herself up to me completely, I’m just about done for. Then her hand finds mine, guiding it to her clit and squeezing, her accompanying groan shreds the last bit of my self-control.

  I pull my hand away, and grasping her thighs I lift her up and move us quickly toward the copier. Pushing her forcefully on top of the machine, her legs encircle my waist and pull me in so that I can feel the heat of her pussy. As she grinds against me, I close my eyes tight against the sensations she’s inciting. Her hands reach for my belt, but they fumble, giving the tiniest hint that she’s anxious about what we’re doing. I still them and lean back, seeking reassurance that this is what she really wants.