Don’t Touch

by Wylder, Penny

  I look up at the ceiling and trace the cracking plaster with my eyes. It spiders out at the end into a web of thin cracks. There are faint brown patches in the white paint, making me wonder if I should have some extra buckets around for rainy days.

  But all of this really doesn't matter. I don't need much. Just a place to rest my head until my career finally takes off. For now, this shoe box of an apartment will do.

  I press the tips of my fingers against my temples and rub my head. I've never worked so hard in my life. The Backyard didn't stop from opening to close. I kick my sneakers off and stretch out my legs over the arm of the love seat.

  I can't believe Monroe knows I think he's hot, I think to myself as I continue to massage my head.

  I've never been so embarrassed in my life. For a brief instant I was angry at Corrine for putting me in that situation, but I know it's not her fault. This is my fault. I'm the one who left my phone for everyone to see on the counter. I'm the one who sent those messages.

  At least he didn't fire me on the spot.

  The only thing he said about the messages is to be more careful. He didn't tell me it was unprofessional, or that he's a married man and I need to keep my hands to myself. And I swear, I swear on my soul, that I saw a little hint of a smirk on his face.

  It was subtle, but it was there.

  Thinking about it now, about the way his eyes darkened and glazed over making them look like an amber gemstone, and how his lips twitched at the corners, it makes my skin hot. I can feel my cheeks blushing and my stomach flip.

  I pick up the edge of my jacket and smell it. It smells like him. His cologne has permeated the fabric. He's all around me, wrapping me like a warm blanket. My mind starts to think back to how close he was to me in the storage room.

  We were shoulder to shoulder, and every time he looked down at me, I thought my knees were going to buckle. When he touched my arms, my blood percolated under my skin like coffee, and my pussy clenched.

  Fuck, he's so damn sexy.

  My hand slips down my belly and cups my mound. I rock my hips, forcing my pussy against my palm. My clit is tender, swollen, and turning my memories of the day into an erotic movie in my head.

  I imagine Monroe and me in the storage room, our bodies close, our eyes freezing on each other. He reaches out, placing his hand to my face. His thick fingers scratch through my hair as he curls them around my nape.

  Fuck, I'd let him do anything he wants to me.

  I slip my hand inside my pants and feel the wetness of my panties. One flick of my finger sends a surge of tingles through my body. I move my panties to the side and run my finger up the center of my pussy, pretending that Monroe is touching me.

  I'm wet, dripping from an imaginary moment we never shared. But fuck, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep these boundaries of boss and employee if he ever makes a move. How could I?

  He's the sexiest man I've ever seen in my life. A man with a reputation, and a presence that is not only commanding, but is also debilitating. My mind is mush, my heart is pounding, and my pussy is aching.

  I dip a finger inside, using my thumb to draw firm circles over my clit. With my eyes closed, I can see him taking me. I can feel his hands on my body as he spins me around and rips my pants down so he can fuck me.

  One finger turns into two as my brain pretends my fingers are his cock. Over and over, I fuck myself, until my stomach clenches and my clit is so swollen it only takes one more touch to send me over the edge.

  I come. I come so hard my thighs seal around my wrist and I moan with pleasure. My skin is hot to the touch and I'm breathing heavy as I open my eyes.

  You can't ever sleep with him. He's your boss! Remember that.

  Imagining is one thing, but I know that sleeping with him would cripple my career. I won't jeopardize this opportunity.

  My phone rings, so I sit up and grab it off the table. “Hey, Tom,” I say. It's my older brother.

  “Hey, so. . .”

  “So, what?”

  “How was your first day?”

  “Tiring, long, my feet are killing me, and my back hurts.”

  “What are you, eighty years old? You sound like Grandma.”

  I giggle and say, “It was hard, Tom.”

  “You knew it was going to be. No one ever said it would be easy.”

  “Yeah, I know. I'm not saying it like I want to quit, I'm just saying I'm tired, is all.”

  “Well, I'm proud of you. For once in your life, you listened to your big brother, and look, everything worked out.”

  Tom is the one who pushed me to go to culinary school. I felt lost after high school, and he stepped up, giving me some options, and helping me decide that cooking could be my calling. Little did I know how much I was going to love it.

  “You're right.”

  “What was that?” he asks. “Can you say that again?”

  “You were right. There, I said it, but don't think I'm going to say it a third time.”

  Tom laughs loudly. “All right, I get it. But just think, today might have been tough, but this is your path to success. Keep your head up, keep doing what you're doing, and you'll get there one day. Who knows, maybe one day I'll be dining in your restaurant.”

  “Yeah, maybe. So, what about you? How's the warehouse doing?”

  “It's doing pretty good. We got a few new contracts, so we're going to be busy this summer, which is awesome. I'm not looking forward to all the long days to fill these orders, but I'll make it happen.”

  Tom started a liquor warehouse a couple years back. He's the guy all the bars and restaurants go to for their booze. He started off small, and his business practically exploded overnight.

  My phone buzzes against my hand. I'm getting a text and I'm sure it's Corrine. She probably wants more details about my boss. She's going to lose it when I tell her what happened.

  “Hey, Tom, I don't want to cut you off, but I really am tired and should get some sleep before I have to be back tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, no problem, I get it. Talk to you later.”

  We hang up, and I open the message. Only it's not my friend. It's Monroe.

  I need you to come back.

  Right now, I type. He can't mean right now. It's already so late.

  Yes, now. I need some extra help with prep for tomorrow.

  I know I'm exhausted and need to rest, but I can't say no to my new boss. How would it look if I told him no after only one shift?

  He didn't fire me for the phone incident, so I don't need to give him another reason to let me go before I even get my foot in the door.

  I'm on my way.

  3

  Arisa

  Every step feels like I'm walking on sharp rocks. The balls of my feet are raw and tender, and my heels feel like I've been slamming them against a wall for hours.

  I try the handle, but the door is locked. Pressing my face against the glass, I knock. Monroe pokes his head out from the kitchen. He smiles, wiping his hands on a towel as he comes to the door and unlocks it.

  “Hey, thanks for doing this,” he says as he opens the door and lets me in.

  “Yeah, no problem. I'm here if you need me.”

  “Good to know there's someone I can count on. Cheryl does a good job, but she's not super reliable when I need her.”

  Then why is she still working here? I don't ask that out loud. But he sees the look on my face and knows exactly what I'm thinking.

  “Her father is an old friend of my dad. I'm giving her some experience for now, and when she's ready, I'll help her move along.”

  “Oh, that's nice of you to do that. I'm sure her father appreciates it.”

  “Yeah, well, being nice in this industry doesn't get you anywhere. Which is why I'm here this late prepping for tomorrow.” Monroe smiles, resting his hand against the counter. “Anyway, we got work to do. You ready?”

  “I'm always ready,” I answer.

  “Good to know.” He flashes me a playful smile and wags
his brows before turning to walk back to the kitchen.

  Is he flirting with me?

  No. Stop being stupid, Arisa. Don't read too much into anything.

  Shaking off the feeling, I follow him inside. He slaps a crate of potatoes with his hand and passes me a peeler. “First things first, these need to be peeled, washed, and then stored in the fridge.”

  “Done,” I say, taking the peeler. “And after this?”

  “After that, I want you to brine some chicken. Then I'll show you my secret recipe for the brisket. It gets a dry rub, made of my own blend of spices, and it needs to sit for twenty-four hours before we smoke it.”

  “Secret recipe?” I tilt my head and arch a brow.

  “Yeah, like the Colonel and his chicken. When you try my brisket, you'll see why it's so important the recipe is kept secret.”

  “So, do you keep your secret recipe locked away in some vault?” I giggle, giving him a big smile as I pick up a potato and start to strip the skin.

  “Yeah, it's called my brain. Which means you can't share it with anyone else. Not even Cheryl.”

  “She doesn't already know?” I ask, surprised. I would have thought she'd know it after all this time working here.

  He grins, baring his perfect white teeth. “Nope, and I'd like to keep it that way.”

  Why is he going to share it with me then?

  He doesn't even know me. Cheryl's been here for a lot longer. It doesn't make sense to me. Most people only share their secrets with people they trust. Then it hits me, he doesn't trust her.

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “I hope so. Are you good at keeping secrets?” he asks, taking a step in so we're almost toe to toe.

  “I guess you're going to find out now, aren't you?”

  Monroe smirks and nods his head. “I guess I am. Maybe I'll have to test you first.”

  He reaches past me, picking up the bucket of lemons. His arm brushes across my chest, grazing me softly. Goosebumps ripple down my arms, and I hold my breath as his eyes steady on mine.

  “I'm going to squeeze these. We only use fresh lemon juice here.”

  I'm not breathing. I feel my lungs start to tighten and ache. Inhaling a quick breath, I swallow hard. “Yeah, that's good. Fresh ingredients are the best.”

  “They taught you well in school. I hate when teachers try to tell the students that taking shortcuts is okay. Because flavor matters. Flavor is what gives your food the edge you need to keep people coming back.”

  “I like edge,” I say, my voice breathy.

  Monroe smiles and licks his lips as he turns to face the counter. I'm peeling potatoes, one after the other and dropping them into a giant bucket. The room smells starchy, and acidic from the lemon. But I can't stop shifting my attention to him.

  His muscles bulge and tighten, creating a wave that spills down his back as he cuts the lemons. His neck thickens as his arm lifts, and he glides the knife through the rind. His skin glistens under the overhead lights. The thin sheen is on his neck and arms, making him sparkle like a cooking god.

  I'm mesmerized. I can't take my eyes off his back and arms. I want to feel his hands on my body and his arms wrapped around me. My brain runs wild with more images of him taking me. On the counter. Against the wall. Using my body anyway he wants.

  This guy is going to drive me to insanity.

  “So,” he says. “How do you like your meat?”

  “What?” I ask, snapping out of my daydream.

  He flicks his head over his shoulder, his eyes landing on mine. “Your meat? Rare, well done, how do you like it?”

  “Oh, medium. I like it medium.”

  “Medium is good. Soft and juicy, pink in the center, and it melts in your mouth.”

  God damn, what is he doing right now?

  The way he's talking is making my body defy me. I don't want to be turned on by my boss, but I am. I don't even want to think of him this way, but he's making it hard not to. I can feel my panties dampen and my pussy start to pulse. It's wrong. So very, very wrong.

  I just can't stop it.

  “Shit,” he says, setting down the knife. “I need some heavy cream. I need to make the filling for my lemon meringue.” He walks to the fridge in the back, giving me time to get myself together.

  I exhale a slow breath and close my eyes. Settle down, I think, trying to calm my body. Being alone with him, so close like this, is making every cell in my body buzz with electricity. My nipples are hard, and my thighs keep tensing, trying to stop the ache between my legs.

  Get it together, Arisa. This is your job now, get used to being around to him.

  When I open my eyes, I realize I just finished the last potato. Time for the brisket.

  Monroe comes back in the kitchen. I wipe my hands and smile as I say, “All done. Looks like it's time to learn a secret.”

  “All right,” he says. Crossing his arms, he taps his chin. “How about this? Since, there's no way for me to know how well you can keep your lips sealed just yet, we both share a little something. I think it's only fair that since I'm sharing a secret with you, you should share a secret with me. It can be my extra security.”

  “So, you want something to blackmail me with?”

  “Not in those words, but yes.”

  My brows raise up and my mouth curls into a playful smirk. “Share a secret with you?” I think about it for a second. “If I say yes, what's in it for me?”

  “You'll be learning the best brisket recipe on the east coast.”

  “Yeah, but you'll be learning a secret about me. I'm not sure that's a fair trade.”

  “Okay, well, maybe we can make this a little bit more interesting. How about you guess what you need for the recipe, and for every ingredient you get right, you can keep your secrets to yourself. But, for everything you get wrong, you have to tell me something.”

  A big smile forms on my face and I nod in agreement. “I like that better.”

  Monroe leans back against the counter and folds his arms over his chest. “Me too. All right, I'm sure you learned in school about rubs, what do you think the brisket recipe has in it?”

  There's a giant rack of spices against the wall behind me. I spin around and start to read all the labels. I know it needs salt; every good rub has salt.

  “Salt,” I say, pulling the bottle from the rack.

  “That's the easiest one. What else?”

  “Garlic.” He gives me a nod. “Onion.” He nods again.

  “I might be getting the short end of the stick here,” Monroe says with a chuckle.

  “No, these are just obvious.” I pull out the black pepper, and oregano next. But now I'm not sure. “Hm,” I hum out.

  “Ah, this is where it gets interesting. Go on, what's next?”

  “I'm thinking,” I say, letting my fingers dance across the different spices.

  “Tick tock,” he says and taps his wrist. “I'm about to learn a secret about you.”

  “Shit, all right. My mind is blank, I'm not sure what else.”

  He laughs, relaxing his arms at his side. “Spill it. Tell me something no one else knows about you.”

  “Okay, well, when I was sixteen, I stole my parents’ car and drove it into a ditch.”

  “How is that a secret? I'm guessing your parents found out and you got grounded.”

  “Nope. They have no idea. It was a Festiva, thing's the size of a roller skate. A couple guys happened to drive by and helped me get it out. So, other than two strangers I never saw again, you're the only person that knows.”

  “There was no damage? They didn't notice at all?”

  “There was some damage, but my dad didn't notice until days later, so he thought some asshole backed into the car.”

  “No shit,” he says and laughs. “Parsley.”

  I take out the seasoning, and another ingredient pops into my head. “Cumin.”

  “Yup.”

  “Sugar. . .” I say not certain.

  “Close.” />
  “Brown sugar.” He gives me another nod. But that's it, that's the last ingredient I can think of. “Is this it?”

  “Nope. There are four more.”

  “Four more? You've got to be kidding me.”

  “Keep trying. Think about it.”

  Brisket has a kick.

  “Chili powder?”

  “Good guess, that's one.”

  I'm glaring at the spices, and I have no clue what else could possibly be in this rub.

  My shoulders roll forward, and I look back at him. “I don't know.”

  “Time to spill it. Secret number two. Let me hear it.”

  “Okay, let me think.” I look up at the ceiling and bite my bottom lip, trying to pick one. “Well, about three years back when I was eighteen, I went to this party and got really drunk, and I ended up making out with some girl.”

  His eyes light up with curiosity. “Did you like it?”

  “It was fun, I had a good time, so I guess I did.”

  “That's hot,” he says, pressing himself a little closer and reaching over me. “Cayenne pepper. That's two. There are still two more.”

  My eyes land on a bottle and I just take a guess. “Coriander?”

  “Very good.” He rests his hand on my shoulder as he leans over and pulls it off the rack. “One more, and this one is the big secret ingredient. Everything else you'll find in almost any classic slow smoked barbecue brisket, but not this last one.”

  My mind scrambles, but nothing comes to me. I'm at a lost. “Thyme?” I ask, guessing anyway and hoping for the best.

  He shakes his head no with a sexy grin. “Secret number three, and after the last one, you need to make it good. Something. . . dirty,” he says with a smirk.

  “Dirty? How dirty?”

  “Like really dirty. Make me blush.”

  He wants dirty to the point he blushes. My heart is pounding in my chest and my stomach is twisting. The room feels like it's getting hotter. I'm starting to sweat. It's beading up across my forehead and my palms are clammy.

  I wipe my hands on my pants, trying to dry them, and take in a big breath. He wants dirty, so I'm going to give him dirty.

  “I like having my asshole licked.”

  “That's pretty dirty,” he says. Monroe presses his chest against my back and lets his cheek brush against mine as he leans over and reaches for a container on the counter. “Ginger. This is what makes people come back for my brisket.”