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She's now turned away from me, her ass hidden in the flowing straight fabric covering it. Something about rose bouquets and matching boutonnières keeps spouting from her lips. "I received the prices via email. I need a guarantee on the order, preferably in writing. I know it's last minute but it cannot be messed up. My brother is getting married. There will be a hefty tip upon delivery at the location," she says in a stern, bossy way that makes my dick spasm.
I close in on her, and she has yet to turn around. My hands lightly touch against the outside of her thighs, before caressing upward underneath her dress. She screams out and turns around, her eyes locking with mine. Yep, dead man. Glancing at her lips always follows. She smacks me with her purse and mouths,business call.Behave.
I shrug, my hands going back for her thighs and pulling her against me. Her free hand lightly grips my shoulder for support. "I'm sorry. Something startled me." Her breathing changes as I round my hands to the back, my fingers brushing just below the globes of her ass before cupping each cheek. "Send me the order confirmation. You have my credit card number. I'll be in touch."
I squeeze the smooth skin, tightening her body against me as she drops the cell phone from her ear. "You ran off."
"I had business matters to attend to and I'm getting nowhere with your sexual advances every damn second of the day. Knock it off. We're in public."
I glance around at the people passing by, not paying us any attention. "And I give a damn, why?"
She puts her arms around my neck and looks up at me, her lids closing just a little as her bottom lip pushes out into a pout. My eyes go to her lips, wanting so badly to suck that full lip into my mouth. Then she pushes her thigh between my legs in a discreet way, slightly rubbing against my dick as if she knew where it was without even searching. "Because we still have cake tasting before we go try on my dress again and you really want to fuck me in that dressing room against the mirror as payment for winning the bet."
She pauses; giving me a second to think back on the wager I'd forgotten until now. Mirrors fogged by heavy breathing, wet pussy, beating it up knowing someone is just outside the door. She smiles, pressing against my now hard cock. "Or we could just stand here and waste time while you grope me instead of taking me and making me yours. It's your call."
My hands fall from her body, and one goes into the air to hail a cab from the curb we're standing on, the other gripping the back of her neck and pulling her lips into mine, drawing a moan from her throat when my tongue pushes into her mouth. I release her when I hear the car pull up. "That pussy is mine the second that dress goes on your body."
Without another word I walk to the car and open the door, waiting for her to enter first, ready to get this girlie shit over with and on to the fun stuff. This is a job for women. Men are supposed to be playing poker and getting lit, cigar smoke billowing in the room as we talk pussy and become irresponsible with our money, not shopping. She walks toward me, a smirk already in place, stopping at the open door. She runs her fingertips through my beard, fucking me with those eyes. "Here's to cake then." And then she gets in.
To fucking cake . . .
Chapter Thirteen
Tynleigh
Bryant holds the door for me to walk in the pastry shop, his hand at the small of my back following behind. I notice the intimate gesture, but don't say anything to bring attention to it. The fact is, he's been acting a little different since last night, and I'm not sure what to make of it. A part of me likes it, and the other bigger part knows it's just going to make things more confusing later.
The owner meets us up front, disrobing of her apron before introducing herself. I shake her hand. "I'm Tynleigh. We spoke on the phone earlier this week about the small wedding cake. I've never planned a wedding so I don't know what flavor to choose, but it needs to be good. My only little brother is getting married. It'll be private of course so I don't need anything large. The smallest three tier you have should work."
I decided to go with a new pastry shop in town, still small. I figured that was the best option for a last-minute order. Large companies with well-known pastry chefs book out months in advance and Meg used this one for an inner office birthday cake a few months back. She said it was good and elegant. "It's nice to meet you, Tynleigh. I'm Marlene, the owner, and I'm looking forward to working with you. I made up a few samples for you to try that are being set up by my assistant now in the back. Follow me and I'll get you seated while I help her finish."
We both follow her through the building to the side room set up with a few private tables in front of large windows that look out into a small garden. It's a quaint little shop, adorable, and well-thought-out for being appealing to customers. She leads us to the corner table. The room is empty, the only few customers in sight sitting in the main room close to the counter. "Here should work. It’ll be more private. Have a seat and I'll be ready in a few short minutes. I just need to make sure everything is setup properly and labeled."
Bryant pulls out the chair, letting me sit first. "Thank you, Marlene. Take your time. I appreciate the last-minute service. We are in no hurry," I say, my eyes veering to Bryant and his smirk standing proud, hinting toward him and his gentlemanly ways that have suddenly appeared out of thin air. Totally fucking backward. Usually a man opens doors and pulls out chairs trying to get in your pants, not after they already have . . . multiple times.
She leaves us and Bryant takes the seat beside me. I turn toward him. "Spill. What the hell has gotten into you?"
His smile grows and as I go to cross one leg over the other, he grabs my thigh and pulls it over his, spreading my legs in an inappropriate fashion for a dress, or in public for that matter. "I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," he says, humor laced in every word.
My eyes narrow at him, but then his hand starts to migrate up the inside of my thigh. "No. There is not a chance in hell you're going there. Quit it. I don't know what has gotten into you. Ever since your cousin made himself familiar with my private region you're freaking the fuck out. You said you've done it before. Let it go."
His smile falls, only heat left in his stare. His hand stops with his fingertips at my panty line. Thank god. "Doesn't mean I fucking liked it this time. I saw you first. You are mine until we are done. He pushed me over the edge. It was a bad decision on my part to allow it. And now there is no telling what the fuck will happen when I leave between the two of you."
Oh. My. God.
My face betrays me, my cheeks tight from the smile already in place. "That's what this is about, isn't it?"
"It's not fucking funny. It's fucking with my head. You haven't showered. He's still on you."
This is priceless.
"Yours huh?"
"For now."
I run my hand into the front of his hair and grip it in a fist, pulling him toward me, my voice lowering. "Kind of hot seeing you all worked up, Bryant. Where has this guy been?"
"Asking myself the same damn question. What the hell is wrong with me? You need a fucking shower. Until then, all I can do is put my scent on you to cover his."
