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Please go to your shop. Leave me alone, I think, but another part of me is ready for the challenge.
Craving it.
Something about fighting with Ben is almost as good as baking.
Though neither touches what if feels like to be fucked by Ben,my devious mind reminds me. I swat the nuisance away.
Then the knob moves.
I locked it after I checked the bakery for any unexpected guests.
I smile to myself. Hehasbeen bitching at me to lock the door, right? Just doing as I was told.
A fist pounds on the back door.
I ignore it.
“Lola, open the fucking door.” I don’t. Instead, I crank the volume on my music just a bit. “Lola!” he shouts. I smile to myself. “Open the door or I’m opening it.”
He wouldn’t.
Ben wouldn’t break my door down. Not to mention, the heavy metal would most definitely cause some damage.
And I’m right; he doesn’t break it.
Instead, it just opens.
In his hand is a silver key.
My spare.
My mind moves to me looking for a place to hide the key and deciding under the pink door mat was a good spot.
Why the fuck did I hide it under the mat? That was dumb. It’s the first place everyone checks.
He strides in, wearing low-slung gym shorts with no underwear band in sight, no shirt.
This fucking man.
He has to know, has to know how good he looksat all times.
I don’t have time to dwell on that as he walks toward me, though. I walk backward, silent, his eyes fixated on me as I move. My back hits the wall next to the sink where I clean up after a long day, the one that has the laminated instructions for fire safety and employee rights taped to it.
“Why do you keep doing that?” I ask. There are a million things I could ask, but that’s what comes out.
“What?”
“Backing me into things.” I’m breathing heavy already, the anticipation of the unknown rushing through me. Will he, won’t he?
I never seem to know with this man.
“Because I like to.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks, his lips tipping up in a small smile, devious and taunting.
“Yeah.” My words are a pant now.God damn stupid body.We have a fight to win, woman.
