AllFreeNovel
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He presses the bloated, puffy ball, and the airy dough fills in around his fingers.
“Oooh, I see what you mean. That is satisfying.”
“Right!?”
He forms it into a loaf like I instructed, then we transfer into the dutch oven and place it back in the oven.
He joins me on the counter and claps his hands together. “Okay, serious question, ready?”
“Lay it on me.”
“Tacos, pizza, pasta. You gotta fuck one, marry one, kill one. Go.”
“Oh, wow.” I chuckle, considering my options. My brain runs through the different scenarios. “Um... Fuck tacos. Marry pasta. Kill pizza.”
“You’re going to kill pizza?!”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to kill pasta or tacos.”
“I need justification.”
“Tacos are spicy, sensual, they’re going to give you a wild time. You never know what you’re getting with a taco, they’ll keep you on your toes. They can be hot enough to make you sweat. Stuffed with whatever meat you’re in the mood for. Guacamole may be involved. You can’t have boring taco sex. Pasta will always be there for you, it’s the carbohydrate ride-or-die. Bad day? Pasta, baby. Good day? Still pasta. You can throw in some spice, but overall, it’s safe. That’s who you marry. Ideally, you want pasta on the streets and tacos in the sheets. And pizza is the fuckboy of foods. Fine at a college party or late at night, but he wasn’t going places, and eventually, you had to leave him behind.”
“Damn. You came prepared,” he says wide-eyed. A tentative smile grows on his lips.
“My turn, ready?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Cinnamon roll, bagel, donut. Go.”
“Fuck donut, marry bagel, kill cinnamon roll,” he rattles off.
“Holy shit. Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“State your case...” I hold out my arm, gesturing to the pretend panel of people.
“Obviously, I’m fucking the donut. It already has a hole. It’s sweet and glazed. Sometimes they squirt, they’re messy and sticky—I mean, there’s nothing better than fucking a messy donut. Bagels are wholesome; you can have them for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. They still have a hole, but they’re tougher than a donut so you can fuck them harder and put them into more positions without breaking. They are down for whatever: peanut butter, cream cheese, tomatoes, eggs, bacon, salmon. You know what, I’m marrying AND fucking the bagel. And kill cinnamon rolls because they make my teeth feel like they’re wearing tiny sweaters.” He runs his tongue over his front teeth.
My head slowly turns ninety degrees to look at him.
“I amneverletting you near my bakery.”
“Nah, you’ll be begging for me to come inside your bakery.” He nudges my shoulder.
I’m getting wet listening to this guy talk about fucking baked goods. What is going on with me? It’s not my fault, this is purely physical. I swear he looks sexier than he did yesterday.Holy hell, he can fill out a tee shirt.After he leaves, I’ll take care of myself and dissolve all this sexual energy.
We play a few more rounds of Fuck, Marry, Kill, then we are interrupted by the beep of the timer. Bread is done—and I’m oddly disappointed that our time is almost up. I was actually having fun.
It’s a beautiful sourdough when he pulls the loaf out. He transfers it onto a cooling rack. I show him the underside, have him knock on it to hear the hollow thump. Despite me having him overknead it for my own perverted enjoyment, it looks good. Great crust. When it’s cooled, I hand him a serrated knife to carve a few slices off the end.
The second the warm slice hits his tongue he groan-growls.Jesus.
“It’s just bread. Stop making it sound so explicit.”
He swallows his bite and licks his lips. “If I like what I’m eating, I say so.” He holds my gaze when he says it, and a flush creeps up my neck. His eyes follow the warmth on my face.
