He draws it into his mouth, and his tongue pressed hard against my nipple makes me moan.
I hear myself moan under my breath in the stillness of the room and clamp my mouth shut. Thoughts of a man I don't know one bit about shouldn't be having this effect on me.
Except that when I close my eyes, I picture him on his knees between my legs, my skirt never mind that I don't wear skirts to the bakery billowing around his head as he brings his mouth to my *.
Kneeling between my legs, he cups my ass, pulling me tightly against his face. His rough beard between my thighs only adds to the sensation.
My fingers find their way inside the front of my panties, my fingertips moving back and forth against my clit, sending another surge of arousal through me. I'm wet. I can feel the dampness on my panties without even sliding my fingers farther down.
The thought of that uncivilized brute is making me wet.
The image in my head is so clear I can almost feel him between my legs right now, sucking my clit into his mouth.
The way he eats me isn't gentle, either he thrusts his tongue inside me, fucking me like he can't get enough. I call out his name, my hands threaded through his hair, pulling him tighter against my body. I'm going to come on his face, but he pulls away from me, chuckling as he unbuckles his belt and reveals his massive cock.
"Condom?" I ask.
He smirks, his mouth glistening with my wetness. "I don't think so," he says. "You want me bare, Lily. Admit it."
Shit, I think. Where did this come from?
My fingers slip lower and then inside, aided by my slickness.
I hear myself gasp as he pushes me against the wall and enters me, totally and completely in one swift motion. He fucks me like he knows exactly how to make my body respond to his every movement. He fucks me like he owns me. My legs wrapped tightly around him, I let go, responding to his touch.
I fuck myself with my fingers, imagining that it's his cock inside me, that it's his cock that makes me come harder than I've come in a long time, leaving me breathless, my heart racing as I lie in bed.
"I'll see you at three.” I plant a kiss on the top of Chloe's head.
"Ugh, mom," she protests, squirming away. "Not in the drop-off line. Everyone will see you. That's like, a kindergarten thing."
I watch her walk into the door of the school carrying her backpack. She's seven years old going on thirteen. A wave of nostalgia washes over me so intensely that it nearly takes my breath away. I think about all of the things Adam is missing with Chloe and silently curse him for everything he was involved in and for getting himself killed. Even if he wasn't a good man, he was her father.
At the bakery, there are a few customers at the register, people grabbing coffees and baked goods on the way to work and a couple of retirees lounging around having a slow breakfast as they read the paper. It's the tail end of breakfast, and I feel badly leaving Opal to manage the store alone while I'm busy doing the morning routine with Chloe. I remind myself to put an ad in the town newspaper for a replacement for Rachel. Obviously, the "help wanted" sign in the window isn't cutting it because we've had a grand total of three applicants in the past few days, all of whom were total duds.
"Sorry about leaving you to handle this on your own," I tell Opal, barely glancing around the bakery as I head to the back and grab my apron. When I get to the front, I dive right in.
"Triple espresso with cinnamon and a touch of cream to go?" I ask the man in line. He's been a regular since we opened, and every morning is the same order without fail.
"You got it," he says, stepping to the side.
Then I look up, paper coffee cup in hand. "What the hell is he doing here?"
Opal pauses from ringing up a customer to give me a look. Did I just say that out loud?
He's sitting at an empty table wearing jeans and a grey t-shirt, a charcoal-and-red-checkered flannel shirt on top, unbuttoned like a jacket. His legs are stretched out in front of him, his dark work boots propped up on the leg of the table like he's relaxing in his own living room. He's holding a newspaper in front of him, seemingly focused on what he's reading, but when I look at him, he folds down the edge and meets my gaze. The edges of his mouth turn up in a smug smile before he flips the paper back up and goes back to reading.
Opal leans over between customers and knowingly says, "Seems like that boy is looking for something."
"I don't know what you're talking about." I turn around and ignore the look she gives me, busying myself with making a new pot of dark roast coffee, one of the special orders I get from Hawaii.
"No?" Opal nudges me. "He's been sitting there for an hour."
"Good for him."
"Why don't you go over there and give him a muffin?" Opal suggests innocently, but I know better.
"I'm busy working, in case you hadn't noticed."