Page 43 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

I could tell he was joking. He has been the perfect gentleman since I moved in. Done his best to color within the lines.

If I wanted to break his restraint, I had to push a few buttons.

So, I let go of the skirt and proceeded to do the most sexually stimulating thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. No iota of shame or self-consciousness clung to me. On the contrary, I had never felt so free, working on the dough while Ken watched me, pushing back his animal instincts to take me on the spot.

Ken versus Ken.

And I could tell he was fighting because I was going through the same struggle. My primal self was ready to go to him and literally beg. But something about teasing him and watching him unravel held its own pleasure.

Even up until now.

“Damn it, Charlie. Take whatever you needright now. Cause I’m this close to burying my face in your ass.”

My pulse flies into a sprint the moment I hear those words. Victory burns in my veins, but there’s a deeper flush of pleasure that creeps up my face.

I did it.

Unraveled him. Made him let go of his calm, polite demeanor. Turned him back into a fire-spitting, lust-filled ravager.

It wouldn’t be right tonotkeep going now.

Say nothing,I order myself. My reply has got to be non-verbal.

Holding my breath, I move my hips slightly. My cheeks graze his chest once, twice.

“Charlie.” Ken’s voice is so sharp, it makes my heart jump into my throat. “What the fuck are you doing?”

No reply. I curl my hips backward, pressing against him as hard as I can.

“Do that again, and I…”

I curl my hips again, and then, even before I can pull away, he turns me around and lays me on the counter, lifting my legs over his shoulders and burying his face in my core. And then I feel him. Ken’s tongue, skipping past my thong and darting between my folds, teasing my lips apart and greedily lapping.

Arching my back, I let out a scream. The restaurant should be closed now, but some of my employees might still be around. Still, I can’t help myself. The pleasure from his touch is so earth-shattering, so visceral, that I can’t hold back.

He plays in my wetness, dragging his tongue up and down as my legs tremble over his shoulders. I moan again, goosebumps rising on my body. My senses are all tuned in to him, waiting, hoping desperately for him to claim me.

But then, he abruptly pulls his face away.

“Get the sugar.”

Something about his commanding tone forces me into willing submission. I sit up, and he lifts me to grab the containers with the sugar and the cinnamon. Ken sets me down a second later.

I turn around and glance at him. His nose is smeared with my arousal, and his blue eyes are blazing red. He looks like he wants to kill me and fuck me all at the same time.

I’m kind of down for both.

“We still have the rolls to make.” He jabs a finger toward the dough, his eyes focused completely on my tits.

I swallow, my gaze darting to his erection before I look back up at him. “Yeah. Right. Not like we could serve this batch anyway. But I guess practice is important.” Turning around, I make the sugar and cinnamon mix quickly.

“I think I got the wrong batch of sugar,” I mutter, my brave attempt at conversation. “It kind of tastes less sweet than I was expecting.”

“Most likely tastes less sweet thanthis.”And as I watch, he swipes a finger across the fluid on his nose and runs his own tongue down the wet finger.

Oh, fuck.

With a force of will, I turn back to the cinnamon mix. My fingers shake as I attempt to spread it over the dough.

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