Page 42 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

Fuck.

I want to help out with the cooking. Hell, that’s why I came looking for her. But Charlie is putting on a once-in-a-lifetime show, and to stop looking at her cheeks bouncing with each of her movements is death itself. I can’t—won’tstop watching her move.

Plus, the moment I close the gap between us, I’m going to thrust my throbbing dick into her.

Charlie continues to roll out the dough. The silence between us lengthens. From far away, I can hear some noises from the main restaurant that clues me in on the fact that the place is closing. My crew must have left by now, Blake probably having figured out that I’m busy. Also, Charlie’s employees clearly don’t check in with her before they leave.

We’ll be alone. That’s only going to make this so much easier…or harder, depending on whose side I’m on.

I keep watching her roll the dough, letting myself focus on the more alluring details about her. The wisps of her hair that have slipped out of her bun and are now across her forehead and nape. Her nipples, hard as buttons, clearly visible behind her shirt. The shiny, taut skin of her toned legs.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If I thought that massage did something to me, I was wrong. It’s taking every ounce of will in my body to remain where I am.

“Think it’s thin enough?” she asks a while later, turning to face me. Her voice is casual enough, but the quiver in it is hard to miss.

She knows damn well that I don’t give a damn about the buns right now. That I haven’t been watching the roll for the past few minutes.

Still, I tear my gaze away from her body and look down at the dough. It looks like she followed my advice on not thinking too deeply about it. Either that or it’s easier for her to let go of control when she’s standing butt naked in front of me.

“Good,” I say. “Let’s see you add the cinnamon and sugar.”

Charlie’s ass jiggles as she rises on her tiptoes. Her fingers scrape the edge of an overhead cupboard, and she pulls it open. My chest tightens at the sight of her nipples pointing upward, following the direction of her hand as she tries to pull down a transparent plastic container, which seems to be filled with brown sugar.

“Here,” I say, striding up to her. Charlie gasps as I take hold of her hips and hoist her up. She’s perfectly capable of reaching for the container all by herself, but damn it, I’m going to go crazy if I spend one more second not touching her. She feels like water in my grasp: light, easy, flexible, hard to touch without getting soaked.

My groin is crying with need now. With a groan of frustration, I throw all subtleties out the window.

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

TWELVE

CINNAMON BUNS (CHARLIE)

If I still want Ken badly enough after tonight, I’m going to think of some way to get it across to him.

I remember having that thought only a few days ago. It was a throwaway one that I didn’t think I’d dwell on for too long.

How wrong I was.

The past three days have been nothing short of miserable. I’ve relived massaging Ken a million times, particularly when it was dark outside, and I was alone in bed. Not even touching myself could cool the wildfire that the so-called massage started inside me. Every single hour of the day, I was filled with the desperate need to have him in me. I considered having a fling with someone else for a night, but I discarded it almost immediately.

It’s Ken or no one. And now, my desire for him has morphed into a constant, never-ending pulse.

All things considered, it’s amazing that I lasted three whole days. Or so I told myself this morning, when I decided that enough was enough.

I wanted to seduce him tonight.

I hadn’t worked out a strategy yet. I assumed I’d figure something out while trying the new recipes. But then, my first few tries at the pastry turned out so awful, I’d half forgotten about my plan.

Until he showed up in my kitchen.

I thought of that as a problem, at least at first. Far harder to seduce someone who just saw you make multiple messes in front of him. But then, he guided me through it, holding my hands as I kneaded the dough, his body deliciously close to mine.

Andhe taunted me to take off my skirt.

Talk about manifesting.

---