Page 15 of Babydoll

“Is this about skinny-shaming me again?”

He says nothing, but his stern look speaks volumes. I am seriously pushing this guy’s buttons.

“It’s not like I can be arrested for stealing pudding,” I say, rolling my eyes.

His brows knit, creating the cutest wrinkle above his perfectly imperfect nose. It has a bump and slight curve that gives his quarterback-hometown-hero look just the perfect amount of rugged.

Grizzly Jeff leans back, crossing his arms. “No, but you could lose your job.” He rises then and walks to one of the drawers by the fridge. “You can be fired for stealing someone’s lunch. It makes you untrustworthy. Especially if the head of security pushes for it.” He opens the drawer and pulls out a plastic spoon.

My gut drops at that. I cannot lose this job. I need it to pay Satan’s Ransom. Fear ripples through my body. And I swear he smells it.

I sit, fiddling with the top of the pudding cup. My finger runs over the permanent marker scrawled on the top. He tosses the spoon across the table and pulls out the chair opposite mine. It scrapes across the floor as he pulls it out. “Hey! Those marks are a bitch to get off the floor!”

“My apologies,” he says and lifts the chair the final few inches before sitting in it.

“It’s not my break,” I say sullenly, slouching in the chair. “I could be fired for sitting around when I should be cleaning.” I sigh. “Brad is gonna freak out if he smells that garbage from his office.”

Jeff only cocks his left brow at me and takes the pudding cup. Peeling the top off, he puts the spoon in and slides it back at me. When I don’t move to take it, he rises, walks to my side of the table and sits his hip on it. He clears his throat and holds the lid in front of me, pudding side to my mouth.

“Lick,” he orders, and oh, my fucking god, my entire body ignites.

“Open up, babydoll. Don’t make me force you.”

I swallow hard. And we’re frozen staring at each other for a moment, the only sound is the ticking of the huge analog clock hanging on the wall behind me and the hum of the fridge. And then, he reaches out, puts his thumb and forefinger on my chin, and pulls my mouth open.

Fuuuuck.

“Be a good girl, Lu. Stick out that pretty tongue.”

“What if I’m not a good girl?” I blurt, attempting to quell the feeling of being a bug caught in a spider’s web. “Good girls get candy bars, but what do bad girls get?” My eyes flick down to his hip where his handcuffs hang. I have no shame when it comes to flirting my way back to having the upper hand.

But the air between us is electric. It practically crackles and the hair on my arms stands straight up, as do my nipples. Suddenly they’re tight and aching with need and I have to break the intensity before it breaks me—before I beg him to…

“All right. I’ll be good,” I say, my hungry gaze rising from his belt to his gorgeous eyes. And then I stick my tongue out flat. He smiles. And it’s both the dirtiest and sexiest smile I’ve ever seen and if I could swallow less awkwardly with my mouth open I would because, goddamn, he’s calling my bluff.

“That’s my good girl.” The wicked glint in his eye has my belly dipping and warmth pooling down there.

Holy. Shit. Instead of the words breaking the tension like I wanted, they’ve increased it, a hundred-fold, and Jesus! My insides, already warm, spike a fucking fever. The kind of fever that requires medical attention.

He smears the butterscotchy lid against my tongue and then pulls it a few inches away.

“Lick it clean.”

I obey with a quiver and when it’s clean, he sets it on the paper bag. I close my mouth, attempting to swallow the sweet smoothness but it feels more like cement. His thumb finds my lip and wipes, a smear of butterscotch coming off on his thumb.

“You never take a break, Lu,” he whispers and then pops his thumb into his mouth and sucks. He sucks slowly and thoroughly, making my thighs clench.

I whimper and his cocky half-smile deepens.

“You like that, babydoll?”

I nod, my head bobbing like a marionette.

He rises then, going back to his side of the table, leaving me breathless, dizzy, and so turned on I might combust.

Pulling out a sandwich bag, he sets his lunch on the table. I devour the pudding, loading the spoon as full as possible like I’ve never eaten before and shoving it into my mouth, hoping to staunch both my hunger and desire. I must look like I’ve been raised by wild animals, so I slow down after the first two huge bites that puff out my cheeks and squish between my teeth because they don’t quite fit in my mouth.

His sandwich is wrapped in cellophane. I breathe in deeply, involuntarily savoring the smell of roasted peanuts as he unwraps it. My stomach gurgles loudly again. I’d hated peanut butter before this. You wouldn’t find a jar anywhere near me. Peanut butter was a cheap protein, so it was a staple in everyfoster home I’d ever lived in. It was on the menu daily, often more than once. Eat something every day for lunch and it soon loses its appeal. To me it’s basically helplessness and fear churned into a spreadable topping for tasteless white bread.

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