Page 122 of Bake the Town Red

Then my ears hear him singing along with me about being unable to stand me running around.

The air in the shop is thick with lust. It’s hard to breathe. Even harder when Tyler’s fingers curl around my throat from behind. I don’t put up an ounce of fight when he pulls me to his chest.

When I sing the line with the word Daddy, his cock hardens at my back. My voice is hoarse. I twist my head. Feel the neat bun I pinned high up on my head grazing his chin.

He’s gorgeous. His hair is messy, as if he just got out of bed. His stubble accentuates the shadows on his face.

Dark eyes glower at me beneath thick eyelashes.

There’s no need to tell him I can’t stand it, as the song goes.

He knows.

“Little savage.”

“Tyler.”

“Hey,” he says, his voice gruff. His hold on my throat tightens. My thighs clench.

“Hi.” My tongue darts out to wet my dried lips.

His gaze is drawn to the movement. Nostrils flaring. “I’m here for the cupcakes I’m owed.”

“I remember a particular someone who threw shade on them.” I pout. “You hurt their feelings.”

“Darling.” He yanks me impossibly closer. His cock throbs. His breaths are hotter as they land on my lips. “Are you telling me no?”

“I’m telling you…”

Of course, I’ll tell himyes. I’ll always sayyesto him.

Except I’m not done teasing him.

“Precisely that.” My throat constricts. He’s squeezing me harder. “No.”

“Why is that?” Tyler fists the skirt of my dress, dragging it to my hips. The fingers of his other hand find the crotch of my tights, tearing them.

“Hmm, little savage?” His teeth scrape my ear, and I shudder.

“Because…” I trail off. Can’t talk when he pushes my panties to the side and drives three fingers into me. “Oh, Satan.”

“Answer me.” He’s pumping in and out. Relentless as ever.

“You have to stop. Customers…could…come…in.” As if I give a damn. As if I care about anything other than his wrist twisting and his fingers curling inside me. “They’ll see.”

“Do they own you?” Somehow, someway, Tyler’s fingers reach deeper. He pushes me forward, shoves my cheek on the display.

Impatient. That’s what he is. Impatient and powerful and all motherfucking consuming.

A whimper is my answer. Then a moan.

“It’s a simple question, Dahlia.” Anyone who passes by could see us. Could think Tyler’s fucking me. “Answer me. Do they own you?”

For once, I don’t care about the smudges. I care about my breath fogging the glass and the dark eyes that are dangerously close to mine. The investment I made in a sturdier display window is really paying off.

“No.” My hands flatten on the glass, and Tyler licks the healed wounds on my fingers. “They don’t. You do.”

“That’s right.” He pulls his fingers out of me, and tears of frustration well in my eyes. He licks them, grips my hips, and walks me and him behind the counter. “Me. I own you.”

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