Page 169 of Bake the Town Red

“Among other things.”

Without another word, I pull my mask up. Then hers. I bend to her red, parted lips. Smell the cinnamon on her breath. What’s left of the Pay for Your Cins cupcake she just had.

Our masks clash when I crush my mouth to hers. I eat her out all right, just the other set of lips. I dip my tongue into another wet hole in her body. I lick her. I suck on her tongue. Her bottom lip. Take everything she offers, and then some.

I’m a greedy bastard like that.

Pulling back is fucking agony. “This. Fuck. I’ve missed you.”

“I’m standing right here.” Blonde eyebrows wag, taunting me.

“Later,” I tell myself more than her. “We’ll have time later.”

This isn’t fear speaking. By the end of the night, Dahlia and I will be together. At home, under the covers. We’ll be fine. Come out of this confrontation unscathed.

That’s a fact.

Except this incessant, never-ending need to bend her over and fuck her senseless.

It’ll be careless to follow through with it.

Being careless will get us killed.

I lower her mask, straightening it on her beautiful face. Hiding her swollen lips. The smeared lipstick around her mouth. I hate that I can’t see her.

Better this way, just for a little while longer.

“You’re applying the lipstick again when we’re home.” Two steps back. I need the space, or I’ll lose it. “After I’ve fucked you here with our masks on, we’ll go home. You’ll have your lips red and pretty for me. First, so I can see them part when I eat you out. Then for when you get down on your knees. When you wrap them around my cock.”

“Anything for you,Daddy.” That tease. Brat.

“You keep that up, pretty girl, and I swear by all that’s holy—” The rest of the sentence isI’ll fuck the taunting tone out of your mouth.

I never get to say it.

Ding.

Technically, it could be anyone. Could be kids wandering into the shop. They could’ve caught sight of what’s left of Dahlia’s cupcakes in the display and wanted to help themselves for one.

Could be, but no. Those aren’t kids out front.

For starters, the footsteps are heavy ones. The soft clink indicates the person who walked inside the shop is wearing dress shoes.

Workingalongside Dahlia over the past few nights has sharpened my senses. Nothing hardly ever slips past me anymore. I hear better. Smell better. My attention to detail has become a form of art.

It’s him.

“I’m ready,” she whispers, her words rushed as she whirls to face away from me.

“Good girl.” I fish out the silk red scarf from my coat pocket. “My good girl.”

In a matter of three seconds—exactly like we practiced at home—I have her wrists bound behind her back. The knot is a weak one. Dahlia could break free from it at any moment in case something goes wrong.

Johnathan doesn’t have to know that, though. Hewon’tknow that. He’ll only see what we want him to see.

And that’s a helpless Dahlia and me, out of my mind with lust.

Two people at their most vulnerable state.

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