Page 3 of Grumpy Baker

When our lips touch, gingerly at first, I want to pull back, but I don't. I won't … not this time.

Fuck it. Let's turn up the heat.

Primal possession takes over. Her mouth, the way her lips mold against mine, and even the way she tilts her head show how perfectly we fit together. A few passes of my tongue over hers have me wondering if her nipples are still hard because of the coldness in the kitchen or from the anticipation of what's to come. Or should I say, who's to come?

Only one way to find out.

Our kiss explodes into something passionate, and I grip the bottom of her shirt and tear it open. The flimsy fabric separates like a jacket, revealing perfect tits that fit into the palms of my hand.

"You've been slinging drinks all night without a bra on, daring me not to look," I snarl against her mouth, pulling her back and then yanking her body back into me. I want to touch every inch of her and carve every curve into my memory.

"It was better for tips," she says with a smile.

"I know something that's better for a tip." I pinch one of her nipples as my other hand dips inside her jeans and between her legs.

Our mouths crash back against each other. My finger dips inside of her walls and forces Mackenna to slide her pants down past her ass to give me more room. I coax an orgasm out of her. The way her wetness coats my finger makes me kick myself for not trying harder to get back to this level of intimacy sooner.

The raw emotion that exists between us is undeniable. But every time we get here, something comes up to keep us apart. Mackenna's shallow breaths of passion pull me deeper into this explosive reunion of our bodies. But the sudden realization of where we are pushes logic ahead of my lust.

The redness of her skin fades away, her lust deflating with mine. A simultaneous exhale draws laughter from us both. She fidgets with the shards of her shirt before laughing and giving up.

"I've missed you," I tell her as I walk toward the break room door.

There are lockers inside with a couch and bathroom. Most of us who work odd hours at Sweet's keep a few changes of clothes just in case things get too messy. When I toss her a new shirt, Mackenna smiles and lets her torn shirt fall to the floor.

"I remember this shirt," she replies, ignoring my sentiment.

I let it go, saying, "You were adamant about taking it off the last time you were here. It's clean."

She brings it up to her nose, inhaling deeply before slipping it over her head. "Thank you, Dean. You always seem to have a way to fix me."

"Help you, Mackenna. I've never tried to fix you."

She closes her eyes, clenches her jaw, and huffs out a breath through her flaring nostrils. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's easy to get the two notions mixed up when I feel like a failure."

"You're not a failure," I tell her, walking close to embrace her, but she puts her hands up to stop me.

"Let's just get started. What are we doing tonight?"

Opting not to pry into our can of emotional worms, I shift my focus to what needs to be done before I open in a few hours.

"Once I figure out my muffin of the day, I make a cookie pal for it. We only have to chop a few things to make the toppings."

"What are you going for?" She walks over to one of the three industrial refrigerators along the wall. On that side, there’s a walk-in freezer, and on the other side of the room, large ovens are across from them.

Sometimes, I get so lost in my work that I forget the joy my creations bring to customers. The smile of delight on Mackenna's face pours a lightness over me that makes these indecently long nights worth it.

"Is this ice cream cake?" she asks, her eyes widening like a child in a toy store.

"Pralines and cream ice cream is sandwiched between thin layers of pecan cake and a praline brittle dusting over the ice cream frosting. It's one of my best sellers."

"It sounds so good." She moans and licks her delectable lips while walking over to a sink to wash her hands. "A slice of that over some warm Snickerdoodle cookies or a blondie."

"That's not a bad idea. Maybe I can do something like a Snickerdoodle ice cream sandwich as my cookie pal."

"And for your muffin of the day?"

I shrug. "Maybe I can do a pecan streusel coffee cake muffin."

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