Tasty by Bella Cruise Page A

so damned hard. His hands were firm, but gentle.
They seemed to anticipate my every desire, first clutching my hips,
then working their way down. I felt my body open to him.
    God,
I hate that I like him so much. The fact that Mecca Cakes is only a
pop-up shop doesn’t change anything, not really. I have bills
to pay, employees to feed. I have to worry about rent, about
supplies, flour and sugar and butter and electricity. A month in the
weeds could still kill my business. Besides that he’s a chef ,
the worst kind of dangerous. Every chef that I’ve ever met,
from culinary school to the kitchens where I worked to the guys I’ve
argued with online, has been a smarmy cheating asshole.
    I
need to get Cal out of my head. And there’s only one way to do
it.
    I
grab my laptop from my bag and head into my bedroom. Sitting up
against my tufted headboard, I boot it up. And looky here:
cupcakecasanova seems to have been waiting for me. He IMs me before I
can even tab over to his window.
[email protected]:
    Thought you had plans tonight.
[email protected]:
    They didn’t pan out. They sucked, actually.
[email protected]:
    Sorry to hear that, muffin.
    I’m
already grinning at the nickname. God, he’s so cute .
I wonder what he looks like in person. I imagine that he’s
thin, with dependable hands and a serious gaze. Not my type at
all .
But it doesn’t matter. He’s a stranger. I can imagine
that he looks however I want him to look.
    I
can imagine that he looks like Cal.
    Disheveled,
dark hair. Stubble. Strong chin, with a dimple at the center. Muscles
for miles. Veins down his forearms. Those white undershirts and
slouchy jeans. The curve of his ass through denim, and the trail of
dark hair that leads down from his navel and into the waistband of
his jeans. In my head, cupcakecasanova is tall, Scottish, and
perfect.
[email protected]:
    Thanks. Anyway. What are you up to?
[email protected]:
    Cooking, naturally.
[email protected]:
    Trying
    out some new recipes?
[email protected]:
    An
    old one, in fact. My mother’s scones. Comfort food. I wouldn’t
    be a baker if it weren’t for those scones.
    I
wrinkle my nose a little. He’s so cute .
Well, I guess it could be worse. Already my tension is diffusing. But
not the tension between my legs, not entirely. I can still taste Cal
on my lips, still feel the faint burn of his stubble against his
cheeks.
[email protected]:
    A
    mama’s boy, huh? Well. You should come here and give mama some
    sugar. I want you inside me, Cupcake.
    There’s
a long pause. God, I hope he’s still there. I need him tonight.
Need this. Tonight, I need to get Cal McKenzie out of my head.
    Luckily,
cupcakecasanova doesn’t seem to mind.
[email protected]:
    I
    crawl over to you. I’m putting my hand on your bare ankle, and
    run it up the length of your leg.
    It’s
almost like he is here with me. I can feel goosebumps working their way toward my
thighs.
[email protected]:
    That feels good.
[email protected]:
    You’re
    into it, aren’t you? I can see how you cast your head back. I
    kiss your neck. You taste so sweet.
[email protected]:
    I’m
    wearing a red lace thong. God, I’m so fucking wet already.
    Actually,
I’m wearing a pair of pink cotton briefs under my jeans. But
the wet part is true. I kneel on the bed and wriggle out of my pants.
[email protected]:
    I
    slide my hand between your legs. I can feel how wet you are through
    your panties. I kiss your breasts, biting into those sweet little
    cherries you call nipples.
    My
hand is under my T-shirt now. I’m pinching myself, my breath
hot and heavy. The best part of a guy who is half fantasy is that he
knows exactly how I like to be touched. My back arches in pleasure
and anticipation.
[email protected]:
    You
    still there, muffin?
[email protected]:
    Sorry. Typing with one hand.