“Who—”
“A bachelorette party downtown,” I groan. “They got a box of beautifully frosted Christmas tree cookies.”
“Unlucky,” he says, walking over to the box and lifting one penis-shaped cookie in front of his face. “They missed out on these frosted to perfection creations.”
I blush at the compliment, but here’s the thing, these are not just some random cartoon-shaped cookies. No. The bride-to-be herself outlined her fiance's penis and sent me the drawing. These are to-scale penis-shaped cookies. Some guy is currently living his best life, unaware that one of the hottest guys to ever walk this Earth is holding a cookie shaped like his ding-dong and examining it.
“It’s made to scale.”
He snorts. Then takes a bite.
My jaw flat-out scrapes the floor. Did he just have a bite of a dick cookie?
“I’m comfortable with my sexuality, and these smell just like you do–too good to pass up,” he says in his low voice and takes another bite. “Plus, it’s best if no one finds out that—the bride’s fiancé, I assume?”—I nod.—“It’s best if no one knows how smallheis. It can be our secret.”
“The bride knows,” I say, stating the obvious. But the thing is, the dick cookie is not small. Not at all.
“Poor bride,” he says through a final mouthful, then, with a satisfied grin, pats what looks like his rock-hard abs. “That was quite delightful.”
“So you like dicks?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “If you mean the cookies that you so painstakingly baked and frosted, then yes. They’re very delicious. If you mean the male genitalia, I’ll be honest. I love my own dick. He’s a good guy. Knows what’s up. But other than him, I prefer...” He completely undoes his tie and puts it on the coffee table, right next to the box filled with dick cookies, his eyes focused on mine. There’s a little bit of frosting in the corner of his mouth, and I have to ball my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching out to wipe it away, then lick my finger clean. “I don’t mean to be crass in the presence of a lady, but you have left me no choice. I like pussy. I really like pussy.”
Thank God for that because mine is screaming for attention under his smoldering gaze. I want to say something clever, but I’ve walked myself into a corner, and for what feels like the first time in my life, I’m left speechless. I have the distinct feeling I’m not the only one here whose level of horniness has skyrocketed in the last fifteen minutes.
I hesitate, unsure of how to proceed because this feels different. From the moment his eyes ensnared me, I’ve had trouble following my usual instincts. He’s intriguing and funny, and he can quote Baby Bash. Maybe that’s exactly the reason why I should just get up and get out of this office. I should leave and never think of this man with his dark eyes, deep voice and intoxicating scent.
But if I stay… I know this could be good. Just thinking about it sends a delicious shiver running up and down my spine. It would be just a one-time thing. It would have to be.
Not because a guy like him wouldn’t want a repeat performance from a girl like me. No. I’m a goddess in the sack, thank you very much.
But it would have to be a one-time thing because I’m not looking for anything more.
Just someone to scratch this damn itchy itch. Not someone.
Him.
He made the itchy itch in the first place. He should take care of it.
Normally, I wouldn’t throw myself at someone I just met. But these are extenuating circumstances. For one, he is unbelievably sexy. Then add to it the fact I have not had sex with an actual human in over two years, and desperate Tasha appears. I want him. I want him bad.
Like I said, though, I’m not interested in a relationship. Never have been. Boyfriends are a waste of time, anyway. Life has taught me one thing—guys are only good for sex.
What’s the point in getting yourself involved in something messy? A quick fling is all you need. No distractions. There are too many things I’d like to achieve in life. Adding a man to the mix is a recipe for disaster. I don’t have time for them, and I don’t want to have time for them. My life is busy enough as it is with my business taking off.
I could do with that teeny tiny scratch, however. And by the way the man in front of me is looking at me, he might just be willing to provide his assistance.
Fuck it.
“You do?” I lick my lips and stand up. I test the waters by slowly walking around the coffee table until we’re a few feet apart. He towers over me, his dark eyes stormy as his panty-melting cologne hits my nose again. Goddamn, that dewy sandalwood and green grass. “What is that?”
“What’s what?”
“The cologne you’re wearing. It smells good.”
He smirks at me, the setting sun casting a golden glow around his frame, and at that moment, I know if he as much as lifts a finger, beckoning me over, I’ll be on him in two seconds flat. If he tells me to undress? No problem, give me five seconds. “I’m not wearing any,” he says as he takes a step forward, closing the distance between us.
In my head, I pray the same goes for his underwear. I blink up at him, fighting my libido for a shred of dignity. No one needs to see me turn into a puddle in front of this man. “Curious.” My voice comes out raspy.