Put A Ring On It (36 page)

Desperately, his lips found hers. He put some tongue into the kiss, taking his mind off the juicy pussy that enveloped his dick. He stopped his stroke and lay motionless. Further movement would cause a premature eruption.

His mouth moved downward. He buried his face in her breasts, brushing his cheeks against the softness of her satiny skin. Licking, tasting. Lips hungrily surrounding the aching tips.

Overcome by her womanly softness, his dick throbbed, straining for release. She felt so good—so wet and creamy. It took every ounce of his willpower to maintain his self control.

He wanted to stay inside her forever, but with a soft groan, he withdrew himself. Palms pressed against the mattress, he slithered downward
until he was kissing her thighs. Forcing her to spread her legs in helpless invitation.

His tongue slashed between her thick folds, and thrust toward the tiny entrance to her sex. Inside her walls, he daringly explored the moist and softly padded confines. Her pussy clenched and spasmed around his gliding tongue.

“This is good pussy, baby. So sweet,” he uttered, as his finger toggled her clit, creating friction that made her moan in unbearable pleasure. He knew her body well. Could feel the pulse of a budding orgasm.

She writhed violently. Soft moans escalated to shouts of pleasure. Her chest rose and fell. Her body bucked wildly. She cursed. She prayed. And then her womb spasmed in grateful release.

It was his turn now. Sweat soaked her skin as he repositioned her languid body, pulling her to unsteady knees. He wanted to mount her…fuck her doggy style. One hand flat against her back, the other holding a dick that was heavy as a boulder. He steered his swollen length into her, gently at first.

Good pussy,
he thought as he thrust with a pounding force. Driving himself deeply until he spurted his seed and collapsed. Drenched with perspiration, his chest molded to the curve of her back.

Good pussy motivated men to achieve their dreams. Good pussy was the reward for working your way through school and obtaining a college degree; it was the prize for earning a good living and enduring the challenges and pressures that come with a successful career. Good pussy was constantly on his mind. But keeping this pussy happy was becoming an impossible task.

Chevonne shifted. “You’re smothering me, honey. Get up,” she said with a grunt.

Lincoln opened his eyes. He was back in his bedroom, ejected from paradise. He closed his eyes again, unwilling to return to the reality of his life.

A career in peril. A dying marriage. An unhappy wife.

A
n hour before dawn, Solay was out of bed, dressed, and ready to take on the new day. Situated beneath her modest apartment was her cupcake bakery, called Scandalicious. Only six months old, Solay’s store-front business had taken off like a rocket. Known for their eye-catching appearance and scandalously delicious flavor, Solay’s cupcakes were all the rage.

Keeping costs down, she offered limited selections with racy names like, Double Chocolate Decadence (chocolate cake and frosting), Sinful Seduction (rich red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting), and Passionate Kiss (moist vanilla bean cake topped with hot pink butter cream).

Solay also offered gourmet cupcakes as special orders.

She walked swiftly past floor lamps with fringed shades, chaise longues, and bistro-style chairs and tables. The provocative product names and the seductive ambiance of her shop added to the allure of Scandalicious.

Feeling a twinge of dissatisfaction, Solay stopped suddenly and looked around the small dining area. Her place was absolutely beautiful, but she needed more space. The wrought-iron tables and chairs were crammed together, not nearly enough seating to accommodate her growing clientele.

An unfamiliar sweet and spicy scent wafted from the kitchen. Holding a clipboard, Solay strolled behind the empty display case and pushed open the door to the kitchen with her hip. Her baking assistant, Mariama, was hunched over a butcher block table, chopping ginger root—of all things! Her work station was cluttered with oranges, lemon peelings, ginger root, a vast assortment of spices, and expensive-looking cellophane bags filled with gourmet caramel.

Solay scanned the odd assemblage of ingredients, and scowled at her baking assistant. “What’s going on? What’re you baking, Mari?” Solay tried to keep an even tone, but the quaver in her voice indicated that she was livid.

“I’ve been working on some new flavor profiles,” Mariama said, her voice low and confident as she carefully sliced oranges. “We discussed adding a new addition to the menu, so I came up with an orange ginger cupcake, with a couple of twists.” Mariama gave Solay a conspiratorial wink, and then jumped up and pulled a tray of cupcakes from the oven.

Solay felt anger settling around her, infuriated by the gall of Mariama.

Oblivious, Mariama chattered happily about her concoction. “I’ll use our signature butter cream frosting, but it’s gonna be kick-ass when I mix in some tangy orange and lemon zest, and then top it with a caramel drizzle. There’s gonna be a caramelized orange slice, adding extra flair and drama. I’m gonna call my creation, the Screamin’ Orgasm.” Mariama giggled. “The family-friendly version will simply be called, The Screamin’ O.”

Solay’s jaw became unhinged.
Breathe, Solay. Count to ten before you go off on this heifer.

“I thought it would be real cool if we featured each of my creations on the chalkboard as Mari’s Delectable Special.” Mariama beamed with pride.

A violation of this magnitude warranted an extended period of gasping in shock and gaping in disbelief. But time was ticking, and Solay didn’t have that luxury. Momentarily stunned into silence, she pointed at the clock on the wall.

“I lost track of time, but when you see how popular my gourmet cupcakes will be, you’ll understand that it was well worth the time invested.”

“Business opens in a few hours,” Solay exploded.

Sulking, Mariama grudgingly rose from the butcher block table. “I’ll start mixing up the red velvet batter while the Screaming O’s are cooling off.”

“That display case is empty! It should be at least half-filled with trays of red velvet, chocolate,
and
vanilla cupcakes. What would possess you to waste precious time, experimenting with new flavor profiles?”

Mariama pinched her lips together and gave Solay a piercing look of irritation. “I’m not experimenting. I’m a trained pastry chef and—”

“You’re a pasty school dropout,” Solay reminded her. “You have a lot of gall referring to yourself as a pastry chef. Furthermore, I run this business…not you! How dare you take the liberty of ordering a bunch of expensive items without my permission?”

“Well, we talked about improving the menu,” Mariama said weakly.

“We discussed
enhancing
the menu. My menu does not require improvement,” Solay clarified as she set down the clipboard and huffily tied on a full-length apron, and began grabbing eggs, cream, and butter from the fridge.

Mariama touched the tops of her freshly baked cupcakes, and began scooping them out of the twelve compartments. “Wanna taste one?”

Solay frowned. “No, I don’t. At seven-thirty, customers are going to come stampeding through the door. You’re wasting time, Mari. No, start hustling. I wanna see tons of velvet coming out of the oven.”

Mariama looked st her fragrant creations and gave a loud sigh. “What do you want me to do—trash the Screaming O’s?”

“I don’t care what you do with that ginger crap. Eat them for lunch, give them to homeless…I don’t care what you do with them.” Solay looked at her clipboard. “I came downstairs to tell you that I have a huge special order. One hundred cupcakes for a bridal shower. I planned on personally working on the order for most of the morning. But now that I have to pitch in and help you, I don’t know how I’m going to get it all done.”

Solay was piping frosting onto a batch of chocolate cupcakes when the old-fashioned bell ding-donged above the front door.

“Morning, ladies,” Vidal called with a musical lilt to his voice. Vidal worked the cash register, took phone orders, ran errands, and did a little bit of everything, except bake.

“Vidal! I need you in the kitchen,” Solay yelled.

Fashion savvy, Vidal was looking particularly dapper in a cotton twill driving cap atop neck-length hair that was highlighted and coiffed by a stylist. Dark gray tailored trousers fit his lean body to a tee. His cherry gingham checked shirt was coordinated with a dark cardigan sweater and a bold gray plaid scarf was knotted around his neck.

He owned more shoes than both Solay and Mariama. He possessed
oodles of accessories to complete his look: belts, ties, cuff links, hats, scarves, pocket squares, sunglasses, brooches, and earrings. You name the trinket, and Vidal not only owned it, he wore it well. It was a mystery to Solay how the man maintained such a stylish wardrobe with the meager paycheck he earned from the bakery.

Peering through tinted shades, and clenching his chin as he appraised the women’s aprons that were dusted with flour and splashed with frosting and other unidentifiable stains, Vidal quipped, “Y’all look like hell. What’s been going on back here—a cupcake war?”

“There’s no time for humor,” Solay chastised. “We have a situation, and I need you mixing batter—”

“Nuh-uh,” he protested, shaking his bouncy hair. He waved a manicured finger, “I don’t know anything about stirring up batter, chile.” He scowled excessively, as if he’d been asked to kill, pluck, and cut up a chicken. “I can’t work back here with my Dolce & Gabbana pants on,” he said, folding his arms.

“This is a crisis, and I’m not going to argue with you, Vidal,” Solay informed with a penetrating stare.

Vidal folded his arms. “You should have warned me. Had I known that you expected me to get all dusty, I would have thrown on something raggedy—something cheap and Old Navy-ish.”

Solay was unfazed. “Grab an apron, Vidal, and get to work on the vanilla cupcakes.”

“Solay, I can’t be back here in this stuffy kitchen with all these ovens going. I’m a people pleaser; that’s why I work the front.”

Solay held up her hand. “You’re whatever I need you to be, Vidal. Now get into an apron. Follow the recipe; don’t get creative.” She pointed to the recipes posted on the wall. “I have an important client that I have to focus on. I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose business because Mari decided that she wanted to get fancy today.”

A look passed between Vidal and Mariama.

“I’ll be working in my apartment for a few hours. Call upstairs if you need me.”

Vidal folded his arms and grumbled under his breath.

“Listen, I want this problem rectified. If that case isn’t filled up by
the time customers begin arriving, both of you can start looking for work elsewhere!” Solay grabbed her clipboard, wheeled around. She banged open the kitchen door with her shoulder.

“Oh, my Gawd, what’s Miss Thang’s problem?” Vidal inquired in a voice raised in exasperation.

“Dick! She needs to get laid,” Mari said with a snort. “If Solay wants to rectify something, she should start by ending her sex drought. Some good dick would put a smile on her face, and we wouldn’t have to deal with her being so mean and cranky all the time.”

Solay heard Mariama’s bitchy remarks, and felt offended.
I’m not mean and cranky! I’m a businesswoman. My schedule is too demanding to put up with the emotional attachments that surface when you hop into bed with a sex partner.

A
delicious aroma filled Solay’s small kitchen. In the privacy and serenity of her personal space, she sifted, poured, measured, and stirred, until she’d whipped up one hundred stunning cupcakes. The task could have been completed much quicker if she’d used the industrial equipment downstairs, but there was too much tension in that kitchen.

Mission accomplished, admired the pretty little masterpieces that she’d created. The cupcakes were frosted with French Vanilla butter cream that was piped into the shape of a rose, sprinkled with shimmering, edible pearls, and then dressed in silver cupcake linings. The assemblage of white rose cupcakes looked like a huge and elegant bridal bouquet.

As she began the task of carefully packaging them—twenty five cupcakes per each oblong box, she thought about Mariama’s snide comment, and wondered if it were true? She shook her head. How could she be sexually frustrated with a drawer filled with a vast selection of sex toys?

But there was something to be said about the human touch. But
where could she find the kind of intimacy she desired? She had neither the time nor inclination to go club hopping or cruising local bars. Besides, experience had taught her that the men who frequented meat market environments were the bottom of the barrel, not even worth a sleazy one-night stand.

Solay wanted sex—on her terms. Having to check in with anyone with a text message or a phone call to keep them from feeling insecure was asking to much of her. Women were accused of being clingy and needy, but from Solay’s experiences, men were the ones that needed to be reassured with text messages and phone calls. Men were the ones calling her and asking, “How was your day?”

“Busy as hell!” she’d reply, allowing the stress to ring loud and clear in her voice.

“I was thinking about you.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she’d say, with uncomfortable laughter.

“Were you thinking about me?” the one-night stand would ask, totally testing her patience.

Hell, fucking no!
she’d scream in her head, and then dryly respond, “Uh-huh.”

At the point when the amorous caller began to hint that he was interested in seeing her again, Solay would have already labeled him a nuisance, and her fingers would begin rapidly tapping, as she deleted him from her contact list.

Call her selfish, but it was what it was. Solay was married to her business, and had scant little time for an extra-marital affair.

Everything about Scandalicious screamed sex, from the intimate French bistro décor to the provocatively sexy names of her cupcakes, and now Solay was feeling like she was somewhat of a fraud, running a sex-themed business when she wasn’t getting any action.