Page 11 of With a Cherry On Top

I hesitate, but with a twinkle in her eyes, she says, “I’m twenty-three,” then lets the nightgown drop until it pools around her hips, uncovering the most perfect, heavy set of tits I’ve ever seen. Freckled. Freckled tits with beautiful pink nipples.

I have no idea how old she is.

“Call me...” I think of my nickname throughout high school. “Cole.”

“Hmm. That’s one sexy fake name.”

“Nickname, actually,” I say distractedly. I don’t even knowhersexy fake name, and, dead serious, right now I’d tell her my name’s Aaron Coleman, I’m thirty-seven, and I live at 23 Mapleview Ave, Roseberg. My social security number too.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Cole.” One hand rises to the side of her neck, then trails down in between her tits and down her flat stomach. “I like your voice, you know?”

“Do you?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s raspy, dark. I bet I’d like it mumbling dirty words in my ear. Or...” She hums. “Or whimpering, moaning as you come deep inside me.”

“Hmmsf.” I cringe instantly, holding a hand to my crotch as if it’ll stop me from getting hard.What kind of noise was that?

“Tell me, Cole. What do you need?”

“Need?” I echo, my chest rising and falling quickly as my eyes flick between her tits and those beautiful green eyes.

“Yes, need. What can I do for you, baby?”

Holy hell. ThethingsI’d do to this woman. What does it say about me? I’m over a decade older than her, yet I don’t think I could control myself if she were naked in front of me, asking me what Ineed.

Actually, I don’t think I can control myself now either. “I . . . I need . . .”

She grins, shifting to all fours on the bed. Her tits bounce with the movement as the nightgown drops to her knees. “Yes?”

Fuck, look at those pink lace panties. She’s so sexy.

“I need—” The phone rings, startling me back to reality. My heart is galloping, my forehead covered in a thin layer of sweat. “—to go. I have to...”

Shaking my head, I press on the red button, and once the call ends, I land on her profile again, my heart pounding in my ears.

Cherry.

That’shersexy fake name.

CHAPTER 3

The Béchamel Redemption

Come on!” I snap, shoving the pot down onto the stove. This should be easy. I’ve made béchamel hundreds of times, but tonight the flour keeps clumping, the butter is burning—everything is off.

“Aaron,” Amelie calls from the other side of the stainless steel counter, her voice bouncing off the walls of the empty kitchen at Daisy.

Before she can say more, I drop the pot in the sink and grab another one. “It’s fine. I just need to?—”

“No, hey, please.” She gestures toward the graveyard of pots I’ve already abandoned. “At this point, we’re just wasting ingredients. I know what’s happening.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

For a moment, I wonder how she could possibly know my mind has been consumed by the only tits I’ve seen in two years. How she could have figured out that I almost jerked off to a cam girl whose voice won’t leave my head.

What do you need?

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