Page 2 of Cookie
“Have I ever?”
Instead of acknowledging my awesomeness, he grunts and disconnects like the old curmudgeon he is. Luckily, I have a pretty epic sense of self-worth or my father’s inability to offer praise would harm my over-inflated ego. But where he was harsh, my mother was exceedingly gentle and therefore balanced him out. I know the old codger cares about me. He’s just British and has a terrible time showing it.
Ahead, a small building nestled among the trees at the mouth of what I gather is the main road of this lakeside town, features hand-painted signage that tells me I’ve reached my destination. There’s nothing imaginative about the name. It’s simply ‘Falton Falls Bakehouse’ but I’m told it’s home to the world’s greatest cookie creator—Annie Braithwaite.
And that’s all I know. My job is to travel down here, flash my pearly whites and convince Ms. Braithwaite to part with her magic recipes. It should be easy, but from what I hear, her refusal to sell has created somewhat of a bidding war between those seeking to capitalize on her goods. My father thinks a personal touch might tip her over the edge. And that’s where I come in. I’m the personal touch.
When I get out of the car, I have a predetermined image of Ms. Braithwaite in my mind. An old maid, grey hair pulled up in a severe bun, ruddy cheeks and a dumpy body. So, when I walk in and find a young curvy goddess cleaning the glass cabinet, I feel confident she’s the shop girl and stand in the doorway a moment taking in the view.
She’s bent over which makes it impossible to stop my dick from going hard while my imagination goes wild. Even in her current position, I can tell she’s taller than most women, which is perfect because I’m taller than most men and I estimate she’s just the right height for me to grab those luscious hips and drive myself inside her while she’s bent over.Fuck. Was that a groan I just let out?I’ve only met this girl’s ass, and I’m pretty sure I’m already in love.
Flicking her long golden brown hair over her shoulder, she straightens up and turns my way. Two stunning amber eyes lock with mine and there’s no doubt about it now, she’s mine. I found her.
“Hi there.” Her voice is filled with promise, a secret song that only my ears can hear. When I don’t respond, she lifts a hand and tucks her silken mane behind her left ear. She smiles, the curve of her soft pink lips is a sensual foreplay that has me thinking all kinds of dirty things. This is crazy. But it’s like a switch just flipped in my brain, making my entire body scream a single command—possess her.
“Can I get you something?” She takes her rag and moves to the other side of the counter, my eyes drinking in the gentle sway of her hips and the swish of her skirt as she walks.Does she have any idea how sexy she is?I’m dying here.
“I’d kill for a sandwich.”
She laughs. I want to catch the sound in my mouth and slide my tongue past her lips.
“We don’t do sandwiches here. The best I can do is make you a cookie sandwich.” She gestures to the display beneath her, filled to the brim with all different kinds of cookies.
“I’d like to eatyourcookie.”Did that just come out of my mouth?
Judging by the way her eyes just got wide, I’m thinking it did.
“I mean, sure, I’ll take a cookie sandwich. You got coffee too? I can’t eat sweet without it.” I reach into my back pocket and produce my wallet, trying desperately not to stare too longingly at those giant tits of hers that are begging to be set free. Each button on her flowery dress strains against their weight.
"I'm the same.” She smiles, her eyes taking a moment to move over my chest. I put a lot of hours in at the gym and appreciate the noticeable guIp she does before she turns away and reaches up for a coffee mug.I like what I see too, babycakes.
"Why don't you join me?" I suggest when she sets the mug on the counter in front of me.
She blushes. I love that she blushes. It tells me she’s innocent. "Why don’t you tell me what kind of cookie sandwich you’re after?” A smile kicks up the side of her mouth and her eyes shine. She's loving this exchange as much as I am.
"Why don't you choose for me? I want to try your favorite.”
"My favorite?" She places a hand against her chest then glances over her shoulder as the clanging of pans rings out from the kitchen. “Um…”
"Worried about your boss?”
She laughs at that, and I decide I want to hear that sound every day for the rest of my life. “You don’t think I look like I could be the boss?”
“You’re just about the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen, so no,” I say, dragging my teeth over my bottom lip as I drink in her curves again.
“Little,” she repeats with an amused shake of her head. “Now I know you’re full of shit.”
I laugh at her sass. I like it. “There’s no shit here, babycakes. I’m just looking at the woman who will have my children, and I’m not one to pull punches. So how about you go out back and tell that boss of yours you’re running away to get married.”
A big belly laugh escapes her chest in a burst. "I think I should give you this coffee to go.”
I wrap my big hand around hers as she reaches for the mug. “And I think you should run away with me.” I'm having visions of us in a cabin by the lake, fire roaring, a bear-skin rug...
“I don’t even know you.”
“We’ve got our whole life to figure that part out.”
She narrows her eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
