Page 25 of Sweetest Temptation
For a second, silence filled the room. The kind that feels heavy, like it’s holding its breath. Then I heard him exhale, slow and defeated.
“All right,” he said finally, the words barely above a whisper. “But this isn’t over, Zanova. You let me back in that pussy, and it’s only a matter of time before I’ll be right back in it. I’ll give you some time, though, but know I’m only going to apply even more pressure to make sure it happens.”
I left the kitchen, not bothering to respond or wait to see him out. I headed straight into the bathroom in my office, closing the door behind me. My heart was pounding in my chest as my mind spun. My reflection in the mirror looked nothing like the woman who swore she was done making reckless choices. I turned on the faucet and splashed some cool water on my face, trying to wash away what just happened. But Samir’s touch, his scent, and his voice all clung to me like a mark I couldn’t erase.
“What the hell did you just do, Zanova?” I whispered to myself.
And just like that, the line between business and personal was officially blurred.
It was Fuego Azul’s release day, and the buzz had been nonstop since sunrise. Social feeds flooded with posts, and influencers were lining up to toast with my newest flavor. Smooth tequila infused with pineapple and just a hint of heat, which is exactly how I liked my drink: refined, bold, and a little dangerous.
Everything was running like a well-oiled machine. Jamila and the team had been grinding all week, handling promotions, delivery orders, press conferences, and making sure every single detail hit right. Hashtags were trending, orders were flying, and customers couldn’t stop talking about the new “Sweetest Temptation” tart Zanova created for the collaboration. The mix of her desserts with my tequila was a whole vibe.
The sales were climbing, the event at Ryan’s cigar lounge was packed, and from the outside looking in, everything was perfect. But while the cameras flashed, bottles popped, and people cheered, my mind wasn’t on the party. It was onher. No matterhow much I tried to focus on the party, that woman stayed at the front of my damn thoughts.
The stubborn, sharp-mouthed baker with the hands of an artist and a pussy just as sweet as her cakes. I kept reminding myself that our deal was just business, and that she wasn’t any different from any other pussy I’d slid in. But the truth was, she was different. She must’ve put some voodoo on a nigga or something. She had to. Ain’t no way a nigga was in his feeling, like I was a bitch.
I turned around from my seat at the bar, and there was Jamila, one brow raised, a flute of champagne in her hand.
“What’s good, bro? How are you liking the outcome?” she asked.
“It’s dope. You did your thing, sis. Thank you.”
“Welcome. And I’m glad you agreed to the collaboration. Social media is eating it up! Did you see the line outside of Zanova’s bakery? She’s killing it with those tarts.”
“Nah, I haven’t. But I’m happy for her,” I lied.
I’ve been stalking Zanova’s social media handles since this morning, hoping to get a glimpse of her. Since the night she kicked me out of her shop, I’ve been trying to contact her, but she never responds to any of my calls or messages. I took a big risk agreeing on this project with her without even tasting the tart she created that night. But I knew whatever she came up with, it was going to be a hit.
“Well, she had some of the tarts delivered here, and you should go taste one. They are good as hell! She’s definitely making my baby’s birthday cake for her party!” Jamila boosted. “All these people here… Let me go mingle.”
She kissed me on the cheek before strolling off through the crowd. I tried to get my head together. However, I couldn’t. While everyone else was clinking glasses to my success, I found myself behind the wheel of my Lambo, engine growling as Iheaded toward Zanova’s bakery. It wasn’t part of the plan when I woke up this morning, but neither was she when her proposal landed in my hands.
When I turned onto the block where Zanova’s bakery was located, you could tell something major was happening. Cars lined both sides of the street, people spilling out onto the sidewalk with pastry boxes and phones in hand. I slowed my Lambo to a crawl, the deep purr of the engine turning heads instantly.
I wasn’t shocked to see that the line was wrapped around the corner. The people were laughing, snapping selfies in front of a sign that read “Try the new ‘Sweetest Temptation’ tart, infused with the newly released Fuego Azul Pineapple Tequila.”
My tequila. Her dessert. Our collaboration.
I parked my ride across the street. The second I stepped out, the crowd reacted. Whispers rippled through the line like wildfire.
“Yo, ain’t that Samir Carter! The tequila king!”
“Damn, he's even fine in person!”
Phones shot up, cameras flashing like fireworks. I tugged my suit jacket, slid on my shades, gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, and gave that cool smirk people expected from me. But inside, I was impressed. Hell, I was even proud of Zanova for her success today. Baby girl was making a killing.
Walking into the bakery felt like stepping into another world. The place was even alive inside. The laughter in the air was thick with the smell of sugar. Every table was packed, customers holding up half-eaten tarts for pictures like they’d just struck gold. And then I saw her.
Zanova was behind the counter, rocking an apron with her logo embroidered in gold thread, her hair pulled up into a slick bun that somehow still looked perfect. She was glowing and smiling while talking with customers with her signature sass andcharm. I just stood there for a second, taking it in. I can tell that she was in her element. Confident and commanding the entire room without even trying. The same woman who’d rocked my world, not once, but twice, was now standing at the center of a crowd that adored her.
Something in my chest tightened, and it wasn’t just pride. This woman had turned a risky idea into something special. My tequila gave her the flavor, but she gave it soul.
Then, as if she felt me staring, her head turned, and our eyes met across the room. It hit her instantly, and I could see the surprise flicker in her expression, that quick intake of breath before she tried to mask it with her usual cool composure. She didn’t smile—just stared at me, like she was trying to decide if she wanted to kick me out or thank me.
Damn, this woman was sexy as fuck. The last time I’d seen her, I was knee deep in her pussy, flour on her cheek, and fire in her eyes. Now, she looked every bit the boss she was meant to be.
Finally, she broke the stare, handing off a box to a customer before excusing herself. I watched her weave through the crowd, hips swaying just enough to make me forget where I was for a second. When she stopped in front of me, the warmth of her perfume hit first. It smelled of something sweet with a hint of citrus, like compulsion in a bottle.
