Maybe it’s my strong will that feels cheated. That sounds more likely. I swear I’m done with Tucker, but then he shows up, talks about the loss of our baby, and I melt into an emotional puddle, unable to stick to any of my convictions.
I don’t want to say it, I don’t even want to think about it, but I can’t deny that Saturday is going to be one giant, massive mistake.
I can practically taste it in the air.
Good going, Sadie. Good going.
Chapter Fourteen
ANDREW
Something is off. We’ve been working together for the past few hours and she has yet to say anything to me, not that I need her to flee to the fountain area, tear my hat off, and run her tongue along my eyebrows. I’m a pretty outgoing guy, so a little hello would be nice, but the only time she’s acknowledged me was when Tucker was here, which wasn’t for very long.
I like that guy. Solid man.
But, I have noticed the glances she’s been giving me. Little side-eyes. Oh yeah, I see you, Sadie. She tries to be subtle about it, but she is terrible at averting her eyes. Rule number one to staring at someone when you don’t want to be caught: have a back-up item to focus on when you’ve been duped, so you can casually wander your eyes over to backup stare down.
For example, staring, staring, staring, wup! They caught me. Eyes go to old lady picking her teeth with a knitting needle. Simple. And if you pick something that is a little out of the norm, like Geriatric Janice loosening the beef tip from her teeth, you can use the old tactic where you look back at the person you were staring at and motion to the old lady where you would mouth, “Are you seeing this?” Classic aversion and inclusion. Works every time.
As for me, I want to be caught when it comes to Sadie. I want her to know I’m thinking about her, so when she glances my way and we make eye contact, I don’t avert like she does. I keep my eyes trained on her as she bustles around nervously from being caught.
It’s cute, seeing her all flustered, but also frustrating. Clearly I affect her, so it wouldn’t kill her to give me a little hello, maybe a slap to the ass, or even a little tap to the taint when I scoop ice cream.
All men like a gentle taint tap, key word being gentle. It reminds them that hey, you’re a man with exclusively sensitive parts as well. It isn’t just the women who have a magic button, you know?
A ticket passes through the printer, distracting me from trying to catch another look at Sadie. Welcoming the work on a slow day, I spy the name at the top of the ticket.
Michelle.
Christ. This woman.
Each ticket that runs through the machine clearly states which server put the order through and whenever I see Michelle’s name, I inwardly cringe. She’s all right, not too annoying, just very awkward and uncomfortable, because instead of busying herself while I make her ice cream, she likes to come and watch, making sure to show off her cleavage and rather pointy nipples every chance she gets.
I’m all for nipples, but these nubs intimidate me. I don’t understand how they are that hard. It almost seems like someone took two pretzel rods and stuck them in her bra. Obvious exaggeration, but you get the point.
I shiver. Pretzel-rod nips, that’s horrifying. The chances of poking an eye out nip style are very high in that scenario.
“Looks like I got another ice cream order,” she says, stepping up to the counter and licking her teeth. Oh hey, what do you know, my balls shriveled right up into a little labia.
“Yeah, looks like it.” I nod awkwardly, my lips pressed tightly together. Focus on the ice cream order and not the way she’s casually thrusting her chest at me to the tune of “Sign, Sealed, Delivered” over the restaurant speakers.
This song will never be the same for me.
Stevie Wonder will never sound the same to me.
Two scoops of chocolate, a pump of fudge, and crushed Heath bar. Focus on the sundae.
“I got a new shade of lipstick that would look perfect on your cheek. We should test it out later, what do you think?”
Glancing at her, I take in the hooker red on her lips. Yikes, no, fucking thank you.
“Just kidding.” She laughs. “It’s LipSense. One of my favorite authors recommended it. It doesn’t come off . . . even if I were to continually suck on something.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me suggestively while poking the side of her cheek with her tongue.
Ohhh-KAY!
This conversation is over.
Turning toward her, I set the sundae on the counter and say, “All set,” with a smile, because I’m not a total dick, no matter how uncomfortable she makes me.
“You’re so good at making sundaes,” she says, pressing her hand against my chest, where she squeezes my pec and does a little intake of air.
“Uh . . . thanks. I’ll be sure to inform future employers when I graduate that I really have a knack with cold and creamy delights.”
Leaning forward, on a whisper, she says, “I have a knack for creamy delights as well.”
I slump my head forward. Idiot. I set myself up for that one. Swallowing hard, I nod, “Good to know, Michelle.”
Winking, she snags the sundae and walks away, a sway to her hips. Once she’s a good distance away, I let out a long, pent-up breath and search out Sadie. I’m going to need her assistance in washing my ears and eyes with bleach.
Since the fountain area is still slow, I remove my apron, roll it up under the cash register, and head to the back of the restaurant, past the waitress station, the grill, and into the core of it all where the dishes are washed, the stockroom is kept full, and the freezer chills everything.
Glancing around, I don’t see Sadie. Did she leave early?
“What are you looking for?” Stuart asks, wandering up to me, holding a clipboard with random sheets snagged in it.
“Uh,” I trip over my words, feeling like I’m being caught for something bad. “Stocking up on some fudge and candy. Man, the demand is high today.” Such a lie. Shit, will he be able to tell if I’m lying by looking at the orders that have gone through today? Is that something he even does?
“Good boy.” He pats me on the back. “There is a lull now, so smart thinking.”
“Eh, thanks.” I give him my best smile and then spin on my heel straight into the stockroom, where I find Sadie. She’s holding on to one of the shelves, looking down at the ground, a load of tension in her shoulders. Wanting a little privacy, I click the stockroom door shut and lock it. She looks up in surprise. When she sees me, the look on her face doesn’t necessary say, oh yay, Cannon Cock is here. It’s more of a cringe.
A fucking cringe.
And after I licked her pussy with all the good graces of a fucking champ—not that it was a hardship, but sticking your tongue in an unknown area can be a little unnerving. Thank God it wasn’t, she tasted like honey . . . Fuck, that’s beside the point. I licked her pussy! You don’t cringe at someone who has pressed their entire face up against the area you pee out of; it’s just common courtesy.
Gesturing at her face, I say, “You seem to have forgotten how to greet the man who made you come multiple times the other night. I prefer smiles, kissy lips, huggy fingers, and I even accept lewd gestures with your tongue.”
That cracks a smile from her. It isn’t one of her smiles that reaches her eyes, but it will do for now.
Moving forward, I stalk her like she’s my prey, closing in on her in record time. When I’m pressing her against the shelf, I ask, “So since we kissed, touched each other’s unmentionables, saw each other’s O faces, and have kissed each other with morning breath, does that mean we aren’t allowed to talk anymore unless it’s through secret modern-day Morse code, also known as texting?”
Glancing down, she says, “I’ve been busy today.”
“Oh, I know. The amount of times I’ve caught you checking me out takes up a lot of that free time.”
“I was not checking you out,” she protests. If she added a foot stomp to that little denial train, I woul
d have hopped on board just for fun to see where juvenile Sadie would take me.
“Okay, this is fun. We’re going to start lying to each other.” I rub my hands together. “Hmm, what lies can I tell? I want to make it juicy, so give me a second.”
“Stop.” She playfully pushes my chest and smirks at me. “Okay, I was checking you out and avoiding you all at the same time.”
“Hey.” I open my arms wide. “Look at you, admitting to things. I’m proud, Sadie. We should commemorate this moment by fucking each other next to the Oreos. I mean, they’re used to having cream all over them.”
“Wow.” She shakes her head. “I’m never going to look at another Oreo the same.”
“I haven’t been able to since Jimmy said it was two cookies having sloppy sixty-nine sex and never cleaning up.”
“I . . . can’t with that.” She holds up her hand.
“Hmm, ruining the mood, huh? How about this.” Pressing my body against hers, I yank my shirt from its tucked position and place her hand on my skin. Then I do the same to her shirt, but instead of moving my hand up to those perfect little breasts of hers, I move down, far enough that she gasps, her eyes wide and wild when she looks at me.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her chest starting to move a lot faster with every heated breath she takes.
“Finger fucking you of course. Isn’t that obvious?” I twiddle my fingers inside her thong, barely reaching her pussy.
Removing her hand from my stomach, she grips my forearm, which is currently traveling farther down her pants. “We can’t do that here. Are you insane?”
“No, fully mentally stable over here.” I nod at her legs. “Mind spreading a little there, sweetheart? I’m all for doing a lot of work to get you off, but the better access you give me, the easier it will be to make you scream.”
“We are not doing this here,” she scolds, but doesn’t pull my hand out. She’s dancing with the idea of going through with this.
Knowing I could give her the extra push to widening her stance, with my other hand, I brush past her hardened nipples—not doing this, my ass—and cup her cheek where I bring her lips to mine in a passionate, heat-filled kiss. Nipping, licking, sucking, tongues dancing, I fuck her mouth first, with every trick I have, running my tongue along her lips, diving deep until I can’t go any fucking farther. And she matches every single one of my movements.
The moment she wraps her arms around my neck, I know I’m in. And since we are on borrowed time before someone tries to walk in here for some godforsaken item, I take my foot and kick her feet apart. Once I’m allotted more space, I move my fingers along her wet flesh, loving the way my fingers can so easily play around.
Thankfully, she’s already fucking soaking wet, which gives me permission to press my thumb on her clit. She startles from the initial contact, but then sinks into my touch, leaning against the wire shelves and letting my mouth and fingers do all the work.
Shit, she’s so soft. Touching her like this, so intimately, so dangerously, has my dick hardening to uncomfortable levels. Knowing we really don’t have much time left, I curve my fingers up inside her, my thumb now rubbing against her clit.
On a breathy moan, she leans her head back and says, “Oh Andrew . . . oh God, right there.” I love how responsive she is.
Thoughts of the outside world vanish. It’s just me and her . . . and the sixty-nining Oreos having an intimate, stolen moment in this little ice cream palace. Trying to block out the image of having an orgy with confectionary toppings, I quicken my pace.
The smell of sprinkles hits me hard as I lean my head forward, kissing along her neck. So sweet. Her hands now grip my shoulders as an anchor, her hips rotating with my scooping motion.
“Oh God,” she moans a little louder. I try to remind her that we’re in the stockroom, but she continues to moan, my name mingled in the air. Christ, I want to hear her mutter my name when she’s coming, but I also don’t want to get fired.
Hurry the fuck up, man.
My fingers slide around her arousal as I pick up the pace one more time, really trying to—
“Oh, right there.” Her pussy clenches my fingers and her head buries into my shoulder as she grips my shirt and moves her hips on my fingers. The feel of her coming on my fingers is just as beautiful as when she did it on my cock and tongue. I want to taste her orgasm. So badly. Her face. Her softness. Everything about this woman coming does it for me.
I ride out her tremors, occasionally pressing down on her clit, giving it little palpitations that shake her back up to a high until she’s completely spent. Her head leans against my chest as I remove my hand from her pants. Tilting her chin up, I make her watch me as I stick my fingers in my mouth and taste her. Fuuuuuuuuck. Tastes. So. Good.
Yeah, that turns her on. It isn’t until I step back from her that I realize how much my dick hurts from the strain my zipper is putting against it. From the shelf behind Sadie, I grab a pouch of fudge and place it in front of my crotch.
“You taste so fucking sweet, but I’ve got to run before someone catches us.” I turn to leave but call over my shoulder, “Don’t ignore me again, Sadie, or else I might have to throw you on the fountain counters and eat you out in front of everyone. Got it?”
Eyes still wide, she nods.
Satisfied, I unlock the door, pleased to see no one is around and head straight to the freezer. I rest the fudge on a counter outside of the frigid temperatures, and then welcome the cold. Finding the least requested ice cream—sugar-free vanilla, snore—I place the carton against my pants and lean against one of the shelves.
Yes, I’m using a carton of ice cream to calm my raging hard-on. Judge me if you will, but everything is covered. It’s not like I’m tearing open the carton, sticking my dick in the middle, and churning my own ice cream. Although, a small part of dick-churned ice cream sounds like a novelty to capitalize on. I make a mental note to run the numbers later, just for the hell of it. I have to wake up my calculators every once in a while, seeing I have a box of them.
I’m resting, trying to calm down my penis when the freezer door opens. Frozen in place, not from the cold, but from being caught, I look up to see Sadie standing in the doorway. When she catches sight of me, a snort pops out of her nose before she covers her mouth.
I can’t imagine how this looks.
“Uh, are you trying to channel your inner Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg.” She nods at the carton on my cock. “Dick in the box, ice cream edition.”
Glancing at my position, I chuckle. “Just thinking of new flavors. Chocolate Chip Cookie Cum, what do you think? Would you swallow?”
A devastating smirk crosses her face as she reaches up and pulls down a bag of chicken noodle soup. With a wink, she says, “I always swallow, Andrew. Always.” And that does not help my erection. At. All.
Taking her dirty little mouth with her, she leaves me alone in the freezer, tacking on at least five more minutes of freezing time for me after that comment.
***
“He’s here,” Jimmy yells to the bedroom. No greeting, no hey bro, how are you doing? Instead, he forcefully grabs the bag of ice cream from my hand and heads straight for the kitchen. He digs through the bag and finds his order. “Christ, it’s been too long.”
I follow him into his apartment, making sure to shut the door, and take a seat at the bar top of the counter. “Glad to see your addiction to the peanut butter sauce hasn’t subsided.”
Sticking a spoonful in his mouth, he moans, and I swear on my earlier frozen dick that his eyes roll in the back of his head. Is this what it’s like to watch your own brother orgasm? If so, I’m feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Should I offer him a cigarette when he’s done? It only seems like the polite thing to do after experiencing a weirdly orgasmic moment.
“You know I love you, man, but the way you’re mouth fucking with your spoon is making me very uncomfortable, as if I should offer you a condom or something.”
Ignoring my
sarcastic jabs, he says, “I haven’t had this sauce in so fucking long.”
“Three days,” I clarify. “It’s been three days, Jimmy.”
“Soft serve,” Mae screeches, sliding on stockinged feet into the kitchen, knitting needles dangling from her neck, and a ball of yarn tucked under her arm. “You’re my favorite.” I think she’s talking to me until she kisses the lid to the soft serve. Glad to see where I stand in this household.
“I’m getting a little nervous that you two have become addicts.”
“Don’t try to fix us, just keep bringing the treats,” Jimmy snarls, giving me the old one-eye stare down.
Jesus. Message received. I’m slightly scared to see what happens when the ice cream train stops; will I even be invited back into their apartment?
Joining them, I pop open my sundae—sugar-free vanilla with chocolate syrup. I feel like we bonded today. “So anything new?”
“Not really, did Dad call you about the new fudge combo he created?”
“Key lime pie? Yeah, he told me the sourness could knock your teeth right out of your mouth. Appetizing,” I joke. Although, it’s definitely a little different to what I considered a creation earlier—Chocolate Chip Cookie Cum. Creativity must run in the family. Fantastic.
“You know people will eat it. I swear, they could shit fudge and people would still eat it.”
“Please,” I hold up my hand, “do not use shit and fudge in the same sentence, the color and consistencies are too damn close. You’re going to confuse me.”
“I’m going to have to agree with Andrew on this one,” Mae chimes in. Changing the subject, she asks, “How’s your friendship going with that girl from work? Crack her yet?”
Friendship? Oh yeah. Does fucking your coworker with your tongue, dick, and finger make you friends? If so we’re the best of friends. The kind of friends who giggle with each other and exchange friendship necklaces.