Chapter 7
Kenzo went to his car to get the gym bag that he kept in his trunk because he wanted to shower. For the seven minutes he was gone, I sat in the center of the bed, wondering if I’d done the right thing by asking him to stay.
I thought I sensed his attraction to me last night but then remembered my situation and wouldn’t allow myself to believe he was attracted to a poor, homeless woman whose life was a complete mess, with no signs of getting better any time soon.
When he hit me with the proposal, I was shocked, but his explanation cleared some things up. His apology seemed heartfelt and genuine, and after hearing the conversation with his mother, I somewhat understood his desperation.
A knock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. Kenzo entered, carrying his gym bag and offering me a smile.
“You sure you don’t mind me chilling here with you for a while?” he asked.
“I’m positive. I can find a show or movie for us to watch if you want.”
“That’s cool.”
“Do you have a preference?”
“Whatever you choose is fine.”
He rounded the bed and headed to the bathroom.
“If I choose, it’ll be a baking show, and I’m sure you don’t want to watch that.”
“I really don’t have a preference. Give me ten minutes to clean myself up.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, and I logged into my streaming app, grateful I’d paid that bill at the end of last month.
I didn’t know if I wanted to watch Dessert Wars or Sweets in the City, but by the time Kenzo stepped out of the bathroom, shirtless in a pair of basketball shorts, I didn’t care to watch either.
“Did you decide?” he asked as he put his bag on the couch.
He turned to face me, and my eyes raked over his tattooed chest, down to his abs, which looked to be chiseled into a six-pack, then landed on the V-cut that led me to his dick print that I’d made famous in my mind.
“Malyah?”
“Huh?”
“Did you decide?”
“Oh, no. I, umm . . . Do you have a shirt in that bag?”
He smirked and looked down at his chest.
“My bad. Does my bare chest make you uncomfortable?”
“That’s not the word I’d use.”
“Bet. But if I cover up my chest, you need to cover up your legs,” he wagered.
I looked down at my legs, then lifted the hem of my shirt.
“I’m wearing shorts.”
“Shit, Malyah. Put your shirt down.”
“What? Did you think I was naked underneath?”
“I assumed you weren’t, but now I won’t be able to get the visual of your pussy print out of my head.”
I gasped as I released the hem of my shirt that I didn’t realize was still in my grasp. His comment had me blushing, so I came back with, “As if your dick print is any better.”
For the second time in less than a minute, he looked down and smirked.
“My bad.”
While I moved to the head of the bed and tucked my legs underneath the comforter, he put on a shirt. It was necessary, but I couldn’t say I wasn’t disappointed that I could no longer see his chest.
“We’re watching Dessert Wars.”
He went to the other side of the bed and sat on top of the comforter. I found the current season of the show and clicked on episode one. There were six contestants, and they had to go through a series of challenges.
It started with simple challenges like making frosting from scratch with specific ingredients, getting more difficult with each challenge. At the end of each round, someone had to go home.
“I could do most of the stuff in these challenges with my eyes closed,” I said.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“I love your confidence. I’m surprised you haven’t barged your way into me or my father’s office with one of your desserts and told us how much it needs to be added to our shops.”
“Anika has actually told me to do that a few times. I’m confident, not crazy. I couldn’t risk getting fired. Besides, I want more than my desserts in your shops. The job I want has specific requirements.”
He looked at me for a moment before confirming, “Pastry chef?”
I nodded. “I don’t have the experience or education yet, but when I do, I’ll hit you up first.”
He smiled. “You do that.”
We continued watching the show, and when it came down to the last two contestants, they were tasked with making pain au chocolat, which was basically chocolate croissants in French. Croissants were considered one of the most difficult desserts to make, and the prep was very time-consuming.
The show was prerecorded, and the host explained that all the contestants were required to do the prep in case they made it to the final round. I was very interested in seeing their results.
“You think you could make that?” Kenzo asked.
“One of my favorite things to do is take these fancy desserts and make them Black.”
He laughed, but I was serious.
“You’re hilarious.”
“I’m being serious. You know we don’t like those fancy ass desserts.”
“True, but I’ve never heard of anyone making them Black. How would you switch up the croissants?”
“I’d call it pain au patate douce.”
“That sounds fancy, but I don’t know French.”
“Sweet potato croissants. I’d make a caramel sauce and mini marshmallows for presentation.”
“Damn. That sounds good. When can you make them for me?”
I shrugged. “I need to get my life together, so maybe once I get settled. Oh shit! He burned his chocolate sauce. He has to throw it out and start over. He’ll run out of time for sure.”
My focus went back to the show, but I could feel Kenzo’s gaze on me. The only reason I was able to ignore him was because I really wanted to see who’d win this challenge. Eventually, his eyes returned to the TV, but every few minutes, he’d look back at me.
“Ha! I told you he wouldn’t win,” I shouted as I clapped my hands.
“After watching that, I feel like eating something sweet.”
“You want to order something from room service?”
I pushed the comforter from my legs, and as I was about to swing my legs around to the edge of the bed, I felt a hand on my thigh. My eyes landed on his hand, then moved up to his face.
“Room service doesn’t have what I want.”
The tone of his voice and the intensity of his gaze made my nipples hard and my pussy purr. Lord, what is happening?
“Umm, what do you want?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
His hand slowly moved up my thigh, stopping at the hem of my shirt.
“I want to taste your pussy.”
My breath hitched at his confession. Cole didn’t eat pussy, so the thought of Kenzo’s mouth on my most sacred place caused me to shiver because it had been years since I’d had the pleasure.
“Kenzo, I, umm…”
“She’s purring at the sound of my voice.”
“I . . . whew,” was all I could manage.
“I can hear her. She’s begging me to swipe my tongue from your clit to your asshole.”
I swallowed, then inhaled and exhaled slowly with measured breaths.
“Kenzo…”
“I want to hear you say my name while my face is buried between your thighs and covered in your essence.”
I nodded as if I were hypnotized because the thought of him acting out his words had the crotch of my shorts wet.
“Talk to me like that pussy talking, baby. I can hear her loud and clear, and permission has been granted, but I need to hear you tell me I can taste you.”
“Yes, please.”
I could barely get the words out before he’d slipped his hands underneath my shirt and grabbed the waistband of my shorts. I lifted my lower body so he could pull them down and over my hips.
I’d only managed to get one leg out of them before I felt his tongue swipe my center, and my goodness, I was immediately catapulted to heaven. He wrapped his arms around my upper thighs and pulled me into his face.
“Shit, Kenzo!”
My boss’s face probably shouldn’t have been between my legs, but it was too late to turn back, so I would enjoy every second of it. I rested the heels of my feet on his back and palmed his head, preparing myself for the time of my life.
Kenzo did not come to play, and his tongue showed my pussy no mercy. He left no parts of my nether region untouched, using his tongue and fingers to bring me to ecstasy.
In what felt like record timing, my pussy sprayed like a fire hydrant, and I would’ve frozen from embarrassment if my body could stop reacting from my orgasm. This man was my boss and a virtual stranger, but my pussy behaved for him like it wasn’t their first meeting.
“Damn, baby!” he exclaimed when he finally came up for air.
My chest heaved up and down, limiting my ability to respond. I grabbed a pillow and covered my face, but he snatched it away and moved to hover my body.
“Squirting is a compliment in the highest form, baby.”
“I can’t—I’ve never—Oh my God.”
“No need to be embarrassed.”
He pressed his lips against mine, slipping his tongue into my mouth. I moaned as he shared my essence with me and was disappointed when he moved away.
“What are you doing?” I asked when he got out of bed.
“You’re not ready for this dick.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“How do you know what I’m ready for?”
“Because you’re thirty years old and were embarrassed because you squirted. How about you make me some oatmeal cookies from scratch instead?”
“Wait! What?”
My confusion was real. His dick print told me he was more than ready, and truth be told, the size of it should’ve had me scared. I was a wet mess between my thighs and would probably cum again if he blew on me, and his ass wanted me to make him oatmeal cookies from scratch.
What part of the game is this? I thought.
“I want you to make me oatmeal raisin cookies from scratch.”
My body filled with disappointment, but begging for dick wasn’t a part of my skillset.
“Oh, I, umm . . .”
“Let’s go to the store, get all the ingredients, and go to my place.”
“Your place? As in the place you share with your parents?”
“They won’t even know we’re there. I have my own entrance.”
I looked at him skeptically before asking, “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. Let’s go.”
As much as I’d rather ride his dick until the sun came up, I took my wet ass to the bathroom and cleaned myself up. When I looked in the mirror, I looked flustered but also very satisfied.