Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Trudy
A week had passed since Stephen had last read the journal.
One week of Stephen Hartley moving through my life like he owned it, and I was starting to think maybe he did.
He’d been everywhere—in my bed, in my kitchen, at the bakery, in my thoughts when I should have been focused on anything else. The man was relentless. Possessive in a way that should have set off every alarm bell I had, but instead just made me feel... wanted.
Claimed.
His.
God, when had I become the kind of woman who liked being claimed?
But I did. I couldn’t deny it anymore.
The way he touched me constantly, his hand on the small of my back when we walked, fingers trailing down my arm when he passed behind me, that heated look in his eyes that promised all sorts of wicked things.
He didn’t hide what he wanted. Didn’t pretend to be civilized or polite about his desire for me.
And I was discovering I didn’t want him to.
Terry had been gentle. Respectful. He’d loved me in his quiet, steady way, and I’d loved him back. But this raw, unfiltered hunger Stephen had for me was something else entirely. Something I hadn’t known I was missing until he’d walked into my bakery six months ago and refused to leave.
Harold had been loving, but even that had been... contained. Controlled. Like he was always aware of what people might think, what his children might say.
Stephen didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.
And that was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
It was Wednesday afternoon when he proved just how little he cared about propriety.
The bakery was moderately busy—not packed, but enough customers that I was moving between the register and the display case, keeping up with orders.
Pati was in the kitchen working on tomorrow’s pastries.
Stephen sat at his usual table by the window, the journal nowhere in sight, watching me with that dark, heated gaze that made my skin prickle with awareness.
I was reaching into the display case for a croissant when I felt him behind me.
His body pressed against my back, one hand settling on my hip, the other bracing against the counter beside me. He was warm and solid, and I could smell leather and coffee and that distinctly male scent that was just him.
“Stephen,” I hissed, glancing toward the customers. “What are you?—”
“Been watching you bend over this case all goddamn day,” he murmured against my ear, his voice low and rough. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”
My breath caught. “Stephen?—”
“Been thinking about bending you over this fucking display case,” he continued, his hand tightening on my hip. “Right here. Pushing that skirt up, pulling those panties aside, and fucking you until you can’t remember your own name.”
Heat flooded through me, pooling low in my belly. My face burned. “There are customers?—”
“Don’t give a fuck about the customers.” His teeth grazed my earlobe. “Want you to think about it every time you reach into this case. Want you remembering my cock buried deep inside you while you’re serving coffee and smiling at these people.”
“You’re insane,” I breathed, but my voice came out shaky, betraying how much his words affected me.
“Insane for you.” His hand slid from my hip to my ass, squeezing once before he stepped back. “Tonight, Trudy. When you close up, I’m gonna make good on that promise.”
He walked away like he hadn’t just said the filthiest things to me in the middle of the bakery, leaving me flushed and trembling and aching.
I straightened, smoothing my skirt with shaking hands, and turned to find Mrs. Henderson waiting patiently at the register with a knowing smile on her face.
“That man is trouble,” she said cheerfully.
“You have no idea,” I muttered, ringing up her order.
But the truth was, I loved it. Loved the way he made me feel desired and reckless and alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever.
That night, he did exactly what he’d promised.
The bakery was closed for the night, the lights dimmed to a soft glow that cast long shadows across the floor, and I was methodically wiping down the counter, removing the last traces of flour and sugar from another long day, when I heard the distinct click of the lock turning.
My heart jumped into my throat. I turned sharply to find Stephen stalking toward me with deliberate, measured steps, his eyes dark with unmistakable intent, predatory in a way that made my pulse spike and my breath catch in my chest.
“Stephen—”
“Told you what I was gonna do to you,” he said, his voice low and rough, each word deliberate and weighted with promise.
“Been thinking about it all goddamn day. Every single minute. Bending you over this display case. Fucking you until you can’t remember your own name, until you can’t think straight, until the only thing in that pretty head of yours is me. ”
Heat flooded through me instantly, pooling low in my belly and spreading outward like wildfire. “Someone could see?—”
“No one’s gonna see shit.” He backed me against the display case with confident, unhurried movements, his solid body pressing into mine, surrounding me completely.
“Locked the door. Closed the blinds. Pulled them all the way down. It’s just you and me, darlin’.
Nobody else. And I’m done waiting. Done being patient. ”
His mouth crashed against mine, demanding and possessive and hungry, and I opened for him immediately, helplessly.
His hands were everywhere at once, sliding up my sides with rough palms, cupping my breasts through the thin fabric of my blouse, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp and arch into his touch.
“You gonna let me have you?” he growled against my lips, his breath hot on my skin. “Or you gonna keep pretending you don’t want this cock as much as I want to give it to you? Keep acting like you haven’t been thinking about this too?”
I should have been shocked by his crude words, by the raw desire in his voice.
Should have pushed him away, told him this was inappropriate, reminded him of all the reasons this was a terrible idea.
Instead, I reached for his belt with trembling fingers, my hands fumbling with the buckle in my desperation.
“You talk too much,” I told him breathlessly, my voice barely above a whisper.
His laugh was dark and pleased, rumbling deep in his chest. “That right? Let’s see if I can make you talk instead. Let’s see if I can make you beg.”
He spun me around roughly, pressing my chest firmly against the cool glass of the display case.
The contrast between the cold surface and my heated skin made me shiver.
His hands slid up my thighs slowly, teasingly, pushing my skirt up around my waist and exposing me.
I felt him hook his fingers into the waistband of my panties and yank them down roughly, urgently, like he couldn’t wait another second.
“Fuck. Look at you,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, his hand sliding between my legs to explore. “Already so wet for me. Dripping. This pussy’s been waiting for me all day, hasn’t it? Tell me.”
“Stephen—” My voice broke as his fingers found my clit, circling with just enough pressure to make my knees weak and my legs tremble.
“That’s it. Say my name.” He pressed two thick fingers inside me without warning, and I moaned loudly, my palms pressed flat against the glass for support. “Want everyone in this town to know who makes you feel like this. Want them all to know you’re mine.”
“You’re impossible,” I gasped, but I was already rocking back against his hand shamelessly, chasing the friction, desperate for more.
“And you’re fucking soaked.” He withdrew his fingers abruptly and I heard the rasp of his zipper followed by the rustle of fabric. “Been thinking about this all week. All goddamn week. About how tight you’re gonna feel wrapped around my cock. How you’re gonna take every inch.”
I felt the thick, blunt head of him pressing insistently against my entrance, and I braced myself, gripping the edge of the display case. He pushed in slowly, torturously, inch by agonizing inch, stretching me open and filling me completely.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, his voice strained. “So fucking tight. Taking me so good, darlin’. Like you were made for this. Made for me.”
“More,” I demanded breathlessly, pushing back against him impatiently. “Stop teasing me and fuck me already. Please.”
His laugh was rough and approving, full of satisfaction. “There she is. There’s my girl. There’s that filthy mouth I love.”
He pulled back almost completely and then slammed into me hard enough to make the display case rattle violently, the glass vibrating under my palms. I cried out sharply, the sound echoing through the empty bakery and bouncing off the walls.
“That’s it,” he growled, setting a brutal, punishing pace that left me breathless. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back. Want to know how good this cock feels inside you. Want to hear every sound you make.”
“God, Stephen—” I couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, could only feel the relentless drive of his hips, the way he filled me completely and perfectly with every powerful thrust, the way his body commanded mine.
His hand slid around to my front, finding my clit and rubbing in tight, precise circles. “You’re gonna come for me. Gonna come all over this cock while I fuck you in your pretty little bakery. Right here where you work. Where you sell your sweet little pastries.”
The combination of his filthy words and his skilled touch sent me spiraling out of control. My orgasm hit hard and fast, pleasure crashing through me in overwhelming waves. I cried out his name brokenly, my body clenching tight around him, pulsing.
“Fuck yes,” he groaned appreciatively. “That’s one. Give me another. Know you can.”
“I can’t?—”
“You can.” He didn’t slow down, didn’t give me a chance to recover or catch my breath. His fingers kept working my sensitive clit expertly, his cock driving into me relentlessly, mercilessly. “Come on, Trudy. Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel.”
The second orgasm built faster, sharper, more intense than the first. I was shaking uncontrollably, my legs barely supporting me, but he held me steady and secure with one strong arm wrapped around my waist.
“Stephen, please?—”
“Please what? Please stop? Please keep going?” His voice was rough and demanding in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. “Tell me what you need. Use your words.”
“Don’t stop,” I gasped desperately. “God, don’t stop?—”
“Not planning on it.” His thrusts became harder, more erratic, losing their rhythm. “Gonna fill this pussy up. Gonna make sure you feel me for days. Every time you move tomorrow, you’ll remember this.”
I came again with a broken, desperate cry, and this time he followed immediately, his hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as possible.
I felt him pulse inside me, felt the warmth of his release flooding me, and it sent another powerful aftershock of pleasure rippling through my oversensitive body.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard and ragged, my chest pressed against the cool glass, his body covering mine protectively from behind, his weight anchoring me.
Finally, he pulled out slowly, carefully, turning me around gently to face him. My legs were shaking badly, threatening to give out, and he steadied me with his large hands on my hips, holding me upright.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, genuinely concerned.
I looked up at him, at the satisfied gleam in his dark eyes, at the slight smile playing on his lips, and couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly. “I just had sex in the bakery. On the display case where I sell cupcakes.”
“Best kind of sex.” He grinned wickedly, reaching down to pull my panties back up carefully, his fingers lingering possessively on my thighs. “And we’re doing it again. Soon. Very soon.”
“You’re insane.”
“Already established that.” He helped me straighten my rumpled skirt with gentle hands, smoothing the fabric down, then pulled me close and kissed my forehead tenderly. “Mine,” he murmured against my skin, his voice rough with emotion. “Every fucking inch of you. Don’t forget it.”
And God help me, standing there in my dimly lit bakery with my body still humming from what we’d just done, I didn’t argue.
I was his.
Completely.