Hungry For Curtis

It's early, two-thirty, but I've got a busy morning of baking. Even though I'd rather stay in bed, I've got customers to take care of. Quietly, I slide out of bed and pull on some yoga pants, a sports bra. Staring at myself in the mirror, I don’t look different, but I feel different. I’m twenty-one but I’m finally a woman. His woman. I straightened my hair last night, but it didn’t stay. My curls can’t be tamed for too long. I put some coffee on and some Whitney Houston and get started. Once I have the first four batches in the ovens, I pour a cup of coffee, doctor it up, and break out my obsession. Lanky Lassie's Shortbread and savor the flavor. I get two bags shipped every two weeks. I have to ration it, because I'd eat it all as soon as it came in if I didn't. With my cup of coffee and my shortbread, I sit down at the counter and open my laptop. I check my orders and my supplies, making adjustments here and there.

“What are you doing out of bed? It smells amazing in here,” Curtis asks, making me jump.

“Shit. You scared me,” I say clutching my chest.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me,” he says coming closer to me. He’s just wearing teal boxer briefs, but man do they make his dick look bigger.

“No. I'm usually up by now. I have a lot to bake daily.”

“I see.”

“Are you leaving now?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“No, I’ve got time. I have to be at the restaurant at seven-thirty to open, but I’ve got time.”

“Oh cool,” I say, cheering right up.

“Need a hand?” he asks.

“No, I’ve got everything ready, just got to get it baked. I can make you some breakfast.”

“I’ll just have what you’re having.”

“Just coffee and shortbread.”

“Sounds perfect.” I hop off of my barstool and grab another mug and fill it with coffee. He sits down and I set it down on the counter in front of him.

“Now, I severely ration this. I’m obsessed with it.”

“I’m honored you’d share your obsession with me,” he says, and I giggle.

“So cheesy,” I say, getting him a saucer. I place four shortbread squares on his plate and watch him while he eats it.

“It happens,” he says, chuckling. Then he takes a bite. “Damn, did you make these?”

“Oh my God. No. I have these shipped from Florida. A lady down there makes them. I went to a Highland Games and tried them. She won the competition, and I was hooked.

“They are delicious,” he says, agreeing with me. He grabs the bag off of the counter and stares at it. “Lanky Lassie’s?”

“It’s a woman-owned, veteran-owned small business.”

“And she’s Scottish?”

“Well, somewhere back, she’s from Florida.”

“Got it.”

“Yeah. They are perfect with coffee or a glass of wine. The best treat, really.”

“I am getting that,” he says, taking another piece from the bag after finishing the ones I gave him. I am definitely going to have to order some more a little early.

I smile at him and pull the first cake out of the oven. I feel self-conscious as I pop it from the cake pan and onto the stand. I let it cool while I pull the others out and do the same thing. I get the next batch in the oven and start icing the cakes.

“Wow. You are really good at that,” he says as I spin the stand to fill in the icing. Then I pipe some flowers on the side and box it up.

“Thanks,” I say. I throw in some cookies and I get everything boxed up. I called Josie at some point last night and said she’d use her own car to deliver today, so I am all done and it’s only five-fifteen. I yawn and he stands up and drags me back to bed.

“What are we doing?” I ask, though I know the answer.

“Going back to bed.”

He strips me down again and tosses me on the unmade bed.

“Sounds nice,” I murmur as he touches my thigh. Kissing me, he runs his hands over my boobs, hips, and belly. I bite my finger to keep from screaming. It’s like he’s trying to touch every inch of my skin and I need it to happen. Suddenly, he flips me over and pulls me up so that I am on my knees.

His hard dick pokes my ass, but he raises up and slides into my pussy. Pausing, he grabs my hair and gently turns my head, so I am looking at him. It’s so much deeper this way, but it feels amazing.

“I love you, Keitha. I can’t explain it,” he begins but I interrupt him after cupping his cheek.

“I thought we talked about this? There’s no explanation needed. I love you too,” I tell him sassily.

“You’re right. It’s the magic of New Orleans,” he says before slamming in and out of me. Yeah, we can go with that.