Page 63 of Bronx

“My mom died when I was young. If there’s a story, it died with her.”

“Sorry for your loss.”

“So, back to what happened.” I refocus the conversation off of my depressing history. “Your throat.”

He sighs heavily, probably hoping I would drop the topic.

“There were some people threatening my father, and to get to him they came after me and my brother instead. The kidnappers waited to get one of us alone. I was the unlucky target. They took me to a cabin in some ass backwards part of Delaware.”

He pauses, telling the story and has a weird look on his face as if he’s waiting for some sort of response from me, so I give him one.

“That must have been so scary.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“And so the kidnappers did that to you?”

“They did.”

“This may sound like a dumb question, but were they trying to kill you?”

“Seems like it, and I almost did die, but I’m not entirely sure if that was their plan.”

“Are they in jail?”

“No.”

I don’t bother to ask where his assailants are. If they’re not in jail, I can only assume (and hope) that they are six feet under. Anyone who kidnaps a kid from school and violently terrorizes them doesn’t sound like someone who has any redeemable qualities.

“Do you want to help me with this cake? All the ingredients are in one bowl now, but you could mix.”

Bronx places the spray bottle down. His face finally relaxed.

“I don’t bake.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that already, but since I know how smart you are now, I think you’ll get the hang of this rather quickly. Baking is all about exact measurements and temperatures. Really, it’s nothing but chemistry. Were you good at science in college?”

Bronx slowly walks up directly behind me, his bare chest to my back, his arms suddenly circling my waist.

“Science was my favorite subject in school,” he says, his voice dripping in desire and my entire core clenches. “You’re right, I should be good at this.”

My breathing becomes erratic with him this close. I close my eyes and take a whiff of the man surrounding me with his dominant energy and irresistible scent. It’s always the same.

Sandalwood, whiskey and smoke.

He uses one of his hands to reach in front of me and dips his finger into the batter, then he slides that finger into my mouth to taste.

I suck gently.

“How is it?” he asks in my ear with a thick and gritty voice.

Wetness quickly dampens the crotch of my panties.

I swallow the batter and meekly say the words, “It’s delicious.”

Suddenly, my belt is undone, and the heavy fabric of the robe falls open. Bronx slides the same moist finger downward and inside of my panties, then in between my slick folds. When he brings it to his mouth to taste, I grasp for dear life onto the counter edge as my knees buckle.

“You taste delicious too.”