Zaccaro

in. My eyes close, and I silently pray, "Dad, you were a fucking hustler. I've honestly gotta make it here."
I glance back at the front door of my bakery. There was a day I was proud of myself for Flour burgeoning without blood on my hands. Just as I consider this thought, the sports car Evan drove us to his place in last night zips up to the curb.
One more night with you, buddy, just to clear my mind. Wishy-washy as ever, my left heel steps backward. This is an awful idea. I’ve searched Amazon and EBay reviews for the best dildos. Why not dish out a pretty penny for a stress-reliever that can’t implicate me in any criminal activities? Oh, because I don’t have two pennies to rub together.
Dressed in an all-black suit, Evan slides out of the driver’s side and closes the door in one fluid motion, taking my breath away. Instantly I’m transported to my couch, wearing fuzzy pajamas, Ben and Jerry’s in my hand, with Jamie at my side while we ogle at an old-black-and white film, how fucking debonair, how fucking erotic. My pussy walls tighten as he saunters up to the curb.
There's no expression on his face. My heartbeat crescendos, and a mixture of fear and lust take over. Dread because his title is the epitome of everything my father hated. I always grew up confused as to if the cops are supposed to keep folks safe, per my kindergarten teacher and the cutsey picture books she read. On the opposite end of the spectrum was Milo’s definition of a cop—
Evan’s warm, brown eyes scour over my body and instead of fleeing, I wonder if the classic little-black number skimming my curves meets his expectations and desires.
I pause. Why do I give two shits about what a man thinks? Moreover, what the heck are we doing? He's meeting my mom. Nobody meets Lolita. Nobody but the one and only ex-Suit!
“What are you thinking?” Evan asks, he has this thing about him and I love it. During our long night together, I’d noticed how he takes my hand in his, his fingers trail down the silk of my palm before gliding over my pulse. How the heck does he smell of fresh water and masculinity at the same time? His scent is so dreamy that I wonder what idiocy was going through my mind yesterday morning when I stuttered upon taking his call.
Fresh air seeps through my lungs and I answer, “We’ve officially known each other for about 48 hours and you’re meeting my mom...”
“The first 48 are key.” He responds perfectly as if this is a pre-scripted reality show. Though Evan makes it seem like I hold the deck of cards, something in his mannerisms tell me, that I am lost to him. That what he desires will be had. He licks his lips, and adds, “But let's also face it, Reese. I wanted to see you at least once more. You agreed.”
“Once...” My lips barely move as the words float over the cool breeze. Evan’s gaze is all over my body, so hopefully the nanosecond of disappointment written all over my face doesn’t register. One-nighters aren’t me, but I swear you’ve imprinted on me. Though the end of us, and our technically-not-relationship will conclude with me gaining at least ten pounds on homemade ice cream and pastries, I’m the one to reaffirm, “No more after this evening.”
“Exactly. You'll be annoyed with your mom’s problem. I'll be irritated after whatever shenanigans my hopeless dad’s... gotten himself into. We can get our aggression out after all is said and done. I’ll return to my dangerous, busy life. You’ll have your store.”
My mouth is set for a pout, but then my mind runs away with me. Gulping back salivation, I concentrate on my current fortune, “Can you get rougher than last night?” I can do this. I will fuck you once more, and then adios.
“Your wish is my command.”
My eyes brighten, as illumination takes over. So this is what it feels like to have your cake and eating it too? Up until know, the analogy flew over my head. Why wouldn’t anyone want to eat a slice of verdens beste… er the entire cake if given the opportunity. “Okay. My mom, your dad, they both get an hour tops.”
“Forty-five minutes works with me,” Evan counters, opening the passenger door for me.
“Make it twenty. We skimp on them but, you and I are gonna have problems if you skimp later,” I say with a devilish smile.
“Fuck no. No half-assing in my vocabulary.” He closes the door.
I glance at all the gadgets in this nice car like I did when we came from the bar. The trappings of success. It makes me think of the ex-Suit. He was born with a silver spoon shoved up his… mouth. I thought love conquered all. Why am I not sprinting in the opposite direction?
I tell myself that tomorrow doesn't matter. Evan and I have this one more night. Then he can screw anything with tits.

6
Evan
One more night, my ass. Whenever Reese is nervous, I check her heart rate. When I arrived, my hand roamed over her palm and landed on her wrist. The entire act pacified her, yet allowed me to determine how erratically her heart beats. It indicated that she was second-guessing our arrangement. She had one foot in her bakery, metaphorically speaking, while standing at the edge of the sidewalk with me.
So one more night, that’ll fly. If this craving for sweets is satisfied, then the little tart can go about her daily life. If not, I’m going to taste her again, fuck her again, and hold her captive until the thirst for her has washed away.
The dress she’s wearing is out of this world tantalizing. The high-neckline forces me to visualize her naked, with those perky tits and rosebud nipples. Yet, the short length barely covers the sweet swell of her pussy and that’ll be my goal