Sugar & Spice (Spicetopia Book 1) Page 5

  I felt the heat spread from my cheeks, down to my breasts, and then it surged to my core. Marcus was pressing against me so insistently that I should have been able to feel his erection—but alas, it was impossible with this full skirt on. It was a package I couldn’t wait to unwrap. I felt like it was my birthday.

  But I didn’t want him to see me naked. Not yet.

  The corset covered a multitude of issues: stretch marks, sagging skin, a c-section scar. I was a mother. What most of society saw as “flaws” were an accepted part of my body—and I wasn’t ashamed of them—

  Well, I wasn’t exactly ashamed of them. Mostly not ashamed...

  A man like Marcus Young, someone just out of college, was surely used to women his own age. Svelte, lithe, nubile women. Twenty-somethings like him, with unblemished skin and firm, smooth breasts and hips.

  I wanted to stay The Red Velvet Queen. I wanted to be his royal fantasy. I wished he’d hike up my skirts and have his way with me like he did last week.

  But that pink polo shirt of his was coming off. That is non-negotiable.

  I tugged at the hem, and he shrugged out of it like his limbs were made of rubber. Raking my eyes up and down his gorgeous torso left me breathless. He had two firm mounds of pecs topped with pert nipples and a rippled washboard of muscles below. His arms weren’t gigantic—he didn’t look like he was on steroids or anything—but his muscles were well-defined, strong. And possibly the most delicious thing of all was the trail of dark hair that led from his mouthwatering V into the khaki uniform pants that hung low on his hips.

  “See anything you like?” He gave me a cocky smirk though he knew damn well I was already eye-fucking him.

  “I think you have some more work to do.” I pointed at his belt as I bit my lower lip.

  “What about you?” His eyebrow quirked. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours...” His growl tapered off as he nipped at my neck again, making another burst of desire shoot through me.

  “I can’t take this off. I’ll never get it back on in time to start work. It’s a process,” I explained. “Do you have a condom?”

  His lips curled up as he nodded. “So, that’s it, you’re ready for me? No foreplay?”

  “Undo your belt. Put the condom on. Insert Tab A into Slot B,” I commanded him. I gritted my teeth as he reached up to pinch my nipple between his fingers. “Oww!”

  I wasn’t used to pain. Well, I wasn’t used to experiencing pain, only inflicting it. The sharp sting seared through me but only electrified the need building in my core that much more.

  “Don’t get mouthy with me,” he said as he unbuckled his belt. “And you might want to reconsider taking this without any foreplay—”

  He dropped his pants, and I tried as hard as I could not to gawk at the massive tool he pulled out of his boxer briefs. He had to be at least eight or nine inches long, but that wasn’t even the most noteworthy thing about his cock. It looked almost as big around as my arm, and it was striped with thick, throbbing veins.

  I gulped down the shock I was desperately trying to conceal. It now made perfect sense, how this mere summer temp could have such a massive ego. It was an ego fed by a ginormous dick. He was definitely packing more than enough heat to back up his arrogance.

  “Reconsidering?” He smirked at me as he reached down to stroke his erection slowly from base to tip. He squeezed at the end and revealed a glistening pearl of pre-cum.

  “Just fuck me,” I reiterated, knowing I was wet enough. I could feel it. The air duct over my head was blowing cool air right onto my pussy, and the sensation combined with the heat emanating from inside me was dizzying. Maddening. I needed him inside me pronto allegro.

  I watched him roll the condom down his cock before he pressed the tip to my aching lips. He gyrated his hips, smoothly working that gigantic tool inside me, and the look on his face alone nearly made me come. His jaw was set in a firm, determined clench, and his eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy as he sank into me inch by inch. It looked like an agonizing mix of heaven and hell until I relaxed enough to take him in his entirety.

  Then, as though the restraint was killing him, he reached for my chin, directing my eyes to his. “You okay?”

  “Move!” I screamed, unable to handle any further delay. “Fuck me, Marcus.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” he fired back as he began to rail into me, hitting my cervix so hard I nearly fainted from the sudden stabbing pain. It was only a moment before it began to feel good, just like how he’d tweaked my nipples before.

  Here I thought I only enjoyed inflicting pain, but it seemed like I enjoyed receiving it too. How had I never discovered that before?

  “Goddamn, you’re so fucking wet,” he growled into my ear as he continued his assault on my pussy. I wrapped my arms around him, digging my scarlet fingernails into the firm flesh of his ass to drive him faster, deeper.

  I hadn’t been fucked for a long time, and I’d forgotten how fucking glorious it was. How it demolished all other thoughts, all other pain. It was transcendental. I was floating on another plane of existence, spouting off some real philosophical shit, but my body was doing its thing, and I could tell it was about to explode.

  Every fiber of my being was singing like a diva giving a sold-out concert at Carnegie Hall. This is what I had been missing in my life. This was what my body was built to do.

  “Come on my cock,” Marcus commanded as he gripped my hair and pulled my head back so he had access to my throat. He painted my skin with kisses before he claimed my lips, ravishing me in a fit of passion so intense that my pussy exploded around him, squeezing his cock so hard that he groaned something about not being able to hold back any longer.

  As the purple starburst behind my eyes brightened to reveal the soft lights of my dressing room, I caught sight of his body as it jerked out the last few spurts of his release. His face wore an expression of pure bliss, his head thrown back and sweat glistening on his brow.

  “Fuck, Jolie,” he said as he slowly regained consciousness. “I was not expecting that this morning...”

  My eyebrows arched. “Oh yeah? What were you expecting?”

  He chuckled as he pulled his cock out of my body and stripped off the condom. “I think I expected you to at least put up a fight.”

  His comment made me a little miffed. I was no shrinking violet, and I refused to play coy. If that was what he wanted, he needed to go back to the co-eds he left behind in college.

  “No...no, no, no,” he insisted, pinning his dark gaze on me. “I didn’t mean that as anything but a compliment. I love that you know what you want and go after it.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “Oh, yeah, it’s hot as hell. I’d always heard ol—”

  I just knew he wasn’t about to call me “older” after blowing a load in my pussy. I shot a warning glare at him.

  “Uh, what I mean is that—”

  “Mmmhmmm,” I shot back at him. He was adorable when he was flustered. The cockiness from earlier had vanished into thin air. “How old are you, Marcus?”

  “I’m twenty-six,” he revealed.

  “Oh...”

  And here I thought I was getting a twenty-two-year-old...twenty-three tops. He was just now graduating? What did he do, change his major five times?

  “What? Did you think I was older?” Now there was a hint of embarrassment on his face.

  “No...younger.” I crossed my arms over my chest. Glancing up at the clock, I could see I was going to be late if I didn’t wrap this up. I couldn’t believe we fucked so damn fast.

  “So, you aren’t going to tell me how old you are?” He scanned my face with his boyish grin as if his charm alone could make me reveal the answer.

  I squinted at him. “Are you really asking Her Majesty to admit her age?” My index finger popped up, wagging at him. “Surely not.”

  A sheepish smile lifted his cheeks before his gaze fell to his watch. “Oh, shit...it’s almost nine. I gotta ru
n.”

  “Toodle-doo!” I called after him.

  I was thirty-two. Not that it was any of his business. He didn’t need to know anything about me other than my name and how to make me scream his.

  “I’m getting close,” I filled my parents in. “If the damn bakery wasn’t so busy, and my boss didn’t watch me like a hawk, I could get around to other parts of the park and gather some more intel.”

  “So, there’s a meeting soon? That’s what you know so far?” my father questioned, scratching at his chin as his eyes bounced between my mother and me.

  “That’s all you’ve found out?” My mother didn’t bother to hide her disappointment.

  I nodded. “No one wants to give up the organizer’s name, but if I can just figure out where the meeting is, I’ll show up and see for myself.” I snapped my fingers as an idea came to me. “Can’t you call my boss out of the bakery for a couple hours? Assign her an administrative duty of some sort? There are two other employees there most of the day. I could slip out and head over to Jellybean Junction or Marshmallow Manor to see if anyone there has information.”

  “The reason we stationed you in Cotton Candy Castle is because we’re pretty sure the organizer is there,” my dad explained. “It may even be Colleen. You’re sure she hasn’t said anything else about the company? Good or bad. We want to hear it all.”

  “It’s clear she’s not happy, but she doesn’t sound like she’s organizing a revolt either.” I definitely didn’t want to pin anything on her, anyway. I’d only worked there a couple of weeks, but I sorta liked her. She was a real down-to-earth lady, and I respected that.

  “You need to get closer to her,” my mother interjected. “Grill her a little more. She’s the ticket. She’s been there long enough that she knows everything going on at the park. Even if she’s not the organizer, she knows who is. I guarantee it.”

  “I met with our PR guy today, and he told me again he’s seen some rumblings of ‘disenchantment’—that’s what he called it—on social media. There’s apparently some secret forum on Facebook or something. You should try to infiltrate that.”

  “If your PR guy knows that much, then why can’t he find out more?” I fired back.

  “He can’t seem to get definitive answers as to the ringleader...or ringleaders, plural. But he somehow discovered that someone from Sweetopia is talking to a reporter at the local television station. We just don’t know who it is.”

  My mother covered her face with her palms as if she couldn’t bear to hear the rest of my father’s statement, it was too alarming. Too upsetting.

  “But I don’t understand why they would go to the media. What is so bad about working here?” It was only my second week, and it was hard work, but there was a sense of camaraderie I already felt a part of, and everyone seemed to enjoy making the kids so happy. Hell, I didn’t even like kids, yet I still got a goofy grin on my face every time I saw a kid’s eyes bug open at the array of sweets we offered at the bakery.

  My dad shook his head. The vein in his neck was pulsating, a sure sign he was at the end of his rope. “I have given these damn employees my entire life! Don’t they know how hard your mother and I work to make sure they have good jobs, fair pay, and a nice environment to work in? Ungrateful bastards!”

  “Now, Corden,” my mother admonished him. “Settle down. Do you want me to call William up here for another scotch?”

  “Yes, please.” My dad rubbed his temples as he paced back and forth between his desk and the huge floor-to-ceiling bookcases in his opulent office. This was his home office, not the equally luxurious one at the top of Cotton Candy Castle. It had almost as many amenities, but not quite as nice of a view.

  My mother pressed down on the intercom and summoned William from the other room. “Please bring Mr. Sweet another scotch. And I’ll take an amaretto sour, please.” That was my mother’s signature drink.

  William nodded curtly and disappeared to fulfill his duties as my parents’ butler or manservant or whatever the hell he was called. All I knew was that William and Maureen, our housekeeper and cook, had been working for my parents in some capacity for as long as I could remember.

  Even in all that time, my parents still referred to each other as Mr. and Mrs. Sweet in front of them. Weird, right?

  “When were you planning to leave for Greece?” My father paced back to his desk and collapsed in the plush leather executive chair. My mother took over the pacing, crossing back and forth in front of the window overlooking their nicely landscaped back yard.

  “In two weeks,” I responded without even thinking. But just after I said it, I got a weird pang of sadness that I would be leaving my undercover gig.

  Even if Marcus was a lame-ass in an apron serving pastries all day, it was still kind of fun to be part of something. I enjoyed Colleen and the other folks I worked with. And sneaking into Jolie’s dressing room every chance I got would certainly be missed. I hadn’t stopped thinking about her once since that first time I saw her sitting on the throne.

  “Well, you better hurry up and figure out what’s happening at this meeting then, Son,” my dad’s voice slashed through my thoughts. “Time is running out. If you can’t seal the deal and identify the ringleader before your trip, you won’t be going. Not if you want to stay on the Sweetopia payroll and keep your inheritance.”

  I didn’t appreciate my father’s threat, but a flash of Jolie’s heaving breasts as I feasted upon her pussy lit up my memory. Suddenly the thought of going to Greece seemed infinitely less exciting. I would have to get my fill of her before I left.

  Six

  Jolie must have been running late. I couldn’t believe I had actually gotten to work early. I was never early for anything. Obviously that was some prime grade A pussy if I was willing to get out of bed before seven AM for it.

  I ventured to the arcade on the other side of the castle, thinking I might have time to check the throne room again before heading to the bakery for my shift. This was the place where most of the boys who visited the park hung out while their sisters went to meet The Red Velvet Queen. It was named Gumdrop Galley, which I thought was the lamest possible name for what was supposed to be a cool and adrenaline-fueled hang-out spot for little dudes. I was pretty sure my mother named it.

  “Hey.” I waved to the middle-aged guy with the shaggy dark hair who was arranging prizes in the glass cabinets under the counters. He reminded me a little of Jack Black with his curled-up smirk and sizeable stomach pooch.

  “Hey, there. What can I do for you?” He reached his hand across the counter to give me a firm shake.

  “Oh, I’m Marcus from the bakery. Just got to work early and am checking out the rest of the castle,” I lied. “And you are...?”

  I could see full well that his nametag read Buster, which had to be a made-up name. “What a beautiful baby! Let’s name him Buster,” said no mom ever.

  His lips tilted up as he pointed comically at his nametag. “Buster. And nice to see I’m not the only Brit in Sweetopia!”

  Shit.

  “What part of the motherland are you from?” he continued as his gaze swept from my face down my chest and back up again.

  I choked out, “Oh, London, you know.” I cleared my throat and scrambled for the most British thing I could say. “I bloody miss that place!”

  His brows furrowed as he continued to examine me. I could tell he was trying to decide whether or not he believed me. “What brings you across the pond?”

  “Uni,” I said, cranking up the charm. I had caught a bit of a gay vibe from this Buster dude, and I wasn’t above flirting with him just like I did with that Ellie chick in the gift shop. Whatever it takes, I told myself, images of Greece and twenty-five thousand dollars-worth of cool, crisp Benjamins flying through my mind.

  “Studying anything fun?” His gaze swept down me again, and my gaydar was going off louder than ever. Not that there’s anything wrong with it! my memory echoed with the famous line from Seinfeld.

>   “Art history.” I smiled again, knowing this was a topic I could converse on with absolutely no reservations.

  “Favorite painter?” His eyebrows quirked, possibly trying to catch me in a lie again.

  You couldn’t answer this question with something obvious like Monet or Van Gogh. “Bordone,” I said with confidence.

  “Oh, really? I pegged you for more of a modern guy.” The way he emphasized the word “pegged” did not escape my notice.

  “No, definitely not. I prefer the classics. I should have been born during the Renaissance.” I wasn’t going to let his innuendo distract me from my mission.

  Buster’s lips curled into a provocative grin. “Yes, I can see that now.” The way his eyes traveled up and down my body, it seemed he was appreciating a masterpiece himself.

  I could work this to my advantage.

  “Hey, I was just wondering if you know anything about a secret employee meeting happening next week?” Why not just cut to the chase?

  His grin faded quickly, followed by another blatant brow furrowing. “Who told you about that?” His voice dropped at least an octave.

  I shrugged, trying to play it off as naiveté. “I overheard my boss talking about it. I was just wondering where it was so I could attend.”

  Buster was squinting so hard, his two formerly distinct eyebrows were basically one continuous bushy line across his forehead. “You’re a temp, right?”

  I nodded.

  “We don’t typically invite temps to the meetings,” he said rather flatly.

  “Oh.” I studied him, wondering how to get back to the earlier flirty vibe we had established so I could glean something useful from this conversation. “Why not?”

  “It’s not my decision,” he answered. “That comes from higher up on the ladder than me.”

  “Higher up? Who is in charge of it?” I suspected he noticed the little tremble my voice took on when I realized I was this close to figuring out the answer to my undercover mission because his eyes narrowed again.