Writhing, she moaned his name, "Sebastian…"
Her alarm clock turned on. The shrill beeping cut through the moment, making Emmy curse and Sebastian pull his tongue out of her mouth.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered, running his hands over her thighs. "Can we finish? I promise I'll be fast."
"You couldn't be fast if your life depended on it." The man could thrust for hours before he finally spilled his seed.
"I'm going to take that as a compliment." His grin was wicked.
She tried to sit up, but his hand remained on her breast. The man toyed with her nipple.
"Hey, stop that." She scowled at him.
"Stop what?" he asked playfully.
She glared down at his hand. "Fondling my breast."
"Am I doing that?"
"Yes!" she squealed.
"Emmy, Emmy, Emmy." He laid kisses along her neck. "You're your own boss, aren't you?"
"Well, yes." Her eyes widened as he kissed his way up to her ear.
He nibbled her earlobe. "And you can make your own schedule, right?"
"Well, yeah." She was fighting a losing battle and she knew it.
"Then what's so wrong with being five or ten minutes late?" The man ran his hand down her front and slipped his fingers between her legs, fondling her clit.
"Well, ugh, I…" Suddenly, she found it hard to think. "Salt and sugar and…Eek!"
The eek was caused by him inserting his finger straight into her hole.
"Well?" He nibbled on her earlobe.
"I don't want to be late," she said. "If you're fast…"
"Sweetheart, fast is my middle name," he said.
****
Emmy was late. And not just a little late. Really late. Wincing, she wondered how many cakes were salty messes thanks to Donavon. Still, she forced a smile on her face as she walked through the door, even though her stomach was attacked by a bought of nausea the moment she smelled baking food.
Donavon, who'd likely heard her come inside, stuck his head out of the kitchen door. "I started baking. I hope that's okay."
"It's fine." Assuming, of course, that he didn't forget a vital ingredient—like flour.
She was just about to head into the kitchen, but that was when she saw a tall man standing in front of the glass door. Normally, she wouldn't have paid much attention, but she recognized him. It was the same person who'd watched her and Sebastian when they were kissing. And to make matters worse, the guy didn't just glance at her and move on. No, he was staring. A chill ran down her spine as he raised his fist to the glass and knocked.
"We're closed," Donavon called, annoyed.
Ignoring Donavon, the man knocked again, his gaze never leaving her face.
"I think he wants me." She wrung her hands.
"Oh." Donavon blinked in shock. "Do you want to let him in, or…"
For the first time in her life, she experienced the urge to protect her child. She found herself wrapping her arms around her stomach, desperate to shield the baby from the stranger.
"No, let's not." She shook her head. "I don't think it's safe."
"Sounds good." Donavon's eyes narrowed in distaste. "He's a weirdo anyway. I mean, can't he read the Closed sign?"
"I don't think he's the kind of person who cares about signs." She wasn't sure how she knew he was such a bad person, just that she did.
"Do you know him?" Donavon studied her.
She chewed her bottom lip. "I saw him once before this."
At a loss for what to say, Donavon squirmed.
"Well, let's get baking." She clapped him on the shoulder, feigning bravado.
She entered the kitchen, but even as she began to mix the batter for her lemon-meringue cupcakes, all she could think about was the man's face pressed up against the window. At that moment, her thoughts spiraled in all sorts of horrible directions, just like they always did when she was nervous. Maybe that man was some sort of murderer. Or perhaps he was a ghost or demon or a paranormal entity. She paused, realizing just how ridiculous her thoughts were. Just because some guy had had his face pressed up against the window didn't mean that he was from the depths of hell. It just meant that he was extremely weird or…or…okay, it just meant that he was extremely weird.
"Why did that guy have to latch onto me?" she muttered under her breath.
"What was that?" Donavon, who'd been in the process of mixing whipped vanilla frosting, glanced up.
"Nothing," she said.
But it wasn't nothing. Thoughts of the man filled her mind as she baked cupcakes, bread, and croissants. By the time the bakery opened at eight o'clock, she was feeling sick all over again, but not because of the pregnancy. Even though she longed to take a quick coffee break, she feared the stranger was now hanging around the bakery. She could picture herself sitting at the table, trying to enjoy a good drink, only to be waylaid by the creeper who'd stared at her for no reason.