I Hate, I Bake, and I Don’t Date! by Alina Jacobs

42

Tess

Islid into my seat. Beck was in an intense conversation with Bunny about Hamilton’s contribution to the American economic system. The next course had been served. It was a poached fish. I picked a piece off with my fork.

“We have fish knives, dear,” Ethel said, giving me a pointed look.

On the right-hand side of my plate were four different knives to choose from.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. I grabbed a knife.

“The other one,” Beck said. I grabbed a different knife.

“No, the other, other one. Fish knives are broad and flat.”

A bit like Cressida’s ass.

What was the point of a fish knife? The utensil wasn’t sharp, though it did have this weird little triangular tip that did fuck all to help get the fish on my fork. I had to lean in to shovel the fish into my mouth.

I felt two more buttons slip out of their loops on the back of my dress. At this point, I wasn’t going to make it until dessert without my clothes falling off.

The next course was a stewed rabbit with fingerling potatoes.

“I have to admit, this is way better than my rabbit pudding,” I joked.

Everyone ignored me. The women were fawning over Beck.

“Really?” Bunny was saying. “I would have expected you billionaires to do nothing but date. You could have all the beautiful women in the world.”

The unspoken part was, of course, And yet you’re with Tess.

Beck and I have a fake relationship, I reminded myself. They can say whatever they want.

But it still hurt.

“You need to be with someone like my Cressida,” Penny said. “She went to all the best schools.”

I stabbed at a piece of rabbit angrily. Instead of quietly spearing the meat, my fork hit a bone, and the whole piece flew up in the air and landed with a thunk on the dining room table, leaving a large red stain on the white tablecloth.

“I’ll just take that back,” I said, panicking slightly as I leaned over to pick up the whole piece of rabbit, several more buttons popping as I did so.

One of the servers came by. “I’ll take that, ma’am.”

“No need,” I said, feeling sweat dripping down between my boobs, which were crammed together under the stiff stay. Then I shoved the whole piece of rabbit in my mouth and chewed, cheeks bulging.

Ethel drained her wineglass.

I was going to ask for more wine, but I had a huge piece of bone in my mouth and nowhere to spit it. The napkins weren’t paper; they were cloth, and I didn’t dare spit the bone there. Could I put it back in my bowl?

I tried to think back on the etiquette lessons I had read drunkenly on the internet after bingeing regency romance books.

You had to take the food out of your mouth with whatever you had used to put it there, if I recalled.

I had used my fingers, but a fork seemed more appropriate. I picked it up and put it in my mouth.

Of course I couldn’t spear the piece of bone. I tried to carefully roll it on the fork, slipping it out of my mouth like I was doing an Easter egg race. I made it halfway to the plate, then the bone bounced off my fork, clanged on the edge of the plate, and onto the hardwood floor.

Everyone stopped to stare at me.

Beck’s face was unreadable.

“You know,” I said desperately, trying to salvage the situation. “In the 1700s, people just used their hands and a knife to eat, so really, you could say I’m just trying to be historically accurate.”

God, that was the worst dinner ever.

All I wanted was a shower and some macaroni and cheese and a chocolate cake. A whole one.

More buttons had come undone in the car ride. My dress was sliding off as I shuffled down the hallway, shedding clothes like a seventeenth-century scullery-maid Cinderella. My bonnet was askew, my frizzy hair finally beating it into submission. My stay was crooked, one of my boobs had half fallen out, and my petticoats were down to my knees.

“I will never complain about small pockets again,” I huffed. “Just the fact that my clothes in this century stay where they’re supposed to is enough for me.”

“And here I thought you were doing a striptease for my benefit,” Beck’s deep voice said.

I turned then cursed and tried to bring up my shawl to cover my tits, but that meant I lost my hold on the petticoats, and they fell in a puddle around me.

I was feeling kind of puddly down there with the way Beck was looking at me, eyes dark with desire.

“I was hoping to convince you to give me the full historical demonstration,” he said, backing me into my bedroom. “How did they have sex back then in all those clothes?”

One by one, the remaining ties to my overcomplicated clothing came off, falling to the floor as he pulled me into a warm kiss.

I was the first to break away, gesturing at his still-dressed state. “I need to see you.”

He smiled at me in the dark. “You’ll have to wait, because I have plans for you.”

Then, before I knew it, he was kissing me again and pushing me down on the bed. I went willingly, opening up my legs to let him crawl between them.

One hand curved over my breast, squeezing softly. I arched into his touch as his other hand rested over my other breast. He squeezed my breasts softly, pushing them together, pulling them apart. His fingers brushed against my pointed nipples.

I squirmed, wet and hot for him. “Beck…” I would have said more, but the words fled from my mind as one hand let go of my tit and started to move southward.

“Yes,” I moaned, hooking my own arm around the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

As our lips met, his fingers traced over my pussy lips. I groaned slightly, spreading wide for him, and leaving no guesswork about what I wanted most at that moment. Beck’s smile was satisfied and just a hint predatory. Seeing it made my pussy ache.

His fingers went to work, finding my clit and rubbing it—stimulating the nerves in the perfect rhythm. A hot wash of heat rose inside me, more and more intense. I moaned aloud, my hips circling up to increase the pleasure.

“Good?” he asked slyly.

“It’s good, I… I want more. I want your tongue.” I gasped. Yes, I could have come like this, but the idea of his head between my legs was so hot I couldn’t take it.

Beck smirked. “I like listening to you beg.” He pressed a quick kiss to my lips and then shuffled downward.

Yes, I thought, tipping my head back to the pillow, opening wider for him. Stroking me once more, Beck dipped his head down.

Fuck, his tongue was going to be right there!

His fingers pushed my pussy lips to the sides, and the first swipe of his tongue over my clit… oh, it was everything I wanted and more, exactly the pressure and sensation that I craved.

I moaned louder. I couldn’t help it. He licked me fast and hard, not bothering to tease and play this out.

He wanted me to come, and I was helpless to do anything but enjoy the ride.

“I’m… I’m close…” I warned.

In answer, he pressed in close to me and hummed. The added vibration, the play of his tongue against my engorged, excited clit… it tipped me over the edge.

I came, moaning his name.

I closed my eyes, still panting as I lay sprawled on the bed.

“That was so much better than any cupcake.”

“I needto stop late-night eating and drinking,” I said blearily when the sun shone through my window.

I sat up, the blanket falling off me. What had I eaten last night?

The stay was twisted around me. As I pulled it off, I remembered—Beck was the one who had eaten me. The memory came flooding back, and the heat flooded between my legs.

I remembered him there doing that with his tongue, making me come again and again, until I had passed out asleep.

That was probably not what Maeve had meant by sealing the deal. If Cressida was after Beck, I needed to up my game. Falling asleep halfway through a steamy boink session was not a good look.

Better do it this morning.

My pussy thought that was a very good idea.

But when I went to look for Beck, his bag was gone. I checked my phone to see an unread text message from him.

Beck:Took the girls to Svensson Investment. Have a meeting there this morning.

I texted him back.

Tess:Okay.

Was he mad? Disappointed? He for sure had blue balls.

On the way to work, I alternated between thinking about last night and fretting about his response.

“I think I screwed up,” I whispered to Maeve when I sat next to her at my desk. I had stopped at the Sparrow and Thyme café to pick up a whole array of post-orgasm snacks.

Maeve stole one of the chocolate croissants from my admittedly excessive pile of snacks.

“Looks like this is a self-care food day, huh?” she said, patting me on the arm. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“You mean falling asleep after he gave me multiple orgasms while I just laid there?” I asked.

Maeve’s mouth dropped open, and the croissant fell on her desk.

“You slept with him?”

I clapped a hand over her mouth. “He was fully clothed.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re just dropping this on me with no preparation!” she said, brushing crumbs off her shirt.

“You were acting like you knew,” I said in confusion. “I thought maybe I had drunk called you.”

“Girl,” Maeve said, opening her desk drawer and shoving a stack of tabloid papers on my desk. “You have bigger things to worry about than what’s in Beck’s pants.”

I picked up the newspaper on the top of the stack.

Mystery Woman Dating Svensson Brother!

The next tabloid article spent paragraphs picking apart my dress, while yet another speculated about where Beck had found me. A particularly seedy tabloid seemed to insinuate I was some sort of a cheap escort.

“Oh my god,” I groaned. I grabbed one of the mini raspberry-and-white-chocolate muffins from my stash and shoved it in my mouth. “Beck is going to flip his shit when he sees that.”

“Not unless Cressida beats him to the punch.” Maeve jerked her chin. The HR director was striding through the open office, designer heels clacking on the concrete floor. She slammed one perfectly manicured hand down on my desk.

“So you think this is funny?” she spat at me.

I swallowed the muffin I was eating.

“You think you’re just going to play the billionaire’s girlfriend and walk out with him, dressed like some sort of floozy?”

“I received a lot of compliments on my dress,” I protested. “Men and women were asking about the designer.”

“I bet all the guys were,” Cressida sneered. “You can practically see your nipples through your dress. No wonder Beck kept looking over at you at dinner last night.”

“He did?” Maeve drawled. “Even with you there?”

Cressida made a disgusted noise. “She kept dropping food everywhere and didn’t have anything insightful to add to the conversation.” Cressida tossed her hair. “And now I see why Beck didn’t seem to care. Because you’re manipulating him with sex.”

Ha! I wish!

I hadn’t even seen Beck’s cock, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Cressida.

“Damn right she is!” Maeve said hotly. “Beck likes girls with some meat on their bones.”

Cressida’s nostrils flared. “More like an entire week’s worth of baked goods on her hips,” she said nastily. “He’s going to get tired of you. All the sex in the world is worthless when you do nothing but embarrass him. I’m descended from Alexander Hamilton. My family means something. Beck is going to realize soon enough that you are a terrible influence on his sisters, and I’m going to be the next Mrs. Svensson.”

“Now I really wish you had slept with him last night,” Maeve said after Cressida left.

I reached for another muffin. Maeve batted it out of my hand and dragged me out of my chair.

“Where are we going?”

“You better show Beck you’re still interested,” Maeve said, shoving me into the women’s bathroom and locking the door. “If he thinks you weren’t into it, he’s just going to move on. You know how Beck is—he’s decisive. Once he’s done with you, he’s done, and he’s moved on. You don’t want him making moves on Cressida.”

“What am I supposed to do? He’s not even here; he’s at a meeting all day,” I said.

Maeve looked at me critically. “Topless photo,” she said, nodding.

“We’re in the office bathroom! Ugh, I need a croissant.”

“You can have a croissant after you seal the deal with Beck. No way can Cressida have him. The world is already unfair, but I need this one injustice to not happen.” My friend pulled out her makeup bag and started fussing with my face.

“It will be so epic when he falls in love with you, and you get married, and Cressida’s invited to the wedding and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up. I’m not marrying Beck. I don’t date, remember? And I certainly don’t marry.”

“Would it be such a bad thing to have Beck as your husband?” Maeve asked, swiping mascara on my eyelashes.

“You mean Beck, our horrible boss?”

“You mean Beck, who has the biggest dick known to man?”

“I actually don’t know how big it is,” I admitted.

Maeve frowned. “You haven’t seen it?”

“I told you I fell asleep.”

“Boss move,” Maeve said. “He just laid down a gauntlet. You have to counterattack.”

“Oh lord. I don’t even know how to do a topless photo.”

“You better make it tasteful,” Maeve said, undoing the first few buttons on my blouse. “I’m sure Beck gets a lot of topless photos from models and actresses and the like. But you have super nice tits. Way better than any model.”

“Maybe they’re too big,” I wondered as I pulled them out of my bra.

“No such thing for a guy,” she said emphatically. “Hold them up! Rock what you got and just snap a selfie!”

We looked at the photo.

“I didn’t think I had quite that many chins,” I said.

“Take another. Try from up high.”

We inspected the next photo.

“You look like you just had a stroke.”

“You take it!”

“I can’t take it. Then it looks like you were with someone topless,” Maeve protested.

“But I am!”

“We’re besties,” Maeve said. “I hardly count. But Beck doesn’t know that. What if he thinks you’re sending him a used photo?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Take it in the mirror,” she instructed, “and take off your top.”

I snapped another.

“Better, except it looks like you’re getting ready to go to the gynecologist.”

“Oh my god!” I grabbed my clothes. “This is a terrible idea.”

“You can’t let Cressida win,” Maeve insisted, shaking me. “Here, put on the shirt, not the bra, and smoosh everything up then snap it in the mirror. Butt out, chest out, make a Kardashian face.”

“These are like a five out of ten, but it’s the best we got,” she said when we flipped through the pictures. I started to compose a text message to Beck, but Maeve grabbed my phone.

“You didn’t even say anything about how great of a lay he was when you texted him!” she railed. “He’s going to think you didn’t like it. Maybe we should have done a full undershot.”

“My clothes are already back on,” I said flatly.

“Fine,” Maeve said dramatically. “Hopefully this photo is enough to show him you still care about his cock.”

“What should I text?” I asked, taking the phone back.

“I don’t know, something better than ’okay,’” she retorted. “You need a flirty message.”

“Maybe some sort of pun,” I suggested, “like, why does the mermaid wear seashells? She outgrew her B-shells!”

Maeve made a disgusted noise. “No, we’re just going to write, I want your cum on my tits. Done. No room for confusion.”