I wouldn’t allow it.
After fifteen minutes of indulgent daydreaming, where I envisaged waking up to his magnificent body every morning, I’d slipped out of bed and got dressed as quietly as I could. He hadn’t stirred, so I’d left him a breakfast tray next to the bed and a note. He wouldn’t think it out of the ordinary that I’d started work at five, though he might take offence at being advised to slip out the back stairs if he didn’t want to be spied doing the walk of shame.
In reality, I couldn’t face Makayla’s inevitable interrogation if she saw Tanner waltz in here wearing the same clothes as yesterday. For the simple fact I didn’t know what I’d say.
Accepting I’d been idiot enough to be teetering on the brink of falling for him was one thing, admitting it to anyone else another. I could live with my secret. I couldn’t live with Makayla’s endless banter if she discovered it.
For now, I needed to focus on my morning routine to get my head back in the game; and away from the sexy guy lying slumbering in my bed, waiting for a wake-up he’d never forget...
‘Damn it,’ I muttered as a glob of butter plopped onto the floor.
The intricate process of laminating dough to produce my signature Viennoiserie pastries required concentration and skill, neither of which I had this morning if my first effort was any indication.
So I started again. Wrapping a light dough around a layer of butter. Rolling it. Folding it. Rolling it again. Repeating the process over and over to produce a dough with many layers that would result in a puffy light texture that melted in the mouth after baking.
Remy said my almond croissants, pain au lait and chouquettes rivalled the best he’d tasted in France. I knew his excessive compliments were supposed to encourage me so I accepted them with aplomb, all the while wishing I could be half as good as my mentor.
So I toiled away every day, creating and tasting, buoyed by a lighter texture or a richer buttery flavour. Le Miel sold out on a daily basis so I had to be doing something right. And we often had orders for the almond croissants, which were solely my responsibility.
I’d come so far in a year I could hardly believe I was the same person. Thank goodness I’d had the guts to leave that subservient, pathetic people-pleaser who’d given up my dreams to live someone else’s behind.
That was another thing sex with Tanner gave me: empowerment. An intoxicating feeling of power that eradicated the shy girl I’d once been.
Performing my first blowjob might have been intimidating, but the way he’d reacted, the way he’d stared at me afterward...made me feel more powerful than I ever had. I might have been in a subservient position on my knees, intent on giving him pleasure, but the person I’d ended up pleasing was me.
I’d never felt so alive. So dominant. So in control. Heady stuff for the doormat I’d once been.
When I’d first proposed a fling to Tanner, I’d never anticipated that having my sensual side awakened would result in feeling this good. In making my body come alive, he’d also given me something I’d always craved: clout. Command over myself and my choices. The confidence to do what I wanted when I wanted, without regard for anyone else.
Something I’d secretly craved for years but never had the guts to do. Then again, it was easier with Tanner because we didn’t have a strong emotional connection. I didn’t feel the need to say yes to every little thing with him because our relationship focussed on the physical.
Which was exactly why I’d freaked out and come down here early this morning. Because no matter how many times I mentally recited that we were two consenting adults attracted to each other indulging in a short-term fling, after the way we’d connected last night and my desire to know more about him, I had a sneaking suspicion we could move past that.
And it terrified me.
The closer we got, would I be in danger of reverting to the meek, passive people-pleaser who always put others before herself? The woman who felt good about herself by making others feel good first? A guy like Tanner would hate that acquiescent docility and I’d hate myself for doing it.
Crap.
I concentrated on rolling and folding the dough over layers of butter, focussing on the routine to distract from my worrying thoughts, trying to relax. I liked the methodical approach to baking, the knowledge that following a clearly delineated process should result in an edible end product.
The routine calmed me, something I craved to deal with the riotous, out-of-control feelings ricocheting through me every time Tanner popped into my head.
He was there. A lot. Front and centre. Tanner shirtless and defiant in his private room at the club. Tanner stalking towards me in the storeroom. Tanner licking carbonara sauce off his lips. Tanner naked and sated, sprawled across my bed like he owned it.
Hell.
I opened the oven to slide the first batch of croissants in, the radiant heat not helping my fiery cheeks.
Baking might be comforting, but as a distraction from the hot male in my bed upstairs it left a lot to be desired.
Time to bring out the big guns.
I’d nail the elusive croquembouche today if it killed me.
Anything to divert me from the yearning to head back upstairs and have Tanner nail me.
Tanner
I HATED SNEAKING out of Abby’s apartment like a fugitive, but I wasn’t an idiot. She didn’t want to face an inquisition from her co-workers and that was exactly what would’ve happened if I’d rocked into Le Miel wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
Nothing got past Makayla. The woman had eyes in the back of her head and I pitied the guy she set her sights on. Bold ball-breakers weren’t my type. I preferred quiet, reserved women who morphed into sex kittens with the barest touch.
Women like Abby.
Leaving me breakfast had been just like her, a thoughtful gesture reeking of unspoken sentiment. Unfortunately, there’d been plenty of that going around last night.
We’d barely spoken once we’d hit the bedroom. Then again, words were superfluous when we both suspected what was going on.
We’d potentially crossed the bonking buddies threshold into some weird, nebulous territory neither of us wanted to label. Not giving it credence suited me just fine. Her too, considering she must’ve bolted out of bed at some ungodly hour.
So I scoffed my buttery soft chocolate croissant, drank my OJ and slunk down the back stairs, the words of her simple note imprinted on my brain.
Thanks for last night. Hope you enjoyed dinner.
Must do it again soon.
Back stairs quiet in the morning.
See you later.
Abby
Interestingly,
