Paula has a sweet tooth that isn't easily satisfied. It's all the fault
of one lovely nibble in the past that left her with a deep yearning
for more. A need no one else can fill.

But when she agrees to look after a friend's apartment over
Easter, she finds herself on the receiving end of a gift that wasn't
meant for her. And the man that always was.

The Sweet Escape

by

Cat Kelly

M/F

Twisted Erotica Publishing, LLC

www.twistederoticapublishing.com

A TWISTED EROTICA PUBLISHING BOOK

The Sweet Escape
Copyright © 2014 by Cat Kelly

Edited by Marie Medina

Second E-book Publication: March 2014, SMASHWORDS EDITION

Cover design by K Designs
All cover art and logo copyright © 2014, Twisted Erotica Publishing.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without
express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance
to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Chapter One

Well-meaning people always told Paula it would happen when

she least expected it. Love, that is. When they said that she would
grind her teeth and smile to be polite. Then reach for the nearest slab
of chocolate.

Living in the crowded city of New York she began to believe

she'd lost her chance. If love was out there for her, she'd overlooked
it, by-passed it in a hurry to dodge traffic. "Meet cutes" happened in
movies to beautiful people. Certainly not to her. Not in this city of
deliberate strangers.

On this grim morning she was reminded of her unworthiness, as

she often was, by a hurried phone conversation with her friend,
Veronica—a woman with no shortage of men declaring their love for
her.

"So I'm off to St. Barts. He asked me out of the blue."
The music on Paula's iPod played in one ear while she held the

phone pressed to the other. "St. Barts. St. Barts?"

"I barely have time to pack." The voice rattling down the phone

at her was breathless, breaking up, competing with Gwen Stefani's
woo-hooing in her left ear. "So will you look after things while I'm
gone? It's just over Easter, and I figured you wouldn't have anything
else going on. You'll be in town, right?"

Paula rolled her eyes to the grim patch of sky visible between

towers. Clouds like curdled milk bubbled by.

If I could escape, I would... Oh, me too, Gwen.
"Let me check my social calendar," she said. There was a pause

at the other end of the line, as if she might actually mean that. "I'm
kidding, Vee!" She glanced at the sidewalk again just a second too
late to dodge a puddle. "Where else would I be?"

I need to get me out of this joint.
"You're sure? I'd ask Stefan or Tucker or Angelo, but...well, you

know..."

Yep. Might be just a tad awkward asking one of your other

boyfriends to watch your apartment for you while you were away
with the rich old guy who popped up from time to time and always
came bearing gifts with which they could never compete. Not that
Paula ever experienced such a problem, but she could envision the

difficulties of juggling so many men at once. Vee's love life was like a
conference at the United Nations.

"It's fine, Vee. I still have your spare key, so I'll feed the cat and

bring in the mail." What else did she have to do?

"And water the plants."
"Okey dokey."
"You're a sweetheart, Paula. I'll make it up to you."
She was still a good distance from the bus stop when a hot blast

of engine roared by, splashing muddy water over her boots and
leggings. "Damn. There's my bus. Gotta go." She ended the call and
sprinted forward, yelling for the driver to wait. The huddled souls
waiting for the bus didn't look up. Climbing aboard the moment the
doors buckled open, they were keen to get out of the bleak weather.

As usual, everyone seemed to be moving in the opposite direction

to Paula, no one willing to concede an inch of precious space. Shoved
and buffeted by the crowd on the sidewalk she slipped on slush,
dropped her hot chocolate and banged her knee on a garbage bin.
"Hey, wait!"

The bus choked out a deep sigh and a growl of filthy exhaust.
"Hey!" If she missed that bus she'd be late for her shift.

Waitressing may not be the best job in the world and, as her mother
pointed out at every opportunity, it was a complete waste of an art
history degree, but she needed the paycheck and right now she took
what she could get.

The last man in line, about to step up onto the bus, stopped. One

hand on the door, he looked in her direction.

"Hold it, please," she shrieked, her voice a mere, slender quaver

in the grumbling, angry symphony of the city.

But he must have heard the desperation. She saw him mouth

something to the driver and then he waited, one foot on the step, the
other on the curb.

"Thank you!" she gasped out, limping along the side of the bus,

hot chocolate scalding through her leggings.

"No prob."
Dear God, did he just smile at her? He must be new in town, or a

tourist. Didn't he know there was no smiling at 8:00AM in midtown
Manhattan? Unless you were

a.) drunk
b.) high

c.) a nutter.
But something about him was familiar. He waited, gesturing for

her to step up. Paula grabbed the thick strap of her hobo bag. "No, it's
okay. You first."

Their eyes briefly met. A puzzled light cooled and steadied all

that mysterious, twinkling green. For just a breath the shifting colors
and shades were still, drawing her into the depths, concentrating.
Almost hypnotic. A shiver stole through her body, radiating in all
directions from somewhere inside her core, as if he'd touched her
intimately—ran something warm and wet over her pussy, under her
panties. A stranger. Or was he?

"Really," she added, blinking quickly. "Go ahead."
He stepped up into the bus, and she followed, clutching her bag

tightly, keeping a careful distance. She had chocolate in that bag, for
later. No way was anyone stealing it.

Why would he smile at her?
Must be guilty of something.
As he strode ahead of her down the aisle, she kept a wary eye on

him.

Long legs in relaxed jeans that looked as if he was born wearing

them. Denim just rough and faded enough. Definitely in possession of
a great ass. Round, tight but not too precious. As for his coat choice—
meh—left something to be desired and he wore a grey hoodie under
it. Not one of her favorite looks. But really, how could she criticize? It
was a dreary April in New York, one of those months when you
dressed in the morning for any multitude of occurrences. The winter's
slush still lingered, and the air was eternally damp and lackluster.
Most shots of color came from gaudy plastic Easter eggs hanging in
store windows, although she had seen a welcome burst of red tulips
that morning in the little patch of dirt optimistically referred to as
"green space" outside the apartment building in which she was
staying.

Nice Ass abruptly stopped in front of her and turned. She had no

time to stop and walked into him. He grabbed her arms, but it was too
late to stop contact with his hard body.

There was no more room in the aisle and no free seats. They were

stuck. Paula tried turning to avoid staring into his chest, but her large
hobo bag jammed between a pole and the shoulder of a very wide
woman who took up an entire seat and half the aisle behind her.

Helpless, trapped, her gaze wandered upward, over his shoulders,

the strong contours of his chin, the lips pressed firmly together, the
long, slender nose...and came to a dead stop when it met his eyes
again.

In her left ear, Gwen Stefani sang, Been gettin' a little lazy,

waitin' on you to come save me.

He was making her panties wet, just by looking at her. What was

he? A fucking sex magician?

"Chocolate," he said. "You smell like a chocolate bar."
Fretting over that for a few seconds, she finally gave up searching

for a reply. Frustrated, getting sticky and hot, she struggled with her
bag again, battling against the big, immoveable shoulder of the
spreading woman on the seat behind her. The bus jolted forward, and
the people in the aisle were knocked about like bowling pins. Landing
against him again she felt a suspicious bulge in his jeans before he
shifted back a step. Hmm. Maybe she smelled like chocolate—to him,
but to her he smelled like a hunk of man, freshly showered. Spicy.

"That's quite a piece of luggage," said Nice Ass, his glistening

green eyes slowly holding her under water, sapping her breath.

Luggage? He was one to talk, carrying that thing around in his

pants.

If she had a bottle with a genie in it, the bottle would be the color

of his eyes. She took in all the details, consigning them to memory for
later when she was alone with her sketchbook.

And suddenly she knew where she'd seen him before.
The bus swayed and jolted, pushing them closer still. "Carry your

kitchen sink around in that thing?" he muttered.

Paula knew she looked like a bag lady with her knitted cap pulled

down over her wet hair, which she hadn't had time to dry. With a
black denim mini-skirt over her leggings and an over-sized, paint-
stained shirt serving as a coat today, she was a mess. But when she
left her previous apartment two weeks ago, she only had time to grab
a few things from her half of the closet. Walking in on her boyfriend
of six months while he was screwing her boss on their kitchen table
kind of made coordinated thinking a little difficult. In the space of a
few hours she'd left her boyfriend, her apartment and her job, and was
camping out on a sofa in the apartment of another friend, trying, piece
by piece, to put things back together.

But this man knew none of that. How could he when they hadn't

seen each other in....oh, eight years? Must be. She was just eighteen
then, a naïve college freshman, getting her charcoal all sweaty in art
class when one of the older students posed nude for them. The first
man she ever saw naked. He had a lot to answer for in fact, she mused
grimly, because after him other men were a severe let down. In a
sense, she had, as Gwen Stefani sang, been waiting for him to come
save her.

Oh God, she felt her face getting hot, as if she was still that

eighteen-year old with a crush on the sexy, older boy, flattered into
mute shyness when he walked over, nude, to admire her sketch. The
other students had left and he was supposed to be putting his clothes
back on while it was her turn to tidy the studio. But he wasn't in the
least bothered by his nude state as he stood at her easel, suddenly put
his fingertips under her chin, turned her blushing face up to him and
slowly kissed her. With tongue.

Eight years was a long time ago, but she still felt the aftershock.
That kiss, and what happened after, had affected her so deeply at

the time that it was slightly mortifying to find he didn't recognize her
now. But really what could she expect? A man like him had women
lining up. Highly unlikely he'd remember the virgin coed he tongued
to a succession of exquisite orgasms. As no one had since.

Thanks to him, the picture she finished sketching that night won

high praise from her tutor who said something must have "finally
breathed real life" into her technical ability.

Now they were two strangers on a crowded bus. He clearly had

no idea about city etiquette, which was basically ignore other people
no matter what happened. Even bloodshed was not necessarily reason
to look up from one's paper or phone or fingernails.

Disregarding the rules, the rebel spoke again.
"Maybe there's a disembodied head in that bag and some severed

limbs." His lips twisted in a wry grin. "You look guilty of something."

Paula finally gave up trying to screw herself around in the tight

spot. Since retreat was impossible, she'd just have to return volley.
"By the way," she said, looking up at him again, "you have a splendid
ass."

He tilted his head. "I do?"
"And that's a great tattoo on your back. Wild horse, isn't it?"

Having laid this piece of information before him—something she

couldn't possibly know unless she'd seen him shirtless—Paula hastily
thrust the loose ear bud back in her right ear, turned up her iPod and
stared out through the grimy bus window, while Gwen sang on about
a sweet escape.

Chapter Two

Sam was starving. Until he sat in the booth and flipped open the

menu he hadn't realized exactly how hungry he was. He used to come
to this diner a lot, because they served great breakfasts 24-hours a
day. But while he dated Shelby everything was on her schedule,
determined by what she wanted to do. Now she was gone and he no
longer had to worry about which places Shelby deemed suitable.

He checked his phone. No messages. Nada.
Good. She'd learn this time she couldn't keep trampling his heart

and coming back again when the novelty of a new affair wore off.
Shelby was a sponge who could never get enough attention from men.

"I swear, Sam, you're not even thinking of me when you look at

me sometimes," she'd screamed, just before flinging a potted plant at
his head. "I know there's someone else. Some other woman. She's
been there all along."

This outburst had come because he didn't notice her new haircut.

Or was it her new dress? Couldn't remember now. Not important.
Shelby was constantly accusing him of having a love affair with some
other woman. She'd even ransacked his old photo boxes, looking for
this secret lover she claimed he kept on the side. But now she'd found
a different man who could, apparently, devote all his time and energy
to pleasing her. At least, for now.

Suddenly his phone buzzed. Not Shelby, he saw to his relief.
"For Christ's sake, Sam, where ya been?"
He grabbed a toothpick from the little container. "Out of town on

a shoot for that magazine. I told you about it. What's up, Tony?"

"I need help. One of my guys backed out of a job today. Can you

fill in?"

He leaned back against the booth. "We've been through this

before. I'm not an actor or a model. And I'm not so strapped for cash
these days."

"I know, I know...you're an artiste in high demand...and one day

real soon you'll be a world-famous photographer...but I'm in a tight
spot here. Help me out, buddy! I need you. How can you turn your
back on me?"

Sam laughed loudly into his phone. No one was ever less likely

to turn their back on a friend and most people who knew Sam, knew
that too.

"C'mon, it's one lil' job. Won't take you more than half an hour.

Just put the costume on and get over to an apartment on the east side
to surprise some lady at around seven tonight."

"And do what?"
"Come over here and I'll show you. It's cute. An Easter greeting

thing. No big deal."

He groaned. The idea for "Man-O-Gram" was originally

something he and Tony brewed up together over cold pizza and vodka
shots on a dorm room floor, too many years ago. Sam may have lost
interest in the venture and got caught up in other things, but his friend,
Tony, put the idea into motion and now ran a fairly successful
business sending hunks to sing birthday greetings, romantic arias and
humorous apologies to unsuspecting women all over New York City.
When Shelby had heard about it she said it was a stupid idea. Of
course.

"You know I can't sing," Sam protested into his phone.
"Don't matter. Not when you look like that, Sammy boy. You just

turn up and deliver the message and they'll be swooning. Easy."

Again he laughed, awkwardly this time, scratching his chin. He

saw a waitress heading for his booth now, head down as she scribbled
on her pad. Her pink outfit was tight across the bust, the buttons
pulling. The little white hat she wore was askew and her name tag
partially tucked under the flap of her breast pocket.

"Okay. I'll do it. But I have to go now and..." wow, she had a

fantastic, hour-glass figure, ".. eat... something...tasty..." He closed his
phone while Tony was still talking.

Stopping at his table the waitress finally looked up. A pair of

clear blue eyes brought a touch of spring to his booth. Sam felt the
rush of adrenaline that always came to him with the end of winter, the
sight of new grass, buds opening, flowers shooting up. His hunger
quickened, but came now from lower down.

Lust at first sight. Or second.
He knew immediately he'd met her before. Aha! The woman with

the bag on the bus. She who smelled of rich, creamy chocolate. Her
shape was hidden earlier under a bulky shirt. Sam leaned forward,
forearms resting on the table. "Hi, again."

A harried frown crossed her face. "What can I get for you?"
"You're new here," he said. How the hell had she known about

his tattoo?

"Yep." Her expression and tone were enough to warn him against

any other conversation beyond the menu. Alrighty then.

"I'll take the meat-lover's omelet, the silver dollar pancakes, three

sausages burnt to a crisp please, an orange juice, an iced
cappuccino...and a banana split. Oh, and a side of waffle fries. Large.
With melted cheese and gravy."

Her pen paused. One eyebrow lifted and arched like a

boomerang.

"I'm eating for two," he added, shooting her a slow grin, timidly

testing the waters, not quite ready to give up on her, despite the
discouragement.

A smile almost appeared. Almost. "Anything else?"
She had a pretty mouth. Softly curved, full lips, with a dent in the

lower one and an interesting quirk to the left corner that suggested a
wry sense of humor. He'd really like to take her picture. Always
fascinated by faces, Sam decided he had to delay her, make her stay
there while he studied her features. So he pretended to consider her
question with great depth, resting his chin in one hand, rubbing two
fingers over his own lips and wondering how hers might feel against
them. He found he kinda knew how. Weird. Maybe it was the fact that
her fragrance was creamy and chocolately. Hard to resist for a man
with a real sweet tooth.

Yep, he licked his lips and could taste her already.
"Anything else? Like what?" Suddenly he was thinking about a

few things he might want from the waitress with the big blue eyes,
suggestively naughty mouth and gorgeous breasts. Things not menu
related.

Odd. His stomach's needs were being sidelined.
It had been a while for him since his last sexual encounter with

anyone but Shelby, and it was rare for the desire to hit him this
abruptly, this strong, this raw. Shelby liked sex when and where she
wanted, on her terms, and what Shelby didn't like she didn't have. But
right now Sam wanted something new, something not Shelby's way.
He was celebrating, right? And he was free.

Her gaze came up from the notepad again and flicked over his

face. "What do you want on the split?"

The split? What split? Sam shifted on the seat. Damn, he could

see the waitress spread under him, her buttons all torn open, pussy
inches from his mouth. He could taste her, feel her, smell her. Yeah,

that's what he wanted right now. That's what he needed. It was a vivid
picture in his mind, so clear he had a hard on. Could he smell oil paint
and turpenoid? It took him back to his college days and the art studio
there. Even more weird.

"The banana split," she said firmly. "What do you want on it?"

The fourth button on her pink uniform was about to snap off. He had
to stop looking at her like that. Like a pervert. He didn't know her
name or anything about her, except—he happily noted—no ring on
her finger.

Oh...yeah...banana split. "What can you give me?" He kept his

eyes wide, innocent. He hoped. "I have a sweet tooth."

"Hot fudge sauce, marshmallow, butterscotch, caramel. Nuts? Or

just whipped cream?"

He looked at her lips, waiting for the "smart-ass" which seemed

to be missing from the end of her sentence. But nothing more came
out, so he said, "I'll take everything you can give me. I want all of it."

The brunette made a quick note on her pad, and he took the

opportunity to check her name tag, which she was trying to hide. He
reached over, lifting the flap of her uniform pocket with his toothpick

"Thank you, Paula. I'm Sam."
Nothing.
"We've met before somewhere, right? I mean, before the bus

today." His body's reaction to her was too strong to be a mere fluke.
His pulse was speeding, breaking all the limits. He felt alive, awake,
for the first time in years.

Her right eyebrow curved upward again. "I'm sure I'd remember

if we did."

The toothpick gave way under his fidgeting fingers and snapped

in two. "Just thought...maybe...something...no?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." She scuttled off back to the kitchen. So did

that mean she was feeling the attraction too? His friend, Tony,
frequently accused him of being clueless when it came to women.

"No one who looks like you should ever be so nice," Tony had

placidly assured him. "Women end up walking all over you. Shit, if I
looked like that I could get away with anything. Looking like this,
carrying a few extra pounds and a six-head, I have to be nice. It's not
fair. I can't be a bastard." He'd shaken his head and sighed. "You just
don't know how to take advantage of your good looks, Sammy boy."

Sam turned to admire her pert ass in that tight uniform. "Extra

chocolate fudge sauce," he shouted. She looked back over her
shoulder without stopping and almost got hit in the head by the swing
door to the kitchen.

Cute, hot girl. Very hot.
Tony would prod him to get her number. But she wasn't very

welcoming and Sam wasn't arrogant enough to put himself out there
without encouragement. Not these days. Maybe when he was a ballsy
kid he might have—

He twisted around again, looking back at the swinging doors.
The smell of oil paint.
She'd had paint on her shirt earlier on the bus. An artist maybe?
Those lips. Blue eyes that seemed full of questions. Maybe some

of the answers he sought too.

How the hell had she known about the horse tattoo? Because

those eyes had seen it.

Of course.
Christ, how many years ago was it? Excitement leapt through

him. His cock, already roused, began to ache and stretch even more.
No wonder.

When she brought the food back out on a tray, he looked up and

winked. "Hope it tastes as good as your pussy did, Paula."

She stared, her face flushed.
"But I doubt it," he added quietly. "Nothing could compare to

that."

Her nipples visibly perked up through her bra and the front of her

uniform. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "Here.
Extra sauce." She set a squeezy bottle of chocolate fudge sauce in
front of him. "Knock yourself out." Then, fumbling for her pad, she
ripped off the bill, slammed it down and rushed off again.

On the table his phone rattled. Shelby's name flashed up. After a

moment of consideration, he pressed the off button. Busy.

Shelby was right, he realized. All this time he had been thinking

of someone else. But Shelby, ransacking his photo boxes, was looking
in the wrong place, because he'd never had the chance to take this
particular woman's picture. She'd drawn his instead. And apparently
stolen his soul, his balls and his dick at the same time.

Chapter Three

Dropping the mail and her bag on Vee's kitchen countertop, she

kicked off her boots and looked around for a bottle of wine.
Exhausted after her shift at the diner, she just wanted a nice glass of
merlot. No food. God no.

"Hey, Tom-Tom!" She stooped to pick up the fat white cat that

had trotted over to rub around her ankles. "You're never so pleased to
see your Aunty Paula as you are when I'm here to feed you." In
response the cat purred, rubbing its big head under her chin. She set
him down again and found the can of cat food.

Fifteen minutes later, cat fed, plants watered and wine poured,

she was about to slump onto the sofa when the doorbell buzzed. She
figured it was the nosy landlord looking to see who was taking care of
the apartment in Vee's absence. Expecting to get rid of him in ten
seconds flat, she opened the door, wine in hand, and there, in the
hallway, was a giant, pastel Easter egg with a bow the size of her
head.

"Who the Hell...?" Stepping out into the hall she looked left and

right, but there was no one in sight. Just the egg. One, enormous egg.
A card hung from the bow. To Miss Veronica Van Ecksey, With Love.

It had to be from one of Vee's many, assorted boyfriends, of

course. They wouldn't realize she'd gone away to St. Barts for the
week. Well, she couldn't leave it out in the hall, so she walked around
it and pushed hard with her free hand, trying to roll it through the door
and into the apartment, but it was heavier than it looked and it
wouldn't tip. A piece of the bow snapped off. Chocolate. Damn, now
she'd have to eat some of it. How could she resist? Surely the entire
thing wasn't made of—

It rocked, and she heard groaning. Paula jumped, spilling wine on

her shirt and choking on the small shard of chocolate. "What the
fuck?"

The egg cracked and the top half tumbled into the apartment,

making Tom-Tom, who'd ventured over to check it out, take his
plump body on an impressive dive under the nearest chair.

As she watched in shock, a large, fluffy yellow chick with a wide

open, orange beak emerged, feathers drifting to the floor of the
corridor. With a very un-chick like curse, he tried to climb out of the
egg and instead the base rolled, tipping him out at her feet.

Apparently he gave up trying to stand at that point and recited his

greeting to the carpet by her toes.

"Roses are red, violets are blue,
Just like me when I'm without you."

Paula covered her lips with her free hand. Poor guy. She really

didn't want to laugh, but if he didn't hurry up and get it over with
she'd explode. He was trying to stand now, but one of his large, foam-
rubber feet was stuck under the other.

"Some chicks are yellow, this one is too,
But no chicks I know of are cuter than you."

She quickly gulped down her wine. Bad poetry had that effect on

her. But the voice was husky, warm, very likeable.

"With this gift I send you a piece of my heart,
And hope that we never shall be long apart."

One of the other doors down the corridor opened, a curious face

peering out. Taking sympathy on the newborn, clumsy chick, Paula
helped him to his over-sized foam feet and into the apartment, kicking
the bottom half of egg after him.

She closed the door, set her wine glass on the coffee table and

tugged off his fuzzy yellow head. The man beneath breathed a sigh of
gratitude. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this." He wiped an arm
across his perspiring brow. "I was supposed to do a dance too and—,"
suddenly he looked at her face. "Wait a minute. You're not..." He
pointed at the name on the egg.

"Nope." He managed to look handsome, she thought, even

dressed in yellow feathers. "Do this often?"

"Er, no..." he laughed sheepishly and started pulling off his

costume, including the yellow suspenders that held up his feathered
leggings. Was he naked under there? His perfectly sculpted torso
gleamed with a thin film of sweat and his shoulders were much
broader than she remembered. "Phew! Hot in there. I take it this
Veronica isn't around?"

"She's in St. Barts. I'm looking after her place."

"You might have told me before I made a fool of myself."
"Why?" She walked into the kitchen and got another glass out of

the dishwasher. "Not every day I get serenaded by an Easter egg."
Plus she knew he'd laughed in the diner when she cracked her head on
the swing door. Now she'd had her turn. They were even. "Like some
wine?"

She turned and found him right behind her in a pair of boxers.

Nothing else. "Since I'm here and we seem to keep running into one
another, I may as well get your number."

"What for?" Paula swallowed hard.
"So I can ask you on a date sometime." Taking the glass from her

hand he set it carefully on a shelf.

Come on, Paula, you're not eighteen anymore, not naïve. A date?

She hadn't been on a first date in more than six months. And dates, for
her, were generally disastrous. But she had to start over somewhere,
with someone, right? Why not skip the awkward first date altogether?
So she banished her nervousness, swiftly tucking her hair behind her
ears and facing him boldly. "You're here now. If you have something
to say, why phone? Say it now."

His eyes narrowed. "True." The word lingered. "Pretty crazy we

should meet again, huh?"

"You mean, three times in one day, Sam Jameson? Or after eight

years? Yep. Crazy." She backed up against the sink. "Where have you
been for those eight years?"

"I could ask the same of you, Paula...." He scratched the back of

his neck. "Er...don't think I ever knew your last name."

She laughed. "Stratton. But I don't think you cared to know it the

first time we met. I was just a gawky college freshman lusting after
the senior hunk." With a teasing look, she added, "Still working as an
artist's model?"

To her surprise he actually blushed a little. "God, no. I'm a

photographer now." Suddenly he reached over and swept her hair
back from her cheek. His thumb stroked her skin, made a shiver travel
across the entire surface of her body. "I never tasted anyone like you.
Not before or since."

Paula closed her eyes and remembered how he'd once kissed her

and then gone down on her in that art studio, the first man ever to put
his mouth on her pussy. At the time she hadn't even known what he
was doing. She was pretty innocent back then, a shy virgin who'd

never even had a boyfriend She was the serious student type and a
daydreamer, never knew what to do around men.

But that was eight years ago, of course.
"Do you remember, Paula?" he muttered, his voice hoarse, that

thumb stroking her cheek again, then moving to her lips, brushing
gently over them.

Remember? She was ready to cum again already, just from the

thought of his tongue, his mouth, his greedy appetite. Where did he
learn to do it that way, she wondered. Most men, so she'd found out
since then, didn't have a clue what they were doing down there. So
she sighed and relaxed, melting against the sink. "Yeah, I remember."

With one hand she reached for the bulge in his boxer shorts. She

ought to return the favor, right?

Her palm touched the heat of his dick through cotton. It was hard

already, pushing into her hand.

"We have time to make up," he said.
She opened her eyes. "I don't know anything about you."
"No one ever really knows anyone. We're both taking a chance

here. Besides," he grinned, "you have your hand on my cock, so I
figured there was nothing you need to know."

He was right about not really knowing people. Two weeks ago

she'd walked into her kitchen and found her boyfriend bent over her
boss on the rocking kitchen table. So unhygienic. Yet he'd always
been fastidious about cleanliness, even scrubbed the shower down
every time he used it and got a fresh towel out every day. Yet there he
was, plowing the Head of Fine Art Restoration, right there on a food
preparation surface.

"I do know you're a good kisser," she muttered.
"And I know your pussy is a taste I've been hungry for all these

years. I never thought I'd find you again."

"You didn't look very hard."
The tip of his tongue dampened his bottom lip. "I didn't even

know your last name, and I graduated two days after that class."

"That's life, I guess." They'd both got caught up in fate's tangles

since then. Eight years ago everything was simpler, people came and
went; they thought they had all the time in the world. "So why did
you do it? Why kiss me that night?" She'd been too timid back then to
ask, too stunned by what he did to her and how it shook her from head
to toe.

"Because you were the sweetest, loveliest girl I'd ever seen and

you'd captured me in your sketch—not just my body, but everything I
felt. As if you'd looked inside me, knew me better than anyone ever
had. Better even than I knew myself."

"Oh." If anyone else said that she wouldn't believe it. She would

have said it was corny. But his face was composed, his voice throaty
with desire. It was tempting to believe....

Christ, there was no way she should take him seriously— he'd

just jumped out of an egg dressed like an overgrown chick and now
he stood in her friend's kitchenette in his boxers. This had to be bad,
very bad.

Swiftly he lifted her to the edge of the countertop and leaned in

for a kiss so savage she was forced to grab his shoulders or fall back
into the sink.

* * * *

Fate was a curious thing. If he hadn't stopped the bus for her that

day, or decided to eat in his favorite diner, or stepped into an Easter
egg....

Now she was here in his arms and he had a feeling she was

always meant to be there. It was, in fact, almost as if they'd never
been apart. They didn't even need to catch up.

Her tongue slid against his eagerly, her hands gripping his

shoulders, pulling him closer.

One arm around her waist he let her legs wrap around him,

knowing she'd feel the hard ridge in his boxers. He carried her, their
mouths still locked in a frenzied kiss, to the living room. There he
lowered her to a Flokati rug by the fire and quickly removed her mini
skirt and leggings. She wriggled under him, apparently ticklish.

"Should we be doing this here? In my friend's apartment?"
"Yes." He wasn't waiting any longer. "Definitely."
To his surprise she was waxed, completely, not even a landing

strip. Well, that did it. No way could he wait now. With trembling
hands he stripped off his boxers, watching as she used two fingers to
touch her pink pussy lips. His balls ached, his cock was rigid.

"I have to deliver the Easter greeting, as bought and paid for," he

growled, moving his hand up and down his shaft.

"Damn. I hope she wasn't going to get all of you." Paula sat up to

shrug out of her over-sized shirt and then the t-shirt she wore under it.

"No. This is a special delivery. Miss Van Ecksey was only getting

the bad poetry."

Before she could get her bra off, he pushed her thighs apart and

bent down to use his mouth on her and taste that sticky, sweet honey
he remembered. His heartbeat raced as he ran his tongue over her soft,
pouty labia and heard her sigh with excitement. She was warm,
musky, delicious. She lay back on the rug. Sam pushed her legs wider
and bent them up so she was completely spread open for him, pussy
and ass on display. He settled on his stomach to lick her, stabbing his
tongue in and out of her cunt, laving her clit, suckling gently on her
pussy lips. This was even better than 24-hour breakfast, he mused.
Opening his mouth wide, he pressed it over her vulva, wriggled the
full length of his tongue inside her and continued a feasting that was,
by turns, hard and rough, then slow and steady. He drove her to the
peak, over and over, until she was sweating, back arching, thighs
trembling.

Unlike the quiet, meek little lady he once devoured in an art

studio, this one was a squealer, he discovered. Not so meek.

Now that he'd found her again he just had to make sure he kept

her. Tony accused him of being too soft, so he'd toughen up, be firm,
take the upper hand. He wouldn't lose this one.

Sam dug his tongue deeper still and wriggled it, grunting,

working her into a frenzied series of orgasms. He made her cream for
him and he swept his tongue through it, then sucked hard, milking her
quivering cunt with the hunger of a starving man.

Chapter Four

So that was where the squeezy bottle of chocolate fudge sauce

went! Mr. Sam Jameson had slipped it into his coat pocket and
walked out of the diner with it. As now proven, when he dashed off to
fetch it, returning to where she lay spread on the rug, wearing only her
bra.

"You know you gave this to me for a reason," he purred.
She protested her innocence, but weakly, "You asked for it."
"Yep." His eyes twinkled. "And you asked for this." He held the

bottle over her body and squeezed. A slow trickle of shiny, creamy
chocolate dropped to her belly button, made her yelp, and then, as he
moved the bottle, the stream wove its gentle way over her wet pussy.
"Keep your legs open," he demanded softly, his voice thick with
passion. She felt it dripping over her roused, swollen labia, oozing
cold between them. It was tough to lie still while she was yearning
inside, all her senses teased and vulnerable. Yet she obeyed his
commands and let him spread the chocolate all over her.

Vee's Flokati rug was about to get stained. Oh well, she'd take it

to the dry-cleaners before her friend returned.

He lowered his talented mouth over her belly button and sucked

it clean. Then began a painstakingly slow meander with his tongue,
over the trace of chocolate drips until he was back between her legs.

But before he licked that up he leaned over her again, kissed her

with a chocolate tongue and whispered, "Take off the bra."

"No please?"
"Exactly. Get it off."
She wanted to frown, but couldn't. He was too damn sexy, even

when demanding. With chocolate all over his lips. "It unclips in the
front."

Sam took the hint, snapping the bra open with one twist of his

fingers, sliding the cups to either side and then squeezing chocolate
coils over each nipple. The peaks tightened under those drips of cold
sauce and her boobs quivered. He knelt astride her waist and slid his
hard cock between the chocolatey mounds, pushing the flesh together
around his shaft with both hands.

"I wanted to do this since you walked up to take my order."
As he began to fuck the valley between her tits, Paula stabbed out

her tongue to greet his dark, swollen knob, tasting the sticky pre-cum

that hovered there, getting the occasional hint of chocolate too.
Yummy.

He slid back down her body and nuzzled between her thighs,

sucking and licking, but his arms reached up, his fingers never leaving
her nipples.

"Sam," she moaned, on fire, moving her hips, pushing her cunt

into his face. "Fuck me."

She needed it. Eight years ago he'd balked when he found she

was a virgin. Hadn't wanted to be the one who took her virginity.
Well, he wouldn't have that problem today.

"No condom," he grunted, briefly looking up from his sticky

feast.

"Vee keeps some by her bed," she panted. "Mickey Mouse cookie

jar."

He shot her a quick bemused glance and then leapt up and ran to

find them. While he was gone she grabbed the sauce bottle and
squeezed more over her body, leaving a zigzag pattern over her pussy.
She felt the smooth drips trickling down to her ass. Back in double-
time he was already opening a packet. And she happily noted the
handful of reserves he dropped to the coffee table.

When he looked down at her newly frosted body, she reminded

him, "You did say you have a sweet tooth."

Sam grinned, diving down again to lick her clean once more.

Damn, he was good with that tongue and he really went at it like a
man who enjoyed it—not as if he was merely doing it for her. She
might get addicted. He pressed the tip of his tongue between her
cheeks, even licking the chocolate sauce from her asshole. Her
muscles clenched, the needy pressure mounting. Feet flat to the rug,
she lifted her lower body, giving him full access. He cupped her ass in
his hands and lowered her until she was at the right angle; then he
plowed forward on his knees, entering her cunt in one smooth motion.

Paula was so wet, so ready, she almost screamed with relief at the

sudden fullness. Her legs bent on either side of his lap and she sat up,
impaling herself on his dick, riding him, her breasts bouncing.

"Paula," he growled, "Where have you been for eight years?"
"Waiting for you to come save me."
He tongued her right nipple and then closed his mouth over it,

sucking and nibbling. Ten hard fingertips squeezed her ass cheeks,
guiding her up and down, trying to dictate the pace. But the fucking

was wild, forceful, impatient. Finally his hands moved to her waist,
clasping her tight as he released his load, moaning and shuddering,
almost biting her swollen nipple.

* * * *

Sam came so hard he went dizzy, almost blacked out. Her hot,

tight cunt fit him like a glove—one he didn't want to take off. He
really wished he didn't have to use a condom. He wanted to feel all of
her, inside and out. Relish her as he would every last drop of ice
cream in his dish. Wrapping his arms around her, he let her melt
against his chest as the last, violent quakes of her own orgasm shook
her body, made her his, closed around him.

Where she should always be. Would always be from then on.

* * * *

Paula took her time with her own special banana split. Having

found a can of cream in Vee's fridge, she coated his penis with a thick
fleece of sweet goodness. He leaned back on his elbows and chuckled,
watching her decorate her treat.

"Sure you can eat all that?"
She shot him a look. "What do you think?"
His eyes grew cloudy. "Turn around. I want your pussy again."

He was bossy alright, but tough to refuse. "It's mine," he added, his
voice hoarse. She saw his cock twitch under all the cream. It stretched
to his navel, proud and strong. Her cunt tightened in joyful
anticipation of having that inside her again soon. "Come here," he
urged again. "I need your sweet pussy. Don't leave me hungry while
you eat."

Paula laughed, turned around and straddled his torso on her

knees. With a grunt of satisfaction he piped the canned cream in a
strip over her vulva as she bent over and took his gorgeous, long,
thick cock in her mouth. She closed her eyes and sucked, opening and
relaxing her throat to take it all in.

While she nursed steadily on him, he buried his mouth in her sex

again, as if he could never get enough of it. Their bodies rocked,
locked together, greedy and passionate, lost in their desires.

Until a sudden buzz at the door made them both freeze.

Paula lifted her mouth off his sticky knob. "Must be the

landlord," she hissed. "He'll go away."

But there was another buzz and then knuckles tapping on the

door. "Paula? Are you in there. I left my keys down in the car. I forgot
my passport. Are you in there? Paula?" The knocking grew louder.

The two naked, sticky, chocolaty people on the rug scrambled up.

Paula grabbed her over-shirt, pulled it on and ran to the door. But she
already heard her friend's high heels retreating down the hall. She
couldn't get the door unbolted fast enough, because her hands were
covered in whipped cream. By the time she was in the hall, the
elevator doors were shut.

"Damn. She's gone to get her key." Paula dashed back into the

apartment and her panicked gaze went straight to the stained rug, then
the broken giant egg. Finally to the tall, naked guy currently
scratching his head in the middle of the room, his erect penis
gleaming and pulsing. "You have to get back in the egg."

He looked taken aback. "Like this? It wasn't supposed to be that

type of greeting."

Oh, Christ. "Then go hide." She looked around, desperate. Where

the hell would Vee keep her passport? "No, don't go in the bedroom.
She'll probably go in there. Shit!" She rushed around gathering up the
chicken costume, the cream can and the chocolate squeezy bottle,
while he pulled on his boxers. "The bathroom. She won't go in there."

So he took himself into the bathroom and closed the door. Paula

tossed everything into the egg and set the top half carefully back in
place with only seconds to spare before a key rattled in the lock again.

Vee walked in and found her standing there in only her shirt,

arms folded, trying to look casual. "You are here. I thought you
would be. Didn't you hear me?"

"No, sorry, I was about to get a shower." She laughed uneasily.

"Tough day."

"What the hell is that?" Vee pointed her keys at the enormous

pastel Easter egg.

"Oh,some guy delivered it for you. Tacky, isn't it?"
"That's one word for it." She looked at the note attached and

shook her head. "As if I would eat that much chocolate and keep this
figure. I see you've had a chunk of it already."

"A piece of the bow fell off. So you forgot something and had to

come back?" Paula changed the subject swiftly.

"Passport." Vee rolled her eyes. As she walked through to her

bedroom Tom-Tom emerged from under the couch and she picked
him up for a kiss. "Darling! Behave for Aunty Paula, won't you?"
Then she paused. "He's got chocolate on his nose. And his fur."

Of course the damned cat was white and every mark showed.

"Really? I must have dropped some."

Vee looked at her sharply. "Is everything okay? You

look...fidgety."

"Just had a rotten day, that's all. I hope you don't mind me using

your shower. It's much nicer than the one in Lisa's place."

"Use anything you want. Stay overnight if you like."
"Thanks." But even as she smiled, she felt her heart skip a beat

because she just realized she'd forgotten the Flokati rug. Naturally
white, like Tom-Tom, it was currently streaked with chocolate sauce
and barely four feet away from her friend's Louboutins.

Vee strolled into her bedroom to get her passport, still cooing to

the cat draped over her arm. Paula flirted with the idea of trying to
hide the rug, but there was no time. Her friend came back out almost
immediately, kissed the cat again, handed him to Paula and thanked
her once more for apartment sitting.

As she opened the door and stepped into the hall, Vee looked

back over her shoulder and flashed a broad smile. "Don't eat all of it
or you might make yourself sick. I know you can't resist that much
chocolate."

"Oh, I won't...."
"And if you need more whipped cream, there's another can in the

closet, top shelf."

"But I..."
"And, Paula darling, don't keep him waiting too long in there."
The door closed and her laughter echoed down the hall.

* * * *

He was in the shower, adjusting the temperature. "Come here, my

little chocolate kiss, and let me wash you off."

"You're pretty damn bossy, Jameson."
Lathering up with a bar of soap, he grinned at her, wolfish, sexy.

"So can I stay here tonight?"

"Maybe." She passed him his phone, which she'd found on the

floor, half under the couch. "Somebody by the name of Shelby is
trying to reach you."

His gaze moved slowly to the phone in her hand. "My ex."
She said nothing. Finally he dried his hands on a towel, took the

phone and deleted the name "Shelby" from his contacts.

"She doesn't share my sweet tooth," he explained with a shrug.
Relieved, Paula nodded. "Not that it's any business of mine,

anyway."

"Now it is." Dropping the phone into the nearby sink, he

beckoned. "Come here."

Paula slipped out of her shirt and joined him in the shower.

"Don't you want to know if there's a man in my life?"

He lifted her against the wet tile, kissed her chin and nibbled her

neck. "No, because he's not significant. If he let you wander out of his
sight he doesn't deserve you." His tongue wound its way to her nipple.
"I let you disappear once and it took me eight years to find you again.
I learned my lesson."

She laughed. "You didn't even remember me this morning."
"This did," he whispered, sliding her down onto his prick. "And I

knew I liked the taste. Just took me a little while to identify where I
last had that flavor."

Paula gasped, turning her face up to the spurt of water from the

showerhead, feeling his shoulder muscles tense and work as he lifted
her up and down his shaft, fucking her slow, hard and deep. It seemed
as if he really was intent on making up for those eight years. She
wasn't about to stop him.

"I'm claiming you," he growled into her wet, soapy breast. "For

my sweet tooth."

* * * *

And that was how two strangers found each other, and love, in

the busy, crowded city.

As she'd always been told, it happened when it was least

expected.

Stay Up To Date With New Releases!

http://www.twistederoticapublishing.com

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cat Kelly never met an animal she didn’t love or a stray she couldn’t
take in. It’s been both the passion and the bane of her life. She loves
coffee, Pot Noodles and the smell of hot tarmac. On her free time
you’ll probably find her wandering around graveyards for the peace
and quiet. She’s a born and bred country girl who moved to the big
city, trading a shot gun for a keyboard and riding boots for high heels.
A cross between Ellie Clampett and Mary Tyler Moore with a little
bit of The Addams Family thrown in.

Twisted Erotica Publishing

www.twistederoticapublishing.com