Clive hit "send" before his brain registered what the fuck he just did. He stared at the screen, the blue bubble of his "Are you home?" message sitting there, delivered. He rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles there tight enough to snap. Still no response from his mother. It had been the same radio silence for months, ever since his older brother had nabbed that Michelin star. Suddenly, the family universe revolved around "The Chef," and Clive was just the guy running a bakery in a town nobody visited. What was the fucking point of trying to compete with a pedestal that high? He let out a long, jagged sigh and dropped the phone into a woven basket on the counter. He’d bought the thing from a local artisan who swore it would bring “luck and prosperity." So far, the only thing it had brought was dust bunnies. He quickly adjusted his posture once the clacking of a certain someone’s boots echoed across the hall.

"Siiiiiir? Quick question. Am I supposed to whisk this clockwise or counter-clockwise to get the 'crumb' right?" Melody asked in such an innocent manner it was almost ridiculous.

“Huh? Doesn’t matter, just don’t overwork it.” He tilted his head in wonder as he approached. “Is that...” He could feel the structure of his face contort to disgust. It was bubbling. The thing looked fucking alive.

"Sourdough," she finished before he could ask. "I’ve been working on this batch since last Friday, but it’s just not... stiffening up. I thought more whisking would help?"

"Since Friday? Mel, it’s Tuesday." A whine escaped her lips as he pried the whisking bowl from her hands. "Sourdough fermentation for a loaf takes twenty-four hours, max. If you leave dough out for FOUR DAYS, look at this! The gluten has completely disintegrated. It’s literal soup!"

“What?! I swear, the TikTok video said—

"TikTok lied to you! It looks like the scream cheese from HOTEL FUCKING TRANSYLVANIA! ” He felt his breath run short. “Throw it out. Also, use a hairnet. This is your tenth warning.”

“Fine, I’ll throw it! Also, you never tell Ryo to put on a hairnet.”

“BECAUSE HE’S BALD! ”

"Phooey." She snatched the bowl back, giving him a small, sheepish smile that softened his irritation just enough to keep him from firing her. He watched her retreat into the kitchen before heading out to the front of the shop. Sylvia was already there, her small frame moving with surprising grace as she arranged a fresh tray of macarons in the display case. The morning light caught the vibrant colors: lavender, pistachio, and a deep, rich salted caramel. “Hey, Granny. How’s the coffee machine? ” Clive slid his way in between counters, placing his hands on her granny shoulders.

"Ryo’s macarons are always such a hit," Sylvia murmured. "The neighborhood kids are going to have more cavities than teeth at this rate, but they keep coming back!”

"He’s a wizard with meringue, I'll give him that," Clive muttered. Reaching over the glass, he snagged a stray caramel macaron and popped the whole thing into his mouth. The shell shattered perfectly, the center chewy and decadent. "Fuck," he mumbled through a mouthful. "That hits the spot. Ryo, you talented son of a sonnuvabitch."

Sylvia sharply smacked his forearm. "Language! And those are for the paying customers, you immature boy. Honestly, I don't know how this place stays afloat with you eating the profits." She smoothed her apron. "But yes, the coffee machine is back online. I checked the gaskets myself."

"Damn, lady, you understand that shit? Huzzah.”

The bell chimed as a new customer walked in. And in that moment, Clive felt time stop. Like the entire world revolved around the way she walked in, the way her steps clattered against the wooden floors of his bakery. The way her hair was swept through by the breeze outside. The way his heart was moving at 20 kilometers per SECOND. Second. Not an hour. Milliseconds even. Clive felt his heart rate spike to a frantic rhythm, his palms suddenly damp. Sylvia started to move forward, her usual professional smile in place. "Hello! Welcome to—"

"RISE AND CLIVE," Clive barked out, moving a bit too fast. He placed a hand on Sylvia’s shoulder, gently but firmly nudging the confused older woman aside so he could take center stage. "I mean... Welcome to Rise and Clive." He cleared his throat, feeling like he’d just swallowed a handful of sugar. He caught a glimpse of the ID badge clipped to her blazer. Cute name, he thought, brain scrambling to regain its coolness. He leaned against the counter, trying to look like a man who wasn't currently panicking. "What can I get for you?" He flashed a grin and followed it up with a wink. "Aside from me, of course. I’ve got a few... uh, special recommendations on the menu today."

He felt her tense against his fingertips, lips pressed against her nape as her pink walls swallowed him whole. She was perfect. Nothing like the sorority girls that grinded on his dick back when he still studied at NYU. No, she had a perfect tightness. Each thrust of his cock felt like she was made for him, like her pussy was carved in the shape of his cock so well he could just enter without much effort.

“Don’t tense, baby, it’s alright.” He held her by the hips—his free hand moving to press down on her stomach where a bulge erected. “I’m barely in.” He could feel she was close, the way her pussy would clamp down on him. The way it’d tighten and grip his dick like it was a suction cup. It was almost fucking painful, but in a good way. He felt her get close, her hand reaching to touch her clit—but he managed to grab it before she touched it. “No. We’re not doing that.” He pulled out, and he chuckled once a whine escaped those pretty lips. “Sorry. Too soon? ” He murmured against her neck, “You’re not allowed to cum yet. Alright? ” He felt the absence left her thighs trembling, her juices dripping down like a waterfall. Her tits were pressed on the countertop, ass facing him. He stared down for a moment before his eyes caught a bag of flour at the corner. He had a really stupid idea.

Reaching over, he grabbed some of the powder. Her bewildered expression amused him. I mean, who the fuck takes flour while they’re fucking a hot chick in a kitchen? Clive will, of course. Once his palms were powdered enough, his grin practically reached his ears. He slapped her ass, watching it jiggle alongside the flour imprinted on her skin. "Damn, girl, I feel like I’m playing patty cake.” He slowly lodged back inside, not all the way. Never all the way at—at first. He gripped one cheek and plunged into the base.

“Fuck.” He kissed her shoulder. “I love this ass.” The way it bounces with each thrust, with each pound, like fucking jelly. Another slap shot out, his fingers kneading her flesh, exposing her second hole as he licked his lips. “I wonder what’ll happen if Ryo catches us... Maybe he’ll lend me some of his whipped cream. But my whipped cream’s better, don’t you think? Or would you rather have both? His hand pressed against her neck, his thrusts coming in faster—"I used to really like both.”

He felt her clench against him again. He slows down and pulls out. He placed his hand underneath her chin, squeezing her face. His lips met her cheek. A quick and soft peck. His breath came in shallow gasps.

“No cumming yet. Okay? ”