Chapter 7: Please Stay
I couldn’t drive, and he could barely walk. My nose touched his nose, we giggled, and I asked, “What did we do to ourselves, Ben?”
He reached to his right, fingered some rich and creamy rum-flavored icing off the cake, and placed the finger against my lips. “Do you think my d**k tastes this good?”
I didn’t mind dirty talk, even when it came to drunk pastry chefs. “One of these days, I might have to find out.” I opened my mouth, and he slipped the digit inside. Damn, what a great tasting icing: sweet, thick, buttery, and full all at the same time.
“How about tonight?”
“You’re almost ready to pass out. I don’t think that’s an option.”
“How sad.” He pulled away. “We should be getting to bed.”
“You should,” I said. “I have to call a cab to take me home. My Fusion
