Chapter 10 - Peter

The drive to the bakery is excruciating. From the moment we get in the car, the silence deepens between us like the gulf of an uncrossable ocean.

I keep my arms folded across my chest as I glare out the window, refusing to look at Lucy. I’ve spent so much of my life doing whatever I want, whenever I want, that being forced into going to work with her feels worse than prison.

I keep my eyes fixed on the nearby mountains, dreaming of the moment I’ll be free and can disappear into them. Even though I’m wishing fervently that it comes soon, it looks like I’ve got a terrible problem standing in my way.

My wolf won’t leave her.

The feeling is horrific—like being ripped in two. There is panic singing under my skin, like billions of electric needles pricking me from the inside out, feeding into my blood and making me desperate to run as far from Lucy as I possibly can.

Meanwhile, my wolf whimpers softly, close to contentment, as my primal soul begs to curl up at her feet with my nose in her lap.

No, I won’t!

Since the kiss last night, I’ve become even more desperate to get away. The feel of her lips on mine was the most exciting thing I’d ever felt, and yet, there was a gentle contentment in it, too. Something that clicked deep inside me, a key turning in a lock that opened a secret door in my soul.

It felt like home.

I shake myself a little, fighting the urge to throw the door open and leap out of the moving car. I have no idea how far I’d get before the forced teleport brought me straight back, but it seems worth it just to get away from her, even if it’s only for a few minutes.

If I don’t get away from her soon, I will never leave.

“Are we there yet?” I say, saying anything at all to cover up my discomfort.

“Soon,” Lucy murmurs. Her voice is so soft and soothing, even when she’s upset.

And she is upset… and deeply turned on.

It’s a fact I can’t ignore. I’ve sensed her arousal several times, but after the kiss last night, there is a slow burn within her that hasn’t settled down. It means I can’t fully calm down, either.

“Okay,” she says, sighing. “We’re here.”

She pulls her car into a small parking lot behind a set of one-story buildings. She lets us in through the back door and I’m surrounded by a perfectly clean stainless steel kitchen with long counters and a whole wall of ovens. Lucy leads me to the front of the bakery, where there’s a long glass counter full of wire racks, benches for packaging goods, and a small, old-fashioned cash register.

“Okay,” she says. “I have to get the ovens fired up and some dough proving—we open in a couple of hours. Are you going to just watch me work, or do you want something to do?”

I don’t want to help, but the idea of simply watching her bake sounds like unbelievable torture.

I can just picture her kneading dough or beating cake batter, getting sprinkles of powdered sugar all over her…

“I’ll work,” I say, not trusting myself to say more.

“Alright. I appreciate it. See those crates over there? Can you stack all the prepacked goods onto the shelves? Then fill the fridge with drinks—there are more in the cooler out back. After that, just give the floor a quick sweep and wipe down the counters and windows.”

“Jeez!” I roll my eyes. “Anything else? Would you like me to build an extension to the roof as well?”

“Sure,” she says, her face blank. “Whatever you have time for.”

Before I can think of a retort, she disappears out the back. While I stack the shelves, I can hear her slamming things down and shoving equipment around. It’s immature of me, but I kind of like the idea that I’ve managed to irritate her.

Moving the drinks turns out to be a bit physical, and I’m grateful for it. The fridge is almost empty, so I bring boxes out from the cooler and fill every shelf. The crates are heavy and the display case is deep, so I end up immersing myself in the work for quite some time.

Once I’m done, I’m surprised to see that the sun has fully come up and it’s almost seven. Sweeping the floor and wiping the display cases doesn’t take long, and I head out back to see where Lucy is up to.

When I walk into the kitchen, her sweet, peachy scent hits me right in the face—but now it’s mingled with powdered sugar, candy sprinkles, and chocolate chips.

Arousal floods through me, so powerful and sudden, it hurts. I feel my cock pressing against the ridiculously tight pants, and I have to stop and cover my mouth and nose before I embarrass myself.

What ridiculous fucking clothes! I can’t believe my brother actually wears these.

“Peter!” Lucy calls. “What are you doing just standing there? I could use your help.”

“Coming,” I say, my voice coming out low and strained.

Not quite, but almost!

The closer I get to her, the harder my blood pounds. As I walk up behind her, the fresh, sweet scent wafts around me, and I almost lose control. The liquid fire floods my body, making my blood sing as my hands itch to touch her and my cock begs to be free of the insanely tight pants.

“Put your hands in here,” Lucy says. I murmur softly, my eyes closed. The smell of freshly baked vanilla cake mixed with melted white chocolate is thick on my tongue, with a hint of ripe peach dancing beneath it.

“Peter!” Lucy snaps, and I open my eyes in a hurry. I look to see her cheeks red, her hair coming out of its ponytail. She looks frustrated, hot, and completely out of patience.

“Yes?” I mutter, trying to focus.

“Here, knead this cookie dough,” she says. “What the hell is going on with you? Are you feeling okay or just being purposefully difficult?”

“Purposefully difficult,” I answer decisively.

She makes a sound of total exasperation, throwing her hands in the air as she turns her back and strides over to the ovens. I stick my hands into the cookie dough, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Ah… is this right?” I ask hesitantly. The dough is soft and squishy in my hands, warm and sticky on my skin.

Lucy appears beside me and looks over my shoulder. The fresh scent of peaches hits me again. I imagine rubbing the dough all over my hands, then running them over her naked body. The sticky, sweet dough spreads in caramel-colored trails as I tease her with my fingers, then lower my tongue and lips to lick her clean—

“Yes, that’s good,” she says, and for one very confusing moment, I think my fantasy has become reality. “Just knead it until the sugar dissolves, so the mixture isn’t gritty,” she adds. “Then make little balls and flatten them on this cookie sheet.”

Yep, okay, reality check. Our clothes are still on.

“Okay,” I mutter, not looking at her and trying not to breathe.

“Damn, it’s almost eight!” she exclaims. “I have to open up. Will you be okay here?”

“Sure,” I answer, though not sure I understand.

I’ll say just about anything at this point if it will make her go away.

“Good,” she says, grabbing trays full of donuts and heading out the front.

While I smash cookies onto the cookie sheet, she returns several times for trays of baked goodies to stock the front windows. I hear the doors open out front, the jingle of the little bell, and customers’ voices as they greet Lucy.

I run out of dough, so I have cookie sheets full of squished mixture but no idea what to do with them. I wander around, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. I find a plate of sausage rolls and remember that I haven’t had breakfast, so I help myself to a few.

While I’m eating, a sharp, smoky smell starts to creep through the room. I assume Lucy knows what she’s doing, and I don’t pay too much attention to it.

Then, a couple of minutes later, a smoke alarm goes off. I jump up like a shot and run over to the ovens.

“Peter!” Lucy shrieks, arriving by my side. “You said you had everything under control!”

“I did!” I protest as she turns off the ovens and yanks them open. Clouds of smoke fill the room, and shelves of blackened bread are revealed on every shelf.

She groans. “You were supposed to get the bread out when the timer went off, after you put the cookies in.”

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“I assumed you knew. I asked if you had it all figured out.”

“How was I supposed to know you were talking about the bread?”

Lucy groans, rolling her eyes as she puts her hands on her hips. “Putting the cookies in the oven once they were on the sheet should have been intuitive, and you couldn’t put anything in the oven without taking something out. I thought it would have been obvious!”

“Not to me!”

Lucy looks like she’s about to let fly, but takes a deep breath instead. I’m grateful for the burned bread and layers of smoke—I can barely catch a hint of peaches through it.

“Where are the cookies now?” she asks.

“Still on the sheet.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ve got to go back out the front. Can you throw these away and start a new batch? The bread recipe is right there. Do you think you can manage that?”

“I’ll try,” I mutter. I’m not exactly confident, but I do feel bad about burning the bread.

“I’ll be back soon to check on you,” she says.

I want to make a cutting remark, but she disappears before I can.

I throw out the blackened loaves of bread and put the cookies in the oven. When I look at the bread recipe, I see it’s extremely simple. I only have to mix a few ingredients together before I start kneading the dough.

The dough needs to be really pummeled, then left to prove before kneading it again. It’s immensely satisfying to slam the dough into the hard tabletop and smash it back and forth.

Now this is actually fun! I’d never admit it to Lucy, but I’m starting to enjoy myself back here.

I’m so occupied kneading the dough that the faint scent of peaches filters slowly through my senses before I notice that she’s standing across the bench, watching me. My heart does a little jump in my chest.

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask.

“A little while,” she says. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“Thanks,” I answer, a smile of real warmth spreading across my face.

She smiles back, and there is a moment of pure, blissful connection between us.

And it scares the fuck out of me.

“It’s not like this is difficult,” I say caustically. “So I don’t think much of your praise. Do you think I need your validation? It’s not like I’m here by choice.”

She frowns. “I was just saying that—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I don’t care. Go and serve some customers or something and stop trying to be my babysitter.”

“You did almost burn the kitchen down,” she points out, almost whispering.

“A mistake I won’t make again. Just get off my case, seriously. I can’t take this anymore. If it’s not your wisecracks, it’s your disapproval. Do I need to remind you that this situation is entirely your fault?”

Lucy shakes her head. “No,” she chokes out. “You don’t.” She turns to go, and I notice her wipe her eyes with the back of her hand.

Shit. Did I just make her cry?

For a moment, I freeze. Part of me wants to chase after her and apologize. The other half of me wants to slam the dough as hard as I can until I can forget this horrible guilty feeling.

Even though the urge to follow Lucy is strong, the dough wins out, and I keep my emotions held tightly in check.