Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Penn

It should have been a downright shame that I was at home, in my boxers and under my blue flannel comforter before nine thirty.

My parents were usually in bed by eight, what with keeping baker’s hours my entire life.

Aside from a few times my classmates and I went out, I was mostly the same.

There was a simplicity to my routine, but that night I couldn’t get comfortable, despite feeling practically exhausted from a long work day.

The house was quiet, and I knew I was the only one awake, which didn’t help matters.

My mind was strangely alert, but then again, doomscrolling social media probably wasn’t helping matters.

I wasn’t the jealous type by any means, but if I had a nickel for every post I saw of a classmate getting married or having kids, I swore I could open my own bakery.

I’d never really thought about getting married or having kids in the sense that I imagined myself with my exes making cheesy and annoying posts like that.

I’d always known I would get married and have kids someday, much like a kid knows Christmas is coming. You don’t question it, but the day itself varies and the gifts aren’t always the same.

When I thought about what I wanted in my future, that’s what came to mind, but I hadn’t met anyone I could envision my cookie cutter Hallmark Happy Ending with just yet.

I continued to scroll as I thought about the wedding.

About all the couples dancing, the bride and groom smiling ear to ear .

The hot stranger standing by my cake.

Instantly, my cock twitched in my boxers, reminding me of my embarrassment from earlier. Except, there was nothing to be embarrassed about in the privacy of my own bedroom.

Maybe I really did just need to bust out a good nut.

Nonchalantly, I slid my hand in between my boxers, gently pulling and brushing my thumb over my head as I set my phone down with my free hand.

I eased into my pillows, beneath my covers, building a slow rhythm. I closed my eyes, clearing my mind to focus on the feel of my hand, the thrust as I tightened my grip.

Steadily, I increased my pace, my palm already wet from the precum soaking my head. It was warm, sticky, and for some reason, it turned me on a lot more than it usually did.

I gripped my shaft, squeezing as my breath hitched. I stopped only for a moment, to spit in my hand, to get myself real wet and slippery. I slid my boxers off, needing the freedom of movement. Underneath the covers, I throbbed with need. I grabbed myself once more, lathering my cock in my spit.

The touch of my hand against my rock hard cock, my thumb brushing over my rigid veins felt so good.

And then the strangest thought popped into my brain.

A hot, wet tongue licking my shaft, from my balls to my head, taking me into the back of his throat, while he cupped my balls, squeezing them until I ? —

Before I could even process such an anomaly of thought, I came.

“Oh fuck...” I cursed under my breath, scrambling to cover the spewing geyser that was my cock, if only because I didn’t want dried jizz on the inside of my comforter.

My body shook as my cock pulsed, coating my hand, and my entire body practically melted into the mattress.

“Everyone has an off day, Penn, that’s all it is,” I told myself, swallowing harshly as the thought dissipated in my brain.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I said, reaching in my drawer for a towel with my free, clean hand.

I took my time cleaning up, trying to focus on anything but the weird image my mind had formed to get me off.

What was my deal today?

First that hot stranger, now this?

Maybe my lack of a sex life really was affecting my mental state. I should probably look into that.

Pulling my underwear back on, I settled into bed once more, but a harsh object poked me in the back.

“Ow!” I yelped as I reached behind me, pulling out my phone.

Of course, how could I have forgotten.

Just as I went to plug it in, I noticed I’d been tagged. Or more or less, the bakery had been tagged. The bakery’s Facebook page saw more action than my personal one, which was just another reason I’d given up on socializing.

I scrolled through the images of the wedding, coming across some beautiful images of the cake. Truly, I’d never seen images like them before. The angles, the detail. I wondered if I could use said pictures for my cake portfolio.

I clicked my way around until I found the name of the photographer.

De*Vil Photography was the name of the company. Clicking on the page, I noted their tagline was the devil’s in the details, pasted across a collage of artfully done black and white images that captured people in various states. Silhouettes of brides, little kid hands inside of their parents holding flowers, even an image of two men embracing on Main Street under the streetlights, the light refracting off the puddles of rain.

I squinted as I tried to make out their dark features. One of them looked like that Rhodes guy, the one who was always in the paper. Weston or Westley or something or other.

Scrolling down the page, I looked for their information, fully intent on emailing them to ask if I could use their photos, when an idea popped into my head.

As I clicked through their portfolio, it was apparent that they were really good at what they did, not just by the photos they’d posted of the wedding tonight already, but in every wedding album, the photographs of the cakes, the cookies.

I knew mom and dad had no clue when it came to social media, or digital content.

I’d started an Instagram in college for the bakery as a side project, but until recently I hadn’t focused on it at all, being as I wasn’t home.

I’d showed my mom numerous times how to take a picture with her phone and upload it, but clearly she wasn’t as invested in the technological advances of business nowadays.

But that was my job, wasn’t it?

To take over the operations?

To bring Penn’s bakery into the twenty-first century?

Which was why I didn’t think twice about messaging Mr. De*Vil about the use of his photos of my masterpiece, as well as potentially collaborating on a social media campaign for the bakery.

I figured it couldn’t hurt to reach out, right?