Princess.The nickname slides over my skin like fresh caramel. It’s not sleazy. It’s… gentle. Confident. As if he’s used to saying it and being obeyed.Daddy vibes, my brain whispers unhelpfully.
His gaze flicks to the door, making sure we’re alone, then back to me. “Any particular specifications for this, uh, dick?”
I swallow around the lump in my throat and lift my chin. “I want it big. Like, offensively large.” I gesture with my hands before I can stop myself, then cringe. “But not cartoonish. Realistic. Something to bruise his ego.”
His mouth twitches. “You want aspitedick.”
“That’s a terrible phrase,” I say while biting back a grin.
“Is it wrong?” he counters, his eyes gleaming.
I sigh. “Unfortunately, no.”
He nods, all business now. Well, as much as a man can be while designing a vengeful chocolate phallus. “Got it. Big, realistic, ego-ruining. For a man I’m assuming is an ex.”
“Ex-husband.” The word still feels foreign on my tongue. Lighter and heavier at the same time. “Bobby Jones.”
Something shifts in the man’s expression. It’s subtle—a hardening around his eyes, a tension in his jaw—but it’s there.
“Didn’t know you and Bobby were divorced,” he says quietly, staring at the counter between us.
I blink. “You know Bobby?”
“Yeah.” His gaze holds mine. “Never liked him.”
A startled laugh slips out of me. “I realize I shouldn’t have either.”
He makes a low sound, almost like agreement, and shakes his head. “You’re better off without him.”
The words hit me in the chest. Simple. Firm. No pity, just certainty.
I shrug one shoulder, pretending my eyes aren’t stinging. “Tell that to the part of me that wasted ten years on a guy who thought ‘foreplay’ was two minutes of awkward groping and sloppy kisses.”
His brows pull together, and something protective flares in his expression. “He cheated on you.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.
“For a year,” I confirm. “With some ditzy girl from the mall.” I huff a humorless laugh. “So, yeah. He deserves a chocolate dick with a side of ghost peppers.”
The man’s lips curve slowly. And, wow, that smile should be illegal. “Ghost peppers, huh?”
“If possible,” I say primly. “I want him to feel it, to feel the burn he deserves.”
He lets out a low, appreciative chuckle, then straightens, rubbing his palms together like we’re planning a heist. “Okay then. I’ve got some ideas.”
He reaches behind the counter, grabs a small notepad, and clicks a pen. The movement pulls his jacket tight over his chest, and I am once again betrayed by my eyeballs.
His voice cuts into my mental detour. “Tell me something.”
I jerk my gaze up to meet his. “Yeah?”
He studies me, his head tilted and his pen resting loosely in his fingers. “You really want him to choke on it?”
A slow smile tugs at my lips. “I want him to open the box, see that thing, and question every life choice he’s ever made.”
My new coconspirator grins, big and full and devastating. A second dimple appears on the other side of his face, and now I’m sure I’ve seen them before. I just can’t place where.
“I can make that happen,” he says. “But it’ll take a day or two. I don’t keep…dicksin stock.”
