“245,” he said.
“You gain some weight?”
“Fuck no. I keep this machine lean.” He smoothed a hand over his flat stomach in a way that left me staring at the handprint of flour on the red material. He complained about the color of our shirts all the time, said there should be a uniform exemption for gingers.
“You said before you could bench press your weight, and you said you weighed 215 pounds,” I said to test him.
Carter gave me a self-satisfied smile. “Been paying attention, Rodrigues.”
I rolled my eyes at his arrogance and wondered if that was his intention all along, to show off how strong he was. “I’m sure myunclecould bench at least that, but I wouldn’t know because he’s out of the country.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all night.”
He snapped his fingers, did a little head roll, and went back to kneading the dough. I watched his ass twitch as he tossed it from hand to hand, and the way he rolled his hips while spreading it across the circular tray. Was he performing for me, or was I justreallyhorny?
Then he spun around, startling me, and I stuffed the pepper into my mouth, stem and all. He handed me the platter so I could add the toppings. Instead of hanging back by the dough counter, he stood so close I had to reach around him to get at the pepperoni. My hand was grasping; the bin was empty.
“So, do you…” He made an obscene hand gesture that was supposed to represent topping, “or do you…” and there was the other.
I shook my head at him. Just when he’d started acting like a gentleman.
“We’re out of pepperoni. Meet me in the walk-in if you want to find out.” I left him with a stunned expression and a ringing phone as I headed back to the freezer for a much-needed cool down.
I rifled through the boxes until I found a pepperoni to replenish the line. I was just turning around when Carter stepped into the freezer and closed the door behind him without sealing it completely. It wasn’t a large space—about the size of a large, walk-in closet. Even though it was dimly lit, I saw him perfectly. He was panting like a dog. His sweat was all I could smell.
“What, are you gay now?” I asked, bewildered.
He only shrugged, still staring at me with a ravenous look in his eyes.
“You want to hold my pepperoni?” He looked confused, so I handed him the box. He glanced down at it and grinned. This was his chance to walk away. We could both pretend this never happened. Just a joke. But he didn’t. He set the box on a shelf and took a step closer.
My thoughts immediately flashed back to that mutilated cucumber, scarred by my razor-sharp teeth. “I can’t use my mouth,” I told him. His eyebrows lifted. “Cold sore.”
He took another step closer, towering over me, and I swallowed my spit in anticipation. He crooked his finger under my chin and traced his thumb along my lower lip. The pad of his finger was dusted with flour, and I was careful to keep my teeth out of his reach. He advanced slowly—until my back was flat against a metal shelving unit—and pressed his erection against me.Shit, this is really happening.Carter gripped the shelf with both hands and angled his neck to offer me the perfect view of his throbbing pulse. I smelled yeast and sweat and skin.
“Feel how hard I am,” he commanded and ground against me.
I rubbed the outside of his khakis, stretched so tight, the ridge of his head was outlined by the material. I cupped that soft knob of flesh, and Carter groaned like the sound had been trapped inside him.
“Take it out,” he said with impatience and then softer, “please.”
With shaking hands, I unbuckled his belt and unhooked the button, slid down the zipper stretched tightly over his dick, and reached inside to find him warm and throbbing. Like a fever. Like my hunger. Carter tensed and I froze, my hand going rigid around his spongy flesh. But then he leaned closer and tilted his head so that his neck was bared.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said.
“I won’t,” I promised. Had I seduced this secret from him? Taken advantage? I hoped not. I wasn’t trying to, at least.
I swallowed down another gob of saliva and stroked him. It wasn’t long before he’d fumbled open my pants and was doing the same for me. We were a tangle of arms, fists, and hot, hungry breath, steaming between us in the frigid air. His smell surrounded me in a fog of pheromones. Carter came first with a stifled moan that sounded like confession. I thought he’d stop touching me, but his concentration only grew more focused. As I imagined he looked when he was lifting weights, face red and straining, veins swollen and throbbing with his blood rushing like a river, dammed up by only his skin. I fantasized about Carter’s blood pouring over me, opening my mouth to catch it on my tongue like rain. And then I was leaning in, brushing my lips against the ridge of his collar bone, drinking in his scent, licking his skin, opening my mouth, biting down, drawing blood, sucking, sucking harder, pumping into his fist, coming with shoots of lightning behind my eyelids, swallowing, gulping.
And then Carter collapsed in a heap on the floor. I screamed, and the freezer door swung open. I stared back at Juan, his face a mask of horror.
“Call 9-1-1,” I shouted. There was blood all over the front of me, still dripping down the corners of my mouth.
I rolled Carter onto his back and tried to shake him awake. His face was pale as a corpse, eyes bruised, mouth hanging open. His neck was torn and bleeding. I pressed my palm flat against the leaking wound and fought the urge to take more.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” I begged while sobbing.
I was still so hungry.
