B&E Humor/Romance
Bag Boy by bornonhalloween
When the town cougar needs a zucchini, the bag boy at the local market gets a tip that's more than he bargained for.
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CHAPTER 2
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I woke to the new day with a general sense of well-being I couldn't quite pinpoint with the fog of sleep still clouding my brain. The haze cleared as I stretched my legs and arms to opposite ends of the mattress. The memory of my encounter with the adorable bag boy played in my head like the sweetest wake-up call, bringing with it a smile even a conversation with the douchebag ex-husband couldn't have dimmed.
Ahhh yes, my new cub. Sweet, sexy, hungry, eager.
I rolled over and checked the time: 7:48. He'd be at work already, khakis still creased from his mother's laundry, yellow shirt buttoned up from the cuffs to the pulse point at his neck, drab brown tie completing his corporate bondage.
I pictured him, poised at the end of the conveyor belt, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed from the Red Bull he snagged from the employee fridge, waiting like a good soldier to stack up the day's groceries. And he'd be thinking of me; I'd made sure of that. Whatever sludge Edward Cullen had to mop up today, he'd keep one eye on the door.
But there was no trip to Nature's Bounty on my agenda today. Nope, the bounty would be coming to me instead.
Bagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboy
I waited for her all day, scoured the parking lot for the Roadster, started at every tall brunette who walked in the store. At 2:30, my boss paged me to the courtesy booth.
"I need you to make a delivery."
"Me?"
"The customer requested you by name. She said you provided outstanding service yesterday."
It was her. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. "Okay."
"As you know, Edward, customer service is our first priority. Just remember, you're representing Nature's Bounty at all times." He handed me a slip of paper with the address. "She wants a pint of the locally grown blueberries."
"That's it?"
He shrugged. "Probably got halfway through making a pie. I've already charged her card. I'll punch you out at three."
"Thank you, Mr. Banner."
"Thank you, Edward. By the way, if she decides to tip you for the delivery, it's okay to accept."
I'm hoping for a tip, all right. She was already paying a hefty delivery charge for one pint of berries; clearly money was no object. But then, it wasn't her money I wanted.
I picked out the green cardboard carton with the plumpest berries and topped off the container to overflowing. The blueberries and I set off for 2637 Morgan Street, my mind racing with questions my dick wanted answered.
Her driveway was long enough for ten houses. As my beat-up shitbox of a Volvo climbed the hill, I pictured myself behind the wheel of her roadster, top down on a sunny day, radio blaring, her face in my lap sucking me off while the wind whistled through my hair. Roadster Head.
And now I'm hard.
I straightened my tie and my posture before ringing the bell. The door swung open, and I was completely unprepared for the sight of her in a short, white towel and nothing else. She took one look at my astonished expression and laughed.
"How'd you get here, by F-16? I thought I'd have time to at least put on some panties."
I swallowed hard. I might have sped a wee bit, but she damn well knew when to expect me. And she certainly could've kept me waiting two more seconds to put on a robe if she'd wanted to—not to mention panties. Jesus, the word alone made me dizzy.
"I, uh . . . have your blueberries." I remembered to hand her the bag, but it took all my concentration to ignore the tantalizing space between her legs, where the towel just barely grazed her thighs.
She put a hand on her hip and crossed one ankle over the other, raising the towel by a dangerous margin. "Do you mean to tell me the ten-dollar delivery fee doesn't include washing and putting away the groceries?"
I was pretty sure it didn't. "Of course. Yeah . . ." I cleared my throat and stepped inside. "I can do that for you." Or anything else you might think of.
"Kitchen's this way." She didn't bother with delicate steps as she led me to the kitchen, and the towel rose and fell with each ass cheek as she moved. She was teasing me, but I was more than okay with that. I was either gonna fuck her brains out right here, right now, or do it over and over again in my dreams. Either option beat the hell out of what I was doing two days ago—sulking about my shitty predicament with my dick in my hand.
She sat down in one of the red vinyl chairs at the kitchen counter and swiveled her legs out of sight. "Colander's in the corner cabinet."
I knew squat about washing fruit, but these blueberries were going to be the cleanest fuckers in town. I set down the bag and rolled my sleeves up to the elbows. She leaned forward on the counter, settling in for a good show I guess, and I took a good look down the front of that towel, just like she wanted me to. My dick strained against my khakis, and I let her see that too. Whatever service this customer wanted, I was ready to provide . . . and then some.
I pumped out two generous squirts of the fancy hand soap by the sink and scrubbed my hands like a rock-star surgeon. My hands smelled Beverly Hills even if the rest of me was Glendale. I set her smallest metal sieve in the sink and pulled the berries out of the bag as if delivering a baby. I lifted off the rubber band and searched for the trash.
"I'll take that," she said.
"Sure." I slid it in her direction, unwrapped the cellophane, and carefully emptied the berries into the strainer. As the cold water streamed down, I fingered every damn berry, plucked out the tiny stems, and discarded any fruit with even the slightest imperfection. Only the best for this customer.
With the cream of the crop culled and cleaned, I turned off the water and sifted the berries once more through my fingers, rejecting a few more that felt mushy. "Where do you keep your containers?"
"Two cabinets to your left."
She watched, smiling but not saying a word, twirling the rubber band around her fingers as I transferred the berries to the plastic bowl. I noted with great pride that I'd chosen just the right size for the job.
"You do nice work, Edward Cullen."
Her smile opened up as my name rolled off her tongue. My name. Her tongue. That was a combination I liked very much.
"You know, I did have three semesters of college." I was quite sure she remembered this, too.
"Culinary major?" she asked with a lift of her brows.
"No." I chuffed, shaking my head. It felt good to tease her for once. "Econ."
"Touché. So, you've probably figured out this was the most expensive pint of blueberries I've ever purchased."
"The thought had crossed my mind. Would you like some before I put them in the fridge?" There was no pie in progress unless she'd hidden the evidence very well.
"Sure, if you'll have a few, too."
I wasn't a huge blueberry fan, but the way she picked up two fat berries and placed them on her sweet, pink tongue changed my mind. Her eyes gleamed as she watched the berries disappear inside my mouth. They tasted a tiny bit tart, but I liked the way they exploded in my mouth when I bit through the skin.
"You did well, Edward. These are delicious."
I snapped the lid in place and found a spot on the refrigerator shelf for the container. "I can't take too much credit. All I did was choose a carton."
She stood up and met me at the end of the counter. Without shoes, she came up to my shoulder, and I had a generous view down the front of her towel. She placed her hand on my arm. Even through my sleeve, her touch felt like fire. "I think the ability to make the right choice is probably the most important skill a person can possess. Don't you?"
"Yes." My heart pounded out a beat to rival the throbbing in my dick. Choose ME! Drop your towel! Kiss me! TOUCH ME!
"Edward, would you do something for me?"
"Of course."
She smiled because what a fucking stupid thing I'd just done, agreeing without even asking what she wanted. "Put your hands out?"
Here comes my tip! I obeyed, presenting her with two open palms.
"Which hand do you use to jerk off?"
My face heated up as if I were standing too close to the grill. Up to this moment, I could've convinced myself that I was just a guy doing my job, providing top-notch customer service to a lady who just happened to be standing in her kitchen, wearing a towel. But she'd just crossed a solid line, and I suspected my life would be unrecognizable on the other side of it.
I attempted an answer, but I'd completely forgotten how to speak. "I . . ."
She stepped closer and cupped her hand to my cheek. I held my breath while her thumb slid up and down along my jaw line.
"Come on, cub. Don't be shy. Everyone has a favorite."
Cub? Before I could decide how I felt about her new nickname, my dick hopped on board the cougar train. I lifted my eyes toward the ceiling and wiggled my right hand.
Patting my cheek with firm strokes, she spoke in the same commanding voice she'd used on Tanya yesterday. "Look at me, cub, and speak. Out loud."
Gulp! I forced my gaze to meet hers. I'm not sure what she saw in mine, but her expression spoke loud and clear: confidence, control.
Somehow, I found my voice, but it sounded serious; the time for teasing was over. "My right hand."
She measured me again with her warm, brown eyes. "We'll work on your language next time," she said, sending a shiver up my spine. "Do I have your attention?"
"Yes."
"Good boy."
My cock twitched at the praise. What?
She looped the rubber band around my left wrist. "From now on, I want you to wear this for me. All the time. When you sleep, when you shower, while you're bagging groceries. And tonight, when you're lying in bed, thinking of me in this towel—and I know you will be—I want you to use this hand to jerk off. Any questions?"
I shook my head, afraid of what might come out of my mouth if I tried to speak.
She snapped the rubber band against my wrist, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to grab my attention. "Use your words, cub."
"No questions." Where would I even begin?
"What time is your lunch break tomorrow?"
"Ten-thirty."
She smirked. "I'll be in the parking lot, same spot. Peanut butter or tuna?"
My jaw flapped up and down for a second as I attempted to process what was happening here. For some reason that escaped me, this sexy-as-fuck, wealthy cougar had chosen my sorry ass to tease and use however and whenever she wanted, and I had only one choice in the matter—what kind of sandwich I wanted. In other words, I was someone's bitch . . . er, cub. At this particular moment in my life, I couldn't imagine anything I'd rather be.
"Peanut butter, please . . . and thank you."
She smiled and ran her finger in a slow circle between the rubber band and my wrist. The elastic loop might as well have been steel shackles. I wasn't going anywhere.
"Don't keep me waiting."
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There was no chance Edward would be late, not a boy who'd kept his hands to himself so damn admirably, despite where his eyes had wandered. He needed my warning about as much as a bomb tech needed to be told not to cut the wrong wire.
I couldn't take credit for the boy's manners—not yet, at least. His pleases and thank yous belonged to the parents who raised him thus far, but I couldn't wait to test those boundaries and see if I could make him stretch like the rubber band around his wrist.
Author's Note: This chapter is donated with much love to Meli. Your fandom loves you.
A big thank you to my enabler, Noel Bish (OhGeeFantasy) for pre-reading this chapter for me. And as always, a huge thank you to Chayasara for beta services and beyond. XXX ~BOH