Fangs in Frosting by Cynthia Sax

 
     
     
    01 Charlotte’s Journal
     
    Sweet buttercream filling. The man came back. Through my eyelash supershield, I watch Mr. Tall, Dark, and Serious huddle over a white ceramic mug filled with steaming hot coffee, and a dainty china plate sporting two red velvet cupcakes, the white cream cheese frosting topped with extra chocolate sprinkles. He didn’t ask for the extra sprinkles. That’s a bonus for banging the owner -- that would be me.
    Yep, I did him, or he did me. I don’t know which, our hasty encounter being an out of control fuck-for-all in the walk-in pantry. After that multiple orgasmic quickie, I figured Viktor had his fill of big, bold, bosomy me, and when he disappeared into the night, he’d never be seen again. That tends to happen with my lovers.
    But I was wrong. He’s returned for another helping of luscious Lottie. I smile as the last customer wanders out the door, chocolate smeared on his half-baked face. Our midnight crowd consists mainly of toke smokers, but I don’t mind because they’ll eat even the day old pastries, and then rave about them to their buddies.
    Mr. Fucktastic gets my best stuff, and tonight, I’ll rock his rather grim world. I smooth down my happy yellow blouse so the cotton pulls tightly across my generous chest, and I sashay to the door, turning the exterior lights off with a dramatic flick of my fingers.
    Like clockwork, Peter, my assistant, wanders out of the kitchen. Flour dusts his hair as though he has been baking, and not avoiding the customers he was hired to serve. I can’t fire his rather useless patootie because he’s the landlady’s deadhead son, and I’ve been paying that dear, kind woman in banana creams for the past two months. Plus he’s adorable.
    “All cleaned up, Miss Lottie,” he announces with a sheepish smile. Since I cleaned the kitchen an hour ago, I don’t find its immaculate condition surprising. “Guess I’ll be heading out. Are you okay with…?” He inclines his spearmint green Mohawk head toward my favorite customer.
    “I’m fine. Go.” My response is unnecessary as Rebel Help has already let himself out, and I make sure the door is locked properly after him. I could be surrounded by axe-wielding fiends, and the kid would still leave on time.
    “You need protection.” Viktor’s deep voice rolls over me like vanilla frosting on a warm lemon sponge cake.
    “I’m hoping you brought some, sunshine.” I give my gloomy lover a saucy fuck-me smile. “I need your help in the kitchen.” This is my attempt at subtle seduction.
    “I’m not an employee,” he grouses, following me into my home away from home. If the city allowed me to, I’d sleep in my kitchen. That’s how much I love it here.
    “Too bad because there are some great employee perks.” I drift my fingertips over the stainless steel table. This bad boy is all mine. Okay, it mostly belongs to the bank, but my name is on the receipt, and that gives me a giddy sense of ownership.
    “That had better be exclusive employee perks.” Viktor picks me up, literally and figuratively, and places my butt on the cool flat surface. This is no easy feat because I’m my number one cupcake customer, yet he doesn’t even break a sweat, his lean body deceivingly strong.
    “Are we exclusive now, sweet stuff?” I gaze up into his eyes. They’re the color of the richest Devil food’s cake, piped with a circle of red, and are set in a pale, angular face. His dark hair waves back from his face and is tied in a ribbon at his nape. I could so design a cupcake around his striking countenance, and call it the Viktor.
    “We’re exclusive for all eternity.” With that ominous declaration, his mouth covers mine, and all thinking of cupcakes stops, because the man tastes of coffee and chocolate and he kisses like a dream. He is the virtuoso of liplockers, the steamiest of seducers, and I melt against him like butter on a hot plate, grasping his jacket lapels.
    He’s dressed in his