Sheffield Sugar
"When Derek's car breaks down outside a bakery in Sheffield, owner Esther offers him more than just tea while he waits. The thick Zimbabwean woman has a taste for younger men."
The engine made a sound like a dying cat and quit right outside "Sweet Esther's Bakery." Derek slapped the steering wheel in frustration. Middle of Sheffield, no signal, and the garage wouldn't pick up.
The bakery door opened, and an angel of mercy appeared.
"Car trouble, love?"
Esther was somewhere north of forty, with warm brown skin, kind eyes, and a body that her flour-dusted apron couldn't hide. Thick everywhere—arms, thighs, hips—with breasts that strained against her work shirt.
"Engine's dead. Can't get through to anyone."
"Come inside, have some tea. My nephew's a mechanic, he can have a look when he gets off work. Two hours, maybe."
Derek gratefully followed her in.
The bakery smelled like heaven. Fresh bread, cinnamon, vanilla. Esther moved behind the counter with practiced grace, her wide hips bumping the displays.
"Zimbabwe," she said, catching his curiosity. "Came over in ninety-eight. Been baking since I could walk."
"It smells incredible."
"Wait till you taste." She slid a pastry toward him, then sat across the small table, closer than necessary. "So what brings a young man like you through Sheffield?"
"Job interview. Manchester. Though if my car's properly dead..."
"Hmm." Her eyes traveled over him appreciatively. "Their loss might be my gain."
"I should be upfront," she said as they finished their tea. "I haven't had a man in my bakery—or my bed—in two years. My husband passed. And you're quite handsome."
"Esther, I—"
"I'm not asking for commitment. I'm asking for company." Her hand covered his on the table. "I'm a direct woman. Life's too short for games. You've got two hours to kill, and I've got a flat upstairs."
Derek should have politely declined. But something about her warmth, her directness, her curves that seemed to call to him...
"Lead the way."
Her flat was cozy, filled with African art and the smell of baking. She didn't waste time, pulling him toward the bedroom.
"I've been lonely," she confessed, unbuttoning her work shirt. "A woman my age, with my body—men assume things. But you looked at me like you saw me."
"I see you." He helped her with the buttons. "All of you."
Her bra was functional, white cotton, but when it came off and her heavy breasts spilled free, Derek's mouth went dry. She was magnificent—soft and full everywhere, warm brown skin that seemed to glow.
"Touch me," she said. "Please. It's been so long."
He laid her back on the bed, taking his time. She gasped when he kissed her neck, moaned when he took her nipple in his mouth. Her body was responsive, eager, shaking with need.
"God, yes. I forgot what this felt like."
When he settled between her thick thighs, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him close.
"Don't be gentle. I'm not fragile. I'm hungry."
He wasn't gentle. He gave her everything, and she took it all, crying out with each thrust. Her nails raked his back, her hips meeting his stroke for stroke.
She came three times before he finally let go, collapsing on top of her.
"Two hours," she breathed, laughing. "I think we used them well."
"I missed my interview."
"Mmm." She kissed his forehead. "Stay the night. I'll make it worth your while."
"And your nephew? The mechanic?"
"I'll tell him you're a friend. He can fix your car tomorrow." Her hand traveled down between them. "Tonight, you're mine."
Derek stayed three days. The interview was forgotten, rescheduled, eventually cancelled. Esther fed him fresh bread and pastries, and he fed her everything else she needed.
"Come back," she said as he finally prepared to leave, car running smoothly now. "Whenever you're passing through Sheffield."
"And if I move here?"
Her smile was sunshine. "Then I might have to make you my partner. In the bakery, obviously."
"Obviously."
He kissed her goodbye, already planning his return. That job in Manchester could wait. Sheffield had something better.