Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Slowly, I turn in the circle he’s created around me to find that his pupils are dilated, but his expression is hard and unreadable as he scowls at me.
He looks… angry.
No, that’s not it. The intensity is the same, but the heat in his eyes is different and the scowl doesn’t seem directed at me, even though his gaze drifts from my eyes over my cheeks to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
Is he going to pin me to the counter and take my mouth? Or pick me up and fuck me against the counter, right here in the kitchen?
Do I want him to do either of those things? Both?
Not wanting to examine the answers to my own questions, I stammer, “Thanks. For the mugs.”
The moment stretches, neither of us moving. We’re so close that a kiss seems inevitable, except he’s a few inches taller than me, so one of us will have to adjust for that. The only problem is… it won’t be him. He’s got an ironfisted grip on his restraint and won’t release it for anything, not even his own desires. And it won’t be me. He’s everything I secretly desire—stable and reliable—but I won’t cross that line with my boss, not even for him. In a twisted Schrodinger’s cat way, if he did respond to my advances, it’d ruin the very thing I do like about him—his predictability.
“I think I’ll do whiskey tonight instead of tea,” he says, stepping away sharply. “You want one?”
I feel floaty, like his gravitational pull was the only thing holding me in place, and now that he’s gone, I could simply drift away into the ether.
But as his words process, I laugh internally. Could he be hoping for a bit of whiskey dick? With what I just felt against my ass, I don’t think he’s gonna be that lucky.
But given the look in his eyes, neither am I. “Sure.”
CAMERON
On the back patio, I flip the switch to turn on the gas fireplace and take what’s become my usual seat in the corner of the couch sectional. It’s odd to think of it as ‘my spot’ when a bare few weeks ago, I rarely even sat out here. Usually, my evenings were spent with Grace and, too often, sneaking in a few more hours of work after she went to bed.
This new tradition of time on the patio is relaxing in a way I never imagined it could be.
All because of the company.
Riley sits down on the other end of the couch, the space feeling like a welcome and needed buffer after that moment in the kitchen. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and that’s an unusual and uncomfortable sensation. I am always moving toward a defined goal, on a predetermined mission with targeted points along the way for course correction.
But I’d been on the verge of touching her… kissing her… fucking her. And none of that can happen. It absolutely cannot happen.
I put one foot up on the table in front of me, keeping my thighs together to squeeze my dick a bit, hoping the slight pinch of pain will help it go down, and take a sip of my whiskey.
Thankfully, I don’t have to figure out what to say to Riley because Grace reappears at the back door. “They look great,” she tells Riley, stroking the end of one braid. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. If they need it, we’ll do touch-ups in the morning so they look perfect for school.”
Grace’s gaze bounces from me to Riley at opposite ends of the couch like she’s choosing a favorite, and when she comes to sit beside me, I feel like I won the best sort of trophy—my daughter’s affection. She snuggles in, and I lay my arm along the back of the couch. She used to cuddle like this with me all the time. Somewhere along the way, it became less common, so I’m going to enjoy the rare occurrence.
“Come look at this,” she tells Riley, waving her over and pointing at her phone.
I glance at Riley, but she seems entirely focused on Grace’s screen and unbothered by moving closer to me. I try to feign the same sense of non-concern, but when she settles in by Grace’s other side, it puts my hand directly in contact with her back. It’d be awkward to jerk away, so I force myself to stay still, but her hair brushing over my hand and arm is not helping the situation in my pants. And that needs to change.
“What did you want to show us?” I ask Grace, praying for a distraction. Any distraction. I would watch her play Minecraft right now or buy her entire Shein shopping cart if she asked. Anything to give me a focal point beyond the softness of Riley’s pink hair and my undeniable desire to twirl a strand around my finger.