Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Almost…innocent.
Before I can process the perfection of it, she moans, a sound filled with pure need and longing. I gasp at the lovely sound. She takes the opportunity to tug at my bottom lip with her teeth.
Holy shit.
What the fuck are we doing right now?
My eyes roll back when she sucks on my lip. I can almost imagine her between my thighs, sucking on something bigger and harder. That image is too fucking hot for work.
Karla’s loud laugh beyond my closed door is a shower of ice water on me. I stiffen as reality sets back in. I remove my hold on her thigh to then grip her throat, squeezing slightly as I push her away from my mouth.
“I can’t do this with you,” I rumble, voice thick with regret. “I can’t, Love.”
She blinks several times as though clearing away a daze and her brows furl. “Why not?”
“You know why.” I release her neck, but not without stroking the column of her throat with my thumb first. “You’re my stepdaughter. It’s…wrong.”
Her face burns crimson, a mixture of shame and anger warring over her features. I hiss as she slides off my lap, making sure to give my cock one last stroke of pleasure. Helplessly, I stare at her retreating form, hating myself for having to put a stop to this whole thing.
“I led you on,” I mumble. “That’s on me.”
“Just stop,” she snaps. “I don’t want to talk about this ever again.”
She slips out of my office quietly, but she may as well have slammed the door in my face with how I flinch. It fucking sucks seeing her disappointment and confusion—all of which I’m responsible for.
I’m an asshole.
A weak bastard who would allow his cock to lead the way into forbidden territory, just to have a sweet little taste.
And now, because of me, she’s pissed and hurt.
I did that.
I fucking hurt her.
Facing that reality finally has my dick settling down. Sure, I could rub one out in the bathroom, lingering in the fantasy come to life just moments before, but it would be lacking in comparison. It’d feel cheap and not at all pleasurable.
My dick needs to stay in my pants and I need to start treating Aubrey like the beautiful, bright, brilliant woman she is.
This shit stops now.
Aubrey
Humiliated doesn’t even begin to describe the way I’m feeling right now. Sure, I’m embarrassed, but I’m also angry and devastated. I didn’t misread the situation. Hugo was into everything we were doing. I’d felt how hard he was. There’s no mistaking when you’re sitting on a giant cock.
I’d read his signals—the pure, unfiltered want blazing in his eyes being the most telling. He wanted to touch me and I’d wanted it too.
What went wrong?
I think back to the way I’d sucked on his bottom lip, aching to do so much more. He’d gone still at that moment and didn’t kiss me back.
Crap.
Did I mess up everything then?
I’d tried to get him to kiss me back, but he’d remained still, and then it was like he snapped out of a lust-filled haze, returning to reality without me.
He dismissed me so easily.
I’m so confused by the entire encounter.
This was different than with any man I’ve been with before. In LA, there weren’t emotions or history involved. It was just following what felt good, uncaring of the consequences.
With Hugo, there are consequences. And I broke my vow to leave him alone. I was never supposed to go there with him because he’s not like those guys in California. He’s different—better—someone special to me.
Shame has bile creeping up my throat. What’s wrong with me? I go after these older men because it feels good to be seen and adored, but I’m destroying everyone’s lives in the process.
I’m a broken girl.
The thought of riding in the car with Hugo after work makes my skin crawl. I can’t deal with how awkward that will be. If I had a car of my own, I could just get in and drive far, far away from here. Away from the Parks, away from my past again, away from the baggage of my uncaring mother.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I order an Uber. Then, I escape my hiding spot in the women’s restroom. Hugo’s door is still closed, much to my relief, and I’m able to snatch up my purse without incident.
“Where are you going?” Karla asks, glancing at the clock on the wall behind me. “It’s not five yet.”
“Stomach bug,” I hiss. “Hope you don’t get it too.”
Her face sours as she absently grabs for her hand sanitizer. “Feel better soon.”
Not likely.
My stomach is in knots and is a complete mess, but until I can figure out how to stop sabotaging my own life, it’ll probably be that way for a while yet.
I need a friend. Someone to talk to. A shoulder to cry on.