Page 47 of Never Bargain with the Boss
I groan, shifting my hips. My back is killing me and my right arm is asleep. But my dick is awake. It’s rock hard and aching painfully. I shift again, searching for a comfortable position.
Still in the haze of sleep, I find some relief, grinding myself against the softness in front of me. Deep in the recesses of my mind, some primal recognition hits, and I pull the warm body in my arms against me harder and tighter, bucking against her ass as I slide my hand between her legs to find her waiting heat.
Fuck yes.
She’s already soaked, her juices easing my way as I slip them inside her only to come out coated in her slickness. I thrust into her a few times, letting my palm bump over her clit before moving up to circle it with my fingertips. She lets out a needy little groan, and I chase the sound, moving my arm that’strapped beneath her body up to cup her throat. She arches into it, pushing her throat into my grip and her ass against my cock.
I give her clit a little tap and her hand shoots down to grip my forearm, her nails digging into the flesh and the sharp bite causing me to thrust harder against her.
Does she think her grip is keeping me there? Does she think she can stop me? I don’t care. With her ass cheeks cradling my cock, I’m not going anywhere.
I tease her clit again and again, feeling her body go tighter and tighter, and then she shatters for me. As she spasms in my arms, she gasps, “Cameron.”
Her voice is barely a whisper, but it might as well be a siren in my head, waking me up instantly. I look around, my vision blurred and my mind screaming at me, but it only takes me one second to realize where I am and what I’m doing. And the very real woman I’m doing it with.
“Fuck,” I hiss, pushing Riley away. She falls ungracefully to the floor… of my office… with a thud.
I blink, sitting up and trying to make sense of things. I thought I was asleep, just having one of the countless nightly fuck fests I’ve been dreaming about. But I wasn’t.
This is real.
We must’ve fallen asleep on the couch. I remember her coming in after she brought Grace home, and then we were talking, and then…
“Fuck,” I say again. This time, it’s because I realize Riley is staring up at me in horror from the floor. Her position below me is so reminiscent of what I was dreaming about that I almost think it’s some sort ofInception-type trick my mind is playing on me. But the hurt in her eyes is no fantasy. I reach for her, some gentlemanly part of me needing to help her up, but she flinches back, pushing her nightgown down over the pussy I wasjust touching. The pussy I just made come. “Shit. I’m sorry. I was dreaming… I thought…Fuck.”
I stand, moving away from her to give her some space because I can only imagine the horrible, awful, perverted things she’s thinking about me right now. “I’m so sorry, Riley.”
She rises to her feet, her cheeks so flushed they very nearly match her hair. And her eyes… they’re wide and wild, filled with confusion and guilt. “I’m sorry. I should—” She looks behind her, toward the door… the very open door where Grace could’ve walked in and seen us.
That would’ve been catastrophic.
I don’t introduce Grace to women I see, and I don’t see women Grace knows. Hell, it’s been years since I’ve seen anyone at all. But nearly fucking the nanny… no, not ‘the nanny’ like she’s some interchangeable cog in a factory… nearly fuckingRileywould likely send Grace into a tailspin.
It’s definitely sent me into one.
“I should go,” she stammers. Her eyes swing back to mine for one split second and then she virtually runs out, her feet quiet on the rug, and then she must tiptoe the rest of the way because I don’t hear her footsteps. A tiny glimmer of appreciation that Grace won’t hear her going upstairs at this early hour shoots through me too, which makes me feel like a complete asshole because her boots are still sitting by the couch where she took them off last night.
I inhale deeply and then exhale slowly, trying to calm the panic building in my mind before it spirals. But it’s too late.
What the actual fuck, Harrington?
You really know how to screw things up, don’t you?
What the hell are you going to do now?
That stops me short. It’s Sunday, and the three of us are going to be home all day. There’s no avoiding Riley unless she chooses to stay in her room. But she won’t. I already know that.She’ll want to be involved in the conversation with Grace about what happened at the sleepover last night, and honestly, I want her there too. Her insight is valuable to me, especially given it sounds like she was right about Hannah being a mean girl. I’m in over my head there.
And with Riley, obviously.
Whatever tenuous hold I had on my restraint is obviously nothing but a façade because at the first opportunity, my body did exactly what it’s been fantasizing about, leaving my mind completely out of that decision-making process.
“Goddammit,” I groan, falling back to the couch. I stare at the ceiling, scrubbing my hands over my face, only to be caught by an intoxicating scent. I hold my hand out, looking at it and realizing that it’s her. Riley’s juices, dried on my fingers from when I was rubbing her off. Riley’s scent, marking me in some base way that makes me feel worthy of her desire, even though I’m decidedly not.
I grit my teeth. “No,” I tell myself, needing the admonishment to be aloud so I hear it, not only think it.
It doesn’t matter. A second later, I’m yanking my shirt up and shoving my pajama pants down, taking my rock-hard cock into my hand and jerking myself. I’m not gentle about it, wanting and needing to punish myself for what I’m doing.
I could pretend that it’s to take the edge off so that I can be around Riley today without making a fool of myself, but the truth is, I just want to go back to that fantasy… of her hungrily swallowing me down her throat… of taking her from behind, one hand on her throat and the other at her clit as I slip my cock into her welcoming pussy.