Page 48 of Never Bargain with the Boss
Except that almost wasn’t a fantasy. It was very nearly real.
I smell my fingers, letting the scent take me back, and then slip them into my mouth, sucking her taste from them. Between the image my mind creates, the feel of her body against mine stillso recent, and the sweet, musky taste of her pussy, it only takes a minute before my balls pull up tight and that tell-tale tingling starts in my spine. I groan at the overwhelming pleasure but lock my lips around my fingers and close my eyes, focusing on Riley’s taste as the orgasm hits and the reality of the depraved thing I’m doing drifts away. My cock explodes, cum splattering up onto my abs with every intense pulse, and I milk it as long as I can, needing to drain every last drop so I have any chance of being normal around Riley today and not acting like a lecherous old man who’ll take advantage at the first opportunity.
Panting, I look down at myself and see that I am a complete mess. Not only physically, but mentally. Hell, probably even more of a mess mentally.
I reach behind my head, pulling my T-shirt off in one smooth motion, and use it to wipe off my stomach and hand. There’s no way I’m putting this shirt in the laundry for Riley to wash. I’ll have to trash it. Apparently, I still have some shame, and that’s over the line.
Shaking my head at what a fucked-up situation I’ve created, I get up and head toward my bedroom. I need a shower, preferably one that can scald away the guilt over what I’ve done this morning.
I waituntil I hear Grace’s voice in the kitchen before coming out of my room. Is it a cowardly thing to do? Absolutely. But I don’t want to face Riley alone. I will eventually, and I’ll apologize again for my actions, but I really can’t do that just yet.
I need to focus on Grace. Always Grace.
And my daughter had a really rough night, and I failed her by being too impaired to go pick her up. It’d been an intentionaldrinking session, designed to keep me from going upstairs to find Riley and making use of the empty house.
A lot of good that did.
I should’ve just had dinner and then sat on the patio for tea like usual. A little late-night conversation would’ve been infinitely better than what I ended up doing.
Focus, Harrington, on the thing that matters most.
“Good morning, Ladies,” I say as I stroll into the kitchen, feigning casualness. I’m showered, shaved, and dressed in jeans, a button-up, and Oxfords. My plan is to get out of the house, and I think the promise of a bonus Starbucks trip will do it.
“Aww, Dad! You ruined the surprise!” Grace says, sounding disappointed.
I scan the kitchen, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. I expected to find a sad Grace and an angry Riley, both plotting murders. Maybe mine, maybe Hannah’s, maybe both. Instead, there are measuring cups, mixing bowls, and half the baking section of the pantry sitting on the counter. And Riley and Grace have frozen, mid-choreographed dance number though the music is still playing softly.
“You’re cooking?” I ask, hoping for clarification though the answer seems obvious.
“Pancakes and omelets. Riley says carbs are the best thing for a broken heart, but protein is good for me, and homemade pancakes are infinitely better than frozen.” Grace says ‘broken heart’ matter-of-factly, but I still scour her face, looking for any sign of impending tears. There are none. In fact, she seems okay? Maybe like she’s even having fun making breakfast, which must be Riley’s doing because they’ve resumed whatever dance they’re doing.
“Apples rotten right to the core,”Grace sings, her hands slowly waving across her body. I glance at Riley, expecting to see a look of confusion to match my own, but instead find she’sdoing the same move and singing along to whatever song is playing.
Deciding to go with the flow—which is a downright hilarious thing for me of all people to do—I agree, “Protein is good for you. We could add some spinach to the omelets too, if you want?”
“No, thanks,” Grace answers.
Riley looks at me uncertainly, nibbling on her lip like she’s not sure what to say, and I almost apologize again. But I can’t do that in front of Grace because she would definitely have questions about it…
“What are you sorry for, Dad?”
“Oh, nothing much. Just grinding against Riley in her sleep.”
“What’s grinding?”
“What I want to do to her again, right now.”
I grit my teeth. God, how did I fuck this up so badly? I’m not some hormone-driven asshole who doesn’t understand the gravity of what sex is and what it can be. But right now, I feel like I’m being dragged around by my dick, and the only place it wants to go is… Riley.
“Do you want your shake like usual?”
Riley’s question jolts me out of my self-flagellation. “Uh, no, that’s okay. I’ll do pancakes and an omelet too, if there’s enough.” We’re back to awkward. Or whatever is worse than that. So I do what I do best, throw myself into work of any kind. “What can I do to help?” I clap my hands, looking around for something, anything I can do.
“Why don’t you do the omelets while Grace does the pancakes, and I’ll get this cleaned up so we have room to eat?” Riley directs me to the stovetop where Grace is already watching the perfectly round circle of pancake batter, searching for bubbles.
I test the pan and find it ready, so I pour in the mixture of eggs, cheese, and ham. Not able to stop myself, I place a kiss on the top of Grace’s head. It’s a risky move, with a near fifty-fifty shot of getting a growled ‘daaad’ versus reluctant acceptance. Luckily, this time, she leans my way, resting her head on my chest, and murmurs, “Thanks, Dad.”
It’s a quiet moment that might seem inconsequential to most, but in that moment, I know she’s going to be okay. Whatever this deal with Hannah is, Grace is going to get through it with her head held high. She’s strong, feisty, and has already dealt with so much more than she should’ve had to, so she can handle this. I just wish she didn’t have to.