“I want to do it,” she says softly. “But first let’s get rid of this.” Her fingernail toys with the hem of my jumper. I obediently sit up, and let her pull it over my head. The white undershirt comes next and then go the socks, until I’m sitting on my couch in just my underwear and a boner that’s getting to be downright painful.
Her hazel eyes gleam with something I can’t place. “Now it’s my turn.”
Got it now. She’s getting ready to torture me and that something in her eyes is sadism. She wants me vulnerable and begging, and she may have her wish before this is all over.
Standing, she unzips the top part of her dress and then pushes it off her shoulders. It quickly joins my clothes on the leather armchair.
Jesus H Christ. My heart stutters at the sight of her in a frilly bra and knickers. And those heels. I feel strangled by my desire, the sounds coming out of my mouth are guttural. She does this thing with her hips, shimmying them.
“Do you like?” She gestures to her barely-there bra and thong. “I bought them for you.”
“They’re beautiful. Now take them off.” I’m lucky I haven’t swallowed my tongue already, my body tight and poised to devour her.
With a coy smile, she unclips the bra in the front and after a tortuous pause and a raised eyebrow at me, she lets the cups fall from her breasts before removing it completely.
My mouth waters at the sight of her perfect breasts, and my impatience grows along with my desire to fuck her senseless. I drop my gaze to her knickers as her fingers hook the lace-edged elastic at her hips.
“Em,” I groan. Translation? Quit with the torture. I’m only a man. I have my limits.
Without saying a word, she pulls it down and off.
Light explodes behind my eyes. Clothed, she takes my breath away. Naked, she devastates me. To my surprise, she straddles my hips before I can pull her down on top of me.
Fuck! The feel of her legs against mine, and her butt jammed up against my dick leaves me gasping.
“I love your chest,” she states in a purr. She proceeds to show me how much, placing assorted kisses on almost every square inch, starting at the top. I cup her breasts when I’m able, eliciting ragged whimpers from her. By the time she gets to the top of my waistband, I’m at the end of my rope and hanging onto my sanity by a thread.
Peering up at me, she licks her lip and rubs her palm along the length of my hard-on. “You don’t mind if I help myself, do you?”
I grunt an unintelligible response that she takes as my agreement. Smart girl.
My briefs are removed without further ceremony, and my torture ceases and escalates—depending on how you look at it—when she takes me in her mouth. Her tongue traces the ridges along the top and I’m almost there. I grit my teeth and take it like a man, clasping the back of her head lightly as she takes me deeper into the warm, wet suction of her mouth.
Fucking heaven. “Em. God yes, Em. Just like that.”
My hips begin a shallow thrust. She sucks me deeper and the sight of her lips closed around my dick brings me to the brink. I tip my head back and close my eyes as desire knifes through me, sharp, hot and blinding. Then she makes a humming noise in her throats and it reverberates around my dick, and I’m gone, my orgasm roaring through me as my body spasms and then locks. I come and I come hard, Emily swallowing every bit.
As I slowly regain my breath, heaving and gasping on my back, she gives my dick one last swipe with her tongue before her head comes up and her eyes meet mine.
“I take it you had a good time?” she asks with the confidence of a woman blowing on her fingers and then buffing her nails against her chest.
I pull her up so we’re horizontally aligned. “You’re trying to put me in the grave,” I grumble against her hair, running my hand down her back and then cupping her delectable arse.
She plants a kiss on my right pec. “We can stop now if you want.”
A laugh rumbles in my chest. “Not a chance.” We’re not even close to being finished for the evening.
“How much time do you need to recover?” Her voice is a soft purr as she kisses my jaw.
I give her butt a squeeze. “Twenty minutes, tops.”
“Then do you want to take this show to the bedroom?”
Ten minutes later, I’m buried to the hilt inside her, and hearing her gasping my name as she comes is a sound I won’t ever forget.
My brother’s visit is the best thing to happen to my relationship with Graham. And not just because of the great sex we had that night, but for everything that’s happened since. It’s been two weeks since that night and things could not be better.
Work is great. No one there knows we’re dating but Claire and Jason both remarked on how much better we seem to be getting along. Mostly on Graham’s part. Claire says he smiles more and Jason claims he’s more talkative. But we must be doing something right because nobody appears to believe it’s anything more than Graham warming up to the newcomer.
Outside of work we usually see each other two nights a week. Last week he came with me to see “The Heidi Chronicles,” the play Liv is currently starring in. Normally a big night out is a nice dinner and a movie. Personally, I prefer the nights we order take out and cuddle up on the couch watching Netflix.
And sex. Can’t forget the sex. I’ve discovered my inner vixen, and guess what? She’s a stripper and a nymphomaniac. Don’t worry, Graham loves both aspects of her.
As fate would have it, my roomies are out of town and won’t be home until tomorrow. April’s on a two-day modeling shoot in Manhattan and Troy has a football game in Tennessee, so Graham is coming over tonight. He’s working the early shift so he won’t be here for another hour. Just enough time for me to shower, dress, and blow dry my hair.
But not even thirty minutes elapses when the doorbell rings.
Crap. He’s not supposed to be here yet.
“Coming!” I yell from my bedroom as I finish zipping and buttoning my jeans. Thank goodness I dried my hair first.
I hurry to the door and wrench it open, an anticipatory smile on my face. My heart sinks and my smile craters and collapses when I see who’s standing on the other side.
He’s the last person I expect or want to see.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
“Hi, sweetheart, nice to see you too.”
Stunned, all I can do is stare at him. Dressed in a fancy grey suit and a double-breasted dress coat, he looks every inch the distinguished and successful lawyer he is. My brother Tyler and I look like him. Same hazel eyes and dark hair, although my dad’s is starting to do that salt-and-pepper thing.
He looks pointedly at the door. “Are you going to invite me in?”
For a second I contemplate telling him right now isn’t a good time. And with Graham coming over, that’s the understatement of the century.
Of course that’s out of the question. He’s my dad and his money is paying for my part of the rent for this apartment. I reluctantly let him in, eyeing him warily as he enters.
“Why didn’t you call before coming? I’m on my way out,” I lie, hoping he’ll take the hint and keep his visit short.
Once inside, he looks around, inspecting the place. I don’t care if it meets with his approval, I just want him out as soon as feasibly possible.
“I thought I’d surprise you,” he says mildly, advancing toward the living area. I’d have preferred we stay close to the door and not let him get too comfortable. He, of course, has other plans.
“You mean the same way you had Cole come up here and surprise me?” I ask, dragging my feet as I trail him to the living room.
He stops next to the wooden side table and turns to me. “That’s actually why I’m here.”
A jolt of alarm shoots through me. “Cole told you to come?” It’s hard for me to process the depth of my brother’s betrayal.
“Quite the opposite. He told me you were doing fine and that I had nothing to worry about. Unfortunately for you, your brot
her’s never been a very good liar. You, on the other hand…” His voice trails off, his meaning explicit.
Whatever momentary sense of relief I’d felt is swiftly replaced by anger. “What do you think I lied to you about this time?” I’m not sure what he knows but I can hazard a guess.
“I don’t know, Emily. Why don’t you tell me.” His voice is scarily calm.
My dad is really good at his job. He’s been a district attorney for twelve years and has lost two cases in that time. One of the things prosecutors are good at is putting people on the defensive. It’s literally their job. Robert Leighton doesn’t reserve that strictly for the courtroom. He honed the skill at home first.
“There’s nothing to tell.” I stand in front of him, my arms crossed over my chest, my chin out in challenge.
My dad often uses silence as a weapon, and true to form, he takes his time responding, staring at me, disappointment flickering in his eyes. “I know he’s here. I know he’s back from England.”
Since that’s what I feared but expected him to say, I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“And don’t ask me how I know.”
“I’m sure you have your sources,” I remark acidly. My dad has friends in all the right places for a multitude of things, especially when it comes to tracking people. That he would use his position to track Graham doesn’t surprise me.
“God, Emily, I hope you’re not thinking about taking up with this character again.”
So Cole didn’t tell him anything or else he’d know that I’ve already taken up with Graham.
“Dad, I’m twenty not sixteen. You can’t tell me who I can and cannot see. Not anymore.”
He looks away and then back at me again as if deciding how to respond. “You’d be making the biggest mistake of your life if you become involved with him again.”
“No, Dad, that’s where you’re wrong. The biggest mistake of my life was telling Graham I was nineteen when I wasn’t, and then you went and made everything worse.”
Giving his tie a tug, he laughs derisively. “I don’t believe for a minute that he didn’t know how old you really were.”
Argh. “Why? Because you’ve never been able to see me as anything but your baby girl?”
He doesn’t deny that because he can’t. In his eyes, that’s all I’ll ever be.
“Anyway, you have a lot of nerve to talk seeing as you’re dating a woman half your age,” I shoot back.
His denial is lightning fast and laughably indignant. “Krista is not half my age.”
I throw up my hands. He’s unbelievable. “Dad, she’s in her twenties. You’re fifty-five. She’s young enough to be your daughter. Graham is not even five years older than me.”
“Krista is an adult and you weren’t,” he states, his voice sharp.
My dad is super defensive about his “relationship” with his twenty-eight-year-old ex-administrative assistant. God, he’s such a cliché. The only thing he didn’t do was start an affair with her while he was married to my mom. He met Krista after the divorce and she quit working for him three months after they started dating. Don’t ask me what she’s doing now.
“Right, but Graham didn’t know that.” We’ve had this conversation before and I’m sick to death of having to explain and defend him to my father. My dad knows. He just hates admitting he was wrong. Gives him a reason to hate Graham.
His gaze sharpens on me. “You agreed not to have anything to do with him if I dropped the charges.”
“What, like for the rest of my life?” I practically squeal, taken aback. “Dad, I’m an adult now.”
His shrug is maddeningly nonchalant. “In addition, his attorney assured me that since he intended to return to London, I wouldn’t need any written guarantees and I believed him.”
I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I sense it’s no place good. “You don’t get to tell me who I can and cannot see, and I’m not going to let you dictate my life.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. You seem to believe the sole reason the charges were dropped was because of that stunt you pulled, and that wasn’t entirely all there was to it.” His tone is succinct, the way he speaks when he’s in court and coolly laying out his case.
I flinch. It’s like being pricked with a pin. “It wasn’t a stunt,” I reply, trying to hold onto my temper.
I pull my folded arms tighter against my chest as the tension inside me rises and my patience with him is reduced to dust. “Dad, you’re talking in circles. Just cut to the chase and say whatever it is you want to say.”
“Fine,” he says, his voice cold and clipped. “The statute of limitations hasn’t run out on the charges. Mike could file them again today if he wanted.”
Shock keeps me rooted in place. Even my breathing stops and my head grows light as dizziness sets in. I cannot believe what I’m hearing.
“You wouldn’t.” It’s the only words that can squeeze by my constricted throat.
“One word from me and those charges will be refiled.”
I shake my head but I’m not sure it’s in denial or horror. “I would never forgive you,” I choke out.
“I’d be doing it for your own good.”
“Bullshit,” I shout.
He frowns disapprovingly. I’ve never cursed at my father before but I can’t remember a time he’s been more deserving of it.
“Getting involved with that boy has caused you nothing but trouble, and I’m not going to stand by and watch you do it again.” His eyes now blaze with anger and the kind of self-righteous indignation no amount of calm reasoning will change. A calm I’m not feeling right now.
“So your solution is to threaten me?” My voice rises, incredulous and furious at the same time.
“I’m simply telling you what’s at risk,” he states flatly. “And I hope you don’t think this is going to be a repeat of what happened before. I won’t be susceptible to emotional blackmail this time.”
All I can do is stare at him and order myself not to freak out. Because if he weren’t my father, I swear to God, I wouldn’t think twice about doing him bodily harm.
Practically vibrating with anger, I turn and point to the door. “Get out. Get out!”
He straightens, his shoulders going back as he clears his throat and smooths his red power tie. “I’ll call you when you’ve calmed down.” I hate the way he’s looking at me. As if I’m the hysterical child and he’s the long-suffering parent.
God, I hate him.
“Do. Not. Call. Me,” I bite out between clenched teeth, barely hanging on to my composure. It’s a good thing I’m not the smashing dishes and breaking glasses kind of girl or else this place would be a battlefield of shards of glass. “I never want to see you again.”
Something that looks like regret and sadness flickers across his face, but it’s gone in an instant. Perhaps a momentarily pang of the conscience he used to have.
“Nothing’s ever going to change the fact that you’re my daughter and I love you,” he says stiffly. He exits the apartment on that note.
Once he’s gone, I furiously lock the door behind him. Then I must depend on trembling legs to take me to the couch, which give way under the weight of my fury. And fear. And heart-wrenching pain.
Tears gather in my eyes, the depth and breadth of my predicament bearing down on me in an avalanche of emotions.
I won’t be susceptible to emotional blackmail this time.
It hadn’t been blackmail, emotional or otherwise. I’d meant every word I said.
That he brought up the incident—something we never talked about since it happened—has my hands trembling. Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I try not to think about it but the past pushes its way forward, sending me hurtling back to a moment in time I’ve tried my hardest to forget.
I don’t know how much longer I can stay here. The motel isn’t exactly on the best side of town. But it’s cheap, and until I can gain access to the money being held in trust fo
r me, it’s all I can afford.
Once I get that sorted out, I’ll have to do something about getting back into school. I’ll keep modeling, but at the very least, I’m going to need a high school diploma if I want any kind of future. Hopefully, the whole thing won’t take too long. That’s if I can manage to pull it off.
Exiting the dry confines of my car, I pull my hoodie over my head and make a dash across the parking lot and out of the pouring rain. Then I take the stairs to the second floor of the three-story motel and scurry down the landing. Once I reach my room, I insert my keycard and pull the handle when the lock flashes green.
Suddenly the door gives way from beneath my hand. The presence of someone behind me immediately registers and I’m stumbling desperate and terrified into the room, emitting a strangled scream.
The light goes on and it’s only then I recognize the intruder in the black windbreaker and blue jeans.
“Dad, you scared me half to death!” I practically shout, my palm pressed tight against my thundering chest. How the hell did he find me? I thought I’d done a good job of covering my tracks.
My dad steps inside and scans the room as the door closes behind him. His gaze returns to where I’m standing slightly hunched in front of the queen-sized bed.
“I scared you to death?” he asks, his voice dangerously soft.
I try my best to get my breathing under control. “Of course you did. You could have been anyone.”
Something that looks like satisfaction flashes in his eyes. “Exactly. I could have been anyone. I could have been someone here to do you harm. And you’d have been helpless. No one would have come to save you.”
“I’m fine,” I reply curtly, straightening my spine. I know the risk I’m taking and I certainly don’t need him to spell it out. “What are you doing here?”
His jaw ticks. “What do you think I’m doing here? I’ve come to take you home,” he snaps as if I’ve already worn his patience down to its frayed ends.
I give my head a vigorous shake. “I’m not going home with you.”
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