The Job (New York City Bad Boy Romance #2)

by Claire Adams

  “Jessica,” I say, putting my hands on her shoulders, “let’s go talk to your dad.”

  “What’s the point?” she asks. “This is how everything is in my life, and it’s the way it always will be. Every time I think I’m about to make some big stride, something comes along and tears it away from me. I’m sorry I’m crying,” she says, pulling a tissue from her purse. “I’m just so pissed off!”

  I don’t know how to put it any other way, so I just repeat, “Let’s go ask your dad about it.”

  “Will you stop saying that?” she yells, but she finally notices the anticipation on my expression. “What?” she asks. “What’s that face?”

  I just smile and pull her in for a hug.

  “I think you’re in for a pretty awesome surprise,” I tell her.

  She takes a minute and dries her eyes before we go back out of the room and down the stairs.

  “Dad?” she calls.

  “In the kitchen!” he answers.

  We go into the kitchen and Harold is standing over a pan of bacon.

  “You kids hungry?” he asks.

  Not wanting another elbow thrown at me for causes that I’ll never understand, I just stay quiet.

  “Dad, have you seen my boxes—the ones that were in the closet?” she asks.

  “They’re not up there?” he asks.

  “No, Dad,” she says, “they’re not up there.”

  “Huh,” he says and turns off the burner on the stove. “Did you check under the bed?” he asks.

  “They wouldn’t fit under the bed,” she answers. “There were at least three boxes, overflowing with stuff.”

  “Well, let’s go take a look,” he says and leads the way back up the stairs.

  We follow him up, but of course the boxes haven’t magically appeared in the closet.

  “Huh,” he says. “Maybe they ended up in the storage room.”

  With that, we follow him back down the stairs and into the garage or, as he called it, the “storage room.”

  The place is packed with stack after stack of boxes and loose items. I stand in the doorway so as not to break anything, but Harold walks through the space effortlessly, his muscle memory knowing well how to navigate the mess.

  “Do you see them anywhere?” he asks.

  “No,” Jessica says, following closely her father’s footsteps and looking over every box in the garage.

  “Well,” he says, “I don’t know what to tell you. I guess we must have thrown it out. Hey Eric, this is your first time here and we haven’t given you the tour yet. What do you say we—”

  “We’re going, Dad,” Jessica says, trying to contain her hurt and frustration.

  I’d love to just tell her now, but her dad shakes his head as the empathy comes over my face.

  “What do you say, Eric?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I tell him.

  “Well, you’ve already seen Jessica’s room, although I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’d be able to say that, huh?” he asks.

  Yeah, I’m not stupid enough to answer that question.

  “I would show you the room me and her mother share, but frankly I don’t know you that well,” he continues.

  As endearing as this surprise is sure to be, I can’t help thinking that Jessica’s family is pretty all-around strange.

  “Let me show you the basement,” he says.

  “No Dad,” Jessica protests. “You’re not dragging us down there. The place smells like feet.”

  “I cleaned,” he says. “Well, it’s been a while, but the smell’s gone anyway. Come on,” he continues.

  Reluctantly, Jessica comes up to me and I take her hand as we follow her father back through the house and down the stairs.

  The basement is unfinished and either it has no windows or they’re so deftly covered that no light comes into the space.

  “Sorry,” Harold says, “the light switch hasn’t really worked all that well down here for a while.”

  The thought occurs to me that what he told me over the phone could just have been a ploy so he could get me into his dungeon and do god-knows-what to me for dating his daughter.

  “You’re not scared of the dark, are you, Eric?” he asks.

  “Nope,” I answer and Harold takes Jessica’s hand, leading us as a chain through the nearly pitch black basement.

  “Your hands are sweating,” Jessica whispers back toward me. “Don’t worry. He’s probably not going to try to kill you.”

  “You know,” I say, feeling a lump in my throat grow as I am now walking blind, “maybe we should go. It is starting to get a little bit late, and I’ve got a new business strategy to implement tomorrow, and I’ve got to talk to—”

  “Oh, nonsense,” Harold says. “We’re almost there.”

  After another ten, slow feet, we come to a stop and, in front of me, I can hear a doorknob turning and a door being opened.

  Do I really think that Harold brought me down here to torture or threaten me? Of course not. At the same time, I am starting to get the impression he wouldn’t feel too bad if I were to trip and injure myself.

  I really have no idea how to take this guy.

  “All right,” he says. “Jessica, you stand here.”

  She lets go of my hand, and I can hear the shuffled sound of him positioning her in the middle of the room.

  “Eric,” he says, “well, it doesn’t really matter.”

  With that, he flips on the light, blinding all of us for an instant.

  “What do you think?” Harold asks.

  My eyes adjust to find what he told me about over the phone.

  The room is filled with trophies and framed certificates, all on shelves or in glass cases.

  “Oh my god,” Jessica breathes.

  “Hey, looks like I found your stuff,” Harold says in an overly affected voice.

  “When did you do this?” Jessica asks, “How?”

  “Well, it took me a while to build the shelves and the glass cases, well, we had to buy those, but it was your mother that set everything else up,” he answers.

  Hearing Jessica describe the sheer volume of her various awards and recognitions, I had no idea it was this extensive.

  “These are all yours?” I ask.

  “No,” Harold says. “The other wall over here is Kristin’s. Now, if you’re going to want to pack up all this stuff, I can grab some boxes, but—”

  “That’s okay,” Jessica says. “I can’t believe the two of you did this.”

  “She was always proud of you,” her father tells her. “I know she doesn’t always know how to show that, but you and your sister mean the world to her. We’re both proud of you. You can take whatever you want, but as for me,” he says, checking his watch, “I’ve got to get back to the hospital. They’re taking your mother in for a scan to see if they got everything they needed to get.”

  Jessica turns to face her father and, without a word, she throws her arms around him.

  “I always thought she didn’t care,” Jessica says.

  “She always cared,” Harold answers. “She’s just a bit rough around the edges.” He laughs. “Why else do you think I’ve put up with her this long?”

  Jessica smiles and wipes her eyes and says, “I think it looks better here. We can go back to the hospital with you.”

  “That’s all right,” her dad answers. “They’re just going to do a scan and it’ll probably be a while before they get the results back and get a doctor to look at them. I’ll give you a call when we know something.”

  “Thank you,” Jessica says, “for everything.”

  Harold looks over at me and says, “Now, I want you to know that no matter what happens between the two of you, this is my little girl, so you’d better—”

  “It’s okay, Dad,” Jessica interrupts, tears still falling from her eyes. “He’s a good man.”

  Harold gives me the stink eye anyway just to drive his point home, then turns and exits the room.

 
Jessica turns around to face me and says, “You know, I meant what I said. You could have taken advantage of me earlier, but you pushed me to come and do something that I’ve wanted to do for a while. I don’t know how you knew it was this important, but you knew.”

  “I like to pay attention to the things that matter,” I answer.

  “It’s funny how so little can change, but even that tiny bit can be all the difference in the world,” she muses.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take anything back with you?” I ask.

  “Just you,” she says. “I think it’s about time we sat down and really have the talk.”

  * * *

  The talk was quick, easy. We’re not planning to move in together or anything, but we’re officially “a thing” (her words.)

  About the biggest thing that’s going to change, other than what we call each other, is that we’re both going to get extra keys for our apartments and, when the time is right—though what exactly determines that is still pretty vague—we’ll exchange keys.

  Now, we’re back at my apartment and she’s standing at the foot of my bed, looking down at me as she slowly takes her clothes off, keeping her eyes on me all the while.

  This is the first time I’ve seen her naked in the daylight and those full, perky breasts, flat stomach, and meticulously trimmed pussy have me throbbing.

  Her phone is on the nightstand so it’s within easy reach whenever her father calls with her mom’s test results and apart from that, neither of us have a care in the world.

  “So,” she says, crawling over my already naked body, “you knew what my dad was going to do when we got to the house, didn’t you? That was the big secret.”

  “Yeah,” I tell her.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish you for that,” she says and grabs my wrists and forces them up and behind my head.

  I chuckle as she slides her smooth skin over my body and teases me with her lips, coming close enough to kissing my mouth that I can feel the heat coming off of her, but always pulling away at just that last second.

  “Do you have a condom?” she asks.

  “Nightstand,” I answer.

  “Hmm…” she says. “That means I’ll have to let your arms go, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I answer, “I really don’t see a way around that.”

  “Hmm…” she repeats and brings her pelvis down just enough that I can feel the wetness of her up and down the length of my cock as she slowly slides back and forth over me. “All right,” she says, “but you’re going to have to promise me that you’re going to behave yourself.”

  “You don’t know me very well, do you?” I ask.

  She lifts her eyebrow in that characteristic way of hers, and I can feel the tension in her muscles as she prepares for a swift maneuver. As soon as she lets go of my arms, though, I close them around her.

  Jessica squeals in surprise, but makes a lunge toward the nightstand. I let her get just close enough that her fingertips are touching the handle of the drawer, then I slip out from underneath her and with a smooth motion, I turn her over and, repositioning my arms so they’re now around her hips, I lower my mouth to the warmth of her core.

  “I…” she strains, laughing, “can’t… quite…”

  Her voice dissolves into wordless phrases as I kiss her sweetest spot, sucking her smooth skin into my mouth and then licking the periphery of the apex between her legs.

  All the while, she’s still making zealous, if infrequent, lunges toward the nightstand drawer.

  I can hear her slide it open so, just to tease her a little longer, I pull her a few more inches down the bed.

  “So not fair…” she murmurs as my tongue finds her clit, coaxing it from its hiding place with the care of my attentive mouth.

  She’s starting to breathe heavily, so I kiss the insides of her thighs, lightly sucking her skin as I do.

  Finally, realizing the actual strength of her position, Jessica simply closes her legs around my head in an attempt to accomplish her goal of reaching the condoms in the night stand, but all this does is fill me ever more with her warmth and her pheromone-rich scent fills my nostrils.

  Still, I’m only intent on teasing her a little, so I release my grasp and she slithers up the bed, grabs the box of condoms and throws it playfully in my direction, calling me a “brute!” in the process.

  I duck out of the way with a smile and crawl off the end of the bed to pick up the box and it’s now spilled contents.

  “Hold on,” she says as I single one out for use. “Come here.”

  I take a step toward her and with an impressive mix of swiftness and gentleness, she grabs my cock.

  “You had your fun,” she says. “Now I’m going to have mine.”

  “Threaten me with a good time, will you?” I ask, though I have absolutely no intention of interfering.

  She lifts my erection and runs her tongue over my sac, taking one and then the other of my stones partway into her hot mouth.

  My knees weaken beneath me, but I manage to stay aright.

  “Like that, huh?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I breathe and as soon as the word is out of my mouth, she’s at the head of the bed, lying back with her legs crossed.

  It happens so fast that for a moment, I wonder if I’d just been imagining her powerful, sensual touch.

  “I didn’t turn them blue, did I?” she asks deadpan.

  “No,” I chuckle. “I think I’ll be all right.”

  “Oh well,” she says. “I tried. Now,” she says, putting her arms out to her sides on the bed and uncrossing her legs, “are you planning to use that thing or what?”

  “God, you’re bossy,” I tell her.

  She furrows her brow a moment and says, “I was supposed to be the one punishing you. Get over here.”

  I grin and make my way back onto the bed.

  “You know,” she says, taking the condom out of my hand and unwrapping it, “ever since that day in training, it’s gotten so hard for me not to want to say ‘nice dick’ to you in everyday conversation.”

  I laugh, but her face remains comically serious.

  “Yeah?” I ask. “Well, I appreciate the compliment.”

  “Come here,” she whispers and bends her finger, beckoning me closer to her. I get up close and she tells me to “Lie down.”

  I lie down on my back and run my fingertips over the soft skin of her side.

  “I’ve always wanted to try this,” she says and she places the condom on my tip and works it most of the way down me with her mouth. She hums laughter as she reaches the point where she can’t go any further and she comes back up, saying, “Yeah, it’s a bit of a work in progress, but I’d say that’s a pretty promising start.”

  “I think I have to agree,” I tell her.

  She unrolls the latex the rest of the way down my shaft and positions herself over me.

  “Cross your arms over your chest,” she tells me and, although I don’t know where she’s going with this, I do. “Close your eyes,” she says.

  I do.

  She moves off of the bed. I ask her where she’s going, but she just reiterates that my job is to keep my arms crossed and my eyes closed.

  I can hear her footsteps moving out of the room, but I keep my eyes sealed shut despite my curiosity as to just where the hell she’s going.

  She comes back into the room and says, “All right, now just hold still. This might feel a little weird.”

  With that, my eyes shoot open on their own to find her standing over the side of the bed with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs in her hand.

  “You were supposed to keep your eyes closed!” she complains.

  “You don’t tell someone to keep their eyes closed and that something might feel a little weird,” I tell her with a laugh.

  “Well, since you ruined the surprise,” she says. “I guess it’s fair to ask if you’re okay with this.”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “Just don’t get too rough,
I’m not really into that part of it.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” she says and takes my wrists, one by one, and closes the handcuffs around them.

  “You know,” I tell her. “Since I ruined one surprise and kept another one, I think that means they cancel each other out, don’t they?”

  “Nope,” she answers and climbs onto the bed, kissing my stomach, my chest and finally my neck as she positions herself between my arms. “This is kind of nice, actually,” she says. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with these.”

  With that, she starts grinding herself over my cock, always so close to putting me inside of her, but always lifting herself at just the right moment so it doesn’t quite happen.

  “You’re killing me,” I breathe.

  “Oh, I’m just getting started,” she says. “You know, you feel really good rubbing against my clit.”

  “I’m glad,” I say in a whisper, tantalized out of my mind by the feeling of her hot, wet core.

  “You know,” she says, continuing to work herself on top of, but never quite over me, “I think Irene and Alec have a pretty good rule when it comes to sex.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, my mind completely blank other than to take in every sensation of the moment.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I think it’s only fair that a woman should come twice before the man. After all, just think of all the puritanical centuries of women never being allowed to have an orgasm. I think that’s pretty fucked up.”

  “You know, I really didn’t have anything to do with that,” I tell her, closing my eyes, taking in the wonder of her touch.

  “Still,” she says, “I think it’s about time that we women start taking back the orgasm.”

  “Can’t we share it?” I ask.

  “Maybe,” she says, “after you’ve gotten me where I need to be.”

  The way she says it is a little brusque, but as I open my eyes to look at her, she’s beaming. She gives me a quick peck on the lips and grinds herself harder against me.

  It’s the most pleasant torture, waiting to be enveloped by her.

  She lifts my head and leans back, giving me access to her nipples, and I eagerly take them into my mouth, each in their turn, feeling myself growing harder than I remember possible.