by Mia Madison
He doubles down on the bossiness. “I’m not returning them.”
“I don’t want your pity!”
It bursts out of me, more temper than pain. His eyes snap back at me. “It has nothing to do with pity.”
I throw my arms out. “Then what?”
“To make you happy.” His voice lowers, comes out in a rumbling whisper. “I wanted to make you happy.”
Our eyes lock. The air goes electric. I can’t breathe, can’t look away.
I wanted to make you happy. We’re only a few inches apart, and I’ve never seen this look in a man’s eyes before, but I think I know what it means.
He wants to kiss me.
I want him to kiss me.
His head lowers … and Eden bursts through the door.
“Can we eat? I’m starving.” She hands me my phone. “I’ve got everything programmed in except for your parents’ numbers. You’re on our family plan.”
I don’t dare look at him as we go back out to the kitchen. Mr. Drake. Ashton.
I’m ninety percent positive he almost kissed me just now. Would have, if Eden hadn’t interrupted.
Dinner passes in a daze. Afterwards, when Eden wants to watch tv, I plead fatigue and go to my bedroom. Carefully, I hang up some clothes, fold other items and put them in drawers, slide the shoes into the appropriate storage slots.
The bags and boxes I gather up and leave by the door. Only then do I allow myself to climb under the covers in one of my new pairs of pajamas (also purple).
My desire was simply to be alone, to think, but my body has other plans.
My hand, all on its own, slips inside my pajama bottoms. I trace one finger over my crease, rubbing it through the silky material of my panties. “Ashton,” I whisper.
I pretend it’s him touching me. My eyes close, my finger moving up to circle my clit, then back down to stroke over my pussy. I bite my lip, and my hips lift, inviting my imaginary lover inside.
Now my hand delves inside my panties, my fingers parting my folds. I’m wet, and I draw the slickness up and over my clit. “Ashton,” I moan softly.
In my mind, he’s kissing me, touching me, his body covering mine. Sensation spirals up inside me, swirling in my core, growing stronger, swelling outward.
“Ashton!” I rub directly over my clit, and the spark ignites my whole body. I tense, my hips jerking as the climax crashes over me in waves, curling my toes, making my nipples go hard.
When it ebbs, I feel the shame. I roll on my side and curl up, as if hiding from what I’ve done. If Eden knew … she’d never forgive me.
Maybe Ashton really was going to kiss me – but it’s good that he didn’t, no matter how much I wanted him to. Eden would never understand. I know he doesn’t want to hurt her, and neither do I.
Even if he did want me, we could never be together.
Resolving once again to forget all about my feelings for him, I close my eyes and will myself to sleep.
5
It’s late, but I can’t sleep. Can’t stop thinking about that moment when I almost kissed Tori. If Eden hadn’t come in, I would have done a lot more than kiss her.
My hand grips my cock, stroking. I don’t have to summon the fantasies; they flood through me without hesitation, like the blood rushing to my dick. Undressing Tori, touching her, kissing her.
Claiming every inch of her.
“Tori,” I groan, my hand moving faster. “Fuck.”
She wanted me. In that moment, at least, she wanted it just as much as I did. I could have kissed her silly, bent her over my desk, and buried myself in her silky hot depths.
As my phantom cock finds heaven inside her, my real one lets go. As soon as it’s over, I’m disgusted with myself.
What kind of man am I?
The kind who makes a living catering to the rich and powerful, a voice in my head answers. I shove it aside. Taking care of Eden after her mother died was all that mattered, and I won’t apologize for building a life that makes us both secure.
But now? the voice persists. Cursing, I fling back the covers and go into the bathroom to clean up.
It’s true I’ve been having doubts lately about the path my life has taken. Wondering if there can’t be something … more. More satisfying, more meaningful, than making sure the haves get to keep all their goodies.
“That’s a pipe dream,” I mutter to myself. “It’s too late now. The practice is thriving. If you start over you’ll lose everything, and people depend on you. Eden depends on you.”
Eden. What would my baby girl think of me if she knew the thoughts I’ve been having about her friend? It doesn’t matter that everyone I know would pat me on the back for having a lover my daughter’s age.
I’ve got to be better than that. No more thinking about Tori and touching yourself. Shut it down. You have to.
I go back to bed, but have a restless night. Dreams plague me, fevered reveries that all star Tori. Again and again, I wake up with a raging hard-on that I refuse to let myself tend to.
I’m up before my alarm goes off, exhausted. I’ll have to get through the day on caffeine. Shuffling into the kitchen, I pour a mug of coffee and slug it down.
When I turn, it’s to see both girls sitting in the breakfast nook. Eden has her back to me and is talking about a routine she’s practicing for one of her classes. Tori’s wearing one of the pajama sets I got her, a flouncy pair of flared pants and a camisole top.
Her small, firm, pert breasts are clearly visible, her nipples outlined against the satin. That’s all it takes for my cock to suddenly be the size of a Cruise missile.
Her eyes meet mine, and in them I see the same haunted look that met me in my mirror this morning. She’s feeling it too. Fighting it, like I am.
Without a word, I turn around again, refill my mug, and take it back to my bedroom. I’m going to need the world’s longest cold shower before I can go to work.
Thank fuck Eden was there. If I’d been alone with Tori, I’m not sure what I might have done. I let Hugh take the girls to school and come back for me, not trusting myself to share the car with them.
At work, I ignore my messages, shut myself into my office, and call my brother. “Ash,” Hunter greets me with a smile. “This is a pleasant surprise. You look like hell.”
“Nice to see you too,” I grumble at the computer screen.
“So what’s up?”
I start to speak, then shake my head. “You know what, never mind. This was a bad idea.”
“Ash.” Hunter turns serious in the blink of an eye. “You called me for a reason. What’s going on?”
I’m good with words. In my line of work, it’s pretty much a necessity. But right at this moment I’m about as articulate as an infant.
“You and Lily,” I blurt out at last.
His expression changes at the mention of his young bride. The look in his eyes is proud, tender, but at the same time possessive and feral. I understand.
Tori makes me feel the same way.
“Who is she?” he asks, and I give up pretending.
“Her name is Tori. Tori Smith.”
“And she’s perfect for you.”
I close my eyes as his words wash over me. “Fuck,” I breathe. “I think she might be.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
I meet his gaze. “She’s Eden’s best friend.”
He nods, understanding. “A little different than my situation.”
“Just a little.” Hunter doesn’t have a daughter, grown or otherwise. He and Lily had their own obstacles to overcome, but nothing like this.
My brother cocks his head. “What do you want me to say, Ash? If she’s the one, I won’t tell you to walk away. I can say she’ll be worth it, no matter how much hell you have to go through. If she’s the one.”
“I can’t … square it with myself. No matter how I look at it, it doesn’t seem right.”
“Does she want you?”
“I think so.”
&nbs
p; Hunter arches his brows. “You think?”
“I haven’t let myself explore things with her; I’m trying like hell to stay away from her. But I think it’s mutual.”
“You’ve been alone a long time, brother. Eden has always come first, and I admire that more than I can say. Maybe it’s time for you now.”
“Even if it is, how the hell am I supposed to tell my daughter I’m fucking her best friend?”
“I don’t know.” Hunter’s gaze is full of sympathy. “But I can tell you this: if Tori’s the one for you, and you let her walk away, you’ll never stop regretting it.”
6
I’m in the apartment, putting the finishing touches on Carole’s dinner of pork stew and quinoa. Eden disappeared during our final two classes of the day, and she’s still not home. She hasn’t answered my texts, either.
Finally, she arrives, literally dancing into the kitchen. “What happened?” I say. “Where did you go?”
“I can’t tell you, not yet.” She’s beaming as she starts to set the table.
“Eden, come on.”
“Nope. Not until Daddy’s home.”
I’m dying of curiosity, but I can see she’s in a mood, so I let it go. Her mention of her father has the familiar tangle of nerves jostling around my stomach. I hope I’ll be able to eat.
This morning, Ashton looked as miserable as I felt. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I don’t think so. Does he feel as guilty as I do? Is he wrestling with the same desires?
Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of it. I finish fixing a green salad and set it on the table just as Ashton comes in.
He’s carrying a large cardboard box. “Here,” he says, offering it to me. What on earth?
Taking it from him, I set it down, open it … and clap a hand over my mouth to keep from bursting into tears. “What is it?” Eden demands, and peers over my shoulder. “Dad! You got Tori’s stuff back!”
“The landlord auctioned off your belongings. So I bought them. I thought you’d want your family photos back, at least.”
“I can’t – this is –” Overwhelmed, I throw my arms around him. He goes still for just a moment before he hugs me back. “Thank you. So much.”
“You’re welcome,” he says gruffly, and sets me gently away from him. “Is dinner ready?”
“All set,” Eden says with a grin. “This is a real red-letter day.”
“Really?” Ashton says. “Why is that?”
She just smiles like the Cheshire Cat. Finally, when we’re all seated at the table, she makes her announcement. “There’s a special training program in Milan, and I’ve been chosen for it!”
“Eden!” I lean over to hug her. “That’s fantastic. Congratulations!”
“Well done, sweetheart.” Ashton smiles at her, full of fatherly pride, and kisses the top of her head. “Next summer?”
“No, it’s right away. I fly out on Monday!”
I freeze. Fortunately, Eden’s focused on her father, not me. I don’t dare let myself look at Ashton.
Alone? With him? I clear my throat. “How long does it last?”
“Two weeks.” Eden’s face is glowing. “Two whole weeks in Milan, can you imagine?” She squeezes my hand. “I wish you were coming too, but I’ll take as many pictures as I can. And videos.”
I keep the smile on my face through sheer willpower. “You’ll have such a great time. It’s wonderful.”
Two weeks. How on earth am I going to resist Ashton for two whole weeks? But maybe I won’t have to.
Our dinner conversation is all about Milan, the program, the instructors Eden will be working with. Every time I make eye contact with Ashton, apprehension and anticipation dance a pas de deux down my spine.
After dinner, Eden rushes off to pack, leaving me with Ashton. I have to say something. “I can go somewhere else,” I tell him, even though I have nowhere to go. “I’ll move out until she’s back.”
His eyes flash at me. “The fuck you will.”
Oh, my. My nipples go hard at his rough tone. “You should be here,” he adds, his voice rasping across my skin, and I almost melt into a puddle.
We don’t say another word as we tidy up the kitchen, but just being near him makes my skin tingle.
I’ll have to be strong. I possess enough discipline to be attending one of the top ballet schools in the country; surely I can say no to these inappropriate urges for two weeks. I’ll just imagine Eden’s face if I had to confess.
As soon as I’m in bed, though, my good intentions prove as flimsy as a chip of ice dropped into hot water. They melt away, leaving nothing behind but the ache between my legs and the need to assuage it.
My hand goes straight inside my panties this time. I’m already damp. I imagine Ashton with me – forceful, demanding, controlling – and in seconds I’m slippery wet.
“Ashton,” I gasp as my fingertips rub frantically over my clit. My legs move restlessly as pleasure winds through me, twisting and tightening in my core, taking me higher and higher until I’m teetering on the edge of release.
My fantasy Ashton looms over me. You’re mine, he growls. I need to be inside you.
“Oh, yes, Ashton. Please.” So close …
Spread your legs so I can fuck you, he orders, and I come harder than I ever have in my life. The climax shreds me, wracking me so hard I almost cry out.
“I’m sorry, Eden,” I whisper afterwards, when I’m curled on my side again. “I just can’t help it.”
Silence is my only answer.
7
It’s been one hell of a day.
This morning, I took Eden to the airport for her flight to Milan. Then I went to work and acted like an airhead. Focusing on my job was all but impossible.
Even when we met with Wallace Rutherford – one of my biggest clients – I couldn’t keep my mind on the numbers. Shane had to pick up the slack. He did a fine job, but I’ve never needed help before.
It’s unsettling. Tori has completely taken over my thoughts.
And now I’m on the way home, where I’ll be alone with her. I should have taken her up on her offer to move out temporarily, but even apart from the fact that I’m pretty sure that’s not an option – where would she go? – it made me furious to think of her being anywhere but under my roof.
I have no right to be possessive of her. No rights at all where she’s concerned. But my instincts don’t care.
At my most primitive level, somewhere deep inside, she’s already mine.
My brother’s words keep circling through my mind. Maybe it’s time for you now. If she’s the one, and you let her walk away, you’ll never stop regretting it.
What did I expect him to say? He wasn’t going to tell me how wrong my desires are, that I should turn tail and run the other way. So maybe I called him because I wanted affirmation.
Permission.
His blessing, from one randy, iron-dicked man to another. Take what you want. You deserve it.
Fuck. That’s not fair to Hunter. He’s devoted to Lily; he adores her. He moved heaven and earth to make things right between them, and now they’re married. She’s not his fuck toy; she’s his cherished companion in life.
And there’s the rub, because I can’t offer Tori that. All I can give her is secrecy. Stolen moments, fueled by lust, followed by guilt.
Much as I’d like to, I can’t draw any lessons for myself from Hunter’s relationship with his wife. Except for the age difference, my circumstances are completely different.
Tori’s off limits. My relationship with my daughter is more important than whatever I think I feel for her friend. I will myself to believe it as Hugh pulls up in front of my building.
“Going out anywhere tonight, Mr. Drake?” he asks.
My gut twists. I should go out. Find a bar somewhere, huddle in a corner, and nurse a Scotch all night long, until it’s safe to go back home and crawl into bed.
“Not tonight, Hugh. I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks.”<
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A woman rides up in the elevator with me. She’s around my age, and she sends me smiling sidelong glances, her interest unmistakable. I should take her up on it, ask if she wants to go to dinner.
I don’t.
As I stand before my door, unlocking it, I know I have only myself to blame. Every time fate offers me an escape hatch, I turn it down. I’m determined to walk straight into the fire, even if it burns me to cinders.
I go in, and there she is, in the kitchen, finishing the dinner preparations. Longing slams into me like a hurricane-force gale.
It’s not just the sex, though heaven knows I want her with a hunger that seems insatiable. The picture she presents right now – the fantasy she seems to embody – I want that too.
For her to be the one waiting for me at the end of a long day. My own cherished companion. It’s a physical pain, I want it so badly.
She sends me a tentative smile. “Carole made beef stroganoff.”
“Sounds good.” I hang up my coat and stow my briefcase, then join her at the table. There are thick, crusty rolls to go with the meal. Tori brings the butter dish over, but drops it just as she reaches me.
“Oh.” She kneels down in front of me, gathering up the spilled food. “I’m so sorry.”
Before I can stop myself, my hand reaches out to stroke her hair. “It’s all right.”
Tori looks up at me, and the raw desire on her face almost undoes me. Kneeling at my feet, ready and willing … she’d do anything I wanted. I could be fucking her mouth in five seconds.
Ignoring my throbbing cock, I trace a path with my thumb from the corner of her mouth to the bridge of her cheekbone. “It’s all right,” I repeat.
The storm in her eyes tells me what we both know: that nothing is all right. She cleans up the mess and gets out another stick of butter. It’s not softened, like the one she dropped; it’s difficult to spread across the rolls.
It seems like a metaphor for the entire meal, which is full of awkward silences. There are too many things we can’t say, and neither of us can bridge the gap and find a safe, neutral topic of conversation.