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That does not fill me with confidence.
“Dad, that's ridiculous.” And Tara is gonna be pissed. She’ll take it personally. I’d be surprised if she hasn’t blown up my phone. I feel guilty that I haven’t checked it since Rock got in last night, or this morning. And we usually text each other every night and first thing in the morning. If Tara doesn’t hear from me in a few hours, she’ll send out a search party, God bless her.
“No, it isn’t. We’re following procedure and taking all precautions,” he says, just as I hear the elevator doors.
Oh, is that Rock? Where the hell is he? Did my father send him away?
A few moments later, I turn as he comes through the door, holding two stuffed bags of what smells like amazing goodness.
“Ah,” Dad says. “Rock.”
His eyes meet mine, and I look away.
I can’t face this man. Not after what we did. Not after…everything.
“I’m gonna go wash up for a second,” Dad says.
“There’s a powder room to the right, down the hallway,” I tell him as he nods.
Rock sets the bags down on the counter as my dad walks off in the other direction.
As soon as he’s gone, Rock asks, “Didn’t check your phone, did you?”
I shake my head.
He surprises me when he leans over and quickly pecks me on the lips.
Holy shit.
His eyes glance down at my robe, heating instantly. When they meet mine again, he rounds the counter and pulls me to him. His tongue in my mouth and his hand reaching under my robe to cup my bare pussy. Nope. I didn’t have the chance, or the willpower, to even put underwear on.
“Rock,” I hiss, slapping his hand. “Stop it.”
He groans softly as he fingers me gently. “Haven’t been able to get you off my mind, babe,” he mutters. “After your dad leaves, I’m gonna fuck you on this countertop.”
My eyes go wide as he releases me with one lasting look, and I gape at him while he shifts back behind the bench top.
Who is this man?
I mean, I’m relieved he isn’t ignoring me or chalking our experience up to another notch on his belt and then scramming, but I didn’t expect that.
He just tongue-kissed me and fingered me with my father in the next room.
He whistles as he pulls the containers out of the paper bags, his eyes meeting mine as he gives me a wink.
“Thanks to you I’m dripping again,” I hiss.
He grins. “Fuck. Don’t say that, or I’ll come back around there and…”
“Honey?” Dad calls. “Don’t go eatin’ my sausage muffin.”
I poke my tongue out at Rock before Dad comes into sight.
“Dad, you shouldn’t be eating that,” I scold when he appears again. “It’s not good for your cholesterol.”
Rock moves out of the way and distances himself even farther from me.
“When I’m out of LA, my trainer doesn't know a thing,” he assures me.
