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I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. The cold wood floor has me scurrying to his bathroom. The door is cracked, and I push it open just enough to see his reflection in the mirror. His back is turned to me, his ass firm and delicious enough to take a bite out of.
Leaning one hand against the tile wall, the muscles of his other arm bulge.
He’s touching himself.
No, he’s jerking off.
His arm moves faster. He drops his head back, then turns slightly to grab the showerhead. He repositions it to beat right on his hair. Since there’s no steam at all, he must not’ve been exaggerating—the water’s cold.
I should return to bed, but I’m riveted and aroused by his grunts. The pained expression on his face. The tightening of his back muscles. His broad shoulders. My eyes travel down his body. His cock. It’s at least twice the length of his massive fist. He pumps his hand back and forth as water slicks his hair back from his face, its golden color turning his wet skin bronze. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and visibly holds in a groan, probably so he won’t wake me.
I could help him. Get down on my knees in front of him and offer hands and a mouth. I’ve never swallowed a man’s cum, but I’d do it, I would. I don’t move, though. I watch until the end. Until he curls one hand into a ball and paints the tile in front of him.
As turned on as I am, I hope this is the last time I see this. I want to be that hand, that lip, even that wall. I’d let him come in my mouth, but also on my back, my tits, my face—wherever he wanted.
My throat goes dry when a chilling realization hits me.
Maybe I’m the sex addict in this relationship.
I love the office break room. My assistant could easily help maintain the steady stream of coffee into my mouth, but I look forward to my morning, late-morning, afternoon, and late-afternoon trips from my office to the break room. I mean, for God’s sake, it’s a no-work zone that’s lousy with my absolute favorite smell. Yep. Coffee.
Rich never comes to the break room, so my first mistake is assuming I’m safe there.
When he walks in, he glances at the mug in my hands. “Can you excuse us?” he asks Benny.
She grabs an apple. “I’ll be at my desk.”
I wait until she’s left the room to address Rich. “She doesn’t know. Nobody does. I don’t want to do this here.”
“Your dad wants to see us in his office.”
“Is it about business?”
“It’s going to happen, you know it is. Unless you change your mind about us, your dad’s going to get his two cents in.”
I put my mug down and walk past him. “It doesn’t help your case when you run to him first chance you get. This isn’t Three’s Company.”
We walk through the maze of desks. “I was worried,” he says in a hushed tone.
I don’t respond. Already, people at this company are too invested in my personal life since I’m the daughter of the founder and the girlfriend of the top-performing account manager.
In the elevator, Rich hands me the mug I just put down. “You’ll want this.”
I cross my arms to prove I don’t need looking after, but my rebellion only lasts one floor. I take the coffee and mutter, “Thanks.”
The doors open to the executive floor. My dad’s office is front and center. His secretary glances up as we approach. “He’s expecting you.”
My dad’s on the phone, pacing the length of the window in his office. He takes his eyes from Fifth Avenue to watch us enter. “The bottom line is, never date a woman who knows what you drive before she meets you, and a mouse in a cheese commercial will kill your brand, so forget about the rodent, would you?” he asks, completely serious, as if those are two perfectly normal statements to string together. I sit in a chair across from him, and Rich follows suit. “Uh-huh. Sure.” Dad laughs. “We’re happy to make that contribution, Bob. See you next week.”
Dad flings the phone aside as his smile flips upside down. That doesn’t tell me anything. His bullshit always clears the room as soon as we’re alone.
“He won’t give up the mouse,” I say. “We’ve all tried.”
“Sure he will. It’s all about approach with a man like that.” He sits forward and plants his elbows on the desk. “What’s going on between you two?”
“We broke up,” I say.
“She broke up,” Rich corrects. “I haven’t agreed to it.”
I shoot him a glare, the brown-noser. “That isn’t how breakups work, Rich.”
“No need for the sarcastic tone,” my dad says to me. “We can do this like civilized adults. What’s the problem, honey? Is he working too much? I can arrange to cut back on his hours.”
“I don’t want that, sir,” Rich says. “I love my job, and I want to do my part.”
“I know. Believe me, I know, Rich. Nobody’s as dedicated as you.” He steeples his fingers and looks at me. “But relationships are work, and you guys are getting to the point where you either commit or move on, and I’d hate to see you end this over something that could be fixed.”
“It’s already ended, Dad,” I say. “Moving on is my choice.”
“Let’s not be rash,” he reasons. “This isn’t something you just decide overnight.”
“It wasn’t overnight.” Maybe a little. Was it really less than twelve hours ago that Finn nearly fucked me fully clothed? Pushing me up against the wall, unable to keep his hands to himself? I suck in a breath and try to push the scorching memory out of my mind. “It was . . . I . . .” I try to remember the point I was about to make.
Dad and Rich exchange a look. “Rich, will you give us a second?”
Rich hesitates but stands. “Sure.”
When we’re alone, my dad looks suddenly tired. “Why are you doing this to me, Banana? Why now? You know how December is.”
As if I need a reminder of the time of year. Using that in combination with the nickname given to me as a yellow-haired toddler is enough to make my throat thick. “I admit, it isn’t ideal timing.”
He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’ve lost three clients since summer, and the ones I have are twice as demanding around the holidays. I can’t be worried about you on top of work.”
And work comes first. That isn’t anything new, but it never feels good to hear, even if he doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings. “I thought things were going well,” I say.
“They are, and if anyone around the office asks, even Rich, business is great. But the economy’s unstable with this political climate, and clients are hesitant to pay for premium work. It’ll pass, it always does, I just don’t need more stress.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“Rich says you’ve stopped seeing Doctor Lumby and you’re taking on your own treatment. I don’t believe him.”
I close my eyes. I knew this conversation would come, but I’m not feeling as bold as I was last night. “It’s time, Dad. It’s been ten years—”
“Ten years.” He looks at the desk. “Don’t I know it.”
I allow us a moment of silence. “I’m sorry, but wouldn’t you rather I figure this out now instead of later, when we’re all more invested?”
“Figure what out?”
“That I don’t love him. If it hasn’t happened by now, it’s not going to.”
“That’s because you don’t understand the definition of love. Your generation thinks everything’s easy. Love is commitment. It doesn’t come like that.” He snaps. “It’s an investment of time and energy.”
“Is that how you felt about Mom?”
“Damn right it is. We worked on our marriage every day and to let her go at any point would’ve been like tanking a business I’d spent years investing in.”
Even though my dad refers to my mom as an investment, I know he means it as a compliment. He was even more dedicated to her than this company. “Not every business can survive,” I say.
“You don’t think we had our problems in the b
eginning? Two years in? Ten years in? Shit, twenty years? Of course we did.”
Guilt weighs on my shoulders. If not for my mistakes, he’d have been able to say thirty years soon. “But Rich and I aren’t married.”
“You could be. Do you know what a weight it would lift off my shoulders to know you were happy and taken care of?”
“How can I be happy with something I don’t want?”
“You work at it. That’s what I’m telling you.” He stands and comes around the desk to perch on the edge in front of me. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
