“You want me to make you come, baby girl?”
She whimpers. “So much, Asher.”
"I'm going to do bad fucking things to you. Do you think you can handle it?"
Her hands grip my shirt even tighter. "I want you to fuck me however you want. I want it so bad."
My hands leave her hair and I slide them down to her perfect fucking ass, pulling her to me so she can feel my cock against her belly. Julie is a bland as fuck good girl. Boring to her core. I could tell that going in, and I never tried to do anything wild. I thought I'd shut that side of me down, but it's back.
Devon is watching me like I'm her everything and the way it makes me feel is insane. "I haven't been with someone that can take a good, hard fuck in years," I tell her. "Are you going to be a good girl and let me cum all over you? Are you going to let me fuck you into the mattress? Will you sit on my face and let me eat you out until you scream?"
Her eyes are completely blown and she's breathing faster. She shifts against me. "Anything you want. Everything. Whenever you want it. And I want things, too. Will you give them to me?"
My dick is so hard right now I'm a little stunned I have enough blood in my brain to think. "What do you want, baby? What can I give you?"
"I want to ride your cock until I come. That's my favorite. And I want you to let me blow you in your office. Where we could get caught."
Fuck yes. I'm going to fucking ruin this girl. Right here, right now.
And then, I hear it. My phone alarm. Loud and insistent in my pocket. The reminder I set before I parked. Julie will be here in half an hour to pick up Devon for therapy. I freeze. Devon's eyes search mine, confused.
"Why are you stopping?" she whispers.
I pull back, my hands dropping from her body. "Julie. She'll be here soon."
Devon's expression shifts. Understanding. Then disappointment. "Right. Count on her uptight ass to ruin the moment."
I let out a choked laugh as I step away from her, adjusting myself. I'm still hard. Still wanting her. But I can't be caught like this. It would be suicide.
Devon reaches for a silk robe draped over her chair and slips it on. She ties it loosely at the waist. "So what did you want to talk about?"
I take a breath. Focus. This is why I came home. Not to fuck her. Not yet. To make sure she's ready for what's about to happen. My phone buzzes. A text from Julie.
On my way to pick up Devon.
That stops everything. I quickly fill Devon in on what I need from her. She listens intently, nodding as she gets dressed, laughing as I explain it all to her. Once I’ve told her everything, I slip out of her room and leave the house so I don't cross paths with my wife.
Because it's time for Julie to be put in her place.
CHAPTER
THIRTY
JULIE
Devonis already waiting on the front porch when I pull up, which surprises me. She's never ready early for anything. She's wearing black leggings and an oversized cream sweater that probably costs as much as my shop brings in per hour. Her blonde hair falls in perfect waves over her shoulders. She’s literally glowing, like she has not a care in the world and this is the happiest day ever. She also looks like she stepped out of a Pinterest board called effortlessly beautiful princess vibes.
She slides into the passenger seat without a word, bringing with her a cloud of expensive vanilla gourmand perfume. I hate it because it's too much. The word that comes to mind is cloying. I wouldn’t have said it was possible, but she’s ruining vanilla for me.
"Thanks for the ride," she says, but her tone suggests she's doing me a favor by letting me drive her.
I’d rather be having a fucking root canal than spending time with this girl. Asher doesn't see it, but now more than ever, I do. She's no good. "Not a problem."
I pull out of the driveway and head toward the therapist's office across town. The silence in the car is awkward. I can feel her beside me, a presence that takes up more space than her small frame should allow.
I try to focus on the road, but I'm very aware of every movement she makes. The way she pulls out her phone and starts scrolling. The way she sighs, a sound that seems designed to communicate her displeasure with existing in the same space as me. Sorry, princess. I fucking exist.
"How are you feeling about the appointment?" I ask, because that's what a supportive person would ask.
