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I do. I gush all over him. Squeezing his cock with my pussy until he stops, then lifts his head back and groans.
And that’s when I feel it. That’s how it feels. Because for the first time ever, he comes inside me.
I am in bliss. I am in heaven. I am complete and we are perfect together.
And then all of that fades away when I hear—
“Aria? Are you in here?”
—and realize my mother is coming up the steps and my bedroom door is wide open.
CHAPTER TWENTY – RYKER
“Is she up there?” Aria’s father calls. “Aria? Are you here? The back door was open.”
“Maybe you should get the gun,” her mother whispers.
Oh, shit.
I’d like to say there’s enough time for me to get my pants up and look completely normal. Like I didn’t just have sex with their daughter, in their house, in her princess bedroom, on her bed.
That doesn’t happen. I get my dick tucked away and Aria kicks her panties under the bed and straightens her dress. But if my hair looks anything like hers, this is nothing more than a futile attempt at innocence.
“Mr. North?” Mr. Amherst asks.
“Aria?” Mrs. Amherst asks.
“What exactly is going in here?” her father asks.
“Um…” we both say at the same time.
“Did you just… were you just…” He looks at me with an incredible expression of betrayal. That’s the only way to describe the look on his face.
“Look,” Aria says, “This is all new for us and—“
“New for you?” Amherst asks, looking at me, then at Aria. “This is the boy?”
“Boy?” I say.
Aria looks at me and frowns, then looks at her father and says, “Yes. This is the boy. We met that night of the board meeting and then again on my birthday. We’ve been dating a little ever since.”
Amherst works his jaw a little. He’s not a big guy. And he’s in his fifties, so he’s not going to punch me.
At least I didn’t think he was. But he does. Right in the eye. “Get out of my house,” he says, giving me a push towards the door. “Get out of my house and don’t you ever come back here again, you sick son of a bitch! The deal is off. Do you hear me? The deal is off!”
“Daddy,” Aria says. “Just listen, OK?”
“Get out!” Amherst says again, pointing at the door.
I glance at Aria’s mother, who is silent and unreadable, then mutter, “Sorry,” and walk out.
The whole time I’m walking down the path through the woods, Ozzy is texting me. What the fuck happened? Where the fuck are you? Amherst called off the deal and said to ask you why.
I ignore the texts, but he’s waiting for me in front of the country club. “Dude,” he says. “Do you know what’s going on? Amherst is pissed. He fucking blocked my number! What the hell happened?”
Our car is waiting, so I just get in. Ozzy hesitates for a moment, like this can’t possibly be happening but getting in this car will make it so. But then he realizes he has no choice and walks around to the other side and slides in next to me.
“You want to tell me how the fuck a deal we’ve been working on for over a month just suddenly disappears in one afternoon of country clubbing?”
“I’m dating his daughter,” I say flatly.
“You’re…” He laughs, then stops laughing abruptly. “No. No. No. Please tell me that the eighteen-year-old is not Aria Amherst.”
“I wish I could. Well, that’s a lie. I’m actually pretty infatuated with her.” I look at my partner and best friend and I don’t know what else to say except, “Sorry.”
He huffs out an incredulous laugh. “You’re sorry? You just blew up a two-hundred-million-dollar deal because you want to date a child and all you’ve got to say is sorry?”
“She’s eighteen,” I say. “She’s not a child.”
“Not only is she a child,” Ozzy says, “she’s the goddamned daughter of the man who was giving us the money to finish the project. Do you have any idea how fucked we are right now?”
“I have a pretty good idea,” I say.
“Do you?” he asks. “You’ve been checked out for weeks and now I know why. You’ve been fucking her, haven’t you?” He runs his fingers through his hair, messing it all up. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“I’ll talk to him, OK? He’s just… surprised right now. Aria and I will—“
“There is no Aria and you, Ryker. Not anymore. You’re gonna give this guy the rest of the weekend to cool off and then on Monday you’re going to pick up that phone, beg his forgiveness, tell him you’ll never even look at his daughter again, and then hope to God he gives us this loan. That’s what you’re going to do.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“No? No to which part? Because none of this is optional. No girl is worth two hundred million dollars.”
