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“That was beautiful, baby girl.”
I climb up her body, kissing her breasts, chest, and throat, until I seal the moment with a kiss on her lips. She wraps her arms around my neck and sighs.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispers, cupping my cheek in her hand. She rocks against me from below, pressing her bare pussy to my straining cock.
I shudder from the heat radiating between us. “Fuck, baby, I need you.”
“Then take me, Daddy.”
Groaning, I roll my hips between her thighs, not caring that I’m soaking the front of my pants with her honey. I want all of it, all of her—
The sound of laughter from the hall makes us both freeze in place. Natasha’s hooded gaze instantly widens into panic.
Reality pierces the mental fog of arousal, driving me away from Natasha, who immediately begins rearranging her clothes until she’s fully covered. Her gaze finds mine, seeking reassurance that this wasn’t a mistake. But as the truth of what I’ve done washes over me, I realize I have none to give her.
I clear my throat, adjusting my shirt so that it covers my erection and the wet spot on my pants, then head for the door.
“Evan, wait,” Natasha says softly.
I hesitate in the doorway, then turn to look at her.
“You,” I murmur, “deserve more than what I can give you.”
I leave then, with a pain in my chest unlike anything I’ve ever suffered before, feeling like the worst kind of coward for walking away when I want more than anything to stay with her.
CHAPTERFIVE
EVAN
It’sdifficult to avoid someone you share a house with.
Seeing Natasha in the kitchen the next morning triggers an instant replay of all the ways and places I touched and tasted her the night before. What I did to her was wrong. I won’t deny it. But the guilt I feel is a pinprick compared to the pleasure of making her come on my tongue. I steel myself as I pass her at the table on my way to the coffee pot.
“Morning,” I say quietly.
After a brief pause, she says, “Good morning, Dr. Ransom.”
I suppose I deserve that.She sips from her own mug of coffee, refusing to so much as glance in my direction. Unlike my son who refuses to put on real clothes before noon, Natasha has opted for a bright orange tank top and denim cut-offs. Her upper body is practically screaming for my attention.
“Is Oliver still asleep?” I ask, adding a splash of milk to my cup and then take my regular seat at the table.
“I assume so. His door’s still closed.”
The silence hangs between us. I should leave early, head back to my apartment in the city, or attempt to sweat Natasha out of my system at the gym. But that would mean missing Sunday dinner with Oliver, and I’m not willing to do that. Besides, Natasha deserves an apology, as well as an explanation.
“Natasha, I just wanted to say… I’m sorry about what happened last night.”
“Which part?” She looks at me.
“All of it.”
She flinches, and the hurt on her face hits like a right hook.
“I moved back here to repair my relationship with my son,” I say. “I didn’t expect to meet someone…like you.”
“Like me?”
“Someone I could really care about.” I fight the urge to reach across the table and take her hand. “It won’t happen again, Natasha. It can’t.”
