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I lowered my face to his, scented the whiskey and the notes of sherry oak on his breath, and it had gone straight to my head. And to other parts of me, too. He felt all man. All woodsy and strong and unshakeable… and I wanted to crack that composure of his. I wanted to perforate that confidence, peel off the mask he wears to the world, and expose the man he is inside. Primal, crude, basic… As rough-hewn as an oak tree in the wild. As majestic as a lion in the Sahara. As…
What the?Hold on. Why am I going all gaga over this man? He’s my boyfriend’s father. My boss. Not to mention, he’s old enough to be my parent. But it didn’t feel like that. It didn’t felt wrong to be in his arms. It felt forbidden, taboo, and so very sensual. It felt different than with anyone else I’ve been with. And his touch… It had snaked a thrill of excitement down my spine. He is one fine specimen of manliness. And completely off limits.
If nothing else, I need the job he offered me, and nothing is worth endangering my position before I’ve even started with the company. I need the money, so I can get out from under his roof and begin to salvage the remnants of my life. Best to put what happened behind me. Chalk it all up to an inappropriate accident and move on.
As to him having a gun? Well, he is a high-powered businessman. It makes sense for him to be armed, I suppose...
I step under the shower, then towel off and pull on the bathrobe I find behind the bathroom door. I step out of the bathroom, and find Isaac is fast asleep and snoring lightly. About to go to bed I pause. I never did ask JJ what time I need to be ready tomorrow. Also, does he want me to get to the office on my own steam? Or is he going to give me a lift, and where is the office anyway? I glance at the bed and find Isaac fast asleep under the covers. It won’t help to ask him.
My phone vibrates and I pick it up, see the missed calls from my mom, and the notifications for the messages that have popped up in the group chat I have with my family. Jeez, you’d think I was missing or something. I’ve only missed messages from the group for the last twelve hours. I probably need to update them on where I am. I reach for the keypad, then hesitate. Maybe later. First, I need to figure out what I’m going to do about tomorrow. I place the phone on the nightstand and begin to pace.
Of course, I could simply get into the bed and try to sleep. Which is going to be impossible because I’m too stressed thinking about what I’m going to do about tomorrow. What if I oversleep and miss Isaac’s father before he goes to the office? That’ll never do for the start of a new job.
No, I’m going to have to suck it up and track him down and ask him myself. I spin around, walk to the door, then out into the hallway. I head downstairs and find all the lights are off. So I walk back up the steps. To the right is my and Isaac’s room. So I guess JJ’s room must be to the left. I hesitate. If I go to sleep without talking to him I’ll not know what time to be up tomorrow. Not that I want to meet that patronizing prick, especially after what went down earlier but I don’t have a choice, do I? I turn left and head up the corridor. I reach the door to a room, and peek inside. It’s empty. The two other rooms that are smaller than Isaac’s, but still spacious, are not his, either. Which means, his father’s room must be on the top floor. Okay then. I walk up the steps then down the corridor and to the double doors. These are the only doors on this floor, which means they have to be his. The doors do have the feel of a master suite about them, too.
I knock on the door and it swings open. Huh? It’s not locked? I step into the dimly lit space and gasp. Holy shit. I thought Isaac’s suite was big. But this? This is at least twice, or maybe three times, Isaac’s space. It’s a complete apartment. There’s no one around, but I can hear the sound of the shower from the slightly open door in the far corner. Guess he must be taking a shower?
I glance around the room, unable to stop myself from taking a closer look. On the left is a large living room space with a sectional and a massive TV on the wall in front. Right ahead is a large desk with a laptop on it. On the right, the entire wall is covered with books from floor to ceiling. Beyond the desk is a large window through which I can see the lights of the city. I knew the house was on elevated land, but I didn’t realize it gave a clear view of the metropolis.
I take a step forward and my feet sink into the heavy, steel-gray carpet. The soft material seems to envelop my toes. It invites me to sink down and pat it with my hand; that’s how lush it feels. No doubt, it’s made of some hideously expensive material which I can’t even fathom. My eyes are drawn to the massive bed pushed up against the wall on my right. It’s a super king-size, at least. I’ll bet it’s some custom-size larger than anything the rest of us mere mortals can get. The pillows are large and fluffy. The covers are a midnight blue and turned back in a very inviting fashion.
Also pushed up against the wall on the far side is a large rectangular tank. There’re rocks and vegetation in it and a basking lamp. I walk toward it and peer inside, then blink. There, on the sandy floor, is a tortoise. I kid you not. It’s a tiny tortoise, about five to seven inches long and could fit into the palm of my hand. It’s frozen there, I imagine, terrified by my presence. The hard shell on its back has whorls of a repeating design on it. I stay there, unable to move, and it slowly begins to crawl forward. A breath I’d not realized I was holding rushes out of me. I don’t know what I expected. It’s not like I see tortoises every day. Actually, I don’t think I’ve seen one before this. Which begs the question, what is a tortoise doing in JJ’s room? Is it his pet? Does the grouch alphahole have a turtle as a pet? Surreal.
I turn and, once again, glance at the bathroom door. My shoulders slump. I can hardly go in there and bother him. Guess I don’t have much choice but to walk down in the morning and take my chances. Maybe I can ask Craig for the office address, or Isaac might have it. I have to assume they start at 9 a.m. Yeah, that’s the best I can do. I turn to leave when the shower cuts off.
In the silence that follows I hear a sound. The sound of it can’t be him touching himself, can it? I really should leave. I take a step forward when a groan reaches me. The hair on the back of my neck rises. My nipples tighten. I should leave; I really should. Another groan, and this time, his voice is deeper as if he’s in pain. My scalp tingles. I am going to hell for this.
I tip-toe toward the open doorway of the bathroom.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh grows louder. My mouth goes dry. All the moisture seems to have drained to between my thighs. My panties are smoking. I rub my sweaty palms on my bathrobe, then slide into the gap between the door and the frame. The heat assails me, surrounds me, swirls over me. The fragrance of spicy soap envelops me. Bergamot and mint and the bite of something darker. Something more potent. Like sherry oak and cinnamon, with a dash of dark chocolate. The scent of his skin.
My mouth waters. A pulse flares to life in my core. I take another step forward, peer through the steam, and spot him. He’s in the shower cubicle. The walls are fogged up, but there are enough clear patches left for me to make out that his shoulders are moving. His chest heaves. His biceps strain. His arm moves faster—and fuck me—the steam covers the most vital portion, his center. The wet sound of flesh hitting flesh seems to deepen. The thick notes fill the space.Slap-slap-slap.The tendons of his gorgeous throat flex. His jaw tightens, and color smears his cheeks. His hair is slicked back from his face, and maybe that’s water clinging to his face, but maybe it’s sweat? My fingers itch to touch him, and I curl them into fists at my sides. I narrow my gaze as his entire body jerks. His movements get even more frantic. Little dots of fire dance across the surface of my skin. Ohmigod, this is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. I squeeze my thighs together, bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from moaning aloud.
"Fuck," he growls. "Fuck, Lena, fuck." He throws back his head and shouts as he climaxes.
Wait, what? Did he— Did I hear that right? Did he just say my name?A shudder grips me. My toes curl. I watch as he continues to jerk himself off, his movements growing slower, until finally he hits the wall with a thud, his eyes closed. His features compose into serene lines. There’s a small smile on his face. He’s more relaxed than I’ve seen him. Admittedly, I’ve only just met him, but the tenseness of his body and the way he held himself, all sharp angles and strained tendons, indicated this is a man who never lets down his walls. Except for when he's jerking off, apparently.
How would it be to see him come apart as he rams into me? As he buries his fat cock inside my pussy and drills into me over and over again. As he squeezes my breasts and drags his thumb down the seam of my slit and into the most forbidden part of me. “Oh god!” I gasp, then clap my palm over my mouth. But it’s too late. He snaps his eyes open and his gaze locks with mine.
7
JJ
That was yesterday. I’m not sure if I should be pissed off at her for sneaking a peek at me as I jerked off, or if I should be pissed off at myself for finding the entire incident so hot. But then, I am one depraved motherfucker. On the other hand, I’ve never brought my sexual proclivities to my house. So what if I live alone? This is the house my kids grew up in, and as long as they were around, I ensured no woman ever came home with me. I’ve kept my tendencies to outside my place of residence. Believe it or not, I’ve never before jerked off in my own home. I didn’t need to. There are enough women to bed outside the house to keep my sex drive satisfied. This month of being celibate, by chance, is definitely playing havoc with my libido, especially considering I’m still turned on this morning as I drink my tea and stare at the garden from the kitchen window.
"Good morning," a chirpy voice greets me.
I turn to find Lena walking into the kitchen. She’s wearing heels which help snap back her shoulders and her butt, her suit jacket is conservative and buttoned in the front... But her skirt? It comes to just above her knees, which is perfectly acceptable. But the fabric is cut so it clings to her thighs, and there’s a slit up one side that opens to reveal the smooth, brown skin of her thigh before pulling back together and covering it up again. Fucking hell, I bet she wore it just to taunt me.
She keeps her back turned to me as she reaches the counter. She glances around, then leans down to pull out a drawer below the counter. The skirt stretches tight across the perfectly lush curves of her butt. And just like that, I’m erect again.Jesus Christ, can’t I control myself around this woman at all?
"What are you looking for?" I snap.
She stiffens, then draws to her full height before turning to face me. "Who pissed in your coffee?" She scowls.
I’d like to piss on you, actually.A-n-d, moving on swiftly. "There’s tea. You’re in England, remember?" I raise my cup, toast her, then take another sip.
"You drink tea in the morning?" Her features are creased in an expression of horror.
