7. A Fish on a Line
Being a person of a thousand words and even more comebacks, experiencing speechlessness is completely foreign for me. The entire evening, Marcus has had me in a metaphorical chokehold, and the ability to care about why I shouldn’t let this man do X-rated things to me is bordering on non-existent.
This could be the fact that almost everything that comes out of his mouth is ridiculously sexy, and has my underwear uncomfortably wet. Or, because when he caught me on my fall, my skirt lifted, somehow becoming trapped at my hip, and said damp underwear are the only thing covering my cunt, which can very clearly feel the thick bulge in his pants.
No, not just a bulge, but a defined, rigid, thick erection.
I’m not sure how long I stay still and stupidly dumbstruck, locked in a state of arousal overdose with my heart pumping painfully and my core throbbing, but the fish on my line begins to wiggle, splashing me with my last shred of decency. I readjust, trying to regain my balance to stand, but when I do, my ass slides against him, and his cock twitches in response.
I suck in a sharp breath, my core contracting. “Oh.”
“Oh?” he repeats, his voice low and his breath hot in my ear.
I swear I almost fucking melt against him, my blood whooshing so fast I damn near get dizzy. But then the fish struggles again, and somehow, somehow, a miracle happens, and I’m able to push out a joke, hoping to distract us both. Or maybe to distract him from the fact I’m probably leaving a wet spot on his slacks.
“I was going to ask if that was another fishing pole in your pocket or if you were just excited about your catch.”
His low chuckle vibrates against my back. “And if I said it was neither?”
I’m quiet for a second, attempting to yet again downplay his words, but like before, it’s getting harder to do so. This time, because of the slack-clad cock pressed to my center. Still, I manage to provide some semblance of a retort. “Then I would ask how it feels to be God’s favorite.”
A thoughtful hmm is all he gives me before his free hand wraps around mine and squeezes, prompting my attention back to the pole. “Perhaps I can tell you over dinner. Finish reeling him in.”
“Yes, sir.” The thick swallow does nothing to dislodge the lump in my throat as I stand.
Before I can fix my skirt, Marcus does it, tugging the bottom back into place. My breath catches when he runs a hand over my hips, his demeanor calm as a fucking clam as he stands next to me. Meanwhile, I’m wondering if it’s possible to self-implode.
Still, despite my thighs squeezing together tighter than a vice, I reel in the line. It only takes a few seconds before I pull the fish up over the railing to a waiting Marcus who immediately grabs it. And naturally, I discover that watching a man in business attire with his sleeves rolled up unhook a fish is a sight I never knew I needed to see, my rose, horny tinted glasses, only enhancing the visual.
I’m so fucked.
“This,” Marcus gestures to the catch that has finally stopped moving, “is roughly a five pound rainbow trout.”
I swear I’m trying to focus on the gray scaly thing dangling in front of me, but my eyes keep catching on to the thick veins in Marcus’ forearms as he moves it around. “Good catch.”
“It is. Ready to taste it?”
“Depends,” I say, setting the pole down across the chair. “Are you cooking it with butter and lemon?”
One side of his mouth curls in a devilishly delicious grin as he shifts and leads us to the sliding glass doors. “Guess we’ll see.”
“Okay, let me do a little recap.” Even with my phone on the lowest possible volume, Troy’s voice seems to echo in the bathroom. I snuck away while Marcus began descaling the fish, and after righting my cardigan and running my fingers through my hair, I called Troy.
I’m not one who has ever needed a pep talk but the circumstances have clearly gotten to me. Marcus isn’t just another guy I find attractive. He’s my ex’s dad, my father’s rival, and a coworker who I’ll have to work closely with every day. The many reasons why this…this…attraction is such a bad idea are stacked against me and yet, I can’t ignore my body’s reactions to every word that slips past Marcus’s lips. Lips that I couldn’t stop staring at when he was walking me through how to skin a fish. Lips that I wondered what would look like parted with pleasure. Pleasure that I gave him.
Fuck.
No part of me should be entertaining these dangerous thoughts but I’m only human, and a girl has needs. Needs that can only be satiated by this man I’ve wanted for so damn long.
“And now you’re hiding in a bathroom trying to convince yourself that being naked with him would be a bad thing.” Troy finishes parroting the cliff notes I gave him when I first called.
I scoff. “No, I’m in the bathroom on the phone so you can convince me that being naked with him would be a bad thing.”
Troy laughs into the receiver. “Then you have the wrong number, babe. You already know I’m going to tell you to let Mr. Finbois fuck you six ways to Sunday.”
I press my back to the door and run a hand through my hair again. Part of me knew this is exactly how this conversation would go, but I thought maybe, just maybe, Troy would be a voice of reason when I have none. “What about the aftermath?”
“It’s not like you have to marry him just because you fuck him.”
“I’m not saying that,” I hiss. “But I should feel some sort of moral obligation not to fuck my ex’s dad, shouldn’t I?”
“Sweets, that should give you all the more reason to fuck his dad. Harrison was a piece of shit and having a one night stand with his dad would be completely justified. Not to mention, you’ve had a thing for this man for years, and despite what you think, vice versa. I’m pretty sure you both just need to get it out of your system.”
A sigh works from my lungs. “And what if we’re both wrong and I make a fool of myself?”
“Then coffee’s on me for the next month.”
“Because coffee will erase the embarrassment of being rejected.” I shake my head, but can admit with how the night’s going, free coffee is more than enough to make me want to take a chance. “Alright. Well, wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it, but will do. Text me tomorrow so I know you didn’t fall off the side of the boat and drown.”
I hang up and slip my phone back in my purse before wrapping my hand around the doorknob.
Time to see if Daddy Debois wants to work me from his system the way I need him too.
Though I’m fully focused on the task in front of me, my body is acutely aware of Renee’s proximity even when she excuses herself to the bathroom.
Similar to when we’re at the office, I’m always aware of where she is—a habit I’ve tried to break throughout the years but have always failed at doing. I could be knee deep in a manuscript, transfixed in a world full of mystery, murder, and suspense, but the moments I’d catch sight of her strawberry hair in my periphery, nothing else mattered. Only her.
Like now. I’m grilling the fish, steaming long stemmed broccoli, and creating a glaze, yet my eyes keep flashing to the door, the memory of her on my lap still fresh in my mind. The scent of lavender from her hair still fragrant in my lungs.
Encouraging her attention back on the catch and releasing her to stand was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, and yet another regret. But as much as I want her, as much as I want to show her how indubitably obsessed I am with everything that is her, I need to know she feels the same.
I need to know without a shadow of a doubt that before I take her, she’s fully aware of what I plan to do, and that means we finally have the conversation. And her on top of my cock, her mind hazy from arousal, wasn’t the right time to have it. Dinner, however, when we are a table distance away from each other, is by far more appropriate.
As if on cue, the click of the bathroom door sounds before opening to Renee sliding and walking back into the kitchen.
“Wow, it smells amazing.” She settles into one of the barstools and tosses her purse haphazardly next to her. The glimmer of purple metallic catches my eye, but before I see what it’s from, Renee nods to the glaze. “And that is definitely butter.”
“Perhaps.” I return to the fish and carefully flip it in the pan. “Care for a sample before it’s ready?”
Renee beams and my heart aches behind my sternum. It doesn’t matter how often I see it, her smile will forever have the ability to bring me to my knees. Hell, she will forever be able to bring me to my knees.
“Funny you should ask.” She perks up in her chair and my eyes involuntarily dip briefly to her cleavage. “I like to consider myself a bit of a sampler connoisseur.”
“Is that right?” A smile captures my mouth as I force my gaze away and take two plates from the cabinet.
“Yep. I once considered being a food critic but realized I’m not good at telling people I don’t like something they worked hard to make.”
“Yet you work at a publishing house.”
“And it’s precisely why I’m not an agent.”
“Though you’re about to help one,” I note.
“Temporarily,” she counters. “I won’t be in your hair long.”
“Perhaps I’ll enjoy you in my hair.” I flash a sly grin at her as I make quick work of plating the broccoli and seasoning them. When I’m satisfied, I turn back to the filler and scrape a fork over the top. The satisfying scrape is the perfect indicator of a good sear. I grab the tongs to pull them from the pan when Renee clears her throat.
“Hey, I, um. I’m sorry about earlier.”
Cutting off the heat to the stove, I turn with the pan in my hand, brows furrowed. A light blush coats her cheeks, and my amber eyes are averted to her hands that are tangled together.
“What do you mean?”
She huffs out a bit of an awkward laugh and I find it incredibly endearing that the ever-brazen Renee is flustered. “You know. Saying what I did while on your lap.”
I lift a shoulder. “It was an accident. Nothing to apologize for.”
The shade on her face deepens as her eyes connect with mine. In them is a vulnerability I’ve never seen from her. It makes my chest tight. “It’s because…well, because of who you are and who I am. I crossed a line.”
Smirking, I plate the trout, and set the pan into the sink. “So I presume it would be highly inappropriate for me to tell you I enjoyed you crossing said line.”
It isn’t a question, but a statement, and it hits the intended mark with incredible precision. Renee’s pupils expand and her lips part. I watch as the blush turns from being born of shyness to being stained with arousal. It’s a glorious sight I commit to memory.
She shakes her head, but it does nothing to erase the color from her face. “I wouldn’t call it inappropriate, just interesting considering I used to date?—”
“In all honesty, Renee, I couldn’t care less about my son or your father, then or right now. You shouldn’t harbor guilt over something I found great pleasure in.” I turn to grab the glaze and pour it lightly over the trout on both plates all the while enjoying the heat of her stare. When I look at her again, I can tell whatever she was holding on to, the reasons why we shouldn’t, are long gone. “Now, for that sample.”