CHAPTER 18 #2
Shit. No. This is about sex. About getting off. I jam my palm, the one holding her panties, against the wall. They grow wetter, and I focus on that. On the color they’d be if she was still wearing them. Wet with her desire for me.
I roll my finger over my tip and then thrust into my hand, faster still.
Then it’s her eyes I see. An amber sun. The color of a spring meadow.
And with the thought of those warm, beautiful eyes of hers staring up at me, I come all over the goddamn wall.
—
I walk into the kitchen to find Tally in front of the stove, flipping breaded chicken in a frying pan. She’s in another pair of spandex. Tonight’s are a deep green, and the crop top she wears is black, exposing her smooth skin, which I know smells as good as it looks.
“Did you have a good shower?” she coos, a flirty lilt to her tone.
When I don’t reply, she looks over her shoulder, catching me staring at her tantalizing curves. “Stop growling with your eyes.”
“How does one growl with their eyes?” I ask, even though I know precisely what she’s saying. I’m like a hungry bear, desperate for a taste of her.
The shower did nothing to satiate me.
She ignores my question and grabs a spoon to stir the tomato sauce that is simmering beside the frying pan. My stomach rumbles again as I realize she’s making me something Italian. Why do I like that she went to the store and thought of me? Why do I like that she’s preparing a meal for me?
It feels personal. Like a da—
“My mom and sister are coming for dinner.” She cuts off my train of thought, dashing my excitement in the process. “I texted to tell you, but apparently you don’t read them, so now here I am”—she glances at me over her shoulder again—“telling you.”
I grunt as I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone, and ignore the ten new texts from random numbers to pull up our chat.
TALLY: Chicken parm work?
TALLY: Well since you didn’t reply that’s what we’re having.
TALLY: My mom and sister are joining us for dinner. I hope that’s okay.
TALLY: K cool. Good talk.
TALLY: If you’re done playing with your stallion, go find some other cowboy things to do. I’m doing cowboy things in the bedroom.
“My stallion?” I shake my head. “What the fuck Tally? This is not how you tell someone that you’ll be naked in their bedroom.”
She smirks. “My bedroom.”
“That I’m staying in. Listen, if you want your room back—”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t go being all chivalrous now.” She stirs the sauce and rests the wooden spoon on top of the pot. “I’m fine in Penny’s room. No sense in having you move out for the short time I’ll be here.”
That is precisely the reminder I need. That she’s leaving.
I walk toward the fridge to grab a beer. “Want one?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll open a bottle of wine.”
“I’ll do it.” The wine is in the dining room so I grab glasses, the bottle, and an opener and set them all on the table, which Tally has already set. I pour one glass and bring it back to the kitchen, red wine sloshing as I hand it to her. “Thank you for making dinner.”
Her eyes warm like honey as she lights up, taking the glass from me and bringing it to her lips before letting out a low, appreciative moan.
The entire scene in front of me—her eyes, the little sounds she makes, her floral scent—has my dick stirring in remembrance of what I saw only a half hour earlier.
“So since you’re bad with the phone and I obviously will still need to shower in your room”—those peach lips of hers lift in a mischievous smirk—“should we come up with another system? You know, so you don’t get a free peep show daily. Perhaps a sock on the door means I’m naked?”
I desperately suck in air to try to keep myself from reaching for her, grabbing those generous hips, and squeezing her against me.
“A sock means you’re hooking up. There will be no hooking up in my room, Tally.” I say it as much for her as I do for me. I will not fuck this girl. Peter Darling’s little girl.
My eyes fall shut because she doesn’t look like a little girl and Peter Darling is nowhere in sight.
How old is she? She’s got to be at least twenty-one.
Ugh, why am I thinking about this? I’m thirty-four, and she’s my employee.
My boss’s daughter. Sort of. Gail isn’t really my boss, and Peter is—fuck. Whatever. She’s off-limits.
When I open my eyes again, I’m reminded that Tally is all woman. My gaze is instantly drawn to her pert nipples poking against the black fabric of her shirt. Please tell me the woman is wearing a bra. Her family is coming over. She must be.
I blink. She definitely isn’t.
Tally smiles. She definitely caught me staring at her tits.
“Obviously, there will be no hooking up in your room.” She turns away from me and disappears toward the fridge.
Like a damn puppy, my eyes trail her every move.
Opening the fridge, pulling out a head of lettuce.
Walking toward the counter. Pulling out a knife.
Unwrapping the head of lettuce. Washing the head of lettuce. “Unless I’m with Phil.”
“Who the fuck is Phil?” I growl, my focus on her actions all but lost as I glower at her.
Her shoulders shake as she slices into the head of lettuce, then she peeks over at me, a sly grin on her lips. “My shower dildo.”
“You have a shower dildo?”
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head, a huge smile on her face before turning back to the lettuce. “No. But you should see your face. Are you picturing me in your shower fucking my shower dildo?”
Yes.
“No,” I say aloud. “Why are you like this? And stop saying ‘shower dildo.’”
Her melodic laughter fills the kitchen as the front door swings open and her mother calls out a hello. I rush out of the kitchen, knowing I need five minutes alone or else I’m going to be facing Tally’s mom with a raging boner.