Chapter 5
5
Ethan
T he door clicks shut behind me.
I’ve been good. Careful . Kept my hands to myself and my eyes—well, looking isn’t a sin, right?
But now it’s just us. No clients. No witnesses.
Just the click of her pen and the sound of her sitting across from me like this is just another afternoon at the office, like I didn’t spend the entire meeting thinking about the way her blouse dipped at the collar, about how she squirmed ever so subtly, or how sharp her instincts were.
She caught that indemnity clause before I did. And the way she whispered it— soft, breathy, close —I swear I still feel it on my skin and in my chest and all the way down to my cock.
She looks up from her notes now. “Did I do okay?”
I swallow. Because that question shouldn’t sound like a seduction . Because the answer I want to give isn’t professional at all.
You did so good, baby. Now drop to your knees, crawl over here and suck my cock like a good little girl.
Would she be scandalized?
Sputter in French and blush like a virgin I’m beginning to suspect she is?
Would she squeal if I reach beneath that impertinently tight skirt, rip her panties off, and slap her pretty pink pussy until it’s as rouged as the lips she keeps gnawing on?
Fuck. Stop. Thinking. About. That.
“You did better than okay.” My voice comes out rough. “You held your own.”
Her eyes light up—just a flicker—but enough to knock something loose inside me.
Little Pia Hyde has a praise kink.
I spotted it at the team meeting yesterday. Then in the car this morning. Now I’m one hundred percent convinced.
What else is she into? What other secrets can I coax out of her?
I look away. Sit back in my chair like that will give me some distance. It doesn’t.
She’s everywhere in this room. The smell of her hair, the soft pink of her mouth, the way her ankles are crossed like she’s trying to hold herself together.
So am I.
This girl is unraveling me.
I clear my throat, reach for my tablet, and try to speak like a man who still has control. “You’ll help Maggie prep the summary. I want it out before lunch.”
Her head bobs up and down and she jumps to her feet. She’s an eager puppy. I want to pet her. As she sucks me down her throat.
Then I recite every reason on earth why I shouldn’t. Why I can’t.
“And Pia?—”
She looks up from her tablet, lips parted slightly.
“Nice work.”
Her cheeks bloom pink. She nods. “ Merci .”
That French of hers, slipping out when she’s nervous.
She doesn’t know what it does to me.
Or…maybe she does.
Either way, that’s exactly why it’s dangerous.
* * *
We don’t talk much on the way back home that night.
I don’t talk about why I had Maggie cancel the car service I initially had her arrange.
She’s beside me in the passenger seat, tapping something into her phone with quiet concentration.
The sun’s low. My grip on the wheel is tighter than it needs to be.
I should drop her at the condo building. Find somewhere else to be tonight.
Simple. Done.
But I already know I won’t. Because the groceries meant to have been delivered to her place this afternoon?
I had them rerouted.
No reason. No explanation.
Just… instinct and a quick text to Stanley at the condo’s concierge desk to have the stuff delivered to my place instead of hers.
I tell myself I’m well within my rights to ensure she’s eating properly.
That was my promise to Philip, after all. Besides, she’s my intern. I have control over when she finishes her work and therefore know roughly when she’ll be taking her meals, at least on the weekdays.
What about the weekends? The churning in my gut makes my jaw clench.
It feels too much like the jealousy I’ve felt on and off since she sashayed on her kitten heels into my life…
Fuck, has it only been a handful of days?
It feels longer.
Especially since Maggie gave me more of those looks when I asked her to cancel dinners I’d scheduled with clients weeks ago for the third time this week.
The shock on her face when I confessed that yes, I was going home at six, and no I wasn’t feeling under the weather.
When we arrive home, I step out of the car and help Pia out.
Leon, the doorman, dips his cap at her and smiles, and her bright smile in return turns the knots in my stomach.
I step between the two, and Leon’s shrewd eyes apologize for the slight before he holds the door open.
Pia, sensing the undercurrent, glances at me, but I keep my feelings under wraps, because the last thing I’m going to do is confess I’m jealous that she’s smiling at my fucking doorman.
But when she turns those dimples back on when she spots Stanley, I can’t quite bite back my growl.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Absolutely. Any reason I shouldn’t be?” I toss back.
Her eyes widen, but Stanley’s greeting her charmingly too, and fuck if the world isn’t falling under Pia Hyde’s spell.
“Did my delivery arrive okay?” she asks.
“Oh.” His gaze swings to me, his sharp gaze asking the silent question and receiving my command to shut the hell up.
“It was delivered to my condo,” I reply, herding her to the elevator.
“Oh no. Maybe Maggie thought it would be easier since you’ve lived here longer and the staff know you?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll come by and pick them up when I’ve changed. Is that okay?”
I exhale through my nose, grip tightening on my briefcase. “Sure, that’s fine.”
Her dimple pops as she smiles, and my knees grow weak enough that I sag against the elevator wall. When the doors part, she shoots me a sparkling glance.
“ Cinq minutes . Quick as I can.”
My dick surges with every twitch of her plump, juicy ass as I watch her walk away.
I lunge forward when the doors start to close, place my hand in the space until the sensors part them again.
Pia glances over her shoulder, and if she’s surprised by my move, she doesn’t show it as she carries on, temptation on two sexy legs, to her front door.
She glances over again as she fumbles through her purse, grabs her card, and holds it against the lock. I watch her bite her bottom lip, her eyes fixed on mine, until the doors shut.
A thick groan ripples from my throat as I slam my head against the wall.
Five minutes. Do I have time to rub one out before she comes up?
Sadly not.
I’ve just dumped my briefcase, yanked off my jacket and tie and am about to tackle the buttons to my shirt when she knocks.
I hustle to the door. “That was fast,” I say a little dryly. I have to use that voice or I’ll be sounding hopeful at her eagerness. And I don’t want Pia eager about anything. Do I?
Fuck no.
Because that’s the siren call to trouble.
“Yeah, the Bavarian nuns at my school were very strict about timekeeping. I got punished if I didn’t complete a task in a set time.”
I’m a fucking nutcase.
Because my mind immediately jumps to setting her a specific task. Making me come in under three minutes flat.
Would she succeed? Fail?
I have a feeling just for the praise slut she is, my little Pia would ace it.
I stifle a groan, step back, and wave her in.
Shut the door. And turn the lock for no reason.
No one’s allowed on this floor or my front door without my explicit permission, but somehow it makes me feel better to secure us in.
Like some fucking Neanderthal.
She’s wearing another pair of shorts. Not sleep shorts this time, but they’re just as skimpy. As is her white top.
Her hair is still up in the knot from this morning, but it’s a bit wobbly and a bit disheveled, probably in her hurry to meet her self-imposed deadline. And I like that about Pia.
I’m used to women who primp and pluck themselves to overblown perfection and lose their minds when a hair is out of place.
Pia doesn’t need to strive for perfection. She already is .
And fuck if I don’t care how sappy that thought is.
Her dimples are still in place when she walks back into my condo, and as I trail after her, inhaling her sweet perfume, I admit how right it feels here. How much I’ve missed it since last night.
“Are they in there?” She points to my fridge, then heads over to it, pulls it open.
Bends over to examine the shelves.
And my belly clenches again.
At this rate I won’t even need to do the two hundred crunches that’s part of my workout. My eight-pack will be fully serviced just by what this girl makes me feel.
“Why don’t you leave them where they are?” I say gruffly.
She spins on the balls of her feet, her eyes widening. “Oh.” She tilts her head. “Really? You want two cartons of oat milk and a very bossy-looking head of broccoli in your fridge?”
“There’s no point stocking two fridges and cooking two separate meals when you can eat here. With me,” I add gruffly, just so we’re clear.
“And when you’re not around? Because I’ve seen your schedule. You’re rarely home like you’ve been these last few nights.”
I shrug, don’t tell her I don’t plan to change that anytime soon. “We’ll work it out. I have a few takeout places worth the trouble. Or I can cook something for you to keep and heat up.” Fucking hell, what am I, a 1950’s housewife?
She looks from my face to the fridge and back again. “Are you sure?”
“I rarely say things I don’t mean, Pia.”
She blushes, but slowly the sparkle in her eyes returns.
And I’m fucking mesmerized.
“Okay, I guess that will work.” Her blue eyes go wide. “Oh, I saw a delicious-looking pasta dish on TikTok I wanted to try.”
Don’t do it. Don’t. Do. It . “Have at it, then.” I wave to the kitchen.
Pleasure explodes across her face and the truth dawns on me. I’m getting addicted to that look. Want to see it replay indefinitely.
I want to keep giving Pia Hyde things so she keeps rewarding me with that ‘yes, daddy, thank you, daddy’ look.
Yes. Daddy?
What the fuck?
“Really? You don’t mind?”
I shrug as if I don’t care. “No. I’m going to work in my study for a bit so I’ll be around. If you set the kitchen on fire, at least I can intervene before the whole building goes up. Hopefully.”
Her eyes widen before her dimples appear once more. “You’re teasing me.”
“Am I?” I deadpan.
Her smile dims. “You think I’ll be that bad?”
I hope so. You can’t be fucking great at everything. Life isn’t that fair.
I turn away, waving a hand as I walk away. “Just try not to cause too much chaos?”
I hightail it to my office, and I’m tempted to lock this door behind me, but I know it’s a useless exercise.
If Pia wants in, I’ll be helpless to deny her.
I just hope she gives me a few minutes’ reprieve before she bombards me with her unique brand of temptation again.
I’m well aware I’m being a complete pussy hiding from her, but I manage to work a solid two hours before my rumbling stomach sends me to my feet.
The scent of basil, decadent spices, and pasta hits me the moment I open my office door. Surprise and my intensifying hunger propel me toward the kitchen.
I stumble to a halt when I see her.
Her tiny shorts and top leave her shoulders and gorgeous legs bare, and the apron she’s tied emphasizes her tiny waist and ample butt and hips.
She turns, gives a little squeak when she sees me, then smiles.
Sweet fuck, those dimples floor me every time. I want to dive into them and live there forever.
“Hi, I was just about to come get you. Dinner is ready,” she announces.
She’s flushed, her cheeks rosy with pride and the lightest sheen of sweat. There’s a sauce smear just above her mouth, and a few tendrils of hair have come loose from her ponytail.
Yet she’s still breathtaking enough to induce alarming cardiac activity in my chest.
As she turns from the stove with a large pot, the oven alarm blares.
Her eyes go wide. “Oh! I need to get the garlic bread before it burns!”
I lunge forward, ready to be of service to my busy bee. “I’ve got it.”
“ Merci ,” she gushes in relief, and just like that, my temperature triples.
“I hope you like it,” she says a little nervously.
It smells divine. “What is it?”
“It’s Cajun cream chicken pasta.” She peers into the pot and flashes me an anxious look before she ladles a helping onto my plate. “I followed the recipe, but I think the portions are too big? It came out a lot.”
“Then we’ll have leftovers for tomorrow.”
I turn to set the table and see she’s already done it. I go to get a bottle of wine from the fridge and remember she’s only twenty.
But then I also remember she’s been living in Europe where the drinking age is eighteen. So for all I know, she’s been drinking alcohol for over two years.
She looks over and sees my hand hovering over the wine. “It’s fine. You can drink if you want.”
“What about you? Do you drink?”
She nods. “We were allowed wine with our evening meals at college. But I know there are different rules here. I don’t mind, honestly.”
“Are you a good rule follower, Pia?” Christ, why did I have to ask that?
She holds my gaze for several beats. “Most of the time, oui .”
My cock thickens in my pants. I want to ask the question I know I absolutely shouldn’t.
Thankfully, another timer goes off somewhere, and she’s back to being nervous over food.
I bring the wine to the table, open it as she sets the dish down.
She’s holding her breath, watching intensely as I take a bite.
Exquisite sensations explode over my taste buds. I’d expected her to suck at this, but of course she didn’t. “Pia, this is really good!”
Her gorgeous dimples reappear and she smiles with delight. “You think so? Truly?”
Nodding, I take another mouthful. “You knocked it out of the park, baby.”
The moment the endearment leaves my lips, I want to snatch it back.
But then her pupils dilate. Her breath gushes out.
And I’m fucking screwed as I step over the thick red line.