Chapter 8
eight
Jason
There’s a loud buzzing in my head as we spring up from the couch.
On my feet now, I yank up my sweatpants and turn off the television, which is still paused on the spanking scene from Secretary. Listening for the front door to open, I watch Shea rush to locate her sleep shorts and draw them up her wobbly legs.
Her beautiful mouth is swollen from kissing me and the sweat is still cooling on her skin.
I should be soothing her right now. Stroking her back and hair, coaxing her heart rate back to normal.
I have a righteous urge to do those things for her.
Things I don’t usually feel compelled to do for any female.
But this isn’t just any female.
She’s the most luscious forbidden fruit on the vine…
And I’ve just taken a huge bite out of her.
I rake five fingers through my hair. Virgin. Shea was a virgin and I just banged her brains out on my motherfucking couch. No condom. I came inside her so deep, I’ll be shocked if she isn’t having my baby in nine months.
What the hell were you thinking?
I wasn’t. I couldn’t.
I’m still not thinking clearly, apparently, because I am aching to bring her to bed with me.
Fold her up in my arms and rock her to sleep.
Wake her up in a few hours, spit on her pussy to wet it down and take her all over again.
My dick is already filling with lead thinking about how she’ll feel doggy style.
Meanwhile, her roommate—my kid—is about to walk through the door.
I should be horrified by my own thoughts.
But Shea looks at me and all I can think is…mine.
This girl is mine.
“I…” Shea starts, while finger combing her tangled hair. “I should probably go wait for her in the guest room.”
“Yeah,” I say, the tendons of my throat sore from all the groaning. All the straining I did trying to hold back my nut. To be gentle. To no avail. She felt way too good to slow down.
Shea starts to skirt past me. “Well, goodnight—”
I plant a hand on her hip, stopping her. “I was so goddamn rough, angel,” I say, leaning over to brush my lips against her temple. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
Regret is churning in my stomach. “If we had longer, I’d take better care of you.”
A blush graces her cheeks. “I wouldn’t change anything we did,” she whispers, turning her face into my shoulder, kissing me there. “It was perfect.”
The front door opens and bangs off the entry wall, followed by a crash.
“Oops,” slurs my daughter’s voice. “That rug came out of nowhere.”
Shea wince-giggles, separating from me and it’s all I can do not to tug her back against my side.
Continue whispering secrets with her in front of the fire.
My daughter has obviously returned home drunk, however, and both of us reluctantly leave the living room to go help her.
We find her in a heap in the entry way, attempting to stand up.
“Before you ask, yes, I’m drunk,” Emma says when she sees us coming. “It was an accident. I ran right into those shots. Bang.”
Despite being distracted over what just happened in the living room, I can’t help but shake my head in amusement. “All right, come on, kid.” I scoop Emma up off the floor and carry her in direction of the guest room. “Some sleep will do you good.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Emma yawns. “You’re pretty cool, you know that?”
“I’ll grab her some water,” Shea murmurs, slipping toward the kitchen.
I settle Emma down on one side of the guest bed and step back, observing her as she kicks off her shoes and snuggles into the pillow.
Shea appears in the doorway holding a glass of water and wow, it’s a good thing Emma is drunk or there is no way she wouldn’t notice that her friend looks like she’s been mauled by a tiger.
Red marks adorn her delicate neck.
Whisker burns galore.
Drowsy eyes. Smeared lip gloss. A bemused expression.
Pride prowls right to left in my gut. I might have been rough, but I fucked her right.
Shea crosses the room, inserting herself between me and the bed where Emma is already starting to drift off. “Here,” Shea says, shaking Emma’s shoulder. “Drink this glass of water. You’ll feel better for it in the morning.”
“How do you know so much about drunk people?” Emma asks, propping herself up on an elbow.
“From you,” Shea says, without irony.
They laugh.
“You guys are the best,” Emma says, after downing the water. “I don’t deserve you.”
Shea looks back at me over her shoulder, guilt etched into her features.
Yeah, I’m feeling it, too. Guilt.
I’m a father. I’m thirty-six. Too old and in no position to be sneaking around with my daughter’s eighteen-year-old friend. Especially when there’s a possibility that me and Emma might finally form a bond after years of stilted communication.
“Good night,” Shea mutters, putting her head down, walking past me and closing herself in the ensuite bathroom.
I can hear it in her tone. See it in her posture.
She feels as terrible as I do about what we’ve done behind Emma’s back.
But as I leave the guest room and walk through the dark house, it’s impossible to ignore the voice in the back of my head that grows louder with every step.
Mine.
Mine.
Fucking mine.
The next morning, I leave before Emma and Shea are awake.
I spend a couple of hours at the office delegating tasks and setting appointments for remodeling estimates. Business is booming and that’s a great thing. It took me years to build my reputation in this county, and the hard work is paying off in spades.
Once I leave the office, I make stops at various job sites, pick up building materials and deliver them to one of our bigger remodels. By the time I’m able to stop by Emma and Shea’s apartment to survey the leak damage, it’s damn near four o’clock.
Letting myself into their place, I whistle under my breath at the caved in ceiling, a tremor going through my limbs at the thought of either girl being underneath it when the water broke through. Shit could have been a lot worse—but the damage is extensive.
My boots crunch through plaster and debris as I walk through the apartment, front to back, making mental notes about which crew members will be assigned to the job, based on their specialties. Supply cost. Time frame. I’m assuming Emma and Shea want to be back in their place as soon as possible.
And I want that, too, right?
I close my eyes and think of Shea underneath me, whimpering and scratching at my back while my body moves inside of her.
Taking my beating and loving it. God, she’s so tight and slippery between her legs, she should come with a warning label.
I’m functioning as needed this morning, but memories of her body, her voice, her scent… they stalk me—
The sound of sobbing stops me in my tracks.
Someone is in the apartment.
Crying.
Who?
I advance farther down the hallway, following the sound of hiccupping.
At the end of the hall, there’s a bedroom door on the right and I push it open to find Shea staring into her closet, tears rolling down her cheeks.
And it’s easy to see why. There is a hole torn in the ceiling of her closet and all her clothes have been blackened by dirty water.
Textbooks have been waterlogged. Photo albums destroyed.
Her phone dings to signal a text and she looks down, reading the message, her sobs renewing themselves a second later.
“Shea,” I say, entering the room, my stomach tightening when those wide, gorgeous eyes fly toward me, more tears tracking down her cheeks.
Oh, I don’t like to see her sad. Uh-uh. Not at all.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to fix everything, angel.
I’ll have you back in here in a week, tops. It’ll be good as new.”
Shea nods bravely, but her bottom lip is wobbling. “I know.” She looks down at her phone again. “It’s just that a lot of my things will have to be replaced and…”
When she trails off and doesn’t continue, I take a few steps closer until I can tilt her chin up with my fingers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the lavender thong she told me about last night.
It’s sitting on the floor by the foot of the bed.
It’s even briefer than I imagined, and that little white bow on the ass…
goddamn, it stirs me right up. So provocative and innocent at the same time.
Focus.
“A lot of your things will need to be placed and what?”
She presses her lips into a line. “Nothing.”
I take firmer hold of her chin. “Shea.”
My authoritative tone causes her pupils to expand.
My blood hums in response. Heats.
“My dad is a little financially strapped at the moment. My mom is between jobs, too. Funds are tight.” That lush bottom lip wobbles again, drawing my gaze. “He’s going to have to sell his favorite guitar to send me the extra money. I feel terrible.”
“Shhh, angel. Come here.” I pull her into my arms and she collapses there, her cheek buried in my chest. I stroke my palm down the back of her hair, massage the nape of her neck with my thumb.
She sighs, some of the tension leaving her small frame.
Gradually, she presses in tighter, lifting onto her tip toes and circling her arms around the back of my neck, her tits dragging up my chest, her hips shifting next to mine, causing an involuntary reaction in my briefs.
My balls weigh down, the heavy stalk of my sex lifting. Swelling at her nearness.
A warning bell goes off in my head. I’m crossing the line.
Again.
So soon, too.
But I didn’t get to hold her last night.
That must be the reason, I elevate Shea off the floor with my forearm beneath her ass, grunting at her to wrap her legs around my hips.
She purrs a little in her throat as she does it, and fuck, fuck, it feels so good, this forbidden position.
Across the room, I see our reflections in the window.