Chapter 17 Aidan
AIDAN
Itake the stairs to the conference room in a daze, barely able to process what John says as he introduces me to Thomas Waterman. He mentions something about a project in the Hamptons, but I can’t hear him because images of his daughter flood my brain.
The press of her mouth to mine, so soft at first, then hungry, insistent, insatiable.
The feel of her silky hair bunched in my fist, that whimper as I welcomed her tongue with my own.
My pulse whips through me as I replay every detail, blood heating again.
John says something beside me, but the words don’t register.
Not when my lips still tingle from her kiss.
Not when I desperately want to do it again.
“Don’t you agree, Brooks?” John says, and I nod absently.
How can I be so thrown by a kiss? She sucked my cock, for Christ’s sake. This is nothing compared to that.
And yet, it felt like everything.
I think back to the way John spoke to her after our meeting with David—his cutting words about how she’s nothing more than an assistant, how she was going to ruin the firm’s reputation.
Why was he so fucking cruel? I understand him being hesitant.
I was at first, too, but he didn’t even ask to see her designs.
Didn’t pause to consider that she may have something to offer.
She’s his daughter, for fuck’s sake. How could he speak to her like that?
And God, the way she looked on my sofa, curled into a ball, like she wanted to completely disappear. It took everything in me not to pull her into my arms and tell her how wrong her father was.
“Brooks!” John barks, snapping me from my thoughts. I glance up to find his brows stitched together in a deep frown. “What the hell is wrong with you today?”
I clear my throat, doing my best to ignore the irritation rising hot inside me. Has he always been so blunt?
“Sorry,” I mutter, giving him a tight smile. “I’m… not feeling a hundred percent.”
John stares at me hard, and for a brief second I wonder if he knows that only a few minutes ago I pulled his daughter tight against me, her tongue sliding over mine, as I imagined every dirty thing I wanted to do to her.
Shame washes through me at the thought, because she wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I should never have let her kiss me. Should never have kissed her back. After the confrontation with John, what she needed was support. Not my mouth on hers.
But much as it makes sense logically, I can’t deny how right it felt. Like kissing me was exactly what she needed in that moment, and pushing her away would have been wrong.
But that doesn’t mean it can happen again.
John gives a slow shake of his head. “You’re distracted lately, Brooks. If you can’t focus, take a step back. I need you sharp for these meetings.”
I frown, doing my best to shove away thoughts of Iris. This is exactly what I didn’t want—a woman interfering with my work.
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“Then act like it.” John exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go get some air. Come back when you’re ready to work.”
I grind my jaw, wanting to protest again, but knowing there’s no point. It might be embarrassing, but he’s not wrong. I’m distracted, and it’s showing.
“Will do,” I mutter, straightening my tie as I stand. I exit the room stiffly, the muted burn of humiliation in my chest as I take the stairs two at a time back to my office.
John’s right. What the hell is wrong with me? I know better than to take my eye off the ball. This entire situation with Iris has become too messy, and I don’t like it.
My office door is closed, and as I approach, I notice Iris isn’t at her desk. I open the door with a frown, and what I see stops me in my tracks.
Iris is at my desk, her face flushed, and her hand… somewhere I can’t see.
“Shit!” She freezes, pressing her eyes closed, as if that might somehow make me leave.
My mouth opens as I take in the scene before me, slowly processing what’s happening.
She’s… touching herself. In my office. At my desk.
What the fuck?
I shove the door closed, striding across the room. She’s struggling under her father’s thumb, and I expect her to push the boundaries.
But this? This is something else. This is steamrolling right over them and dragging me with her.
“What are you doing?” I bite out.
She flinches, eyes still closed, like she can’t bring herself to look at me. When she finally does, what I see there hits me like a punch to the gut.
She’s not defiant, not trying to push me. She’s mortified.
I swallow, noticing the tremble in her shoulders, the sheen to her eyes. The way she seems to be torn between shame and want.
“Please don’t tell my father,” she whispers.
Tell John? Jesus, that’s the last thing I want to do. Not after the way he spoke to her earlier. Not after the warning he issued me in that meeting.
My pulse hammers. I can still hear his reprimand, I need you sharp, Brooks.
Can still feel the heat of humiliation crawling up my neck.
John’s already furious at me—first for defending Iris, then for being so vacant in that meeting—and now this?
Iris, breathless and undone, in my office.
The daughter of the man who just sent me away for being distracted.
Every instinct I have battles inside me: to comfort her, to protect her, to get her the hell out of here before I do something irreversible.
So, I go for the one thing guaranteed to kill the moment.
“What, you think Daddy wouldn’t approve?”
The words are out before I can stop them. Petty. Cruel. And instantly, I hate myself for saying them.
But instead of growing defiant like she has in the past, Iris scrunches her nose.
“Please don’t call him Daddy.”
I falter. That’s the part she has a problem with?
“Why?”
“Because…” She chews her lip, studying the woodgrain in my desk. When she finally brings her gaze to mine, it’s burning. “When you say that word, he’s not the one I think of.”
I stare at her, heart jumping.
She can’t mean… Surely…
Heat streaks through me, my cock growing heavy in my slacks. I swallow, knowing I should leave. That I shouldn’t ask.
But I can’t stop myself.
“Who do you think of?” I say, voice a low scrape in my throat.
She gives me a long look, not saying anything, but it’s enough for me to know.
And… holy shit.
Me. I’m the one she thinks of as Daddy.
Fuck. Me.
My pulse thunders as I gaze at her, sitting behind my desk, hand still in her skirt, chin lifted in that stubborn way of hers. I could put her in her place right now—tell her how fucking inappropriate that is, that I’m her boss.
But just knowing that’s how she sees me…
Something in my chest unlocks, releases, replaced with a sensation that’s unfamiliar.
Warmth, and something else. Something I’m not sure I want to acknowledge.
Despite every rational instinct screaming at me to walk away, I can’t.
Won’t. If I turn my back on her in this moment, all I’m doing is confirming what she fears.
That she ruins things, that she’s wrong, too much.
It’s exactly what her father does to her, and I refuse to do the same.
I refuse to shame her like he does.
Releasing a long breath, I make a decision. I won’t touch her, even if I desperately want to. I can’t lay another finger on her with John breathing down my neck, and besides, that’s not what she needs. She just needs me to see her, as she is, without pulling away.
She drops her gaze, misreading my silence as disapproval. My chest tightens as I watch her shrink, removing her hand from her skirt, and I shake my head.
“Don’t move.”
She stills, brow creasing in confusion, gaze downcast.
“Look at me, Iris.”
Swallowing, she lifts her gaze, eyes moving uncertainly between mine.
“Were you thinking of me?” I ask thickly. This question isn’t for her. It’s for me, so that when I get home tonight and jerk off, I can know. I can know it’s okay to picture her, too.
“Yes,” she breathes, and my cock stiffens in response. “I’m always thinking about you.”
Fuck.
Heat rushes through my bloodstream, but I clench my jaw, reminding myself I’m here for her. I cross to the door and lock it, then turn to stand in front of my desk.
“You’re going to finish,” I tell her.
She sucks in a sharp breath. “What?”
God, what am I doing? I should stop this, walk out the door, but my feet are rooted to the spot. And my mouth…
My mouth says, “You’re going to finish while I watch.”
Her eyes widen in shock. I half expect her to tell me I’m crazy, but a naughty smile curls slowly along her lips. Then, keeping her eyes locked on mine, she slips her hand back into her skirt. I know the exact moment she makes contact, because her eyelids flutter, and she huffs out a breath.
And fuck me if it isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
I can’t see anything below her wrist, tucked into the waistband of her skirt, but it feels like I’m watching the filthiest porn.
Heat floods me, my dick straining against my zipper as her arm moves, knowing she’s touching herself under my desk.
“That feel good, Cupcake?” I ask, voice shredded.
“So good.” She whimpers, shifting restlessly in my chair.
My fingers tingle at my sides, remembering the way she felt in that restroom, her clit so swollen and slippery under my touch. I clench my fists, trying to keep myself in check.
“You’re the first person who’s ever watched me,” she whispers. My dick leaks in my slacks at her confession, and I release a low groan.
Fucking hell.
I told myself this was for her, but I can feel my restraint slipping. I lean forward, gripping the edge of the desk.
“You enjoy being watched?” I rasp.
“Only by you.”
I press my eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations, the throbbing in my groin, the knowledge that I’m the first to see this. The heat in my chest at knowing she wants me to see her.
And when I look at Iris again, the trust in her eyes floors me.