7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Cole
The garage door hums softly as it closes behind me, the sound echoing faintly in the otherwise still night. I pull the car into its designated spot. My shoulders ache from the tension of the day, and all I want to do is get to bed.
I kill the engine, grab my briefcase from the passenger seat, and step out into the cool, sterile air of the garage.
My gaze falls on a modest car parked near the far wall. Annie’s.
I’d nearly forgotten it was her first day. My lips press into a thin line as a flicker of guilt winds its way through me. Robbie’s probably asleep by now. I didn’t even check in.
I push the thought away, though it lingers like an itch I can’t quite reach. There’s a weight in my chest I’ve gotten used to carrying, but tonight it feels heavier. Robbie deserves better than this—better than me.
Guilt prickles at the edges of my thoughts, but I shove it aside as I head inside. I take the stairs two at a time, the familiar path to my home office on the second floor automatic. My stomach growls, but the idea of food doesn’t appeal. What I need is a drink .
I step into my home office, the familiar space dimly lit by the glow of the hallway behind me. The sleek, dark furniture is accented by polished wood, the faint smell of leather and aged whiskey permeating the room.
Crossing to the small bar tucked into the corner, I pour myself a drink. The amber liquid swirls in the glass as I walk to the armchair near the unlit fireplace. I sink into the seat with a weary exhale, the glass cool against my palm as I take a sip.
The whiskey burns pleasantly as it goes down, but it doesn’t chase away the gnawing guilt. It hasn’t worked before, and it won’t work tonight.
My thoughts wander, as they often do, to Robin. Robbie’s hazel eyes are hers, just like the brown hair that always fell over her forehead when she laughed. I named him after her when she passed—Robin to Robbie—though she never got to hear the name spoken.
She died minutes after he was born, and I’ve spent the last five years trying not to drown in the guilt of that, too.
I take another sip of whiskey, the silence of the house wrapping around me like a cocoon.
This is why I hired Annie. She might not know how to be a nanny, but Robbie likes her. And that has to count for something, doesn’t it?
Footsteps in the hallway pull me from my thoughts. I pause, the glass halfway to my mouth, listening .
The sound grows closer, and I turn my head just as a cautious shadow crosses the threshold of my office. Annie stands in the doorway, glancing into the darkened room, her expression curious and uncertain.
I don’t say anything to alert her to my presence, just watch as she peers cautiously into the room. Had she heard me come in?
I hadn’t realized Ellis assigned her rooms so close to my office. That might need to change. I tend to work late, and if she’s a light sleeper, this setup won’t work for either of us.
I shift in my seat, the faint motion catching her attention. She jumps slightly, pressing a hand to her chest.
“You scared me,” she says, letting out a breathy laugh.
I smirk, though she can’t see it in the darkness. “We don’t have ghosts,” I say dryly. “Nothing to worry about.”
She hesitates again, then steps into the room like I invited her in. I don’t want to talk. I want to be left alone. But she doesn’t get the hint, walking farther in.
“Can’t sleep,” she says and laughs a bit. “New place and all that.”
“Is your room not to your liking?”
“No, it is. It’s a wonderful room. Just not used to it yet, you know?” she says, still walking coming toward me slowly.
I don’t answer.
She’s wearing thin sleep pants and an oversized shirt, a stark contrast to the professional outfits she wore to the office. It’s unassuming and simple, but I find myself wishing for the pencil skirt again.
The faint light from the hallway catches on her oversized shirt, highlighting the way it slips off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin and making it appear almost transparent in the backlight. My gaze catches on it, and I quickly look away, annoyed with myself.
“I just heard a noise,” she says, glancing around the room. “I wasn’t sure where it was coming from.”
“Just me.”
She stops a few feet from me, her bare feet light against the floor, and the subtle scent of something soft and floral—her shampoo, maybe—reaches me. I take another sip of whiskey, trying to ignore how close she’s standing.
She nods but doesn’t leave. Instead, she looks at the empty chair across from me.
Don’t sit. Just leave, I urge.
But she does. She slides into the big, comfortable chair, sinking into it and curling her legs under her. “Long day?”
“Something like that,” I say shortly, taking another sip of whiskey.
She fiddles with the hem of her shirt, her gaze flicking to me. “Do you always sit in the dark? ”
Her legs tuck tighter under her, the oversized shirt has ridden up slightly with her fidgeting, but she doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe she does—and I focus on my glass, trying not to let my gaze linger.
“Sometimes,” I reply, my tone clipped.
“To think?”
“Something like that.”
Her lips twitch, like she’s suppressing a smile. She leans forward slightly, her elbow resting on the arm of the chair, and the movement causes the fabric of her neckline to slip farther down.
I don’t look, but I feel the heat of her presence more keenly now.
“What are you thinking about?”
I raise an eyebrow, already annoyed by the intrusion. “Work.”
Her lips press together, but she doesn’t push further.
All I want is to be alone with my thoughts and whiskey, but she stays, watching me like she’s waiting for something.
Her blue eyes catch the faint light, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. There’s something about the way she’s looking at me—like she’s trying to figure me out—that has me on edge. I take another sip of whiskey, trying to chase the tension away, but it lingers.
The silence stretches again, and I’m tempted to down the rest of my whiskey in one go, just to have an excuse to get up and leave. But Annie shifts slightly in her chair, pulling my attention back to her.
“What are you drinking?” she asks, her voice soft.
I glance at the glass in my hand, then back at her. “Whiskey.”
She nods, her fingers playing with the hem of her oversized shirt again. “Is it good?”
I tilt my head slightly, studying her. “Do you drink?”
“Sometimes,” she says, meeting my gaze. “But not whiskey.”
I hold out the glass, the amber liquid catching the faint light from the hallway. “Try it.”
She hesitates, her eyes flicking between the glass and me.
“It won’t bite,” I say, my tone neutral, though the way she’s acting is amusing.
After a beat, she leans forward and reaches for it. Her shirt falls open more, giving me a glimpse of bare skin.
Her fingers brush against mine as she takes the glass, and the unexpected warmth of her touch sends a jolt through me.
She shudders as she sits back.
“Cold?” I ask.
Annie shrugs. “A little, I guess.”
I grab the remote on the table next to me, press a button, and the fireplace comes to life with a small simmer.
Annie looks at the fire for a moment, leaning back in the chair. She looks back down at the glass cradled in both hands. For a moment, she just looks at it, as if debating whether or not to take a sip. Then she lifts it to her lips, her movements slow and deliberate.
Her lips press to the rim of the glass, and I watch the slow movement as she tilts it, the line of her throat catching the faint light. She takes a small sip, her nose wrinkling slightly, and pulls the glass away with a soft cough.
My lips curve faintly.
“Strong,” she says, her voice a little hoarse.
“Good whiskey usually is.”
She huffs a quiet laugh and takes another sip, this one slower. Her lips press against the rim of the glass, and I find myself watching the curve of her throat as she swallows.
The fire throws shadows as she tilts her head back just slightly. She lowers the glass and looks at me, her expression unreadable.
“Not bad,” she says, holding the glass back out to me.
I reach for it, deliberately letting my fingers slide over hers as I wrap my hand around the glass, trapping hers under mine.
She freezes, and her eyes drop to our hands. I catch the faintest hitch in her breathing .
My thoughts turn darker, more dangerous. Things I shouldn’t be imagining flicker through my mind—how she’d gasp against my lips, how her soft skin would feel against mine, how her body would move under my hands.
I shouldn’t. But I want to.
I reach for the glass with my other hand and slip it out of her grip before setting it on the small table beside me, my movements deliberate.
Now, it’s just my hand holding hers.
Her big blue eyes shoot up to meet mine, and I know she’s confused. But the tension is wafting off of her and wrapping around me. Whatever this is, she feels it, too.
She shifts slightly, her breathing unsteady, and I feel the faint tremor in her hand. I’m struggling—caught between wanting to do the right thing and wanting to say fuck it. My mind drifts again, right back to the dark place, to the idea of her being here with me tonight.
I don’t exactly struggle to find company in the bedroom, but I usually go to bed alone.
I don’t want to go to bed alone. Not tonight.
Neither of us speaks, the moment stretching out between us.
“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath, the decision already made.
Before I can overthink it, I tug her hand and pull her out of her chair and into my lap.
“Mr. Wagner,” she gasps, catching herself with her hands against my chest.
But just as I’m pulling her closer, she’s reaching for me.
And then our lips meet.
Her lips are soft against mine, and the little gasp that escapes her only draws me in. But she's got her hands fisted in my shirt now, and she's not letting go.
I deepen the kiss, tangling a hand in her hair and tugging lightly, eliciting a faint moan from her. Her hips rock against mine, and the soft heat of her body is tempting.
Her lips part, and my tongue sweeps inside, tasting the remnants of whiskey on her tongue.
I break the kiss and trail kisses along her jawline, enjoying the little sounds she makes, the way her hips move, searching for more friction.
Her head drops back as my lips brush against her neck, and a low moan escapes her. My teeth graze against her skin, and her breath catches.
"Mr. Wagner," she says again, her voice shaking with the effort.
I press another kiss to her throat, enjoying the way her pulse beats rapidly against my lips .
Though I'm finding the idea of her calling me "Mr. Wagner" while I’m inside her is appealing— very —I murmur, "Cole," and nip her neck.
Her hips rock against mine again, and the hard press of my cock brushes against her heat, earning me a faint whimper.
My hands settle on her hips, and I guide her motions. She grinds down against me, her head falling back.
I can feel the heat of her pussy through the thin material of her sleep pants.
I lean in and kiss her exposed neck again, sucking lightly, and her hands release their tight hold on my shirt, her fingers sliding into my hair and tugging.
I can't help but smile against her skin.
"Say my name," I murmur, nipping her earlobe.
Her hips still, and she hesitates.
I nip her neck again, and she moans.
"Cole," she says, her voice breathless.
I smile. "Good."
She makes a soft sound, her hips moving again, rocking against me.
"That's it," I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear. "Keep going."
I guide her movements, her hips rolling against mine, and her breathing grows more unsteady.
"Cole," she moans again, her fingers tangling in my hair.
The soft, needy sounds escaping her are enough to drive me wild. I can't get enough of her, and the feeling seems to be mutual. Her movements grow more erratic, her grip on my hair tightening.
She leans back, and I take the opportunity to slide my hands up her bare sides, pushing her shirt up until her breasts are exposed in the faint firelight.
I can't resist the urge to touch her, and I drag my palms over her breasts, teasing the soft skin, drawing another soft moan from her.
"Oh," she breathes, her eyes fluttering closed as my thumb brushes over her nipple.
Her movements grow more frantic, her hips moving faster, harder, seeking release.
"Are you going to come?" I murmur, my voice low and rough.
She bites her lip and nods, her eyes fluttering open. "Yes," she moans. "I think— Yes."
"Let go," I murmur, leaning in and press my lips to the soft skin of her breast. "Come for me."
Her hips move faster, her breathing ragged. I take her nipple into my mouth, sucking lightly, and her back arches, her body trembling .
"Cole," she moans again, her grip tightening on my hair.
I scrape my teeth across her sensitive nipple, and she cries out in pleasure. Her body shudders, and her movements grow jerky.
Taking her other nipple into my mouth, I flick my tongue against it, earning me a soft whimper.
I continue the slow torture, alternating between small bites and rewarding licks, until her movements become uncoordinated, her breathing growing more erratic.
"Fuck," she groans, her head falling back.
The way she says it sends a jolt of heat through me, and I can't resist the urge to slide a hand under the waistband of her sleep pants and cup her pussy.
"So wet," I murmur, teasing her through the thin fabric of her underwear.
But she immediately freezes, so I do, too.
"Annie," I say, checking in. "Is this all right?"
Body still stiff, her breath shudders out of her, and she nods.
But I don't move, and her hips shift, pushing against my palm.
I can still feel her hesitation.
"Tell me to stop, and I will," I say, my voice low.
Annie exhales shakily and shakes her head, her wild blonde locks flying around her face.
Unsure what she’s indicating, I say, “Do you want me to stop?”
She shakes her head again, her blue eyes wide on my face.
"Annie, I need you to say it."
"No, don't stop," she whispers. "Keep going. Please."
For a moment, my mind wanders somewhere else. Annie is quite a bit younger than I am—only twenty-two.
Could she be...?
Then she presses her lips against mine and grinds her pussy into my hand again. and the thought flies out of my mind.
Ridiculous.
I shake it off and kiss her back, my tongue diving into her mouth to stroke and tease hers.
She whimpers softly when I cautiously slide a finger under her underwear, stroking her slit, the wetness coating my fingers.
"You're so fucking wet for me," I say and slide my tongue along hers.
I tease her clit with a light touch, and her hips buck, a moan pouring into my mouth.
I tease her more, drawing the wetness from her pussy and circling her clit, eliciting a low groan from her .
She breaks the kiss, her lips trailing down my neck, her hips moving, seeking the friction of my hand.
She fights the buttons of my shirt, her hips never stopping their movement.
When the last button is undone, she pushes the material apart, exposing my chest. Her gaze drops to my skin, and she hesitates for a beat. Then she leans in and presses a kiss to the base of my throat.
I groan, the warm press of her lips against my skin sending a bolt of pleasure through me.
She works her way down over my shoulders, then across my chest.
I slide a second finger into her wet heat, and we both groan. She's so tight and wet, and the way she's grinding against me is enough to drive me insane.
She whimpers, her hips moving faster.
I can feel her getting close, and I slide my fingers farther into her, letting her ride them while I circle her clit with my thumb. Her shirt has fallen back down, and her bouncing breasts are hidden under them.
I push the shirt back up, not wanting to miss the view.
Her slick heat envelopes my fingers, and the way she cries out is intoxicating.
My house is pretty big, but I don't want the noises she's making to wake anyone else up. I slide one hand up her back, enjoying the feel of her slick skin, and around her throat to the front. Then I cover her mouth with my palm.
She reaches up and wraps her hand around my wrist, but not to move it, just for something to hold onto while riding my fingers hard.
The sounds she makes muffled behind my palm.
I can't wait to hear what other noises she'll make when my cock is buried deep inside her.
Her muscles clench around me, and I know she's close.
"That's it, kitten," I whisper. "Come in my hand."
Her eyes open at that, meeting mine. I didn’t mean to call her that. It just slipped out, and for a moment, I’m afraid that she’ll object to it, put a stop to the whole thing. But all I can see is the mindless lust glazing her eyes. Seems she likes it.
And she’s definitely close.
Her breathing is hitching, her chest heaving. I watch her, mesmerized by the sight.
Then she moans against my palm, her muscles contracting.
Her movements become jerky as she thrusts her hips, and she cries out, her muscles clenching and spasming.
"Oh, fuck," she gasps, her voice muffled.
"That's right," I whisper. "Come all over my fingers."
I move my palm and quickly lean forward to capture her lips in a kiss, swallowing the noise she makes as her orgasm rushes over her.
She trembles, her muscles spasming around me. She comes apart, her entire body shaking, and the muffled moan that leaves her is almost enough to send me over the edge too. I feel her release coating my fingers, and I can't help but smirk against her lips.
After a moment, she lets out a long, shaky breath, her grip on my wrist relaxing, and her body collapsing in my arms.
"You're a good girl, aren't you?" I murmur into her soft skin as she shudders in my arms.
Her pussy tightens around my fingers at those words.
"Do you like being called a good girl?" I whisper.
Again, she clenches but doesn’t answer.
My fingers are still buried deep inside her, so I brush my thumb very gently over her extremely sensitive clit.
She gasps and her eyes shoot open, her hips jerking away. "Stop."
I laugh. Though, I'm tempted to keep going, to make her come all over again, I slip my fingers out of her pussy, and slide my hand out of her pants. There will be plenty of time for that.
I bring my fingers to my lips, and her eyes widen.
"You taste so fucking good, kitten," I say.
Then I slip my fingers into my mouth and suck. She tastes sweet, like honey, and I groan, enjoying the flavor.
She stares at me, her expression a mixture of shock and arousal.
I pull my fingers out and grin at her. "Delicious."
A flush rises in her cheeks, but she doesn't look away, mesmerized.
Her gaze drifts down, and her attention shifts.
She's eyeing the obvious bulge in my pants, and I can't help but wonder if she's thinking about tasting me, too.
As if sensing my thoughts, her gaze snaps back up to meet mine.
There's a flush on her cheeks that I know isn’t from her orgasm.
It’s kind of endearing actually—that she can fuck my fingers so enthusiastically and, somehow, still be shy.
"You didn't—um."
"Not yet," I say.
She bites her lip, her eyes flicking to my lap and back to my face.
"Not yet?" she says, a shy note in her tone .
I put my hands under her thighs and stand, holding her against me.
She gasps at the sudden movement and clutches me with her arms and legs.
"What are you—"
I walk out of the office and into the hallway.
She's clinging to me, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Where are we going?"
"Bed" is all I say.