11. Avery
Chapter eleven
Avery
Heat scorches up my neck, flooding my face so fast I swear I’m seconds from combustion.
Every molecule is locked into place. My brain? Gone. My heart is also trying to make a break for it, hammering so hard against my ribs that I’m surprised it doesn’t bust through my chest like a horror movie.
Because if he’s reading, then he’s reading…
Oh my god—No!
No, no, no, no.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” My voice screeches like a whip.
His mouth opens, but whatever excuse he’s about to try and weasel out gets cut off as I run straight up to my laptop and slam it shut.
My hands are shaking and my vision is blurred with mortification as I yank the mains lead out and clutch the whole thing to my chest.
I need out. I need out now.
Running down the stairs, every step pounds with the weight of my embarrassment. I can barely breathe, my lungs fighting for air as my heart jackhammers in my throat.
Clara steps out into the hallway just as I streak past, her voice catching mid-question. “Avery, are you—”
I don’t stop. Can’t. The front door swings open with a crash, and then I’m outside, sprinting down the drive, the cool air doing nothing to douse the raging inferno of humiliation licking at my skin.
My pace falters, my sprint breaking into a jog, then a desperate, breathless walk. I suck in air, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
I stop at the corner, my fingers digging into the smooth plastic of my laptop, my breath labored.
So, what the fuck do I do now?
My eyes scan the road—anything. And then—
A taxi.
I don’t think. Just move. Step right out into the road like a woman on the brink, throwing my arm up in a frantic wave. The driver barely has time to react before he jerks to a stop, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and concern.
I yank the door open and fling myself into the back seat, my laptop still clutched in a death grip.
“April Street.” My voice is hoarse; my pulse is still an erratic mess.
The driver doesn’t argue. Just pulls away from the curb, taking me as far away from Gray and my catastrophic, soul-crushing humiliation as humanly possible.
As we drive down Main Street, my heart rate starts to drop from ‘about to explode’ levels to something resembling normal.
My brain, however, is still in a tailspin. Maybe he didn’t read any of the steamy stuff. Maybe I’m just getting myself worked up over nothing.
Then I remember.
Oh God.
The last thing I wrote before breakfast. I never closed Microsoft Word. It would’ve been right there on the screen.
My stomach twists into a tight, miserable knot.
The taxi turns into April Street.
“Just pull up here, please.” My voice is surprisingly steady considering I’m actively plotting how to fake my own death and start a new life somewhere remote.
The car slows and pulls up at the curb. I dig into my pocket, yank out a few notes, and shove them at the driver before climbing out.
Dad’s car is parked in the driveway and Jake's is behind.
Great. Just what I need—an audience to my ongoing breakdown.
I march up the pathway, fury starting to replace my mortification.
How dare he read it? Who the fuck does he think he is?
I pull my keys from my other pocket, unlock the front door, and push inside.
How much had he read? All of it? Just a bit? Please, let it be just a bit. And especially not that last bit.
“Ave? Is that you?” Dad calls out from the living room.
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat feels tight. Instead, I head straight in, laptop clutched to me like a shield.
Dad’s in his usual spot, sunk into his worn leather chair, remote in one hand, bottle of beer in the other. Jake is sprawled out on the sofa, legs stretched out like he owns the place, eyes locked on the TV. Neither of them is paying much attention.
Dad’s brow furrows as he glances at me. Jake, on the other hand, notices immediately. He sits up, eyes narrowing as he takes in my face. “Are you okay, sis?”
I drop onto the sofa, still gripping my laptop. My body bangs against the cushions and I stare up at the ceiling like maybe it’ll give me some kind of divine answer.
“I think I’ve ruined everything.” The words barely make it out before my throat tightens, and then—great. Just perfect. The dam breaks. Tears spill down my face, hot and humiliating and my breath is labored as I try desperately to keep it together.
Dad’s up in an instant, grabbing the remote and muting the TV before making his way over to me.
I place my laptop on the coffee table, my hands shaking as I wipe at my face, but it’s useless. Mascara is probably halfway down my cheeks by now.
He leans down, pulling me into a hug, warm and solid, his voice gentle. “Come on, sweetheart, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
Oh, but it is. It really, really is.
He pulls back, ruffling my hair like I’m five before standing up and heading back to his chair.
Jake, who has been way too quiet during all of this, finally speaks up, his tone dry. “So, go on, what have you done now? Lost Gray’s niece or something?” He’s trying not to smile.
I glare at him. “It’s not a joke, Jake.”
Dad, still waiting, lifts a brow. “Well, come on, tell us then.”
I take a deep breath. “So, everything at Gray’s since Nicole died has almost gotten back to normal. He’s finally got full custody of Maddie, and… something might have happened romantically with us last night.”
Jake stares at me like I’ve just sprouted three heads.
I push on. “Oh, and on top of that, Gray asked me to be Maddie’s nanny full-time.”
Dad leans in, frowning. “And all this is bad why?”
I pick my words carefully. “Well… since I’ve been there, I’ve been trying to write a novel. A western romance novel.”
Jake snorts. “That’s convenient, seeing as Gray’s a publisher.”
I shoot him a glare. “No. Gray being a publisher has nothing to do with it. He even asked me if he could read it, and I told him in no uncertain terms: NO, YOU CAN’T.”
Dad shakes his head. “Why not? Jesus, what an opportunity. Most would-be authors would give their right hand to be in with the CEO of Pacific Crest.”
I groan, already regretting telling them anything. “Look, once I’ve finished it, and if—and only if—I think it’s good enough, then that’s different. But I don’t think what I’ve written is anywhere near good enough yet. And I’m not even halfway through.”
Jake still looks confused. “I don’t get it. What’s the problem?”
I swallow. “Well… just before I left his estate, I’d just gotten back from taking Maddie to school. I was about to walk into my bedroom, and there he was. Bold as brass, sitting at my desk. Reading my manuscript.”
I wait for a reaction. Nothing.
Jake glances at Dad, then back at me.
Dad folds his arms. “And what, he just stumbled on it? Or did he actually break into your laptop and sift through your files to find it?” His tone is sharp now. Annoyed. “The man has no right to do that.”
I groan. “No, no, no. He didn’t break into my laptop. I think I kind of… left the manuscript on the screen when I went out, forgetting it was there.”
Jake shakes his head. “Sis, not to burst your bubble, but maybe it was your fault for leaving it on your screen in the first place. I mean, there wasn’t anything on there he shouldn’t have seen, was there? It was only a damn romance novel.”
A fresh wave of humiliation crashes over me as I think about exactly what he was probably reading.
I hesitate. “To be honest, the main characters in the book are called… called…”
Jake squints at me, then his lips curl into a smirk. “Called what?” Before I can even answer, he grins wider. “Avery and Gray?”
I shift uncomfortably. “They might be.”
Jake closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Oh, for God’s sake. What do you expect?”
I snap, “No, I’m sorry, he should not have gone into my room and read it. There is something called privacy, you know.”
Jake scoffs. “You’re just so dramatic. This is you all over.”
Dad, who’s been listening quietly, finally speaks up.
“Okay, okay, shut up, Jake. Pack it in.” He turns to me.
“Avery, for what it’s worth, I’m totally with you on this.
Yes, there is something called privacy. Even if you are his niece’s nanny, living at his house, that does not give him any right to wander into your room while you’re out and start reading your stuff.
Especially if you’d already told him he couldn’t read it. ”
Relief floods through me. “Thank you, Dad.”
Jake, now trying not to smirk, asks slyly, “Anyway… there was nothing… nothing, you know, naughty on there, was there?”
I think again about what he might have read. By the time I’d finished writing this morning, the last bit of text was full-on steamy. More intense than the real thing.
Another wave of embarrassment slams into me.
I grab my laptop and stand up. “I’m going to lie down.”
I walk out of the living room just as mortified as when I walked in.
Upstairs, I drop my laptop onto my desk in the corner, then flop onto my bed.
Lying there, I exhale sharply. Am I being too dramatic? Was it my fault?
My mind replays last night. The two of us. The passion. Him making love to me. How much I’ve wanted him for so long. And then, this morning. What I wrote.
My phone rings.
I pull it out of my pocket.
Gray.
Nope. Not happening.
I hit decline, toss it onto my bedside table, and bury my face in my pillow.
Should I call him back?
No. No way. I can’t face him.
I groan, roll onto my back, and stare up at the ceiling. My brain is still in overdrive, but exhaustion starts creeping in, tugging at me, pulling me under. I drift in and out of sleep, my body heavy, my thoughts hazy.
I have no idea how long I’ve been out when I blink awake again. It’s dark outside. The street lamp outside my window is the only light in my room.
I should get up. Eat something. At least pretend I’m a functioning human being.
But before I can push myself up, the thoughts come rushing back.
What did he read? How much?
God.
My stomach twists as I picture the last few pages I wrote. The scene had flowed so easily, so intensely, so... explicit.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. It’s there. Right in front of me.
My main character—who just so happens to share my name—comes apart under his touch. The heat, the desperation. The way the small table by the door had just cracked and splintered under them, the sound of wood giving way.
And then—Oh, God.
Avery was in a different world, high on her orgasm, screaming with pleasure, “Yes, Grayson, yes... do it, do it...” The feel of his huge bulbous penis thrusting in and out of her.
I can feel myself getting worked up just thinking about it. The scene plays out in my mind like a vivid movie, and I can't help but let my hand wander down between my legs, stroking my thighs over my jeans. My pussy tingles at the thought, and I can feel myself starting to get wet.
In my manuscript, Grayson held Avery's petticoats up with his strong, manly hands, grasping her hips through her pantalettes, his eyes shut as he backed her up to the wall. She put her hands on his buttocks, pulling him with each thrust.
The image is so clear in my mind that I can almost feel the rough fabric of his pants under my fingers.
My hand slips inside my jeans, undoing the button and pulling them down a bit. I slide my fingers inside my panties, as I slowly start circling my clit. The sensation is electric and I can feel my body responding, my breath growing heavier.
As the scene unfolds in my mind, Avery starts climaxing again, wave after wave crashing over her. Grayson sucked her neck as the hallway was a blur of dark wood paneling and faded wallpaper, the sound of their moans echoing off the walls.
“Yes, Grayson, yes...” I can hear her screaming in my head. I can sense his body tensing, his panting getting heavier and heavier.
I think about how Avery had always fantasized about watching a man cum close up in front of her eyes, and the thought of it sends a rush of heat through me.
I slip a finger inside myself, my breath quickening as I imagine the scene.
Avery knew how close Grayson was, and slipped his erection out of her and dropped to her knees in front of him. He was panting, his chest heaving as she curled her fingers around his shaft and slowly started stroking.
Glancing up at him, his coat was still damp from the rain, and his hair a messy tangle. His eyes were scrunched shut, and she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his body was coiled and ready.
Staring back down at his hardness, it was angry and red, the veins standing out, as she rubbed it from base to tip.
I feel my own body responding, my fingers moving faster and faster over my clit, my other hand reaching to cup my breast as I imagine the scene.
“I can't... I can't...” His groan was like gravel, and with one final stroke of her fingers, “Uhh…” Grayson's arms stretched out, his hands resting against the wall. Under him, Avery’s mouth was open in shock as his body shuddered and she watched his sperm begin oozing, thick white and creamy out the slit of his cock.
“Umm…” The image sends me over the edge. Flashing sparkles ignite under my lids, mixed with the vivid image of his seed dripping down her hand.
I picture how Avery's tongue went out to lick the hot salty cum from his tip, and the thought of it pushes me, “Uhhh – uhhh…” even higher...
Panting, slowly, my eyes flicker as my darkened, shadow-filled bedroom comes back into focus. The intensity of my orgasm starts to fade, replaced by sheer unadulterated embarrassment.
“Holy Mother of...” My voice is barely above a whisper. The reality of what I wrote hits me like a freight train.
I throw an arm over my face.
If he read that—if he sat there, at my desk, reading that... I groan and turn to my pillow.
I am never leaving this room again.