9. Ava
Ava
Isit down at my desk, my hands still trembling from the encounter in the closet.
My mind is a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, frustration, and something else I can’t quite name.
Nick’s kiss had been unexpected, intense, and …
God, I hate to admit it, but it had been electric.
I don’t know what’s happening between us.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing.
This is why Amelia told me not to work for Nick.
Clearly, running into him even one time was one time too many. Velcro. No, magnets.
That’s what it feels like with him. There is a pull between us that is impossible to ignore. I believe he feels it as well.
Before I can spiral further, my phone buzzes on the desk. I glance at the screen, and my stomach drops.
It’s Ethan.
My ex. My stalker. My nightmare.
The text is short but chilling: We need to talk. I’ll be waiting for you.
I stare at the words, my heart pounding. This isn’t the first time he’s sent me something like this. He’s been doing it for months—texting, calling, showing up at my old apartment unannounced. It’s why I moved. Why I changed my number. But somehow, he always finds a way to reach me.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, and type out a reply: No. We’re done. Leave me alone.
His response comes almost immediately: You can’t avoid me forever, Ava. We need to talk.
He says this all the time. We need to talk. But it’s never a conversation. It’s always a demand. A threat. I don’t know how to make him leave me alone. I went to campus security and got nowhere. Technically, Ethan’s only crime has been to be an obnoxious, annoying, persistent pain in my ass.
But I feel like it’s more. Or it will be more. I just don’t know how to make him understand I don’t want anything to do with him.
I don’t reply. I can’t. Instead, I set my phone face down on the desk and try to focus on work. I’m here in San Diego because of him. I had to leave the city I wanted to live in and the job I worked my ass off to get.
My parents encouraged me to get away from him. I thought it worked. I changed my number. I have a PO Box. He doesn’t know where I work now. He doesn’t know where I live. My new building has better security. He’s not getting in.
I’m safe.
But the fear is still there, lingering in the back of my mind like a shadow.
I’m halfway through reviewing a stack of employee files when I feel someone watching me. I glance up, half-expecting to see Ethan. I’ve let him dominate my thoughts to the point I’m convinced I can conjure him up.
“Nick. What are you doing?”
He’s standing in the doorway of my office.
“I told you I would be picking you up.”
I open my mouth and then shut it again.
“You didn’t think I was serious, did you?” he says with a smirk.
I blink, my heart skipping a beat. “No. I mean, why would I?”
“We’re going to dinner,” he says, stepping into the office and closing the door behind him. “We’re going. Now.”
I stare at him, my mind racing with a million reasons why I shouldn’t. “Nick, I can’t just?—”
“You can,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you will.”
I want to argue, to tell him he can’t just barge into my office and demand I go to dinner with him. But the look in his eyes stops me. There’s something so intense, almost desperate, that makes me hesitate. I get it. I feel it. It’s just so wild to think he’s feeling the same thing.
“Fine,” I sigh. “But I’m taking my own car.”
He looks like he’s going to argue but simply shrugs.
“I’ll follow you to your place.”
“My place?”
“To drop off your car, and then I’ll drive to the restaurant.”
I stare at him. He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to. We’re going to my place for sex.
I can say no. Easy, right? The words I should say hang on my tongue. You’re my boss. You’re my brother’s friend. You’re a player.
“Okay,” I hear myself say.
I collect my things and walk with him to the elevator. Neither of us says a word. The tension sizzles between us. It feels a little like the elevator ride in Mexico. We both know where this is going.
The drive to my apartment isn’t fast enough. My body is purring with need. I don’t even care if it’s wrong. The way he makes me feel is too good to be wrong.
When I pull into the parking garage, Nick is right behind me. He parks his Porsche in an available spot. I don’t say anything as I lead him upstairs, my heart pounding with every step. I fumble with my keys and barely get the door open before he’s on me.
His hands grip my waist from behind as he pushes me against the wall. His mouth comes down on the back of my neck. He bites me like a starving vampire.
I gasp, my keys clattering to the floor as his teeth sink into my skin, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. His breath is hot against my neck. I can feel his hardness pressing against me.
“Nick,” I breathe, my voice shaky as his hands slide up my sides, pushing my blazer off my shoulders. It falls to the floor in a heap, forgotten.
“Don’t say a word,” he growls. “Not unless it’s to tell me you want this as much as I do.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I turn in his arms, my hands gripping his shirt as my lips crash against his.
It’s messy, desperate, and absolutely perfect.
He groans into my mouth, his tongue tangling with mine as he pushes my back against the wall.
The canvas picture of the pier falls to the floor. Neither of us stop.
He breaks the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before pulling me close again.
His hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, sliding down my back, gripping my hips like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. My own hands explore his chest. Every touch feels like fire, burning away every rational thought I have left.
“Nick,” I manage to gasp between kisses, though I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say.
“I know,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice gravelly. “I know.”
He lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward the couch. He doesn’t make it far; halfway there, he pins me against another wall, his mouth trailing down my neck, nipping and tasting like he’s claiming me.
This is reckless. This is insane. But right now, I don’t care.
He undoes my pants and pushes them down while I undo his belt. His fingers trace the edge of my panties before slipping beneath. I gasp as his touch sends a shiver through me.
I’m desperate to feel him, to be as close as humanly possible. I push his pants down, taking his tight briefs with them. When I finally free him, he lets out a strangled groan, his forehead pressing against mine as I wrap my fingers around him.
“Fuck, Ava,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “You’re going to kill me.”
I don’t respond. I feel empowered. Bold.
I drop to my knees in front of him. I hear him gasp. I don’t wait for permission. I grab his cock and run my tongue from balls to tip.
Nick’s hand tangles in my hair, his grip tightening as I take him into my mouth. His other hand braces against the wall, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. “Jesus, Ava,” he growls, his voice strained.
I don’t stop. I can’t. The taste of him, the way he pulses against my tongue, the way his body tenses, it’s intoxicating. I work him slowly at first, savoring every sound he makes, every twitch of his hips. But then he starts to move, his hips jerking as I take him deeper.
“God, you’re so good at this,” he mutters. “So fucking good.”
His words send a surge of heat through me. I increase my pace, taking him as deep as I can. He lets out a groan that borders on a growl, his fingers tightening in my hair almost to the point of pain.
“Ava,” he rasps, his voice barely more than a whisper now. “I’m close.”
I don’t pull away—not until he does it for me, yanking me to my feet and slamming his mouth against mine. His kiss is frantic, almost bruising, like he’s trying to devour me. His hands are everywhere—gripping my hips, sliding up my back, tangling in my hair—as he walks me backward toward the couch.
When the backs of my knees hit the edge, he pushes me down, his body following mine as I fall onto the cushions. He doesn’t waste a second; his hands are on my thighs, spreading them apart as he settles between them. The look in his eyes is feral, like he’s barely holding himself together.
He captures my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand while the other trails down my body. His fingers dip between my legs. I arch off the couch with a gasp. He grins, a dark, predatory smile that sends a shiver down my spine.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs. “You can’t even pretend you don’t want this.”
“Not pretending,” I mutter.
He guides himself to my opening. With one thrust, he pushes inside me.
I cry out, my body arching to meet his as he fills me completely.
His grip on my wrists tightens, anchoring me as he begins to move.
Each thrust is deep, deliberate, and utterly consuming.
The rhythm is relentless, his hips driving into mine with a hunger that matches my own.
“You feel fucking incredible,” he moans.
I can’t respond. Words are beyond me now. Every nerve in my body is alive, electric, focused entirely on the way he moves inside me.
His free hand slides down to grip my thigh, pulling my leg up. The angle changes. He hits a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. My fingers twist in the fabric of the couch cushions as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in my core.
I can’t stop the orgasm from hitting. I’ve been desperate for this. He leans back, his body arching as he lets out a loud roar and explodes inside me.
We’re both breathless, our bodies tangled together on the couch.
“We should probably go to dinner,” he says after a minute.
“I thought dinner was code for sex.”
He chuckles and rolls off me. He stands up, and I realize he’s still wearing his socks. I can’t explain why, but it makes me laugh seeing him wearing nothing but his socks.
“You’re laughing at me?” he asked.
“The socks.”
He flashes a cocky grin. “I was in a hurry.”
I watch him follow the trail of clothes and start to get dressed. “Maybe we could just order a pizza. It’s going to take me some time to get myself put back together.”
“I’ll order,” he says.
He grabs his phone from the coffee table, thumbs tapping quickly. I snatch my clothes, doing my best not to look at him. He’s still bare-chested, his muscles flexing with every movement. I can’t help but smile at the way he’s completely unfazed by his state of undress.
“Pepperoni and mushrooms okay?” he asks without looking up, his voice casual, as if we hadn’t just been tearing each other apart moments ago.
“Perfect,” I reply.
He finishes the order and drops his phone on the couch. We both get dressed, which seems a little silly. I excuse myself and go into the bathroom. I look at my reflection in the mirror. I look like a satisfied woman.
Later, as we sit on the couch eating pizza, I can’t resist asking the question that has been lingering all week.
“So, what’s the deal with Sierra?” I ask.
“Why do you ask?”
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “She seems … intense.”
He laughs, though there’s no humor in it. “That’s one way to put it.”
“There’s obviously history.”
“She’s my ex.”
I nod, not surprised. “Why do you still work together?”
He sighs and wipes his mouth. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m a good listener.”
He looks at me for a long moment, then he shakes his head. “Another time.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“It’s not,” he says.
“She doesn’t like me.”
“She doesn’t like anyone,” he retorts.
I take a drink of the cold beer he had delivered with our pizza. “She suspects there’s something going on between us.”
“I don’t care.”
It’s clear he’s not going to give me anything. Am I jealous?
No. I can’t be. He’s not mine to be jealous of.