Chapter 17
“Son of a bitch!”
Water poured down the wall, the paint peeling, and drywall bulging.
We hadn’t made it to Phoebe’s yesterday. A storm that hit forced me to help Dad out at another site which had sustained some serious damage.
While I’d been digging out the collapsed wall, I’d had a chance to think.
Wade was still coming to help me today. And that was it. And fuck if I wasn’t going to need the help.
“I’ll shut off the water.” Wade headed to the basement.
“I’ll grab the Shop-Vac.” Jesse disappeared back out to the construction van.
Making my way carefully upstairs, I went straight for the bathroom where I suspected the problem was. I fucking knew it. I’ll kick Hendren’s ass for this. I told him those gaskets wouldn’t hold.
I knew the moment Wade had the water off. It stopped pouring out of the hole that had been blown out by the pressure into the bathroom, with pieces of drywall and paint floating on the water.
Between the three of us, it took an hour to get a large portion of the water cleaned up. Hendren, the lazy fuck, said he’d come by after lunch, meaning there was little we could do other than damage control.
“What about Phoebe’s office?” Jesse looked at the one door we hadn’t opened.
I could see the all-telling shine on the wood floor underneath the door. I cursed fate, destiny, or whatever sick fucker had it in for me. I’d already decided, and now I was forced to open the door to the room I had decided would stay shut.
“I’ll check it out.” But first…reaching for my phone, which I kept clipped to my belt, I pulled it out, hitting dial.
“Hi, you’ve reached Phoebe. I’m sorry I can’t take your call. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Part of me was disappointed she didn’t answer. I wanted to hear her voice.
I left her a message giving her a brief rundown of what was going on.
I did underplay it a little, but only so she didn’t stress out.
I hated when she was stressed. She’d roll her fingers and cringe inwardly, shifting on her feet, looking like she wanted to pass out.
I’d do just about anything to keep her from living through that. I still couldn’t lie to her, though.
Replacing my phone back into its holster, I did the one thing I’d sworn I wouldn’t do today. I opened Phoebe’s office door.
“Well, fuck.”
Water was everywhere.
“I can help—” Wade offered and I sent him a withering look. “—er…I’ll just focus on the other rooms.”
I could see Wade wanted to search the room, but I’d made myself clear.
Getting to work, I started moving the soaked boxes, taking a look inside to see how much damage there was and using the Shop-Vac as I went. A few of the boxes held books, which looked like they needed airing, if they were going to be saved.
“Jesse?” I moved the boxes of books nearer the door.
“Yeah?” Jesse appeared in the door.
“Take those books and air them out. Put them in the living room and make sure the dehumidifier is going full blast.”
Jesse took off lugging the boxes. I turned my attention to the rest of the mess.
Her desk leg was bent unnaturally, the water having softened the old wood until the leg sagged.
The desk had to have been here since the house was built and I wondered why she used it.
Around it was a mash of papers on the floor, the ink bleeding in swirls of blue, black, and red.
The pages had been dumped off when the leg bent, and there was no saving them.
I lunged for another set of papers just as they slipped, snatching them before they hit the remaining water.
A line on the top page caught my attention.
The feel of his cock pressing into me had me holding my breath. No one had felt like this…
What. The. Hell?
The words were handwritten, and damn it all to hell, I couldn’t help but read it.
My face was pressed against the cool wood of the table.
His mouth traveling down the length of my back, kissing every inch of skin revealed by my torn shirt.
The bulge in his jeans ground against the soft curve of my ass.
The weight of him pressed me into the biting wood, putting pressure on my clit that had little protection in the thin pair of panties I wore.
I squirmed, enjoying the way the wood bit into me, but in the most erotic way.
“You want this, baby?” he growled, his hips pressing into me harder. I gasped as pleasure tore through me as he forced me to pleasure myself on the table ledge. “Does this sweet little cunt want something?”
His hand gripped my hip, his fingertips sinking into the tender flesh, and I knew I’d have bruises tomorrow.
I wanted to have his bruises on me tomorrow.
He controlled my hip movements, slowing my slightly frenzied gyrations into something sensual, making each slide of my clit on the table turn into an exquisite kind of painful pleasure.
“Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me you want my cock.”
Shaking my head, I bit my lip to keep the words inside. He wanted me to be: to admit how much I wanted him.
He chuckled darkly against my skin. “No?” His hand slid seductively over my skin, slipping beneath the fabric of my panties. “You think the table can make you feel as good as I can?” His fingers brushed my entrance and I whimpered. I needed him. I needed him so badly.
“Holy fuck,” I breathed, my cock so hard it was going to rip my zipper apart. Each word on the page had my cock pulsing. Without thinking, I moved, shutting the door, making sure Jesse or Wade wouldn’t come in and see what I knew I had no right to be looking at. I trembled as I kept reading.
“Tell me,” he whispered, his breath tickling the hair on my neck. “You’re so fucking wet…” His fingers slipped inside me, sinking inch by inch, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself.
My hand found my fly without me telling it to. I throbbed so hard I ached almost to the point of pain. Leaning against the door, I grasped my cock, fisting it, my eyes never leaving the words on the page.
Quivering, I cried out at the way his fingers stretched me.
The rough calluses on his hands scraped that sensitive spot inside me, ensuring I felt every stroke of his fingers.
My head fell against the table. My hips wanted to move, but he forced me to hold still so I could focus solely on the feel of his fingers inside me.
“You like that, don’t you?” he crooned in my ear.
“No,” I lied, desperate for him to continue.
I loved the way he was dominating me. The way he forced me to move when he wanted to.
I was helpless, pressed to my dining room table, naked except for the panties that his hand was torturing me inside of.
He was still clothed, his tattoos exposed by his work shirt.
I was at his mercy, and I loved it. No, I craved it.
“Liar,” he accused. “Do you know what I do to liars...?”
I was panting now, my fist pumping my cock. My balls were drawn so tight I knew I wouldn’t finish the page before I came.
Shaking my head, I was barely able to get the word out. “No.” Oh, but dear God, did I want to find out.
His teeth sank into my neck, the sting enough to make me tremble. My hips jerked of their own volition, and I cried out as pleasure rocketed through me.
When I’d hired him to fix my house, I’d never thought he’d touch me like this. How good his hands would feel on my body…
Did she? Was this…? I could see her now, Phoebe, bent over the table, her delectable ass cradled by my hips.
Her green eyes would be glazed as I fucked her pussy with my fingers…
My movements became rough, uncoordinated as I continued to devour her words, imagining Phoebe under my hands, the softness of her—
“Ahhh!” I groaned, forcing my hand off my cock.
The need to cum beat inside me like the percussion section of a marching band.
But I couldn’t do this. Not here. Not in her space.
Fuck, I wanted her. I wanted to bend her over the dining room table.
I wanted to keep reading every dirty thought she’d had and then act them out with her.
I wanted to earn that with her. And fist fucking myself in her office, her private space, to words I was never meant to read was not how I did that.
It took several minutes for me to get myself back together. I put my cock back into my jeans, my zipper being pulled back up too loud in the silent room. My hands shook as I put the papers on the small table in the corner that hadn’t been touched by the water.
Jesus, Phoebe…
My brain still wasn’t functioning when Jesse knocked at the closed door. “Uh…Ty?”
Fuck. Sweeping the room quickly, I made sure I hadn’t missed anything. “Come in, Jesse.”
Jesse opened the door cautiously. Probably unsure why it was closed. Heat swept up my neck, and I felt close to blushing. Blushing at thirty…What the hell was happening to me?
“What’s up?” I moved to the desk, picking up the stacks of paper, forcing myself not to look at the words on any of the pages. I couldn’t trust my reaction if I found something else Phoebe had written.
“I finished airing out the books.”
Jerking my head in the direction of the other boxes I’d checked, I told him to air out the contents while I focused on clearing the desk.
“Shit!” Jesse cursed when the bottom of a box gave out. Papers and books spilling everywhere.
“Language!” I chastised him by habit. I was the one who taught Jesse how to ride a bike; keeping him in line was reflexive.
“You’re the one who taught me to swear!” Jesse dropped down, picking up the mess.
I had done that, too.
We bickered for a few minutes, and I didn’t realize how relieved I was. For the first time in a couple of years, Jesse was acting like his old self. He seemed more alive, just like he had Friday night. I knew I had Phoebe to thank for that.
“—you’re outta your… Oh. My. God.” Jesse broke off, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Turning, I found him flipping through a pile of stapled papers. “Jesse!”
“I can’t believe it.” His face was drawn in awe.