“It’s not been long, but do you remember how good it feels?” she asked as she squeezed the base of me. “How tight I am?”
I groaned, needing her to remind me.
She lifted herself up and positioned the tip at her opening. “How you slide in so deep?”
“Fuck, Harper. Are you trying to kill me?”
She scooped up her hair, then let it tumble back down, smoothing her hands over her breasts as she twisted her hips and took me a little deeper. “You remember how you fit so good? You’re almost too big.” She took me in a little more. “Almost.” A little more. “I always think it’s going to be painful, but no.” She placed her hands on my torso, steadying herself, which squeezed her tits together, pushing them nearer me. Her head snapped back and I almost came right there. “It feels too good to be painful,” she continued, twisting her hips, teasing me, knowing I wanted to be in deep. “Do you remember how good it feels?”
I gripped her hips, trying to do anything I could to prevent myself from jabbing my cock so deep she’d never walk again.
She let herself sink all the way down, her eyes widening with every movement, then stilled. “I never remember,” she whispered. “I always forget just how good it feels.”
Patience deserting me, I growled and sat up, spinning her onto her back and pushing back into her. “I’m going to make sure you never forget again.”
I wanted to fuck her forever.
After spending the night with Harper, I had taken longer than usual to get through everything I needed to do, so I got a later train.
“I’m home,” I shouted. I could hear the television from the family room. Usually I came back to Connecticut in the week to find Marion clearing up the kitchen, but her car wasn’t in the drive. Was she here alone? “Amanda,” I shouted. I supposed she didn’t need to be babysat anymore but I didn’t like the idea of her being alone, waiting for me to come back.
“In here,” she yelled over the noise of music and shouting. I took off my jacket and put it on the back of one of the barstools and dropped my cell on the counter. A nice glass of Pinot Noir was what I needed. It had been a tough week. I placed a glass on the counter and pulled out a bottle from the wine fridge.
“Can I have one of those?” Scarlett asked from behind me.
“Hey.” I grabbed another glass. “What are you doing here?”
She slid onto the middle barstool. “I didn’t want to be on my own tonight. Can I stay over?”
I nodded. She clearly wanted to talk. I poured the wine into her glass as she held the stem.
“I’m thinking of moving into the city,” she said, tilting her head as she watched her glass fill up. “Sometimes it feels like Connecticut is where I should be in ten years rather than now. Does that make sense?” she asked.
“It’s good to change things up, I guess. You’ve never lived in Manhattan. What would you do about work?” She worked at an investment bank just outside Westhaven.
She shrugged.
Fuck, I hoped she wasn’t going to ask me for a job.
“I thought I’d apply for a transfer. There’s a treasury position in Manhattan at the moment. It’s a level up, but I have the experience.”
I nodded, relieved we weren’t about to have a difficult conversation. My phone vibrated on the counter with a message, Harper’s name flashing up on the screen. I watched as Scarlett saw the message, then met my gaze.
She didn’t say anything, so I grabbed my phone and opened the message. Manhattan’s no fun when the King’s not in residence.
I grinned and glanced up at Scarlett, whose eyebrows were so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Anything you care to share?”
I swallowed my smile and picked up my glass. “Just work.” I took a sip.
“Yeah, that looked like work.”
Thoughts of trying to keep my feelings for Harper professional had long since disappeared. Harper had been clear she didn’t want to be seen as the girl fucking the boss, and I didn’t want to muddy waters between professional and personal any more than I already had. In the office we’d agreed to just avoid each other. Easily done as the morning meetings about JD Stanley were the only times we really saw each other. Some distance in the office was a good thing.
But all the distance disappeared as soon as we were back in her apartment—for some reason she refused to come up to my place, even though it was bigger.
“Hey, Dad,” Amanda said, interrupting the silence.
“Hey, beautiful,” I replied, bending to kiss my daughter hello. I wondered how soon she’d no longer want to kiss me. Parents kept warning me about the teenage years, assuring me our disagreement over her dress was only the tip of a very large iceberg.
“You going to text Harper back?” Scarlett asked, grinning at me. If the Pinot Noir hadn’t been so good, I’d have tipped the rest of the bottle over her head. My daughter wouldn’t miss the reference and Scarlett knew it.
“Harper texted?” Amanda asked predictably. “Can you ask her if she’ll come help me get ready for the dance? I want her to do my eyeliner just like hers.”
I put my phone back on the counter. “No, I’m not asking Harper to come out to Connecticut to help you get ready. She’s not your personal stylist.”
“She’s too busy attending to someone else’s needs in this family, isn’t she?” Scarlett joked and I shot her a dirty look.
“What?” Amanda asked.
“Let’s talk about your dating life, shall we, Scarlett?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “Oh, so you admit Harper’s part of your dating life then?”
Shit. I was usually better at avoiding Scarlett’s interrogations. I turned toward the refrigerator. “Have you eaten?” I asked Amanda, trying to ignore my sister.
“Tell me more about Harper, Amanda.”
Inwardly I groaned.
“I want to be just like her when I’m older. You’ve seen her, right?” Amanda babbled on about how great Harper was, how wise she was about boys and what a great fashion sense she had. It sounded like Amanda’d known her for years rather than only spent time with her twice.
“So, dinner?” I asked, hoping to get them to change the subject.
“Can I have the cold lasagna in there?” Amanda asked, gesturing to the fridge.
Sounded like a great idea. Marion had even left a salad, too.
“Harper’s great, isn’t she?” Amanda asked.
I glanced at my sister, who held my gaze and asked Amanda, “Do you think she likes your dad?”
“Scarlett,” I warned.
“Does she have a boyfriend?” Scarlett asked, which was a question I had a little more interest in. Had Harper talked to Amanda about anyone?
“No, she says she’s too focused on work,” Amanda replied. “When I talked to her, she pretty much agreed boys were douchebags who should be avoided at all costs.”
I couldn’t hold back a chuckle, which won me a suspicious glance from my sister. “She’s a very sensible woman.”
I put the salad on the counter. “Can you get plates?” I asked Amanda. She hopped off her stool and began to set things out as I dished up the lasagna.