He makes a rumbling sound that might be a low laugh and might be just a flat out growl. “You father is my best friend and, at the time, he was my boss. What the fuck do you think I was going to do when his precious little princess rubs herself against me and kisses me?”
“I don’t know, Jonas,” I match his dry tone. “Fuck her like she wanted you to.”
The muscles in his arms stand out and I don’t have to look to know that he’s white-knuckling the back of the couch. “You were a baby and you are my best friend’s daughter. Fucking you was never on the menu.”
“Don’t infantilize me. I knew what I wanted and I went for it. If you’re not into me, that’s fine, but don’t act like I didn’t know exactly what I was doing when I kissed you.” I’m getting angry now, truly angry. “And yeah, you might be friends with my dad, but that doesn’t make you my dad.” I glare. “Unless you want me to call you Daddy, in which case I’ll consider it.”
“Blake.” Oh, the warning in his tone.
He’s close to snapping and I’m a bitch because I want to keep mashing that button until he explodes. What will happen when he does? Will he rip off my clothes and fuck me right here on this couch? Will he haul me out of his house and slam the door in my face? I don’t know, and because I don’t know, I can’t stop myself from inciting him. “Jonas.”
“I might be an asshole, but even I have lines. Fucking the college-aged daughter of my friend and boss under his roof crosses that line.”
He’s right, and I know he’s right, but that doesn’t stop me from saying, “We’re not under his roof now.”
Jonas pulls back the tiniest bit, staring down at me like he’s sure I’m joking. I should be joking. If sex was a bad idea at that Christmas party six years ago, it’s an even worse idea now. If I want him to say yes to working with me for this account, fucking him will muddy the waters irreparably. And if I do and then he says yes and it gets out…
Our industry isn’t particularly large. I’ve never worried overmuch about image or tried to play a role to get me ahead. But even I can’t deny that reputation matters.
Why would it get out?
I shut down the little voice, because I can already see the answer written all over Jonas’s face. The rejection. He sure does like telling me no, and he confirms it when he shoves back. “No.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it, Blake.”
“I get it. Really, I do.” My body might be a little slower to come to terms with it. A steady heat pulses through me and I feel simultaneously too light and far too anchored in my skin. I push to my feet and try not to hold it against him when he takes a measured step back as if determined to preserve the distance between us. “I think it’s best I, uh, go to bed.” It’s not late, but the alternative is staying in his presence a moment longer than strictly necessary. I’ve already proven I have garbage self-control when it comes to this man. There’s no need to press my luck any further.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, and he really needs to stop watching me like that because it’s getting the wires crossed in my head. “Do you need anything out of your car?”
“My bag. I—”
“I’ll get it.” He’s gone before I can argue, leaving me blinking after him. I have the sneaking suspicion that Jonas just ran from me, but I can take a hint. Eventually. I have a healthy self-esteem, but I have no desire to keep throwing myself at a guy that’s rejected me twice. No matter how sexy he is or how he watches me like he wants to consume me whole. I look at pumpkin donuts the same way, and I don’t want to fuck them.
Jonas returns a few moments later and, from the way his white shirt is plastered to his chest, it’s still raining hard outside. The fabric clings lovingly to the curves of his pecs and the… No. No, no, no. I am not going to stand here and ogle him, and I’m certainly not going to let my eyes linger at his hips to see if there’s a cock imprint on his jeans.
Instead, I snag the bag out of his hands and flee upstairs.
4
It takes all of five seconds in Jonas’s bed to realize I’ve made a horrible mistake. The feeling starts when I brushed my teeth in his bathroom with the spare toothbrush, and only gets worse when I pull back the sheets and the scent of him hits me. He must have more than his fair share of pheromones or something, because just that hit has my thighs shaking. I almost march back downstairs and demand to take the couch, but it would mean another interaction with him, and I’m not certain I can do it without making an ass of myself. Again.
I grit my teeth and climb into his bed.
Oh, fuck, it’s amazing. The sheets are flannel and instantly banish the chill of the room. It would be positively cozy if I wasn’t so horny that I’m about to come out of my skin. Every shift of my body has the sheets rubbing against my bare legs, my arms, and sends another hit of Jonas’s intoxicating scent straight through me.
I bite my bottom lip hard, but it does nothing to dispel the lust weaving its way through me. I should just close my eyes and count my exhales until I drift off, but I’m too restless. I’m a night owl by nature. If I were home, I would still be up for hours yet. Obviously, that’s not an option here. Better to close my eyes and will myself to sleep until morning and my escape from this house.
Easier said than done.
I twist one way and then another. It’s a lost cause. I’m too rattled to go to sleep like this. I know what will help take the edge off, but masturbating here with Jonas under the same roof feels even more reckless than anything I’ve done so far.
It’s not like he’ll know.
I can be quiet. I mean, sure, it’s the exception, but I can do it this once.
Maybe I’m a liar, but it’s too late. I snake my hand down my stomach and drag my fingers through my pussy folds. I’m so wet, I’m half surprised that I’m not making a mess of his sheets. The thought is simultaneously funny and so hot, I can barely stand it. I spread my legs more and tease myself, tracing my opening and spreading my wetness up and around my clit. It won’t take much to get me off, but I’ve always liked to savor my orgasms. Hard and fast does the trick in a pinch, but it doesn’t really accomplish the same thing one that I build slowly will.
On impulse, I grab the pillow and roll over. It’s crossing so many lines to be fucking myself with my fingers while my face is buried in Jonas’s pillow, but I’m too turned on to care. Besides, I can muffle any sounds I make this way. It totally makes sense.
I tease my opening and press two fingers in. It feels good, almost too good, so I trail my fingertips over my clit and back down again. I’m making little whimpering sounds now, but I can’t help it. I have to lift my hips a bit to get a better angle to fuck myself with my fingers, and the sheet slides off my ass. The bite of the chilly air only heightens my pleasure.
This just feels so dirty. I shouldn’t be doing it, so I want to do it more. I have been so good for so long. It’s not my fault that wild abandon sneaks through the cracks sometimes. I’m usually very careful to let off steam on a regular basis, but there hasn’t been time since I took over my father’s company. I’m working long, stressful hours in between collapsing face-down on my bed and sleeping like the dead.