“I’m . . . my dad . . .” She sighed, not waiting for an invitation before sitting down in one of the chairs across from me.
Under normal circumstances, that would have bothered me, but I was quickly realizing that things with “Nicole from the nightclub” weren’t normal. She hadn’t even called me back after turning me down. She’d sent me a few text messages, but that was it, and my text messaging skills were poor to say the least. I hated it. I hated the idea of her being able to show her friends what we talked about. I hated the idea of anybody knowing what our plans were. I didn’t know why. There was no plausible explanation for me feeling that way. None. But now she was sitting across from me, I was starting to believe it was the right move.
“Your dad,” I asked, “is getting a divorce?”
“Uh . . . no,” she said, licking her full lips nervously. The same lips I’d kissed a couple weeks ago. The same lips I kept envisioning around my cock. “Will is my dad.”
I blinked hard, away from her lips. “What?”
“He’s . . . my dad,” she said, her voice small, her eyes apologetic. Good. So she knew this couldn’t happen anymore. But what the ever-loving fuck? This was definitely payback for me fucking my fraternity brother’s girlfriend back in college. Definitely. Fuck my fucking life.
“Your dad,” I said flatly. She nodded, tugging her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth. The sight of it made something inside me ricochet.
“Yep,” she said with a pop. She looked at me for a moment, just looked at me, her eyes scanning my face, dropping to my chest, and back up. “You look really good in a suit.”
“Nicole,” I said, a warning.
She smiled. “Yep.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Okay.” She shrugged, but kept smiling, taunting. “So, divorce law, huh?”
I kept my eyes on hers. “Yes.”
“Are your parents divorced?”
“No.”
She frowned a bit, looking pensive. “Interesting. Are they happy?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling my lips tilt into a smile. “Are you a psychology major?”
“No,” she said, eyes wide, drawing out the word as if that was a ridiculous thought.
“What are you studying? Assuming you’re in school,” I added.
“Costume design. I graduate next week actually.”
“Costume design,” I repeated, letting my eyes drift down her body.
She was wearing a skintight dress with huge colorful flowers. It covered her entirely, with small sleeves and a neckline that didn’t show much cleavage, but the way it fit her left little to the imagination. I could see the outline of her perfect tits—handful size—her tiny waist, and curvy hips. When I looked back at her face she was back to giving me a coquettish smile that I felt everywhere. And when she stood and gave me a perfect back view of her round ass and went to lock the door, I gulped and started to breathe a little heavier. And when she turned around and walked around my desk in long, slow strides I had to close my eyes.
I’d just gotten this job. My eyes snapped open. Surely she wasn’t considering doing what I thought she was planning to do. Fuck. No.
“Nicole, I just got this job,” I said, my words going from firm to low as she swiveled my chair and kneeled down in front of me.
“My dad left,” she said, looking at me through her long, dark lashes.
I swallowed. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“We shouldn’t do a lot of things.”
“I . . . this can’t . . .” I started, but she was already unbuckling my belt.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, her fingers stopping. “Shit. I should have asked that before. Do you?”
I frowned. “Fuck, no.”
She leaned back on her heels, hands still on my pants, and looked up at me. “Is that a fuck no because you’re opposed to having a girlfriend, or a fuck no because you would never do this to your girlfriend if you had one? I can’t tell.”
I put a hand over hers to stop her from moving because I was getting harder by the millisecond. “Both.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Opposed to having a girlfriend, really? You’re a player.”
“Not,” I said, my word strangled when she moved a hand to cup me over my pants. “Not a player.”
“You just crush a lot?” she asked with a smirk.
“Fuck a lot. Yes.”
“But you don’t want to fuck me because I’m your boss’s daughter,” she said rather than asked. I swallowed again and nodded. “Doesn’t that make it more exciting? We can be quiet.”
I shook my head, but fuck, it did make it a little exciting. One more time and I was done. Definitely. After this I’d break it off, erase her phone number, and just . . . be done.
“It’ll be the last time,” she said. “You wanted to do it last week when you sent me that text. I’ve just been busy with final projects.”
Our gazes met, both hot, both ready to pounce. My only response was to uncover my hand from hers and my fuck no turned into an instant fuck yes.