“You could say that,” I flirt shamelessly, because fuck it. She’s not telling me to leave, and she’s not walking away angrily, so I go in for the kill. Instead of confessing what I need to, or apologizing for what I did, I ignore the little voice inside my mind that tells me how wrong this is, and I wait for her to respond.
“If there’s anything I can show you,” she responds, with a flirtatious smile. I take her in for a moment. The yellow tank top—with the logo of the botanical gardens printed on her chest—that hugs her tight body, and a pair of black pants that are molded to her curves. Her hips are wider than her waist, offering an hourglass of perfection.
Tanned, smooth skin peeks at me from various places her clothes don’t cover, and her long lashes flutter over rosy apples in her cheeks. I wonder just how much darker I can turn her blush.
“Perhaps I can buy you a coffee after this?”
She glances around, as if something just occurr
ed to her, but when she looks my way once more, she smiles. “Sure, I finish up in ten minutes. I just need to lock up and change out of my uniform.”
“Sounds good, I’ll wait in the parking lot,” I tell her before turning to leave. With one last glance over my shoulder, I wonder to myself if I should just leave. Perhaps walking away now would be better for her, but my heart reminds me of the reason I’m here.
I fell in love with her a long time ago, and over the past five years, with every boy she’s sent packing, I’ve been waiting, biding my time. At twenty, she’s a woman, one who can make her own decisions, and once I confess why I’m here, she can decide if she wants me in her life.
Chapter 1
Rylee
Four years ago…
Forbidden.
I know it is. I know it’s wrong. But I can’t help myself. I watch him through the crack in the door. His body is taut, smooth planes of skin that dip and peak in various places. Perfect places.
His hand moves so fast, it’s a blur. Grunts of pleasure echo toward my ears, and my fingers dip into the wetness that’s collected between my thighs. I watch in awe as his shoulder muscles bulge with the strain.
“Fuck,” he grits out through clenched teeth. His body shaking as white ropes of his seed spill from his shaft landing on his stomach. For a man his age, his body is toned and chiseled. The tanned, smooth flesh offers a beautiful view of the dips and peaks.
I step back quietly and head to my bedroom. I leave the door ajar, a small crack that allows the soft yellow light of the hallway to filter through. I step out of my panties and position myself on the bed where I tug my pillow between my thighs. I’m aching. The pain in my gut is fierce, holding me hostage.
My hips roll, back and forth as I rub myself against the smooth material. Heat trickles through me and I close my eyes, picturing him as he jerked his cock in one rough, calloused hand.
I reach for one nipple, tweaking and tugging it until I’m whimpering in pleasure. It’s as if electricity is alive in my veins, shooting through every inch of me and I’m nearing the edge where pleasure and pain meet, and I want to leap off the cliff.
His grunt echoes in my mind. I hear him mumble the word fuck over and over again and it sets me off. I’m so close. Two more movements and I’m chasing a high I’ve had so many times thinking of him.
I mewl as quietly as I can, “oh, fuck yes, daddy.” My orgasm rattles through me like a storm hitting the ocean. A force of nature that I can’t control takes hold and I soak my pillow in my musky-scented arousal.
When I open my eyes, I see him at the door. His shadow hovering just there, out of reach, but I feel his gaze burning me. Everything we’re doing is wrong, but I can’t help myself.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I rise, padding toward the closet to find my bathrobe. It’s almost midnight, and I need to shower before school tomorrow. The moment my bedroom door opens, I’m met with bright green eyes the color of leaves in spring.
“Are you okay?” He questions, arching one dark brow at me.
One more month.
“Yes,” I whisper, reprimanding myself for the husky tone. I push past him without another word and shove into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me with a sound bang.
Once the lock clicks, I lean against the wood, sighing as my heart slowly steadies itself to a normal rhythm. This isn’t something I should be doing. I know it. Every night it’s the same thing, I watch him, spying on him as he strokes himself.
I drop my robe and step into the shower, then turn on the taps so the icy water can shock me out of the heated desire that’s racing through me. No boy at school has ever made me so needy. My boyfriend of six months has tried to touch me, he’s even attempted to get me to suck him off, but I refused.
I’m sick.
I’m broken inside my head because all I want is to lick and pleasure the man on the other side of the door. I know he’s there. I’ve heard him shuffling away at times after my shower. He stands at the door, listening, waiting for me to touch myself, like I watch him.
We’ve been doing this for the past two years, and I can’t take it anymore. Ever since I found pleasure with my fingers, I’ve fantasized about him. Living with the handsome, dark haired man has turned me into a ball of twine, and I’m wound so tight, I’m bound to snap soon.