Never Bargain with the Boss: Chapter 15

“You enjoy being a cocktease, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” Riley smirks at me, one brow lifted as she tilts her head like ‘what’re you gonna do about it?’ But her tongue peeks out to wet her lips, letting me know exactly what she wants me to do.

I laugh, amused at her transparent teasing. “Maybe-nothing. You walk around here with your belly button begging for me to kiss it, your ass swinging like you want me to smack it, and those tits just out of sight, tempting me to push those cut-off shirts up and suck them till you cry out my name.”

Her eyes flare, telling me I’m right on the money.

“That’s not going to happen, though,” I tell her, watching the disappointment flicker through her smile. “You know what cockteases get?”

“What?”

I run my hand into her hair, the pink spilling over and through my fingers as I grip it tightly in my fist to bring her ear to my mouth. “Their mouths filled with cock,” I growl.

She whimpers, and a satisfied smile tries to steal across my mouth, but I force my lips to turn down, frowning hard and lowering my voice. Barely a rumble, I add, “And if they do a good enough job sucking and swallowing and letting me fuck their face, maybe they get their pussy filled too. You want that, Riley?”

“Yes,” she gasps, turning liquid in my hand. I let the momentum of her sag take her to her knees.

She looks up at me, her mouth open to take me and her tongue out and coated with saliva to ease my way. Fuck, I’m going to come before I even get in her throat.

I grind my hand against my dick, groaning at the touch that feels so good, but not as good as she’ll feel. Ready for more, I yank my pajama pants down and wrap my finger and thumb around my base, squeezing tightly until a clear drop of precum oozes out of my crown.

Her eyes drop, widening when she sees me. “You can take it.” Her eyes jump back to mine, doubt hiding in their depths. “You will take it.”

The sexiest smile I’ve ever seen ghosts across her lips, and then she opens her mouth wide again, taking me into the warm, wet heaven of her throat, inch by glorious inch.

I groan, shifting my hips. My back is killing me and my right arm is asleep. But my dick is awake. It’s rock hard and aching painfully. I shift again, searching for a comfortable position.

Still in the haze of sleep, I find some relief, grinding myself against the softness in front of me. Deep in the recesses of my mind, some primal recognition hits, and I pull the warm body in my arms against me harder and tighter, bucking against her ass as I slide my hand between her legs to find her waiting heat.

Fuck yes.

She’s already soaked, her juices easing my way as I slip them inside her only to come out coated in her slickness. I thrust into her a few times, letting my palm bump over her clit before moving up to circle it with my fingertips. She lets out a needy little groan, and I chase the sound, moving my arm that’s trapped beneath her body up to cup her throat. She arches into it, pushing her throat into my grip and her ass against my cock.

I give her clit a little tap and her hand shoots down to grip my forearm, her nails digging into the flesh and the sharp bite causing me to thrust harder against her.

Does she think her grip is keeping me there? Does she think she can stop me? I don’t care. With her ass cheeks cradling my cock, I’m not going anywhere.

I tease her clit again and again, feeling her body go tighter and tighter, and then she shatters for me. As she spasms in my arms, she gasps, “Cameron.”

Her voice is barely a whisper, but it might as well be a siren in my head, waking me up instantly. I look around, my vision blurred and my mind screaming at me, but it only takes me one second to realize where I am and what I’m doing. And the very real woman I’m doing it with.

“Fuck,” I hiss, pushing Riley away. She falls ungracefully to the floor… of my office… with a thud.

I blink, sitting up and trying to make sense of things. I thought I was asleep, just having one of the countless nightly fuck fests I’ve been dreaming about. But I wasn’t.

This is real.

We must’ve fallen asleep on the couch. I remember her coming in after she brought Grace home, and then we were talking, and then…

“Fuck,” I say again. This time, it’s because I realize Riley is staring up at me in horror from the floor. Her position below me is so reminiscent of what I was dreaming about that I almost think it’s some sort of Inception-type trick my mind is playing on me. But the hurt in her eyes is no fantasy. I reach for her, some gentlemanly part of me needing to help her up, but she flinches back, pushing her nightgown down over the pussy I was just touching. The pussy I just made come. “Shit. I’m sorry. I was dreaming… I thought… Fuck.”

I stand, moving away from her to give her some space because I can only imagine the horrible, awful, perverted things she’s thinking about me right now. “I’m so sorry, Riley.”

She rises to her feet, her cheeks so flushed they very nearly match her hair. And her eyes… they’re wide and wild, filled with confusion and guilt. “I’m sorry. I should—” She looks behind her, toward the door… the very open door where Grace could’ve walked in and seen us.

That would’ve been catastrophic.

I don’t introduce Grace to women I see, and I don’t see women Grace knows. Hell, it’s been years since I’ve seen anyone at all. But nearly fucking the nanny… no, not ‘the nanny’ like she’s some interchangeable cog in a factory… nearly fucking Riley would likely send Grace into a tailspin.

It’s definitely sent me into one.

“I should go,” she stammers. Her eyes swing back to mine for one split second and then she virtually runs out, her feet quiet on the rug, and then she must tiptoe the rest of the way because I don’t hear her footsteps. A tiny glimmer of appreciation that Grace won’t hear her going upstairs at this early hour shoots through me too, which makes me feel like a complete asshole because her boots are still sitting by the couch where she took them off last night.

I inhale deeply and then exhale slowly, trying to calm the panic building in my mind before it spirals. But it’s too late.

What the actual fuck, Harrington?

You really know how to screw things up, don’t you?

What the hell are you going to do now?

That stops me short. It’s Sunday, and the three of us are going to be home all day. There’s no avoiding Riley unless she chooses to stay in her room. But she won’t. I already know that. She’ll want to be involved in the conversation with Grace about what happened at the sleepover last night, and honestly, I want her there too. Her insight is valuable to me, especially given it sounds like she was right about Hannah being a mean girl. I’m in over my head there.

And with Riley, obviously.

Whatever tenuous hold I had on my restraint is obviously nothing but a façade because at the first opportunity, my body did exactly what it’s been fantasizing about, leaving my mind completely out of that decision-making process.

“Goddammit,” I groan, falling back to the couch. I stare at the ceiling, scrubbing my hands over my face, only to be caught by an intoxicating scent. I hold my hand out, looking at it and realizing that it’s her. Riley’s juices, dried on my fingers from when I was rubbing her off. Riley’s scent, marking me in some base way that makes me feel worthy of her desire, even though I’m decidedly not.

I grit my teeth. “No,” I tell myself, needing the admonishment to be aloud so I hear it, not only think it.

It doesn’t matter. A second later, I’m yanking my shirt up and shoving my pajama pants down, taking my rock-hard cock into my hand and jerking myself. I’m not gentle about it, wanting and needing to punish myself for what I’m doing.

I could pretend that it’s to take the edge off so that I can be around Riley today without making a fool of myself, but the truth is, I just want to go back to that fantasy… of her hungrily swallowing me down her throat… of taking her from behind, one hand on her throat and the other at her clit as I slip my cock into her welcoming pussy.

Except that almost wasn’t a fantasy. It was very nearly real.

I smell my fingers, letting the scent take me back, and then slip them into my mouth, sucking her taste from them. Between the image my mind creates, the feel of her body against mine still so recent, and the sweet, musky taste of her pussy, it only takes a minute before my balls pull up tight and that tell-tale tingling starts in my spine. I groan at the overwhelming pleasure but lock my lips around my fingers and close my eyes, focusing on Riley’s taste as the orgasm hits and the reality of the depraved thing I’m doing drifts away. My cock explodes, cum splattering up onto my abs with every intense pulse, and I milk it as long as I can, needing to drain every last drop so I have any chance of being normal around Riley today and not acting like a lecherous old man who’ll take advantage at the first opportunity.

Panting, I look down at myself and see that I am a complete mess. Not only physically, but mentally. Hell, probably even more of a mess mentally.

I reach behind my head, pulling my T-shirt off in one smooth motion, and use it to wipe off my stomach and hand. There’s no way I’m putting this shirt in the laundry for Riley to wash. I’ll have to trash it. Apparently, I still have some shame, and that’s over the line.

Shaking my head at what a fucked-up situation I’ve created, I get up and head toward my bedroom. I need a shower, preferably one that can scald away the guilt over what I’ve done this morning.

I wait until I hear Grace’s voice in the kitchen before coming out of my room. Is it a cowardly thing to do? Absolutely. But I don’t want to face Riley alone. I will eventually, and I’ll apologize again for my actions, but I really can’t do that just yet.

I need to focus on Grace. Always Grace.

And my daughter had a really rough night, and I failed her by being too impaired to go pick her up. It’d been an intentional drinking session, designed to keep me from going upstairs to find Riley and making use of the empty house.

A lot of good that did.

I should’ve just had dinner and then sat on the patio for tea like usual. A little late-night conversation would’ve been infinitely better than what I ended up doing.

Focus, Harrington, on the thing that matters most.

“Good morning, Ladies,” I say as I stroll into the kitchen, feigning casualness. I’m showered, shaved, and dressed in jeans, a button-up, and Oxfords. My plan is to get out of the house, and I think the promise of a bonus Starbucks trip will do it.

“Aww, Dad! You ruined the surprise!” Grace says, sounding disappointed.

I scan the kitchen, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. I expected to find a sad Grace and an angry Riley, both plotting murders. Maybe mine, maybe Hannah’s, maybe both. Instead, there are measuring cups, mixing bowls, and half the baking section of the pantry sitting on the counter. And Riley and Grace have frozen, mid-choreographed dance number though the music is still playing softly.

“You’re cooking?” I ask, hoping for clarification though the answer seems obvious.

“Pancakes and omelets. Riley says carbs are the best thing for a broken heart, but protein is good for me, and homemade pancakes are infinitely better than frozen.” Grace says ‘broken heart’ matter-of-factly, but I still scour her face, looking for any sign of impending tears. There are none. In fact, she seems okay? Maybe like she’s even having fun making breakfast, which must be Riley’s doing because they’ve resumed whatever dance they’re doing.

“Apples rotten right to the core,” Grace sings, her hands slowly waving across her body. I glance at Riley, expecting to see a look of confusion to match my own, but instead find she’s doing the same move and singing along to whatever song is playing.

Deciding to go with the flow—which is a downright hilarious thing for me of all people to do—I agree, “Protein is good for you. We could add some spinach to the omelets too, if you want?”

“No, thanks,” Grace answers.

Riley looks at me uncertainly, nibbling on her lip like she’s not sure what to say, and I almost apologize again. But I can’t do that in front of Grace because she would definitely have questions about it…

“What are you sorry for, Dad?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just grinding against Riley in her sleep.”

“What’s grinding?”

“What I want to do to her again, right now.”

I grit my teeth. God, how did I fuck this up so badly? I’m not some hormone-driven asshole who doesn’t understand the gravity of what sex is and what it can be. But right now, I feel like I’m being dragged around by my dick, and the only place it wants to go is… Riley.

“Do you want your shake like usual?”

Riley’s question jolts me out of my self-flagellation. “Uh, no, that’s okay. I’ll do pancakes and an omelet too, if there’s enough.” We’re back to awkward. Or whatever is worse than that. So I do what I do best, throw myself into work of any kind. “What can I do to help?” I clap my hands, looking around for something, anything I can do.

“Why don’t you do the omelets while Grace does the pancakes, and I’ll get this cleaned up so we have room to eat?” Riley directs me to the stovetop where Grace is already watching the perfectly round circle of pancake batter, searching for bubbles.

I test the pan and find it ready, so I pour in the mixture of eggs, cheese, and ham. Not able to stop myself, I place a kiss on the top of Grace’s head. It’s a risky move, with a near fifty-fifty shot of getting a growled ‘daaad’ versus reluctant acceptance. Luckily, this time, she leans my way, resting her head on my chest, and murmurs, “Thanks, Dad.”

It’s a quiet moment that might seem inconsequential to most, but in that moment, I know she’s going to be okay. Whatever this deal with Hannah is, Grace is going to get through it with her head held high. She’s strong, feisty, and has already dealt with so much more than she should’ve had to, so she can handle this. I just wish she didn’t have to.

We finish cooking while Riley cleans up, and I studiously avoid making eye contact with her. But that doesn’t mean I don’t watch her. On the contrary, I’m hyperaware of every move she makes, responding to them on a visceral level despite trying to hide the way I’m tuned in to her.

Is she splashing water like she’s mad? Is that crinkle of her nose because she’s disgusted by me? What’s that look over her shoulder mean?

When we finally sit down, my nerves are frayed. I eat two tasty bites of pancakes, praising Grace for their perfect fluffiness and enjoying the way she preens, before hitting her with the hard questions.

“Riley gave me the quick version of what happened last night. You want to tell me the rest?”

Grace sighs and rolls her eyes. “Hannah was being mean. I called her out. Bella and Trinity did too. We left. The end.”

Okay, that’s not exactly ‘the rest’. That’s basically the same thing Riley told me, only with even fewer details. In fact, I’d say Grace is being overly concise. I meet Riley’s eyes and a thought occurs to me… Grace is coping with it the way I think Riley would. She dealt with it in the moment and isn’t dwelling on it now but is focusing on making and enjoying a delicious breakfast, which is all well and good, but not everything can be dismissed and moved past without dealing with it.

No shit, Sherlock.

But right now isn’t about me apologizing to Riley again. This is about Grace.

“Okay, let me go back,” I say, realizing I jumped ahead of myself. “First, I’m so proud of you for using our signal, and I’m very sorry I wasn’t able to come myself.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugs. “I just wanted out of there, and Riley took me for French fries.”

A bit of the guilt I feel over being incapacitated last night eases. But only the tiniest sliver.

“I’m glad you and Riley talked and you felt better by the time you got home.” Grace cuts her eyes to Riley and smiles shyly. “So, now what?”

Riley cuts in. “You said you were going to talk to Bella and Trinity, and Hannah and Megan today. Is that still the plan?”

Grace takes a too-big bite of pancakes, avoiding the question, and Riley gives her ‘really’ look. “Okay, school is in session then. Do you know what a girl’s girl is?”

I look at Riley, my eyes asking so many questions. Where is she going with this?

Grace swallows her mouthful in an audible gulp before shaking her head.

“A girl’s girl is the best kind of friend. One who will celebrate your successes, offer support during a down time, right your crown when it goes a little crooked, and have your back even when you’re not in the room. They build you up, lift you up, and want you to be your best. Does that sound like Hannah?”

Grace grimaces, twisting her lips together. “Not really. She says things I don’t like sometimes, but it’s usually about other people. Not me.”

Not expecting that, tension shoots through me.

Hannah has come over here, and Grace has gone to her house, so I’ve met the girl numerous times, and she’s always been giggly and sweet. I never would’ve considered her a ‘mean girl’, as Riley called her.

But obviously, I’m wrong.

How did I miss that?

The truth hits me hard. With the nannies doing pickups and drop-offs, and me not probing too deeply beyond ‘How was the sleepover?’ and ‘It was fun.’, I did miss this. And it pisses me off… at myself. Grace is my everything, but just as importantly, I’m all she has. Yes, my family is amazing, but ultimately, I’m her only parent and the one responsible for making sure she’s not being bullied by a friend.

While I’m busy having an existential crisis listing out my faults and failures, Riley’s full-throttle plowing ahead.

“Okay. Does it sound like you?” she asks gently. Grace is quiet for a moment, like the answer is hard for her to admit, so Riley bends down, getting in her line of sight. “There’s a right answer and a true answer. What’s the truth?”

Grace’s grimace deepens and she shakes her head.

“Oh, good!” Riley praises. Acting super-glad, she dramatically gushes, “Because if you had it all figured out at twelve, you’d be the first girl in the history of ever to do that. It’s good that you can be honest with yourself about things you still need to learn. It shows integrity on your part.”

Grace’s frown has started turning upside down into a smile as she straightens with pride, and I’m once again struck by the complete and utter magic Riley possesses.

“Remember how we talked about choosing your friends wisely because they rub off on you?” Riley says slowly, and I can tell she’s building up to something big. Grace nods. “Do you think you’ve maybe done or said some things that weren’t very nice too? To Hannah or maybe to other people?”

Grace drops her fork to her plate and stares at her hands in her lap. Slowly, she nods. “Beatrice.”

I suck in a breath as so many things become crystal clear in a blink. Grace has always been a bit quick to speak, and we’ve made countless jokes about her innate lack of a filter, but what she said to Beatrice was so markedly harsh and uncharacteristically cruel. I assumed it was because she was irritated by Beatrice, which in her defense was completely reasonable, because she wasn’t the greatest nanny. Maybe there was more to it, though? If Hannah says mean things and Grace hears them over and over, it’d make sense that she’d begin to mimic those things, becoming meaner herself. And that is not who I want Grace to become.

More importantly, I don’t think it’s who she wants to become herself.

“So maybe she’s not the wisest choice, huh?” Riley asks bluntly.

Grace shakes her head, still not able to look either of us in the eyes. “What do I do now?” she whispers, sounding utterly defeated. “Hannah’s my best friend.”

I can’t take it anymore. I wrap my arm around my daughter, pulling her my way in a tight hug. But my eyes are on Riley, pleading for help. I am so far out of my element here, downright lost in the messy quagmire of teenage girl friendships that I never saw the signs of any of this. She offers me a tight smile and then does what she does best.

“Well, if you ask me, it sounds like Bella and Trinity might be better girl’s girls, because when shit hit the fan, they had your back. Do you think they could be better friends than Hannah has been?”

Grace stays quiet for a moment, thinking before she sits up, nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“And do you think you could be a better friend to them than you have been?” Riley gives Grace a pointed look, calling her out without naming any specifics. From what Grace has said, I gather that my daughter hasn’t been the best friend either. But she wants to improve, and that’s got to count for something. At least I hope it does.

Grace swallows thickly. “Yeah, for sure.”

“I think so too,” Riley tells her. The smile she gives Grace is kind and gentle, and full of optimism that Grace can do it if she truly wants to.

“Can I be excused? I want to go call Bella and Trinity.”

“Yeah, of course, sweetheart. Go ahead. And maybe we can watch a movie or something later?”

“Sure, Dad,” she answers, already stepping away from the island. But she turns back. I think she’s coming to me for another hug. Instead, she goes straight to Riley and wraps her arms around her tightly. “Thanks, Riley. For everything.”

Riley hugs her back, her voice hitching as she says, “Of course, Gracie girl. I got you.”

My heart catches in my throat. Grace has never had a mother the way other kids do. She was so young when Michelle died that she doesn’t remember much, and since I was too fucked up to talk about it, I did a shitty job of keeping Michelle’s memory alive. It’s almost like she didn’t exist. Except she very much did, and her loss left a hole in Grace’s life. My mom and Kayla have done a great job filling that void, but it wasn’t until this moment, with Grace and Riley hugging, that the full depth of what Grace is missing hits me. And while Riley isn’t her mother and never will be, she’s still a role model for Grace, and she shows up for her when the shit hits the fan, as she said.

Riley is the ultimate girl’s girl.

Except she’s not a girl at all. She’s a woman who cares about my child enough to go on a middle of the night rescue mission, talk her through her heartbreak, and help her figure out ways to be a better friend and decent human. She’s a woman who makes me smile, has me doing ridiculous things like fashion shows and playing tag, and has me lusting after her twenty-four, seven.

Riley releases Grace, and my daughter runs for the stairs. I hear her foot stomps and then her door closes.

And it’s just the two of us.

“Thank you.” I need to say that first, because of everything else this morning, the way she helped Grace means everything to me.

She smiles sweetly, but then it fades away as she faces the elephant in the room head on, “This morning was… I got carried away by the moment… I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I snap, confused about why she’s apologizing. “I’m sorry. I usually have better control. I shouldn’t have…” I trail off, not sure how to politely say ‘shoved my hand between your legs and rubbed your hard little clit while grinding my cock on your ass’. I’m sure someone at Hallmark has made the perfect card for that, but I’m not a poet, so I sure can’t find the appropriate words for it.

“Unceremoniously dumped me to the floor, mid-orgasm?” she suggests most unhelpfully. “Yeah, can’t say that’s been my favorite start to a day.”

Shock, horror, and embarrassment all rush through me because that is quite the succinct way of describing exactly what I did. But she’s grinning like this is hilarious.

I scrub a hand over my face and let out a sigh of absolute suffering. “Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?”

Riley laughs doubtfully. “I can try. But it’s kinda like cooking, you know?” She cuts her eyes to the stove, where the pancake pan and omelet pan are still sitting.

My brows jump together because I most certainly do not know what’s like cooking. “What is?”

Her grin goes mischievous. “I can do it myself, and usually do. But sometimes it’s nice to go to a restaurant, sit back, and let someone else handle dinner… or ‘breakfast’, as the case may be.” She throws up her fingers in air quotes, like I might be so stupid as to think, by ‘breakfast’, she means the pancakes and not the orgasm. “It’s like a treat, and everything’s better when it’s special.”

My mouth drops open slightly. Is she…? Does she mean…? When she bats her lashes at me, teasing me mercilessly, I shake my head. I think I was wrong. She’s not a fairy. She’s a devil with a fairy’s hair. The thought has me growing hard in my jeans, which is an uncomfortable and surprising development. It’s been less than an hour since I came so hard my eyes crossed, and yet, I’m almost ready to go again.

I grit my teeth, forcing my lips to turn down into a frown, because her analogy makes me want to laugh. Which is weird. I can honestly say I’ve never felt amusement and arousal in the same breath. They tend to be singularly felt emotions for me. But Riley’s mixing me all up in other ways, so why not a little emotional discombobulation too? Hell, throw in some annoyance too, just for shits and giggles.

“Sometimes, cooking for yourself is the better, safer, smarter choice. Restaurants can be dangerous places.” I look pointedly between the two of us, hoping this convoluted analogy is clearer to her than it is to me. The point is, we can’t fuck, and I think that’s obvious to us both.

She pushes back from the island and walks behind me. My spine goes straight and stiff as I pray. But am I praying for her to do something or do nothing and pretend the way I asked her to? I’m not sure.

When I feel her breath on my ear, I know which prayer I was secretly sending up. “The problem is, danger has a really big dick and it’s been a long time since I’ve been to a restaurant.”

That sentence would make anyone who heard her scratch their head in confusion because it’s complete nonsense, but what I hear is that Riley wants my dick, and that’s all the sense I need.