I need it so bad, and I need tofeelit. I need her pussy soaking my fingers again like that night in my truck.
I reach between us with shaking hands. Pop the button on her jeans. Drag the zipper down and shove my fingers into her panties. And fuck.Fuck, she’s soaked—drenched and so ready to take me—that I’m tempted to open my own zipper. To fuck her against the wall.
But thank God some shred of common sense prevails.
I can’t risk getting caught with my pants down at a family pizza center…but Icanrisk two fingers in this slick little cunt. This slick, tight, perfect cunt that instantly starts to clutch around me as I grind my thumb against Clover’s clit.
“Dean,” she gasps, beginning to tremble. “Oh, Dean. Oh, God, yes. Yes!”
I pull back just enough to see her face—I need to see her, need to imprint every second of this into my permanent memory—to find her jaw dropped and her throat working. Then she winces hard, her head falling back with a cry as the wave hits.
Her pussy pulses around my fingers, coating my hand with more slickness as I rasp, “Beautiful, you’re so fucking beautiful. Look at me, Clover. Look at me while I make you come.”
Her eyes crack open, her gaze locking with mine as I continue to fuck her with my hand, until she’s shaking and sobbing and coming for me a second time.
Until I’m not sure either of us will survive much more of this.
I gentle my touch, holding her up as she sucks air, barely able to stand myself as she rides the wave back down to earth.
By the time she’s upright on her own, I’m pretty sure every drop of blood in my body is throbbing in my cock, in my balls, now so swollen and full, it’s painful.
“Your turn,” she whispers, reaching for my jeans.
Before I can form a coherent thought, she’s popped open my fly and reached inside, her fingers closing around my suffering length.
I cry out, hips jerking forward of their own free will. Even her hot skin feels cool against the burning length of me, and when she sinks to her knees, it’s all I can do not to let it happen.
But then I think about her leg. Being down on her knees on hard tile is going to hurt her. Then, I think about my girls and about how deeplythisis going to hurt them, even if I don’tget caught in a compromising position and hauled away by the NOPD.
I’ve already crossed a potentially fatal line.
But if I let their nanny blow me in a back hallway? If I come down her throat with my hands fisted in her curls? There will be no coming back from that.
I will never be able to face Clover over the breakfast table the same way again, and my girls will likely lose the one person who’s made “getting back to normal” seem like something that could actually happen for our family.
And family is the most important thing.
Way more important than getting my rocks off or even starting something with a woman I care about more and more with every passing day.
It doesn’t matter how much I care about Clover. We are math that doesn’t math—an unsolvable, flawed equation—and the fact that I let that slip my mind for even a moment is unforgivable.
“Wait, we can’t,” I grunt, the words rough, pained as I close my hands around her upper arms and lift her back to her feet before her lips can move a centimeter closer to my crotch.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her brow furrowing. “We’re alone. No one will see. It’s okay.”
She reaches for me again, but I dodge her, stepping back to tuck myself into my jeans. “It’s not that,” I say, zipping up with a wince. “It’s us. It’s the girls. It’s… This was a mistake.”
Her expression shifts, confusion morphing into irritation, then hurt as she says, “Was it? It didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt…” She shakes her head, her throat working for a beat. “I know we agreed to keep things professional, Dean, but nothing has ever felt as good as it feels when you touch me. Surely that has to count for something?”
“But what? What does it count for?” I ask, my voice still rough. “You don’t date men with children, and I can’t just fuckyou, Clover. I can’t fuck the nanny on the side like some cheesy middle-aged movie star having a mid-life crisis, and, I… I just…” I pull out my wallet before I confess that I’m in love with her and make things even worse. I find a hundred and press it into her hand. “For a cab home and overtime pay for taking the girls to the game tonight. Stay as long as you want, have fun, and just… Just be safe.”
I flee for the door, just like Roid Rage before me.
Only I’m not fleeing a man threatening to punch my face in. I’m fleeing the consequences of my own lack of willpower. I’m fleeing the very real possibility that I’ll lose control again and fuck Clover against that wall.
I’m still shaking as I burst out onto the dance floor, so I head for the restroom. I hide in a stall, talking my stupid, piece of shit, idiot, short-sighted dick down from the ridiculous state he’s in, then wash my hands and splash water on my neck.
Then, I take a hard look at myself in the mirror, my shame clear in every line on my face. There aren’t many—I’ve worn sunscreen since I was a kid—but I still look like an old man compared to Clover. Compared to that loser who laid hands on her. And yes, he was a loser, but at least she was trying to move on from the temptation we pose to each other.
