Chapter 13: Daddy’s Dirty Little Secret: Chapter 13

A few days had passed since Laurence’s surprise visit to my office. Amelia and I hadn’t spoken about it, not so much as a passing thought. I had gotten so busy with the good problem of handling incoming inquiries for potential projects, I hadn’t even called her to my office, and my body was feeling the strain of sexual tension.

From where I stood now, behind the tinted glass of my office window, I had a perfect view of the café across the street. My eyes had drifted there out of habit, and now they refused to move. Amelia was sitting at one of the umbrella-covered tables with Godwin, just two tables over from where she sat with her father a few days ago after that comical shock she had. I’d have liked to see how far she took her little striptease for me that day had we not been in her father’s presence.

Today, however, the tension I felt wasn’t eased by her smile or the way she seemed to glow in the sunlight. It only swelled as she laughed at Mr. Tharmor’s jokes, touched his arm lightly, leaned in toward him to look at his phone screen. He ate up that attention like a man dying of thirst in a desert, while I watched on from several floors up with my hands fisted in my pants pockets.

I recognized his laugh before I even noticed her hand on his shoulder. Too familiar. Too comfortable. The way she leaned into him, the tilt of her head, that full-bodied laugh she gave him—it scraped something raw inside me.

She didn’t laugh like that with me.

He said something and she touched his arm again, fingers curling briefly before pulling back. And it wasn’t even the touch itself—it was how effortless it looked. So natural.

If she moved on, if she started dating someone like him, there wouldn’t be room for our arrangement anymore. She’d have to commit to him, draw a line. End us.

And she looked like she could. From where I stood, the natural chemistry they had seemed so fluid that any moment she would lean into him and kiss him, give him that gaze-locked expression she held for me alone. Or had she? Had I been too blind to notice this intimacy she shared with him leading up to my request for a no-strings arrangement with her?

I turned away from the window with my peace rankled, sinking into the sofa across my office. My hands rose to scrub my face of stress, then slid upward to my forehead where my fingers tangled in my hair. I planted my elbows on my knees and let my eyes close to block out the image of her next to him, but my thoughts refused to obey me.

It wasn’t just the way she looked at him—it was the way he looked at her. Like he understood her. Like he deserved to. That bothered me more than anything else. It felt unfair—how some people seemed to move through life forming bonds without trying, like emotional gravity just pulled people toward them. Meanwhile, I was stuck in this orbit I couldn’t escape, watching from a distance. Too much history under my skin, too many walls built too high. I didn’t even know what it felt like to laugh like that with someone.

Amelia had that. At least with Godwin, and it made me feel like an intruder in a life I only got to borrow in pieces.

Maybe I was stupid to think I could keep things casual with her. That we could have this thing and pretend it didn’t mean more. Because now that I’d had her—tasted the version of myself that existed when she was around—I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t not want it, even if I’d never say it out loud.

I leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it held some sort of answer. But all it did was press the silence deeper into my psyche and drive me insane. I hated this part—when I got too far inside my own head.

Something about watching Amelia so open with someone else scraped at an old wound. One I thought I’d buried deep enough to forget, but the scar of which was still permanently etched in my heart. But it came back, sharp and uninvited as the day I felt it the first time.

I was eight years old again. Standing at the front door in my pajamas, bare feet on cold tile, watching my mother zip up a suitcase with hands that didn’t shake. I begged her not to go. I held her wrist. I remember that clearly—how small my hand looked against her skin. How tiny I felt knowing that no matter what I said I couldn’t change her mind.

“Please,” I’d said. “Please just stay. I’ll be better. I swear.”

She didn’t cry. She didn’t kneel down or soften. Her eyes were dry and hard when she slid her arm free from my grasp, not in an overly harsh way but not the kindness of a mother’s touch either.

“It’s time for you to be a man, Xander,” she’d said. “You don’t need me for that.” Then she walked out. Just like that.

That was the day I learned what it meant to be a man: it meant being alone. It meant silence where comfort should be, pride where softness used to live. And I’ve carried that definition with me every goddamn day since.

Even now, with Amelia—especially with Amelia—I could feel it there between us like a wall I didn’t know how to tear down. Wanting her didn’t change the fact that I didn’t know how to let her in. And God, I was furious about it.

Furious that everyone else seemed to know how to be close. How to be loved without it slipping through their fingers. Furious that after all these years, I was still that kid standing at the door—watching someone walk away.

My hands shook as I took out my phone. The surge of jealousy over her smiling laughter with Godwin Tharmor had me feeling impulsive, obsessive even. I sent her a message telling her I needed her as I rose off the couch and strutted to the window, already loosening my tie.

Xander 12:13 PM: Come up

Just two words. I didn’t even add a period. Didn’t need to. She’d know what it meant.

I stared out the window. My pulse was louder than it should’ve been. She was still at the café. Still laughing. But then she glanced down at her phone. I saw the shift, even from across the street—her smile faltering, hand retreating from where it rested on Godwin’s arm. She stood abruptly, said something too quick to catch, then leaned in and hugged him. That made my jaw clench.

She didn’t hug me like that.

Then Amelia turned and scurried across the sidewalk, weaving through traffic without waiting for the crosswalk light. She half jogged up the steps to our building, her hair catching in the breeze, her body tense with purpose.

Moments later, I heard the elevator ding and the soft click of her heels against the tile hallway. The door to my office opened without a knock. She stepped inside, cheeks pink, eyes searching mine.

“You texted,” she said, breath slightly hitched.

And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.

I wanted her, and I had called for her attention, now here she was. She didn’t hesitate to leave him sitting there alone, so that said something—but what? And when she reached behind herself and locked the door, I knew she understood why she’d been beckoned.

Except, it wasn’t the sex that I needed right now. It was whatever she had been giving him—the closeness, the bond, the smiles. I wanted that. My heart craved that.

“Xander?” she asked, plucking one heel off then the other. “Are you okay?”

“Clothes off, now,” I growled possessively, undoing my tie and tugging it off my neck.

She pursed her lips then dipped her head and began to strip. Slowly she undressed herself, beginning with the top, then the skirt, her silk stockings next followed by her panties, all of them discarded haphazardly on the floor. When she was naked, she stood there in front of me with her hands crossed over her chest, covering her breasts, as if she needed to hide her beauty from me.

I removed my shirt and pulled my dick out of my slacks, then gestured to the heavy oak desk behind me. “Bend over,” I ordered.

Amelia’s eyes widened, but she did as I said without question. She leaned over, revealing that luscious ass of hers—my favorite part of her body—and I couldn’t help but spank it once, just because I could. A soft gasp escaped her plump lips and my cock throbbed in anticipation.

I wanted to own her in every way, especially in the ways I felt she had allowed someone else to own her. Specifically because she let him own her. And I hated him for it.

Amelia looked over her shoulder, using one hand to spread herself open and put her holes on display. It got a rise out of me, but not the right one for today. I stroked myself as I looked at her pouty lip, begging me to penetrate her, and my gut roiled. I wanted sex, but somehow this felt empty today. Hollow. Like we’d been missing something, and I had just figured out what it was.

“You know,” I muttered as I walked closer, “this isn’t what I want.”

Amelia straightened, turning to face me. “You want me to suck you off?” Her hips perched on the edge of the desk where too many times I had taken her from behind, given her a few orgasms of her own, and sent her back to her desk. A few times she was on her knees for me without hesitation, admitting sex wasn’t what she wanted. But based on the moisture between her thighs that I saw glistening against her core, today wasn’t one of those days.

“No,” I told her, grabbing her wrist. I tugged her from my desk, pulled her across the room, then spun her around and pressed her back against the windowpane, thankful the mirrored glass allowed me to indulge in another fantasy I had. “This.”

My mouth covered hers in a steamy kiss as I gripped her hips and leaned in. My dick throbbed against her thigh, and she wrapped her fingers around it, stroking softly as I kissed her.

I reached between her legs, sliding a single digit inside her tight warmth and felt how wet she was for me. I knew what she was thinking—that this had turned her on too.

“Better?” she purred against my lips, her eyes fluttering closed.

I pulled back, my dick still hard and throbbing in her palm. “Not quite,” I growled, unsure why I was acting this way. It felt like I had to prove to her that I was better than him, that she was somehow mine, even though I couldn’t admit that was what I wanted. “Say the sluttiest thing you can think of.” Amelia’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed pink, but dammit if it didn’t make me harder.

I thrust my fingers into her core, through her thick moisture, and rubbed the heel of my palm against her clit. She whimpered and arched into it while clawing at my shoulders. Her hand continued to stroke my cock, but awkwardly now as she got more worked up.

“I … Christ, Xander, I’m not like that. I don’t know what you want me to say.” She whimpered when I drove my fingers deeper into her, leaned forward and bit my shoulder.

“Tell me you’re a slut and my cock is the only one that does it for you,” I demanded, still unsure where this sudden change in my demeanor was coming from. Amelia hesitated, her eyes locked with mine, her pupils dilating as she bit down on her lower lip.

“I’m a … slut … and … I can’t.” Her whimpers were music to my ears. I loved hearing her say those words. The dirtier she was with me, the more I loved it. The more it boosted that part of my ego that needed to be stroked to get me off. She was enraptured by my actions too, unable to stroke me anymore, but her hand lingered on my dick anyway.

“Say it now, Ms. Johnson.” My eyes flashed with lust as she whined.

“Your cock is … the only one that …” she panted. As she did, her body began to pulse, and an orgasm ripped through her. Her core tightened around my fingers, teeth sinking into my skin again, and I smirked as I watched how those words brought a flush to her cheeks and her climax in the same breath. Seeing the release had my cock dripping.

When her body began to calm, I pulled my hand free, bringing it to her lips. “Suck them clean, now,” I ordered, stopping short of calling her a slut. It was the last thing I wanted to do, humiliate her or insult her. But my God was she incredibly hot when she was so nasty with me.

Amelia’s jaw dropped, tongue lazily licking up the moisture off my digits. When she was finished, I brought my lips to hers and kissed her hard, tasting her juices on her tongue. I wanted to be inside her and feel her pulse around me, but I wanted to feel that closeness first, when she and I both let down our guards and we’re fully raw, primal, the core of us exposed to the other.

“You want to be a whore for me?” I asked her, afraid of how naked I felt by saying the words.

“I want to be the only slut you bend over your desk …”

Her words triggered a cascade of something inside my chest. I spun her around, pressed her tits to the glass, grabbed a handful of her hair, and slid into her pussy from behind, thrusting so hard she whimpered. The way she fit me like a glove made every jealous, possessive cell in my body explode. I was drowning in her. I wanted to own every inch of her.

“Say it,” I growled against her ear. “Say you’re mine.”

“Only yours,” she breathed, fogging the glass. I gripped her hips hard, driving into her even harder, and she wriggled her hand between her legs to rub herself.

The idea of pinning her against the window and screwing her raw while the city below watched us only made my arousal suck me closer to the edge. Every one of her exhales fogged the window more, and I leaned into her ear and whispered, “Louder, Ms. Johnson. I don’t think heard you all the way in New York .”

“I’m yours,” Amelia moaned as her second orgasm broke, making her face rock against the glass. I couldn’t hold back. My body was poised to flood her, so I let go with a grunt, my hand still wrapped around her torso.

Amelia’s fingers pressed against the glass, her orgasm milking every last drop of my seed from my body as we both panted for air. The thought crossed my mind that I never wanted to let her go, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I needed someone. Like I wanted something more with them, something I’d never be able to admit to her because I had drawn a hard line in the sand already.

I pulled out, leaving her breathless against the glass, and turned away from her to hide whatever emotion was still on my face. The thought of her walking out of this office and returning to any sort of interaction with Godwin Tharmor terrified me, but it surfaced as anger.

“Whoa,” she said, stumbling away from the window. She walked to my desk, took out some tissues, and wiped herself clean, then she picked up her clothing and began to dress as I put my dick away and zipped my pants.

She was so casual, so relaxed. Her hair was a bit mussed, cheeks still flushed from excitement, and when I found my shirt and slid it on, she turned to me with a furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong? It wasn’t good? Did I say the wrong thing?” Her desire to please me was more than I expected. This sort of thing usually didn’t happen. We didn’t lie around talking for a while after sex; that was something couples did, and we weren’t a couple.

“It was fine,” I grumbled, beginning to button my own shirt. “But I’d like a change to our agreement.” I didn’t have to see it to know my eyes had darkened. She dipped her head, appearing to draw back a little as she slid on her stockings and avoided eye contact.

“Alright?”

“If we’re going to keep doing this, I don’t want you having sex with anyone else.” Her eyes popped up at my words, surprise written there for a second before it vanished. Her lip quivered like she wanted to say something, but I continued before she could. “For health reasons—you get it. We commit to only having sex with each other, so we don’t share bugs …”

I knew controlling her actions would not control her heart, and if she wanted to fall in love—or stay in love—with someone else, I couldn’t stop it. Something inside of me, however, felt the urge to protect my own heart, to limit her ability to hurt me.

“Yeah, that makes perfect sense …” Amelia smiled softly and walked to where her shoes lay on the ground. I followed her, tucking my shirt in, and when she had one hand on the doorknob, the other brushing across her hair, I leaned in to kiss her.

Again, not something we ever did after sex. Normally she just waltzed out and that was that. My body felt like it was on autopilot, like I was mimicking what I’d seen her do with Tharmor, and I felt so out of place. I even wrapped my arm around her in an awkward hug, and she chuckled to diffuse the strange tension.

“I—”

Her phone buzzed, she pulled it out of her pocket. I looked down to see Tharmor’s image on the screen as she swiped to look at his message and laughed. I stopped short of reading what he said, but anger surged through me as she snickered.

“I gotta run …” Her eyes were full of mirth. Mine were certainly full of possessive, jealous anger. “I’ll be by around two for our meeting.”

Amelia snuck out and quietly shut the door, while I stomped to my desk and hit the cup that held my extra pens right off it. It slammed into the bookshelf behind my desk, and the pens went in every direction.

Why couldn’t I be normal? Why did I have to be the broken one that couldn’t connect with people? My mother had destroyed my heart, and all I wanted was to feel something other than cynical anger and fear.

I should just end the arrangement because I knew I would never be able to give her what she wanted, what she already had with Godwin. If she was with me, she would only feel neglected and alone, probably empty. And she deserved better than that.

I was incapable of loving her.

So why couldn’t I let her go?