Are there signs of having a heart attack? Because I’m pretty sure I’m having one right now.
A nasty heart attack that’s coming due to the bane of my existence.
My whole body trembles and my eyes widen as they take in the view in front of me.
Daniel is in the shower, completely naked, with his hand wrapped around his thick and very hard cock.
A view I wasn’t supposed to walk in on or see.
A view that’s currently paralyzing my motor and cognitive functions.
When I jolted awake from an extremely forbidden dream, I was disoriented and surprised to find myself sleeping on Daniel’s carpet while Jay lay on his sofa. What was even more surprising was the fact that my brother and I were covered with blankets, and the papers I was reading through were neatly tucked on the table.
I meant to see if he was still awake and tell him we could take a taxi back home. He didn’t answer when I knocked on his door three times so I let myself in and planned on leaving if he was asleep.
But he wasn’t in his room either, and just when I was going to try his home office, I heard a grunt—or more like a growl—from the bathroom, as if he were in pain.
I must’ve been on drugs when I slowly pushed the door open. Or more accurately, I was showing symptoms of the “Daniel disease” and was inexplicably worried that something might have happened to him.
Something is happening to him all right, but it’s not the dangerous type I was concerned about.
Or maybe it is dangerous but in a completely different way.
The rough, unapologetic way he touches himself is nothing short of an exhibition of domineering masculinity. The type that should revolt me and send me running for the hills.
The type that’s been plaguing my nightmares and giving me sleep paralysis. When I open my eyes, the demon I find sitting on my chest always has his face. With that twisted sneer and mocking eyes.
But there are no demons now. Don’t get me wrong, no angel is in sight either. The scene in front of me is my worst nightmare mixed with my best dream.
And I choose to hang on to the dream.
To the twisted reality.
My legs won’t move anyway, not when my full attention is honed in on the way Daniel pumps his cock up and down with savage intent that makes me clench my thighs.
His muscled biceps contract and his hips jerk with the power of his movements. It’s like he’s angry at his cock for being hard, angry at what he’s doing.
Angry that he has to get himself off.
Anger is the last emotion coursing through me, though. There’s confusion, and it’s due to other feelings. The longing and the desire I can’t and shouldn’t be experiencing.
The desire to slip my fingers inside my knickers and do something I only do once in a blue moon.
The desire to grab my embarrassingly aching nipples and pull until they’re as painful as the expression on his face.
I must’ve released a gasp at my own thoughts because Daniel’s head jerks in my direction, his eyes locking on mine.
They’re darker, more hooded, as if the night sky abandoned all of its stars and decided to be bare. Crisp. Open for me to see.
His hand pauses on his cock; I’m not looking, but I catch the scene in my peripheral vision. The only reason I’m not staring at his cock is because I couldn’t look away from his magnifying gaze even if I tried.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His words are cold, cutting, but not enough to jar me out of my messed-up state.
“I…uh…I was…”
What exactly was I doing anyway? I’m pretty sure there was a reason I came in here in the first place.
“Looking for a live porn show? Working part-time as a Peeping Tom? Picking up voyeurism as a side gig? Which one exactly?”
“No…I just…” My eyes slide down to his fist on his cock and then I quickly avert my gaze.
“You can look. If you’re so disgusted with me, you wouldn’t have a reaction, would you?”
My head whips up to his face. “Disgusted with you?”
“Isn’t that the reason you’ve been avoiding me?”
“I’m not disgusted with you.” The reason I’ve been avoiding him is because of this inexplicable rush of tingles and unhealthy heart rate.
It’s because I couldn’t trust my reaction around him anymore.
A feral gleam shines in the depth of his gaze. “Prove it.”
“W-what?”
He steps out of the shower, his muscled chest glistening with droplets of water that travel down his abs, over the V-line, and down to his still very hard and very unsatisfied cock.
There’s a tattoo on his right pec, a script that’s too small for me to read.
“Prove you’re not disgusted with me.”
“Why should I?” I try to keep my attention on his face no matter how tempting the other view is.
“Because I’m challenging you to prove it, Nicole.”
My muscles lock at those words. He’s challenging me.
Such a low damn blow. He knows I don’t cower in front of a challenge, don’t look the other way from it.
In fact, our whole fucked-up relationship, or lack thereof, was because I couldn’t say no to a challenge.
I couldn’t lose.
My feet are floating on air as I approach him, my head held high. I’m a lot of things, but as he said, a coward is not one of them.
The art of pain is an abstract form of vengeance.
That’s what his tattoo says, in bold, neat letters that should belong in a museum.
My heart lunges, thinking about the reason he had this inked on his body.
The reason he’s keeping it with him forever when he doesn’t seem to be a fan of inking his body otherwise.
Once I’m standing in front of him, I reach my hand out and touch his chest. A zap of electricity goes through me at the contact, but I force myself to stare at his eyes.
“There. I’m not disgusted with you.”
“Touching me doesn’t prove anything.” His lashes fall over his light eyes. “Getting on your knees does.”
I bite my lower lip, but it’s to suppress the need to smack him upside the head. He has me where he wants me and he knows it.
“Either suck my cock or get the fuck out, Nicole.”
I fake a smile. “Repeat that nicely and I might.”
“Nicely?”
“Oh, right, you wouldn’t recognize the meaning of that concept even if you were slammed head first with it, so here’s some middle ground. Add a please.”
“A what?”
“A please, Daniel. A word people use to ask for something.”
“Not fucking happening.”
“Then I guess you should go back to your solo jerking-off session,” I say sweetly, gliding my palm over his muscles. “It looked kind of violent, so you might want to be careful with that.”
I hesitantly remove my hand and turn to leave, equal parts thankful I dodged a bullet and disappointed that it ends here.
“Please.”
The low, strained word explodes in my ears and freezes my limbs. I slowly spin around to find Daniel glaring at me as if I’m an opposing counsel he wants to smash under his shoe like a cockroach.
But the lust from earlier still shines in the depths of his eyes.
“Repeat what you just said,” I blurt, still not believing my ears.
“Fuck no. I did my part, you’ll now do yours.” He cocks his head toward the space in front of him. “On your knees.”
I hesitate for a beat, then lower myself before him, my knees scraping on the hard tile floor.
“I want you to lick me first, then choke on my cock like a filthy little slut. And make it good, otherwise you’ll lose.”
“And if I win, you’ll grant me something,” I say, half calm, half shriveling, and dying due to his dirty talk.
“You already have a job. That’s your something.”
“Aside from that, and don’t use the job to get your dick sucked unless you want a sexual harassment complaint.”
“That’s a lot of crude words in one sentence, Miss Prude.”
“Maybe I’m not a prude anymore.”
A light shines in his gaze. “Oh yeah?”
“If you want to find out, agree to my condition.”
His head moves in a subtle nod, but that’s all I need as I take his cock in my hand and lick the sides.
My eyes meet his hooded ones while I dart my tongue out and make a show of it.
I expected that I would need to shut myself down for this, that I would need a pep talk, but it’s more natural than I thought possible.
“That’s it.” His fingers thread in my hair. “Suck my cock like it’s your favorite lollipop.”
My core tightens and I slide the head inside my mouth, tasting the precum. Then I suck on it hard, just like a lollipop. Actually, I do it harder and it’s nothing like the candy. It’s more primal and definitely bigger.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grunts, grabbing a fistful of my hair. He starts to thrust his hips, trying to get control, to hit the back of my throat.
But I fight for that control. I pull more of him inside and end up scraping him with my teeth.
“No fucking teeth, Nicole,” he manages to get out, but he still sounds like he’s in a pleasure haven.
I loosen my jaw to fit as much as I can of his huge cock.
The grunt that escapes his lips makes me more frantic in my movements, in my attempts to control the pace.
But then something happens. The tip of his cock hits the back of my throat, and although my gag reflex kicks in, so does something else.
Pleasure.
It’s pooling between my thighs with a need for one single bit of friction to detonate.
One single touch.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” he informs me and doesn’t give me a chance to react as he uses my hair to keep me in place while he thrusts in and out.
He uses my tongue and lips for his own friction, groaning with each jerk of his hips.
My stomach revolts and the sensation is weird with the pleasure gathered in my knickers. It’s so weird that I don’t even attempt to stop it. My hands are on his muscular thighs, but I don’t dig my nails in his skin or push him away.
I’m too struck by the feral look on his face, the raw power in it as he uses my mouth like it’s the best he’s ever had.
The thought of him doing this to other girls makes me want to throw up. So I push that idea away as fast as it appears, choosing to focus on him.
Only him.
I feel that he’s close by the way his body tightens and how his thrusts turn jerky.
And then he empties himself down my throat. “Swallow. Every last fucking drop.”
I try to, but there’s so much cum that it leaks down each side of my chin. Daniel wipes the droplets with his index and middle finger and lazily smears it all over my lips.
They’re bruised and puffy, but they fall open when he jams those two fingers inside my mouth and rubs them against my tongue.
Once.
Twice.
“That’s your cue to suck, Peaches.”
I do, curling my tongue around his lean fingers, trying to ignore the way my heart grows heavy at the use of my old nickname. A nickname that’s stopped appearing, even in my dreams.
Why couldn’t it just remain physical? Why did he have to make me feel so nostalgic by bringing up emotions?
He pulls out his fingers with pop, and a trail of my drool mixed with his cum hangs between his hand and my mouth.
“How did I do?” I ask in a breathless tone, even though I try to hold on to my nonexistent cool.
“You get your wish.” He slides the two fingers that were in my mouth between his lips and sucks them as if they’re his favorite meal. And that says something, considering he doesn’t even like food.
I’m struck by the view, by how he licks me off him, not bothering to break eye contact.
In fact, he seems to be making it on purpose so I’ll see what he can do with those fingers.
“Now, I want a chance to get my own wish.”
One moment I’m on my knees, the next I’m on my back and Daniel is pulling my feet apart.
For a minute, I’m disoriented as to what’s happening, but then red-hot panic crashes my windpipe.
I gasp, animal-like sounds escaping my throat before I start thrashing, hard, like a mental institute patient without tranquilizers.
My legs kick in the air and I bite skin. I don’t know whose skin it is, but I do it, a guttural sound escaping with it. I also scratch somewhere, anywhere.
If I do it, he won’t get to me, if I do…
“Nicole, stop!”
My wrists hit the ground with a thud and reality starts creeping into my vision.
Daniel’s face greets me. He’s hovering over me, his knees on either side of my stomach and his hands holding my wrists hostage on the tiled floor.
Salt explodes on my tongue and I realize it’s tears. I’m crying and being the general mess I’ve been trying to hide from everyone, especially him.
The man who might as well have made me this way.
Daniel’s brows are drawn together as he tracks my every movement like a hunter.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The authoritativeness in his tone would’ve had an effect on me on any other day but today.
I lick the sweat and tears off my upper lip. “L-let me go.”
“Not until you tell me why in the bloody hell you acted as if you were possessed by Satan himself.”
“Let me go, Daniel…please…just let me go.”
A whole-body tremor goes through me, and I don’t know if it’s because of that, or my begging, but Daniel eases off me.
As soon as he releases my wrists, I crawl backward on my elbows and then jerk up so fast, I trip.
A strong hand keeps me upright, but I flinch away, my heart beating in my throat.
“Nicole—”
“You want to know what my wish is?” I jerk my chin up even as a tear clings to it. “Don’t touch me, Daniel.”
And then, I run out of the bathroom, my heart bleeding and my soul in flames.
Our relationship has never been the same after the running-post-blowjob incident last week.
We still have the same routine of my cooking in his chef’s kitchen with Jay and Lolli as company. We even spent three out of four nights there this week.
But other than that, it’s been strained.
Don’t get me wrong, Daniel is still the worst boss-devil anyone can ask for with a diploma from the king of Hell himself, but it’s robotic.
Almost as if he needs to be mean. As if not being mean will cost him a position on Satan’s lap.
And I don’t know how to fix it, save for going back in time and not agreeing to that challenge.
I should’ve forfeited and taken a hit like so many other hits.
Better yet, I should’ve never gone into his room in the first place.
If I hadn’t, we could’ve had our weirdly domesticated life and just coexisted peacefully.
But maybe I’m tired of forfeiting and turning the other cheek. Maybe I wanted a challenge after so long.
Besides, who am I kidding? Daniel would’ve eventually seen my ugly side anyway.
He of all people would’ve witnessed it.
And I can’t look him in the eye after that night. I don’t even talk back like I usually would in response to his ludicrous commands. That would mean staring at him, and that energy is currently out of stock.
I can tell he’s upping his icy cold behavior and adding some frost on top to get a kick out of me and make me talk, but I haven’t taken the bait.
He’ll eventually tire of demanding an answer out of me and move on.
Or at least, I hope so.
In the meantime, I try not to be in his vicinity unless absolutely necessary. The fact that we’re practically in his house all the time doesn’t help, though. I tried putting my foot down, but Daniel is surprisingly adamant about not letting us go back most days. He even made it a requirement to continue working.
My traitor brother is on his side, too. No surprise there. Jay hated our neighborhood and always said he’ll become rich and buy us a house to get us out of that hellhole. A part of me is happy that his asthma has gotten significantly better since we don’t spend much time in the humid flat, but the other part is both anxious and completely perturbed at being around Daniel.
I’m wearing a cracked professional mask, and I’m sure he sees right through it.
How the hell am I supposed to be professional after I sucked his cock like a first-class whore?
Then had an epic meltdown when he touched you. Don’t forget about that part, Nicole.
Releasing a sigh, I step out of the lift on the managing partners’ floor. It’s lunchtime and I usually spend that with Aspen—when she doesn’t have work outside the office, which is as rare as peaceful days in my life.
She’s the only person I consider a friend around here. And I think I’m also her only actual friend.
Most people, including her assistant, are either intimidated by her or scared of her.
She’s even lonelier than me. At least I have Jay and Lolli—and, yes, Lolli counts. Aspen is a true lone she-wolf through and through. Despite her senior partner status and tough bitch persona, she has no one on her side. Aside from Nathaniel Weaver, maybe.
And because she’s not particularly close to anyone but me, I’m surprised to find a young intern standing in front of her office. From what I’ve learned during my time here, her name is Gwyneth Shaw Weaver, daughter of the Kingsley Shaw and wife of the Nathaniel Weaver.
She’s tucked into her father’s side, her face red as Aspen stares at her with an expression I’ve never seen her wear.
Vulnerability.
She says something, but Gwyneth lowers her head and Kingsley smirks as he guides his daughter away.
Once they’re out of view, I approach a stiff Aspen slowly. “Are you okay?”
She goes inside with rigid steps and I follow after her, closing the door.
Aspen grabs her glass nameplate and throws it against the wall. “That motherfucker!”
Then she straightens and puts her navy blue jacket in order, composing herself as fast as she had lost her cool.
“Sorry.” She smiles at me as she picks up her nameplate, which is surprisingly still in one piece, and puts it back on her desk. “I had to get that off my chest or I would’ve had a stroke.”
“No judgment here.” I place the lunch boxes on the table and sit down. “I hope you like lasagna.”
“I like anything you cook. No one’s ever made me homemade meals.”
“Well, I’m your girl in that department.”
She slides onto the chair opposite me and we eat in silence for a few moments. Despite her small fit of rage, she doesn’t seem relaxed. Just…uptight.
It’s so unlike her to be agitated for long. Yes, she’s in a sour mood after every fight with Kingsley, but she usually forgets about it soon after.
“She’s my daughter,” she whispers.
I take a sip of water. “Who?”
“Gwyneth.”
I choke on the water and Aspen is by my side, patting my back. “Jesus, Nicole. I tell you something and you nearly choke to death? Thanks for the moral support.”
I clear my scratchy throat. “I’m…surprised, is all. Isn’t she in her twenties?”
“She’s twenty.”
“And you’re thirty-five. When did you have her? At fourteen?”
“Going on fifteen, yes.”
“Wow.”
“Kind of a reassuring reaction.” She digs her fork in the lasagna and takes a large bite that she can barely fit in her mouth.
“It’s not judgment. I’m just processing all of this.” I touch her hand. “It must’ve been so tough.”
She pauses chewing and stares at me as if I’m a clown in a horror film. If I didn’t think it was so unlikely, I’d think tears were shining in her eyes. “You’re…the first person who’s ever said that to me.”
“That’s because other people are scared to tell you anything.”
She swallows the bite of food. “Doesn’t matter anyway. She…Gwyneth doesn’t like me or consider me her mother, and that fucking asshole Kingsley is turning her against me every chance he gets. He’s not even allowing me the chance to be a part of her life.”
“Isn’t she old enough to make her own decisions?”
“She is, but she’s also too attached to him considering he raised her on his own. I told her I thought she’d died and that I didn’t abandon her on purpose, but she still hates me for having to grow up without a mother. Which is understandable, but still…”
“How about asking for her husband’s help? You’re friends with Nathaniel.”
“Nate told me to give her time. But with her jerk of a father in the picture, no amount of time will help.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes on an abstract painting on the wall. “Maybe I should do the world a favor and hire someone to kill the motherfucker for real this time.”
“Are you sure you want to say that out loud?”
“Pretend you didn’t hear anything.” She smiles and I smile back.
Then we fall into a silent companionship. Now I know why Aspen helped me the first time I knocked on her door, no questions asked.
She’s experienced what it feels like to lose a child, and judging by how guarded she’s turned out to be, the pain must’ve been immeasurable. It probably shaped her into the woman she is today.
I can’t imagine my life without Jayden. He’s my second chance to do better, to do something good.
And I’ll fight for him until my death if I have to.
My phone pings with a text and I startle, then my heart skyrockets when I see the name on the screen.
Bloody Idiot: I have a last-minute job. Book me a flight to Singapore and a hotel room for two days.
Singapore? Two days?
I don’t know why my stomach churns at the news. Even though he’s in his office every day and mostly handles things remotely, Daniel is still an international solicitor, and traveling for work isn’t a novelty.
Nicole: Right away.
Bloody Idiot: Stay in my flat with the kid and the cat.
Nicole: We’re fine in our flat.
Bloody Idiot: That’s an order, Ms. Adler. I don’t want to hear your annoying neighbors through the phone when I call for work.
I purse my lips. He either likes being a jerk or he’s terrible at being nice without the jerk part.
Nicole: Got it.
Bloody Idiot: Oh, and take this as your deadline. When I come back, you better tell me what the fuck was wrong with you the other day or I’ll find out myself. Either option will give me the same result, but you can choose whether or not you’ll pay for keeping information from me.
