Looks like Vaughn and I were both right.
It’s six in the morning and I’m wide awake, freaking out about last night. But also very fixated on remembering his sinful tongue. We took turns checking on DD every hour, and every time one of us would crawl back into bed, he’d pull me into the curve of his body and press a kiss to my hair.
I push the heels of my palms into my eye sockets before I look over beside me where Vaughn is still sleeping. He is breathtaking. Literally. My breath hitches in my chest when I study him lying there looking like a god in the filtered morning light. The god of pussy eating.
I can’t decide what’s better. Dangerous looking Vaughn in the moonlight last night, cocky and panty-melting. Or peaceful looking Vaughn in the golden glow of the morning light, all warm skin and hard lines. Soft breaths, topped off with that signature amaretto smell.
Maybe that’s why I feel drunk right now. I’m drunk on Vaughn and poor decision making.
I’m usually adept at separating feelings from sex, but this is new, and I’m panicking a little.
Okay. A lot.
Over the years, Hank has implied I may have commitment issues. And the nosy fucker might not be all wrong.
Cheers, Mom and Dad! You sent me out into the world with something, after all.
Last night, Vaughn, the epitome of every man I’ve ever avoided, strung me up and flayed me. Ripped my chest wide open. Made me come like a freight train. We didn’t even have actual sex—though, I vaguely remember begging for it.
Oh, god. I begged for it.
Cringe. Cringe. Cringe.
He will hold that over my head forever and ever once we get back to our regular working relationship—because that’s definitely happening.
One night only. Show’s over, folks.
One night that will not wash easily from my memory. The way he touched me. Licked me. Bit me. Owned me. That will be burned into my brain and body for years to come. I’ve had good sex and bad sex. I’ll even say that I’ve had great sex. (Irish accents just take dirty talk over the top, ya know?) But last night was otherworldly. I squeeze my thighs together just thinking about it. My skin burns at the memory of his stubble grazing my sensitive inner thighs. He was masterful.
Which is why I didn’t give him the boot. He tried to leave, walk back to the barn and then drive home before dawn. Dumbass. I called him one too.
“Don’t be a dumbass. You’re not driving on dark country roads after pulling an all-nighter. Get in here.” I held open the blanket and moved over to make space for him.
He seemed too big for a queen-sized bed, but it worked. He looked at me suspiciously and said, “Okay, but I’m not going to fuck you,” with a stupid cocky smirk on his face. Prick.
And then I watched him undress in the dark, with only the silvery light filtering through the windowpane. I knew his body was going to be good (I like to think that I’m a connoisseur of checking dudes out), and I copped a feel here and there.
But it was really something else.
He exceeded my expectations. I had ideas of what Vaughn did in his free time, which mostly involved boning every woman he comes across, but I’m thinking I might be wrong. Because no one looks that good without working out for at least a couple of hours every day. No. One.
Then he cuddled me. And I wasn’t sure what to do. So, I just laid there and took it like a champ. I expected him to just lie down and fall sleep. Not prowl into bed wearing skin-tight boxers, kiss me like we were exchanging souls, making me taste what we’d just done, and then wrap me in his arms while peppering soft kisses across my bare shoulder.
That part had been a surprise. A pleasant surprise.
I soak him in again now, letting my eyes roam over his sleeping form. Trying to imprint the image in my memory. A fun story to tell my grandkids one day. Or whatever.
I’m overachieving. I bagged an Adonis for one night. Hard lines, impossibly broad shoulders, biceps I’d like to sink my teeth into, that V disappearing beneath the duvet, and a smattering of black curls. He is just plain masculine.
That growly, bossy voice rumbling between my legs.
Fuck. I am such a goner.
I drag myself out of bed, wrap my discarded black robe around my body, and pad downstairs. First, I check DD, who appears to be comfortably dozing standing up in a paddock with a couple poops in the corner.
Excellent news.
Second, I make coffee and plan out what I’ll say to Vaughn when he wakes. While I am prepping myself to be cool and not just awkward as fuck, I hear vibrating and look around for my phone. Of course, I’ve misplaced it. I am a fucking mess, after all.
Having checked over the kitchen, I end up in the living room, eyes landing on the offending chair from last night. Where my whole debacle started.
The black butt-end of my phone is sticking out from between the seat cushion and the arm. Hallelujah.
I pull it up and go to open the screen, planning to send out a flurry of update texts. But my thumb print doesn’t work. Neither does my code. And as I reset to the phone screen, I realize this isn’t my phone at all. It’s Vaughn’s. Makes sense that it might have fallen out of his pocket while I mauled him last night. I mean to leave it on the counter, but his waiting text message is staring me in the face.
MOM
Good morning, honey. Just wanted to remind you that Emma Breland will accompany you to the gala next Saturday. I spoke to her at the tennis club yesterday, and she’s looking forward to it. Sweet girl. She’s planning to wear pink, so maybe you could wear something that will match?
Is this woman for real? Does she think they’re going to prom or something?
And the really insecure part of me is also wondering why the fuck Vaughn would make date plans with another woman if he really wants to be more than friends with me?
He’s your boss, not your boyfriend, you sad sap.
I shouldn’t be surprised, really. This is what these kinds of guys do. I saw it growing up, and obviously my dad was exhibit A in obscuring the truth and philandering. Vaughn said all the right things last night to break down my guarded exterior, and I fell for it.
Hook. Line. And sinker.
Do I really think Vaughn is the man-slut I originally imagined? No. I don’t think he lied about that. But I don’t like being made a fool of. I’ve experienced enough public humiliation to last me a lifetime. Don’t tell me I’m what you want when you’ve got other girls lined up a few days from now.
I do think he is a twenty-eight-year-old man stuck under mommy’s thumb, though. It’s one thing for her to keep setting him up with random women and another thing for him to keep humoring her when she does it. She might mean well, but when someone is continually putting you in a position you profess not to like, the onus is still on you to tell them you don’t like it.
Vaughn has no backbone with his mom, and I’m not here for it. I’ve got enough mommy and daddy issues of my own to flesh out without taking on someone else’s. I don’t need another project in my life. He can figure it out on his own.
I pour myself a cup of piping hot coffee. Dark roast. Lots of cream. And lean against the counter to take that first heavenly sip. No other sip tastes as good as that very first one in the morning. I close my eyes and savor it, sighing and steeling my backbone. Preparing myself to be mature but removed when he wakes. I’m a big girl. I don’t have any expectations after one night of fooling around. We’re not getting married. He doesn’t owe me shit. So, I’ll smile at the memory and carry on.
I feel good about my conclusion and satisfied with my plan going forward. We’re just an employee and her boss who fell into each other in a moment of weakness. A moment that ran high on emotions and low on sleep. Now, back to professional Billie. The Billie who’s going to win herself a Kentucky Derby with the little black horse outside.
By the time Vaughn comes down the wooden stairway, completely dressed but still looking like a sex-mussed god, I’ve fed DD, tracked my phone down, and fired off all the messages I need to. I have a full cup of coffee in me, and I’m feeling more like myself.
Like smart, self-sufficient Billie.
“Hey.” The corners of his sinful lips tip up as he prowls towards me, eyes roaming my body in a knowing way. In a greedy way. Heat builds at the base of my spine in response.
I’m honestly pathetic. I can’t even help myself around this guy.
“Hi,” is my intelligent response when he cages me in against the counter with his arms. The scent of his skin wraps around me, plunging me back into the feel of him all over my naked body last night. The way he made me squirm, and buck, and beg.
His stubble brushes up against my jaw and I shiver as he whispers in my ear, “Are you freaking out yet?”
I can’t help the way my body responds to his. Especially now that I know what he’s capable of. Which is why I overcompensate by smiling too cheery and clearly state, “No! I’m great!”
His head tilts, assessing me. His intelligent dark eyes scan my lighter ones, clearly not buying my line.
“Billie…” His lips graze up over my cheek and brush against mine. “Don’t lie to me.”
He kisses me more firmly and my traitorous body arches into him happily. I press one hand into the center of his chest and push him away, even though my body is screaming at me to pull him closer.
“I need to get dressed and head down to the barn. I’m meeting Dr. Thorne there in an hour.” I brush past him, forcing my legs to move away from the sanctuary of his arms.
He turns to follow my retreating form with a confused look on his face. “Take the day off, Billie.”
I wave him off from over my shoulder as I start up the stairs to get dressed. “Nah. It’s all good. I’ll sleep tonight. Your phone’s on the counter. I found it in the chair.” And then because I’m not as mature as I like to think I am, I toss out, “There’s a text from your mom.”
