Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 21056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
“So we stop?” I snapped, anger flaring hot. “Is that what you want? Pretend nothing happened?”
He stopped pacing and faced me. “I want you safe. Happy.”
Tears burned my eyes. “I’m happy with you. Why can’t you see that?”
“Because I see the age difference. The history. The way it’s all fucked up.” His voice cracked. “I love you, Lila. That’s why I’m scared.”
The words hung between us. It was the first time he’d said them. My anger shattered. “I love you, too,” I whispered. “That’s why I’m fighting for us.”
He closed the distance in two strides and hauled me against him. Our mouths crashed together as he shoved my leggings down roughly and freed himself from his jeans.
“Ride me,” he ordered, sitting on the chair and pulling me onto his lap.
I gripped his thick cock and notched it at my pussy hole, sinking down slowly, taking every huge inch until he was buried deep. We both groaned. Then I started moving. I rolled my hips, grinding down.
“Fuck,” he rasped, hands sliding under my shirt to cup my breasts. He squeezed one lightly, and I gasped in pleasure and pain. “Ride me. Really fuck that perfect pussy on my dick.”
The words sent heat spiraling through me. I picked up speed, bouncing on his cock, pussy clenching around him. He squeezed my breasts again, harder, thumbs flicking my nipples until they throbbed.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Fuck my cock like you own it. Like you’ve wanted this since you were barely legal under my roof.”
The light role-play teased our past without diving too deeply. And it ignited everything. I rode him faster, nails digging into him, moaning his name. His hand slid between us, thumb circling my clit in tight strokes.
“Come for me, sweet girl. I want my lap to be sloppy wet from you getting off on my dick,” he commanded.
I shattered so hard I couldn’t hold in the loud mewling sound that left me. My pussy pulsed and soaked him as I ground down. Marcus thrust up once, twice, and then came with a guttural groan, filling me deep.
We stayed locked together for long moments afterward, panting, his arms wrapping around me tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against my hair.
“Me, too.”
Our secret felt thinner than ever, and I had hope that things would work out exactly how they were supposed to.
Chapter Eleven
Lila
The first day at my new job felt like stepping into a new skin.
The office was bright with exposed brick walls, long communal tables, and fresh plants everywhere. My desk was tucked in a corner with a view of the street below.
I spent the morning in onboarding meetings, learning the design software they used, and meeting the team, which I was pleasantly surprised that the staff was mostly women.
I tried not to think about Marcus every five minutes. But I did. Constantly.
He’d kissed me goodbye that morning. It had been slow and lingering as his hand cupped the back of my neck, as if he were memorizing the feel of me.
“Text me when you have a chance,” he said.
The care he gave me made my chest ache.
My day was packed, but I welcomed the busy day. This was what I went to school for, and actually getting started with my new profession gave me a sense of pride and independence.
The morning flew by in a whirlwind of introductions, system logins, and a quick overview of current client projects.
I ate at my desk while skimming mood boards for a local brewery rebrand. The creative director, a sharp woman named Elena who looked like she could run a Fortune 500 company in her sleep, stopped by to say my first solo task would be mocking up social assets for the brewery campaign.
“No pressure,” she’d said with a wink. “Just make it sexy, but not sleazy.”
I spent the afternoon buried in Photoshop and Illustrator, layering textures, playing with fonts, tweaking color palettes until the screen blurred. It felt good to lose myself in something that was mine.
Just me, the work, and the quiet thrill of knowing I was good at this.
When five o’clock hit, I packed up, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. The drive home was golden-hour soft, windows down, radio low. I texted Marcus a quick update that I’d survived day one and would be home soon.
His reply came almost immediately about how proud he was of me, that he’d cooked dinner, and couldn’t wait to see me.
I smiled the entire way home.
The house smelled like garlic and tomatoes when I walked in. Marcus was at the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring sauce in a way that made his forearms flex. He looked up, gave me that small, genuine smile that always hit me in the chest.
“Hey,” he said. “How was it?”
“Good. Really good.” I dropped my bag and crossed to him, leaning against the counter. “Everyone is so nice, and the work feels… right.”