Page 3 of Jacob
I nod submissively.
“Come for me, Skye.”
His teeth sink into his plump bottom lip as he continues to watch me pinch, then circle my clit through hooded eyes.
The girl’s moans become louder, as do his, and when I push a finger inside my wet pussy and press my thumb against my swollen bud, I come—the force of my silent orgasm making my legs tremble and my heart hammer.
This pushes him over the edge, and he comes too.
Never losing eye contact with me, he calls out my name in a gruff, harsh tone.
I’m transfixed.
Breaking us from our spell, he blinks slowly, as if not believing what we just did.
I release my dress from my tight grip, removing my hand from between my legs at the same time.
Eyes widening, I stifle a cry of shock.
I feel so ashamed.
What have I done?
Jacob
My name is Jacob Baxter.
I’m thirty years old, and I’m in love with Skye McNairn.
The girl I grew up with. The woman I can’t have.
The incredibly distracting woman I have an unhealthy secret obsession with. The woman currently staring at me through the open doorway of my office as I fuck another girl from behind on my desk while imagining it’s her.
It’s catastrophically wrong on so many levels, but I can’t stop myself.
As I keep railing the girl below me, I’m pretty sure I’m blowing any minuscule chance I ever had with Skye out of the water too, although she has never shown any interest in me.
She has only ever seen me as afriend, which sucks.
Look, don’t touch. Those have always been the rules because she’s my best friend’s ex.
She’s off limits, so it’s wrong for me to want her the way I do.
But she consumes my thoughts twenty-four-seven.
It doesn’t help that I’m her boss and spend hour after hour, day after day, with her gorgeousness. It’s hideously torturous.
From her smile and sweet giggle to her cute space buns that she wears every day. Her platform shoes and tiny multicolored print dresses, and don’t get me started on the over-the-knee socks that make my cock so fucking goddamn hard the private bathroom in my office has become my one-man wank tank.
I should rewrite her employee contract with a clause outlining that she’s forbidden to wear them.
Being so close to someone you know you can’t touch or even tell how you feel is fucking painful. I feel it every day and I’m pretty certain she doesn’t even know I exist.
But right now, she’s here watching me, and I intend on making the most of it. Consequences be damned.
She grabs a fistful of her dress, gripping it tight as her breathing quickens.
“Do you like to watch?” I ask her.
