Page 32 of Pour Decisions
“No new pain. Less pain, mostly,” I say.
“Great. You’ll see more improvements soon, I promise.” She bends over and I steal a glance at her ass.
Her moves progress into more and more difficult ones, just as mine ramp up too. I have to take breaks, which Bubba fills by bringing me random sticks and demanding that I throw his ball.
“So what made today so shitty that your back is locking up?” she asks once Bubba has flopped down in the yard to rest. Her voice is hardly strained even though the pose she’s in is difficult.
“Just my dad.” I take a deep breath.
“Mm.” She nods and comes out of her pose, giving me her full attention. “Same old stuff?"
I’d never opened up to anyone about my dad before we met—all the pressure he put on me back then, the looming idea of carrying this whole company and, by extension, my family’slivelihood on my shoulders. It never felt like anyone would truly get it. Or worse, they’d tell me to suck it up the way I suck up most things, if I ever got to the point of actually telling anyone anything.
But she understood, and judging by the soft look in her eyes, she still does.
The relief unwinds the tension I’ve been carrying all day.
“Similar old stuff. He pushed me to be great and to get to where I am now,” I say. “But now that I’m actually trying to make changes that would deviate from his vision for the future, he’s being a dick about it.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s like building a house to your specifications, then being mad that the house is like that.” She pauses. “Well, sort of. You get me.”
I do, in more ways than she’ll ever know.
“That makes sense.” I sit back on my heels again. “He’s been saying he’ll shift his role to an advisory one for a while now, but he’s flip-flopped enough to make me worry he’ll hang onto the CEO position longer just to keep control. He’ll drive his health into the ground out of spite. He needs to work less and the only way he’ll do that is to give me control.”
She nods again, more slowly this time, like she’s trying to digest what I’ve said.
“I don’t think stepping back will ever be easy for him, based on what you’ve told me about him.” She lifts her hand as Bubba comes up behind her, and he tucks himself against her side. “But maybe he’s just making a fuss. Maybe once he sees how positive the changes are, he’ll loosen his grip.”
“I hope so.” I scratch Bubba under his chin while she scratches him above his tail.
She might be right. Maybe I’m worrying for no reason and Dad will cut his hours without complaint.
But I don’t want this power struggle to drag on for years. I want the position I’ve been working toward for most of my life—the one Dad promised me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KATRINA
I never realizedhow often I got myself off until moving in with JD. Sometimes it was to destress, and other times it was to scratch the itch that my ex definitely wasn’t attending to.
But now it’s because being this close to JD and only touching him in a professional way is making me lose my damn mind. We’ve started doing our workouts—my daily yoga, his PT exercises—together every day, and watching his body move when I could definitely justtouchhim is making me ache between my legs.
Plus, he blatantly checks me out too. I’m not helping by pointing my ass toward him when I don’t strictly have to.
This wouldn’t be as big of a problem as it is if my vibrator weren’t as loud as a literal jackhammer. Every time I use it, it sounds like I’m flipping my pussy like a shitty old house with potential.
Is it old? Yes. Do I want to replace it? Hell no. I’ve tried the fancy toys with connected apps, luxury ones that cost an arm and a leg. None of them compare to this piece of garbage wand toy I impulse bought on sale years ago. The vibration is just right and doesn’t make me numb.
JD is out of the house this morning, though, on a long hike with Bubba. I can make all the noise I want. He left ten minutes ago—long enough to where he probably won’t pop back in to grab his earbuds or anything, and also long enough to give me time to unwind. I desperately need to before I do something idiotic.
JD’s house is older, which is part of its charm, but it’s lacking in outlets. I lean off the bed to plug Old Faithful into the wall—yes, a plug in, because batteries have done me dirty in the past. The cord is just long enough for me to comfortably use it.
I shimmy my sleep shorts and panties off, then sink into the mattress. I let my legs fall open and turn on the toy, putting the blunt end of the wand along one of my lower lips.
I like to edge myself, taking my time to make the pay off worth it. My thoughts drift to JD, inevitably. I try to just think of a body and gorgeous cock like his, a body detached from the man who belongs to it, but fail. I’ve been with plenty of good-looking, ripped guys with nice equipment before, but none of them were like JD. His intensity, the rough feel of his hands, the sounds he made.
God, the sounds he made. I can’t forget those even if I try. Now that we’ve cleared the air on our past, the memories come back with less of the angst attached.
