Page 53 of Our Broken Pieces
“The sounds you make, princess…” I murmur.
“Shut up and make me make them, prince,” she whispers back, her hands moving to my jaw as she pulls me back into the kiss. My hands move down to her hips, pulling her closer as my heart races.
“Ahem.” My father’s voice, loud and dry, cuts through the room, making us both freeze.
Gigi steps back, a satisfied grin lighting her face as she turns in my arms. I look over her shoulder to see my father.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Didn’t realize you had company,” he says, arching an eyebrow as he hands me a stack of paperwork. I accept it, still holding on to Gigi, grateful she’s blocking my dad’s view.
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll get to these soon.” I set the papers aside, unable to resist wrapping an arm around Gigi as she shifts, positioning herself as a shield.
My father heads to the door, glancing back with a wry smile. “Wrap this up, son.”
I scoff as he exits, and Gigi turns to me, her face glowing with mischief. “That was perfect!”
I run my thumb along her neck, feeling her pulse quicken beneath it. “It was.”
For a moment, her gaze softens, studying my face. “I should get back to work.”
I brush a hand along her jaw, pressing a tender kiss to her lips, feeling her relax against me before I pull back, tapping her on the hip. “Have a good afternoon, princess.”
She steps back, her smile lingering as she walks to the door. At the last moment, I call after her.
“G?”
She turns, her curls bouncing over her shoulders. “Yeah?”
I stand, adjusting myself in my suit pants with a knowing grin. “Next time, make sure you have more than twenty minutes.”
Her cheeks flush slightly, and she gives a small nod, voice quiet. “Okay.”
As she disappears down the hall, I settle back at my desk, reaching for the brownie. If I can’t have the real thing, maybe this brownie will live up to its name.
Living with Gigi is becoming more difficult by the day. I smell her perfume every afternoon when I get home from work. I’ve learned what her sleepy voice sounds like when she first wakes up. She touches me more often. Her cat hasn’t scratched me in a week. It’s like Gigi is planting roots in my home. And I really like it, more than I thought I would and that shouldn’t be happening. She’s easy to live with, even if, internally, I’m a chaotic mess because I know I’m falling for her. And never mind the fact that now I masturbate more than I did in fucking high school to try to curb the urge to touch her.
But this morning is the fucking straw that might break the camel’s back.
I’m currently standing in the laundry room, looking in the dryer, at a pink silk thong. A single pink silk thong that must have been left behind when she removed her last load of laundry. A single pink thong that could stupidly send me over the edge. Asingle pink thong that I want to touch. A single pink thong that I would love to hold as I get off.
I stare at it longer than I should before finally moving to grab it. I look at it in my hands, twisting the soft material between my fingertips. My cock is hard, thinking about the material against her soft, fair skin. I bring it to my nose. Laundry detergent will never smell the same again.
I fold it and slip it deep into the pocket of my jeans. Gigi is just in the other room, sitting on the couch, unaware of the fact that I will be coming with her underwear wrapped around my cock tonight.
I focus back on the task at hand, throwing my clothes in the dryer, starting it and walking to the living room. She’s about halfway through her new book, a ‘cowboy romance’ that she was excited to start. Along with all the other things that I’ve learned about her, I now know more about romance novels than I care to.
“How’s your book, princess?”
She looks up, smiling. “It’s so good. She’s the nanny for this single cowboy dad, and they just got naughty in the barn.”
My erection hasn’t fully subsided from the dryer episode, and now she’s talking about a nanny getting railed by some hay bales. I’m in hell.
“Good for them.” I pick up my book, a wholesome murder mystery, and open it up to where I left off.
I turn to look at her. “I meant to ask you, how easy is it for you to get a few days off next month?”
She stuffs a bookmark in her book, laying it in her lap, giving me her attention. “Pretty easy. Why?”
