My Dad’s Best Friend (A Touch of Taboo)

Reality threatens to intrude, to remind me that Jonas really won’t do anything for me because this has a deadline, one that’s approaching far too quickly. I push the thought away. I’ll deal with the fallout tomorrow. Until then, we have this.

Until then, I have Jonas.

While he changes into a suit, I grab my purse and duck into the master bathroom. I manage to tame my hair into something resembling order and, after some consideration, I put on some eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. It’s a pretty pink that is a personal favorite. I kind of wish I had bright red for this moment, but the pink actually works a little better with the fantasy we’re weaving.

I debate putting my clothes back on, but my attention lands on the robe hanging on the back of the door. It’s soft and oversized on me, and smells faintly of Jonas. In short, it’s perfect. I glance at myself in the mirror. I adjust the robe a little, tying it a little loose so it gapes a bit between my breasts. Whoops. I grin. It’s time.

The bedroom is empty when I step out of the bathroom. I pad down the hallway and take the stairs to the main floor. There’s faint music coming from the direction of Jonas’s office. My heartbeat kicks up a notch, but I force myself to go slow. As if I really am just wandering in. The door is cracked, and I press my fingertips against it, sending it opening soundlessly.

Jonas is behind his desk, bent over some paperwork with a pen in his hand and a scowl on his face. As promised, he’s wearing a gray button-down shirt that makes his shoulders look particularly decadent. Not a thread is out of place, but he’s rolled up his sleeves, revealing his forearms. As if he’s really just finishing up some work for the day.

The rain and growing dark puts most of the study in shadows, but he’s turned on a lamp near the reading chair. It’s not enough light, but I can’t deny how atmospheric it makes the room. I’m still debating on how to make my presence known when he looks up. “Blake?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d grab a book.” I step into the study. “If I’m interrupting you, I can come back later.”

“I’m already interrupted.” He pushes his chair back from the desk. “Close the door.”

The snap in his voice has me obeying before I can consider the fact that this closes me in this room…with him. I lean against the door for a moment, gathering my courage. “I’ll be quick.”

“Mmhmm.”

I can feel his eyes on me as I skirt the edge of the desk and pick a spot on the bookshelves at random. Close enough that I’m nearly within reach. Far enough away that I don’t look like I’m trying too hard. I lean closer to the shelf and eye the titles. They might as well be in Greek for all I can read them. “Um, this one will work.” I grab one at random and start backing up.

“Blake.”

I stop short, my heart in my throat. “Yes?” I’m not entirely faking the tremor in my voice. Rationally, I know this is fantasy, that we literally talked about this less than an hour ago on the couch. But it’s all too easy to sink into an alternate reality where I’m staying here for some other reason and have wandered into his office while he’s working. That he’s really watching me like a lion who has a juicy gazelle within its grasp.

He gives me a long look. “Did you really just come down here to grab a nonfiction book about the oil industry?”

I glance down at the book in my hands, embarrassment heating my face. “Yes?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

I clear my throat. “It interests me.”

“Liar.” He says the word slowly, as if testing it out.

My hands are shaking so hard, I drop the book. I hit my knees before I can think of a reason not to, but leaning over causes the robe to gape even wider, exposing my breasts. I jump to my feet and yank it closed, but it’s too late. Jonas is on his feet. I back up. “I’ll just be going.”

“Did you really come into my office wearing nothing but my robe, faking some excuse about needing a book to read?” Jonas plants his hands on the desk. Even with that giant piece of furniture between us, I get the feeling he could launch himself over it easily and be on me in seconds. He leans forward. “Do you want to know what I think?”

I take another step back. “No.”

“I think you’ve been teasing me ever since that Christmas party six years ago.” The shadows make caverns of his eyes, and his voice is rougher than I’ve heard it yet. “I think that you like to flash that hot little body around me every chance you get and now you’re just begging me to take you up on it.”

“No,” I whisper. My back hits the door, but I don’t reach for the handle. As much as I like the idea of him chasing me through the house, the truth is that I want him to catch me here, to fuck me here, in the study.

“Liar.” This time, he’s not testing the word. He’s lobbing it at me with the force of a missile. “I’ll just have to prove it.” He moves, faster than he has right to, rushing around the desk and directly at me.

I bolt to the side, barely evading him. The book goes flying and then I’m around the desk, determined to keep it between us. “I’m not teasing you!”

“Yes, you are.” He surges forward again, and this time, I’m not fast enough. Jonas grabs the robe’s belt, stopping my retreat short. I don’t think. I just react. I shove at him but he’s too strong; I might as well try to shove a mountain. He jerks me to him, spinning me so my back is to his front. He yanks the robe down a little and tightens the belt, trapping my arms at my side.

I writhe, but he’s got me too thoroughly held. And then his free hand is around my throat, pulling me back until my head rests against his shoulder. I can’t move at all in this position. Can’t do anything but sob out a breath. “Jonas, stop. If my father finds out—”

“You’re right.” His voice is pure sin in my ear. “It would break his fucking heart to know what a little slut his precious daughter is.” He cups one of my breasts in a rough hand, making me squirm harder. “You wanted me to take this.”

“No!”

“Shall we find out?”

“Wait—”

He abandons my breast to cup my pussy in a harsh grasp. It doesn’t hurt, but it almost doesn’t feel like him. Or at least not how he’s touched me to date. He drags one finger through my pussy folds. “What’s this?” Another slow drag and then he lifts his hand before our faces. There’s no denying the way his finger gleams with my desire. “You’re awfully wet for someone who says they don’t want this.”

“I don’t want this,” I lie through my teeth.

He tsks. “Shameful.” Jonas circles one nipple with his wet finger, drawing it to a point, before repeating the process with the other. “Utterly shameful.”

I can’t get enough oxygen. Not because of how tightly he’s holding me—his grip isn’t squeezing at all, simply holding me in place—but because of how hot this is. “I’m sorry. Just let me go.”

“Not until you answer my question.”

I blink up at the shadows on the ceiling. “What question?”

I can hear the cruel smile in his voice. “Exactly how shameful is your father’s little princess?”