Page 90 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
Without it, none of this shit would be happening. We never would’ve had to share a bed or find out how my tongue chases hers.
I could’ve walked away from this job a sane man, saved up for Kit’s college, and looked after my parents.
Fuck this complication. Fuck everything about it.
Even now, I can feel Cleo’s pliant softness against me.
The mesmerizing heat of her tongue.
The way she whimpered in my mouth.
My cock jerks, remembering how it felt to wake up beside her and how I reacted when she threw herself at me like a sexy little cannonball.
I didn’tknowshe thought of me in that way.
In another life, it might be flattering. In this one, it’s agony, and it makes this situation vastly harder to navigate.
Nothing’s ever fucking simple.
I make another round through the house because I can’t do anything else to quiet the itching burn that runs to my bones.
Especially when I stop and stare at her bedroom door. Inside, it’s silent, the door too thick to hear her snoring.
Surely, she’s asleep now. Hell, I should be, too.
It’s late after a full day embarrassing ourselves. Almost early morning and I need to get back to Kit as soon as I can.
Only, if I turn in now, I’ll just resign myself to a different torture. The dungeon where I lie there thinking of all the dark, twisted ways I could’ve ruined Cleo Blackthorn.
My cock would remind me how long it’s been since I tasted a woman.
Months.Years.
Fucking years since I’ve repressed my animal instincts in exchange for an everyday life as a dad and a professional.
And, of course, the first person to kiss me in who knows how damn long just had to be the barely legal granddaughter of my dead boss.
No, notbarely legal, I remind myself.
She’s twenty-three years old.
An adult in every sense.
Old enough to know what she wants and to look out for herself. It’s not like she isn’t old enough to drink. She’s old enough to do everything, including fixate on an older man with too many problems.
Old enough to blow me to kingdom come.
Snarling, I turn around and stomp back downstairs before I give in to my temptation to peek inside her room and see if she still snores when she’s comfortable in a familiar bed.
Does she nest against her pillows the same way she snuggled against me?
My mind flashes with an image, those skimpy pajama shorts stretched across her ass. The long, toned line of her legs.
The softest belly—red fucking meat for any man who wants to make a woman shake—and that hazy, sex-drunk look in her eyes that doesn’t match her starving artist persona.
Good looks run in the Blackthorn family like gold. She could’ve been a model if she wanted. To kiss me, she must’ve been diseased, struck with temporary insanity.
Can’t fathom why else she’d—
