Thanksgiving with Dad's Boss: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 84)

by Flora Ferrari

  And just like that she slides her foot right into her shoe like Cinderella as she looks up at me and all I want to do is tell her that she’s my princess, but that would be a lie…because I really want her as my queen.

  And she will be.

  “You embarrassed, T,” her dad says, but I don’t turn to acknowledge his words to let him know he’s wrong.

  I see the redness in her cheeks and immediately know it’s not embarrassment from almost falling. It’s something else entirely.

  I can see how flush she is…the way the vein on the side of her neck is pulsing out and back as it pumps blood through her body.

  And I can feel her heartbeat racing in my hands and it makes me realize I’m still holding her tight, making sure she knows she’s mine and no one else’s.

  I loosen my grip with one hand and with the other I take the back of her chair, pulling it out for her.

  She bashfully smiles and then nods as she moves to sit, my hand keeping her steady.

  As I slide the chair in my, head moves in closer to the back of hers and I can’t resist breathing in deep, feeling a few hairs coming up and tickling my nose as my eyelids flutter.

  Fuck.

  The sweet smell of her golden locks have my cock twitching and I swear I could come right here and now if I don’t calm down.

  Good luck with that, Trevor.

  Because I’ve been in this young woman’s presence now on two occasions and calm is the last word I would use to describe the way she makes me feel.

  CHAPTER 5

  Thalia

  “Sit tight,” my dad says. “I got one of those fancy turkey cutter things this year off the Home Shopping Network. Let me go grab it.”

  He steps out of the dining room and I’m thinking of grabbing something myself…that huge steel pipe I saw protruding from Mr. Thorn’s dress pants as I fell forward almost right into him.

  But instead I slide my hands down on my thighs and try and stop my thighs from quaking. My knees are practically knocking and my entire body feels like it does in the moments just before I explode in the upstairs bathtub when I think about the man sitting right next to me.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Thorn,” I say. I wince slightly at my word choice but he takes it in stride.

  “Thank you for having me, Thalia. And please call me Trevor.”

  “Okay,” I say. “How did you…know my name?”

  “The companies summer barbecue,” he says.

  “But we weren’t introduced,” I say.

  He continues looking in my eyes, but I think what he’s really looking for are the right words. “I must have seen it on the sign in sheet or your dad must have told me,” he says.

  “Told you what, Mr. Thorn?” my dad asks coming back in the room with one of those electric turkey cutters and I’m already worried he might end Thanksgiving with less appendages than he started with.

  “Your daughter’s name,” he says.

  “Nope. Wasn’t me.” My dad stares down the turkey and then slowly his head moves to Trevor as if it took him a minute to process what it means that his boss knew his daughter’s name before he personally told him. He seems to dismiss the thought as he goes back to focusing on the turkey.

  But my mind is still wondering. And I’m also wondering why he told me to call him by his first name while my dad is still addressing him formally.

  Is my dad just doing that out of respect or did he never extend him the same invitation?

  “Okay. Here we go,” my dad says. “Any certain cut you prefer, Mr. Thorn?”

  “Breasts,” he says and my mind immediately flashes to the sweat running down between both of mine. “And thighs,” he says as my legs flex and my back straightens up in my chair.

  Much to my surprise my dad manages to slice the turkey off fast and efficiently. “Man, you really can learn anything these days just from a few YouTube videos,” my dad says triumphantly. “For our guest,” he says handing the plate across the table from us.

  I’m not sure if he means for me to take it and hand it to our guest or he’s going to hand it to the guest, so I reach for it.

  And so does Trevor.

  My arm brushes against his thick forearm which feels like the intertwined rope that you might see on the anchor of one of those giant cruise ships.

  While not as thick as those anchor ropes, his forearm muscles are just as dense, hard, and feel like something I’d very much like to be anchored to…or anchored down by if he were holding me down in my bed claiming me as his own.

  I also notice the hair on his arms, something that I’m not used to, and the fact that it’s standing on end.

  My eyes move from the plate to his arm and I see goose bumps, letting me know I’m not the only one who’s having an involuntary reaction to their dinner company.

  We make eye contact and both freeze.

  My mouth opens slightly and I hear a growl reverberate from his throat and return somewhere to the depths of his insides.

  If he's anything like me, his insides are feeling like a volcano right now, ready to blow.

  CHAPTER 6

  Trevor

  Two hours later I’ve finished my meal, but I still feel anything but satiated.

  Because the real hunger I have, the one that’s pounding in my skull like a drum and making my stomach feel hollow as a cave, is my desire for her.

  To taste her.

  To feel her skin on mine.

  To consume her just like she consumes my thoughts.

  “I should be going,” I say. “Before I do…before it gets too late.”

  Thalia’s pupils dilate at my Freudian slip as I feel her leg press against mine underneath the table, my cock hardening to the point where if she even blew on it I would unload like Mount St. Helens.

  And it’s no coincidence that it’s been dormant since 1980, not too many years longer than I have.

  Although I’ve had plenty of chances with women over the years I was always too focused on my business and some might say foolishly, holding out for the one.

  The one that most people give up hope on only to settle at some point in their lives.

  Never me. Fuck that.

  I’d rather die celibate than share such a level of intimacy with any woman.

  I’ve been on my own my entire adult life. Finishing the way I started doesn’t scare me one bit.

  Or at least it didn’t until now.

  Now all I can think about is how impossible my life would be not to have her. Not to make her mine. Not to give her the thing I’ve been saving for the one and only person in the world who could make me feel this way.

  Her.

  And the best part is I can tell by looking at her, by her smell, by her touch…that’s she’s completely innocent.

  We’re perfect for each other and although I don’t believe in the stars or fate or any of that astrology mumbo jumbo…well, maybe it’s time to soften my stance on that kind of stuff.

  Because there’s nothing else that can explain how the two of us wound up here.

  And on the day you’re supposed to give thanks no less.

  All these years I was thankful for everything that happened with my business…all the money, toys, and freedom it bought.

  But just the sight of her reminds me, shakes me from my bachelor slumber, that the adrenaline rush from making more money than I could spend in five lifetimes can’t compare to five seconds with her.

  And I need a few seconds to step outside and let that cool night air hit my face, and my pants, and cool me down so I can drive home and try and get my heart rate back to a safe level. I’ve been redlining the entire time I’ve been here. I feel like I’ve been doing sprints on an exercise bike at the highest setting while sitting in a sauna.

  It’s dangerous the place she takes my insides to…the way she makes me feel so alive and focused.

  But it’s time to get out of here before I completely lose control and take her right on this damn dinner table like the
wild, possessed beast she’s turned me into.

  “I’ll grab your jacket,” she says, moving towards the room where she took it off after dinner began. There was no way I was going to make it through this meal, sitting next to her, without passing out from heat exhaustion with that thing on, even though the room was comfortable at seventy degrees.

  If only that spare room had a bed, but it doesn’t. Fuck! My dick jerks at the missed opportunity of sliding in there with her right now and getting the release I need.

  Even just to have her hand on my cock, stroking it to completion. She wouldn’t even have to stroke. Just looking at that monster would set it off at this point. There’s even a good chance I’d make a fool out of myself and finish before I even got it out of my pants if she were in there with me.

  I walk with her father towards the front door and watch as he pulls back the curtain.

  “Oooooh boy,” he says.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your car.”

  My eyes narrow at the thought that something might have happened to my car.

  “My car?” I ask. “Someone didn’t steal it or something did they?”

  “No, it’s there all right. And I doubt anybody is going to be stealing, or moving it, anytime soon.”

  What kind of cryptic talk is this guy stammering on about?

  I move towards the door and see a heavy snowfall coming down.

  “When did this start?” I ask under my breath as Thomas checks the weather report on his phone.

  “Looks like right after we sat down to eat. Snowstorm just blew in. Been dumping for the last couple hours. Five inches so far. The main road is completely blocked.”

  “Here’s your jacket,” the sweetest voice in the world says behind me.

  I turn and see her standing there, holding it out so I can slide my arms right in.

  But the look on her face tells me we’re both thinking of sliding something else right in to something she’s got.

  “You can put that jacket back in the spare room,” Thomas says. “No way Mr. Thorn is leaving here before morning.”

  I watch as Thalia’s lips part slightly and the smallest of devious smiles brings the corners of her lips up ever so slightly.

  CHAPTER 7

  Trevor

  I lie on the couch and roll over on my side for the umpteenth time.

  Even folded out it’s not designed to fit a man who’s six foot five inches and two hundred and thirty pounds.

  I’m practically in the fetal position in my underwear. I haven’t slept this way since I was a kid.

  But no way was I sleeping nude on the Taylor’s living room couch, and no way was I going to fit into any of the spare clothes Thomas offered me from his own closet…unless I was going to use his T-shirts as arm warmers. There was no way I was getting anything more than an arm through the part of those shirts that he put his entire torso in. Sometimes I forget how big I am.

  When I roll over onto my stomach the edge of the cushion catches my boxer briefs, springing my cock free and the fucker springs back and forth off my stomach a good inch or two above my belly button like a diving board I’m reminded of just how big I can get for her.

  I’ve had plenty of hard-ons in my life, but not like the ones I get when I think of her.

  And since this last summer all I do is think about her, which has resulted in a big fucking problem.

  One that needs to be solved.

  And the solution is just up those stairs.

  I toss and turn some more wondering what her room is like. Is it as feminine and small as she is? What would it be like to take her in her own bed with her father right on the other side of the wall?

  We’d need a lot more than a snowstorm to keep him from waking up from the hurricane that unleashed the moment my fingers touched her skin.

  I roll back over wondering who in the hell in these parts doesn’t own a snow shovel. Thomas said his broke last spring after the last snowfall and he hadn’t had a chance to buy a new one yet. He wasn’t expecting a snowfall this early in the year.

  And he wasn’t expecting a wolf to be sleeping on his couch tonight…one that’s so damn close to climbing up those stairs and devouring that little lamb in it’s bed as I howl at the fucking moon in triumph of my conquest.

  But conquest is the wrong word, unless I’m talking about the way I want to conquer every single thing about her…most importantly her heart.

  As much as my desire for her is physical, that could never be enough for me.

  And she’s so much more. She’s smart as a whip, sharp as a tack, and has the manners and politeness that would make any man fall to his knees.

  But there aren’t going to be any other men. Only me.

  And once I heard she was the one who cooked that dinner? I was finished.

  I’m not the kind of guy who wants to lock away his woman in the kitchen, especially in this day and age, but just to know that she does have those kinds of skills…talk about a bonus.

  I try and tuck my cock into my damn drawers, but the fucker doesn’t want to go. He’s pointing straight up and in this position that’s straight towards her room. It’s like he’s the North Star trying to lead me in the right direction…a compass that only knows one way.

  To her.

  My body is hot, even without a sheet. I need some water.

  I stand up which allows me to situate myself. I look ridiculous. I have my underwear pulled up so tight it’s squeezing the life out of my balls which are overflowing with the seed I want to bury deep inside her. But hiking them up this high is the only way to keep my dick covered while I go get a glass of water.

  I walk to the kitchen, fill a glass and drink it down, followed by another.

  I’ve got to do something to get my mind off of her so I can get some rest, even if it means filling myself with water so I focus on that.

  I put the glass in the sink and walk back into the living room, immediately freezing.

  She’s there, standing by the window watching the snowfall.

  She looks like an angel or because of the scene taking place right outside the window it makes her look like she belongs in one of those snow globe things…so perfect and an image I want to freeze in my mind.

  I just stand there, watching her. As more time passes I notice my breath tightening and my hands forming fists, my body subconsciously trying to tell me not to touch her.

  It isn’t right.

  This is wrong in so many ways. I should walk back into the kitchen and sit down.

  But I can’t. She’s all I’ve been thinking about since the summer…the only woman who has ever had this effect on me and her grasp on every part of me isn’t about to let up soon. If anything, I want it to intensify as her tight pussy milks every drop of seed from my cock as I fill her so full there's no way she doesn't get pregnant on the first try.

  She’s the only one I want and the longer I stand here the less control I have.

  “It’s calming isn’t it?” she says without turning around.

  She knew I was here the whole time and she just let me take in the sight of her without saying anything until now?

  I don’t say anything in reply as I don’t trust my voice at all right now. If I open my mouth I know I won’t be able to close it…until I taste every last inch of her.

  Slowly she turns around and I see she has on an extremely thin white T-shirt on, her nipples poking right through the fabric. I can practically tell the shade of pink from here.

  One side of the shirt is hanging off her shoulder, exposing her delicate collarbone and my eyes hone in on it, wanting to plant my first kiss right there and just work my way across…and down.

  My eyes dart back to her lips and then to the bottom of her shirt. It’s long, but not that long…hanging past the bottom of where her panty line should be but not much more.

  Does she have short shorts on underneath?

  Panties?

  Not a damn thing?

  M
y nostrils flare at the thought, inhaling a big breath of the thick air between us, but even through it I swear I can smell my woman in heat. The wolf in me has reappeared, not that it ever went away since the moment I knocked on that door earlier this evening.

  “Calming is the last word I’d use to describe what I’m looking at right now,” I say as I run my eyes up and down her frame.