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

by Katee Robert

  “That’s my girl.” He changes his grip on my ass, urging me to arch my back, to give him better access to my pussy. Access he wastes no time taking advantage of, licking a long line from clit all the way up my crease. The contact makes me jump, but Jonas holds me still as he does it again, and again.

  I give myself over to him, laying my head on the desk. It’s only then that I register the fact the study faces the street and that all the blinds are open. “Your neighbors are going to see.”

  “Nah.” He flicks my clit with the tip of his tongue. “None of their houses face this direction.” He pauses. “But anyone driving by might get a glimpse.”

  I whimper. “I know I shouldn’t want to get caught.”

  “Stop that.” He leans back and delivers a stinging slap to my ass. “You want this. I want this. That’s all that fucking matters, Blake. There’s no room for shouldn’t with us. Not if we’re both getting off on it.”

  He’s right. I know he’s right. I’ve just never leaned so hard into playing out dirty fantasies like this. A little kink, a little nearly-public sex, a little ‘oh, but we shouldn’t do this here.’ Nothing on this level, where I’m so immersed in our fantasy, that it’s hard to remember that there’s really no reason we shouldn’t be doing this.

  No reason except that he’s my father’s best friend.

  Jonas seems to be waiting for a response. I swallow hard. “I know. It’s just a little overwhelming at times.”

  “Do you want to stop?” A simple question.

  “No.” I straighten, and he moves back enough for me to turn around. Looking down at Jonas on his knees… I bite my bottom lip. “I like playing these games with you, Jonas. I like them a lot.” I reach out and sift my fingers through his hair, a small secret part of me delighting in the fact that I can simply touch this man whenever I like. At least for this weekend. “I wasn’t lying earlier. This is some of the best sex I’ve ever had. That’s not an accident, and it’s not because I’m anything less than one hundred percent into everything we do.”

  He searches my face for a long moment, but seems to be satisfied by what he sees there. He sits back on his heels and drags his hand over his face. “I don’t exactly play these sort of games normally, either.” He drops his hand. “You bring out my perverse side.”

  I grin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Time will tell if that’s the truth or not.” He pushes to his feet as a timer goes off in the kitchen. Jonas curses. “We don’t have much time.”

  “What—” I let out a startled shriek as he spins me around and bends me over the desk. I don’t have a chance to brace before his hand is between my legs, expertly reigniting the pleasure he started with his mouth. He doesn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. He simply drives me into an orgasm, merciless in his delivery of my pleasure. I come fast and hard, my legs shaking and my entire weight resting on where he’s speared me with his fingers.

  “That’s an appetizer.” He eases his fingers out of me and brings them to my lips. I suck them down without hesitation, the taste of myself never so intoxicating as it is when combined with him. “We’ll get to the main course after you’ve eaten.”

  16

  Jonas barely gives me time to recover from my orgasm before he takes my hand and tows me into the kitchen. I take one of the bar stools as he opens the oven and pulls out a delicious smelling casserole. He examines it and nods. “Not burned.”

  I’m still a little loopy from coming so fast. “You know, you could have just held off on making me come.”

  “No, I couldn’t.” He sets the pan on a hot pad and gets started dividing up the casserole. My plate’s portion is much too large, but I don’t say a word as we start eating. I…like this. I like it even more once I’m finished and Jonas sits back with a sigh. “How are things going now that you’re running the company?”

  I freeze in the middle of reaching for a glass of water. “I thought you didn’t want to talk business.”

  “Consider it a shared interest.”

  I pick up my glass and stare into the clear water. “I don’t know how to answer your question without it looking like I’m trying to angle for sympathy, so I’d rather not.”

  “Blake.” He waits for me to look at him, his expression serious. “Tell me.”

  I don’t mean to. I really don’t. But the truth is that I’ve kept my fears bottled up for six long months and there’s only so much sympathy my friends can offer me. They’re so sure that I’ll land on my feet. It never occurs to them that I might ruin the company my father spent half of his life building. Jonas is one of the few people who can understand, because he worked for my father for years before his brief stint as partner.

  I pour out everything. The contracts that won’t renew because their faith was in my father and not in the company itself—especially now that it’s run by what they consider a little girl. It doesn’t matter that I’ve paid my dues, that I’ve learned everything my father could teach me. It certainly doesn’t matter that plenty of men who are my age and in the same type of legacy position are taken far more seriously. The little failures that have added up so quickly into a mountain I’m not sure I can climb over.

  It’s only through sheer self-preservation that I manage to stop myself without talking about the Henderson account. It doesn’t matter. Jonas will know enough details about it to know that I’m failing here, as well.

  He stares out the window for a long moment. “Coffee?”

  I blink. “I tell you all that and all you can say in response is coffee?”

  “Do you drink coffee or not, Blake?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t care if I look like I’m pouting. This whole conversation has been one big minefield and I feel like Jonas just tossed me onto one without warning. “Yes, I drink coffee. Black.”

  He gets up and makes quick work of it. The machine is one of those fancy ones that takes thirty seconds to brew an entire pot, so it’s only a brief pause before he slides a mug in front of me and resumes his seat. Jonas rotates his stool to face me. “Do you want the hard truth or do you want me to blow smoke up your ass?”

  “I don’t need to be babied.” It’s something I’ve never asked for. Never wanted.

  “In that case…” He shrugs. “You’re the reason this is happening.”

  I jerk back as if he reached out and slapped me. “Wow, Jonas. Thanks for the hard truth. You think I don’t know that already?”

  “Put your pride in the backseat and listen.” He arches his brows. “Or you can throw a fit and we can stop talking about this and get back to fucking.”

  It would be simpler that way. I didn’t mean to confess my fears to him, and he’s obviously garbage at comfort. Still, I asked for hard truth and I need to be able to take it. I draw myself up. “Please continue.”

  Something in his eyes softens a little at that, but his tone is just as no-nonsense as ever. “You are not your father, Blake. You’re trying to emulate the way he did business, and it’s not going to work. You need to find your own path and style, and that takes time. Some of those accounts are going to cancel because of a variety of reasons that are all beyond your control. Clinging to that as failure is just going to turn you into a self-fulfilling prophecy. And then you really will fail.”

  “I don’t have time. If we keep losing accounts—”

  “You have time. Stop prioritizing the wrong things and work on strengthening the relationships with the clients who already trust you. If you neglect them because you’re chasing the ones who are already gone, then you’re really in trouble.”

  I stare. “It’s not that simple.”

  “No. Fuck, no. It’s not simple. This kind of thing is why I got out of the business when I did. I’m too stubborn and I’m no good at the politicking bullshit. But your father is—and so are you. You just need to reprioritize.”

  I pick up my mug, more for something to do than because the coffee is a drinkable temperature. �
��Doing things that way will change a lot.”

  “Maybe things need to change.” He shrugs. “Victor wouldn’t have given you the company if he didn’t believe you could run it successfully. He loves the fuck out of you, but he’s not a fool. There are people whose livelihoods depend on you succeeding.”

  “Thanks for that reminder,” I say faintly. “No pressure.”

  He snorts. “You’re doing a hell of a job of putting pressure on yourself. Like this shit with the Henderson job.” He waves at himself. “I am not the only architect around, and I’m not even close to the best. There are plenty of up-and-coming people who can do what I do and do it better—and cheaper. You know that, but you let yourself get so afraid of failure that you stopped even registering the other options.”

  He might be right. Hell, he probably is. It still stings something fierce. I set down my mug. “I really don’t want to talk about that client.”

  “You have things covered, Blake. Trust yourself enough to see it through.”

  Something like anger sparks in my chest. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I do or don’t have covered.”

  “I know enough.” Now it’s his turn to look away. “You don’t think Victor talks about you all the fucking time? It’s annoying as hell.”

  “So sorry that news about me is annoying. You should tell my father to stop.”

  “If I do that, I have to tell him why.” He looks back at me, eyes almost too intense. “Then I have to tell him that I’ve been jacking to his daughter’s taste for six fucking years, and that is not a conversation I’m ever going to have.”

  Shock steals my anger. “What?”

  “Is that so surprising?” He gives a smile that’s more like a grimace. “Fuck, Blake. I didn’t even hesitate last night. You gave me the green light and I had my fingers in your pussy seconds later.”

  I shiver. Obviously I know he wants me. Jonas isn’t the type to have sex with someone he isn’t interested in, let alone the kind of intense sex we’ve been having. But there’s something about hearing him admit that he’s wanted me just as long as I’ve wanted him washes away what little worry I had about this. “Well, you did find me fingering myself with my face in your pillow.”

  “Yeah, I did.” His lips curve a little. “Shocked the fuck out of me.”

  This conversation feels a bit like walking a tightrope over a pit of crocodiles. “He talks about you a lot, too,” I finally admit. “I find it equally annoying for the exact same reasons.”

  Jonas exhales slowly. “What a pair we make.”

  “You can say that again.” I tentatively sip my coffee. It’s barely cool enough to drink, but that’s okay. “This is really good.”

  “I know.”

  Things threaten to spiral into awkwardness, so I pull together the tattered shreds of my pride. “Thank you for your advice. I’ll think about it.”

  Jonas drinks his coffee, his focus on the rain falling in sheets outside the window. “You’ll figure it out one way or another.” The quiet confidence in his voice isn’t feigned. I don’t think he’d know how to feign something like that. He’s too frank, too honest. He’d never say such a thing if he didn’t mean it.

  That knowledge warms me far more than it should. My parents believe in me, but they’re biased. Even when I fuck up, they act like I walk on water. It would never occur to them that I might fail. It’s the same with my friends. They offer advice when I want it, but they aren’t in this industry and don’t really know all the pitfalls awaiting me.

  Jonas does.

  He still has the utmost belief that I’ll figure it out.

  “Thank you,” I finally manage.

  “Don’t thank me. It’s the truth.” He sets his mug down and gives me his full attention. “I’d like you to do something for me.”

  The heat is back in his gaze, signaling that we’re shifting into safer—sexier—territory. “Okay.”

  “You’re not going to ask what it is?” He arches his brows. “You have a lot of trust in me, baby girl.”

  The thing is… I do. I trust him a whole hell of a lot. Far more than I should off twelve hours of fucking. It makes sense, though. Even if I have only seen Jonas in passing since that Christmas party, he’s still a pillar in my life. An unseen one most of the time, but my father really does talk about him so much, it’s as if he’s in constantly in the room. I know far more about him than I would about some random person I’d hook up with.

  I lick my lips. “What would you like me to do?”

  Jonas leans back. “Bake me cookies.”

  17

  I blink. “Um, what?” Of all the things I expected to come out of his mouth, baking cookies didn’t make the list. It wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities.

  “Bake me cookies,” Jonas repeats. He reaches out and twins a lock of my hair around his finger. “Your father talks about your chocolate chip cookies all the fucking time, and I want to see if they live up to their reputation.”

  I thought maybe he’d bend me over the counter and fuck me senseless. He wants me to…bake cookies. Obviously there’s more to it than that. He wouldn’t be looking like me like he wants to eat me if that wasn’t the case. I slowly push to my feet and smooth down the shirt. “I can do that.”

  I make it three steps into the kitchen before he tsks. “Forgetting something?”

  The desire to please him, the realization that no matter what I do, it won’t happen because this fantasy is intentionally setting me up for failure... It all twists up inside me, sizzling through my veins. I turn back to face him. “I don’t think so?”

  “Cute.” He jerks his chin at the pantry. “Back of the door.”

  I duck into the pantry to find what he’s talking about, and stop short at the sight of a pink frilly apron. It looks like something a 1950s housewife would wear, every hair in place and her makeup perfect. It even has lace.

  Who does it belong to?

  I shove the thought down deep. It’s none of my business if this belongs to some ex of his. It shouldn’t bother me because we’re just playing pretend. It shouldn’t…but it does. I clear my throat. “Interesting fashion choice.”

  “Fishing for information?” His low chuckle makes me shiver. “It was a gag gift from my sister last Christmas. I’ve worn it for exactly one photo to get her to stop pestering me. No one else has.”

  Relief makes me a little light-headed. I lift the apron off its hook. He’s going to want me to wear it naked. So the question is do I want to try to anticipate his desires, or do I want to make him shake his head at me again?

  Really, it’s an easy choice.

  I put it on over the shirt, tying it around my neck and waist. It’s not a good look. The excess T-shirt fabric bunches unattractively and no doubt I look ridiculous. I fight down a grin and walk back into the kitchen. “I guess I’ll get to work.”

  “Baby girl.” There it is. That exasperation mixed with disappointment. “You must be joking.”

  “What?” I make a show of looking at myself. “You wanted me to put on the apron, right?”

  Jonas takes a long drink of his mug and sets it down on the counter with a click that sounds like a gunshot in the room. He rises and makes his way to me. There’s a faint element of menace in his posture, and a thrill of sexy fear goes through me.

  If I ran…would he chase me?

  Would he hold me down and fuck me while whispering all kinds of filth in my ear as I try to get away?

  Jonas stops in front of me. “What’s got that look on your face?”

  “Nothing.” I answer too quickly.

  He shakes his head slowly. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine, but don’t lie to me.”

  My skin feels like it’s turned crimson. Speaking such a filthy fantasy out loud will expose even more of myself. What if that is the line he’s not willing to cross? What if he turns away?

  He can’t give me what I want if I don’t tell him the truth.

  I dred
ge up my last bit of courage. “I was thinking that I would like you to chase me.” When he doesn’t move, I force myself to keep going. “To hold me down and fuck me.”

  “While you try to get away.”

  It feels like he’s reading my mind. Or at least reading me far better than I could have ever anticipated. “While I try to get away,” I confirm. I can’t quite meet his gaze, so I stare at his chest. Except Jonas doesn’t let me get away with that. Of course he doesn’t.

  He touches my chin, tipping my head up until I’m staring straight into his blue eyes. He searches my face as if he really can pull my thoughts right out of my head through sheer determination. Whatever he sees there seems to satisfy him, because he nods slowly. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  That isn’t a no.

  Holy shit, that isn’t a no.

  While I’m still processing that, he unties the apron and sets it on the counter. Then he skims off the shirt. Jonas just looks at me for a moment. I like that the sight of me naked affects him like this. I like it a lot. Finally he grabs the apron. “This, baby girl, is what I want and you damn well know it.” He eases it over my head, arranging it just so, and slides his hands down the straps to the panel in front, the backs of his fingers brushing against my breasts. He follows the line of the fabric to my hips and then steps close to reach behind me and tie it in place.

  Jonas moves back enough to admire his handiwork. I look down at myself. I look ridiculously sexy. Like a pinup girl or something, except I’m no doubt sporting just-been-fucked hair and don’t have a speck of makeup on.

  He leans back against the counter. “Think you can keep from making a mess in my kitchen?”

  “You’re the one who wants cookies.” When he lowers his brows, I give a little pout. “I’ll try, Daddy.”

  “That’s what I want to hear.” He makes a lazy motion with his hand. “Get to work.”