by Ella Brooke
I shake my head and continue looking through the fridge. I end up settling on a plate of fruit and cheese, and I eat while looking around. It’s all very Nathaniel. Larger than life, refined, but with an undercurrent of wildness that very few get to see. The modern furniture and expensive art lives side by side with an almost ridiculous collection of swords and knives, which are displayed on one wall. The neat bedroom hides a whole lot of naughtiness, from the nipple clamps he used on me that morning to a collection of ropes and other sex toys I haven’t been brave enough to try yet.
I’m getting up to put my plate in the dishwasher when I hear the door open, and then, to my shock, a child’s laugh echoing down the marble-floored hallway from the foyer. I look down at myself, wearing only Nathaniel’s shirt, and start to make a mad dash for the bedroom.
I reach the living room when I realize it’s too late. A little boy and an older woman are standing there, looking at me. He’s maybe five years old, with dark hair and… hazel eyes.
“Hello,” I say, tugging at the bottom hem of the shirt. I’m glad Nathaniel is so much taller than I am.
“Hi,” the boy says. I glance at the woman.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I have a family emergency. Please pass my apologies along to Mr. Stone. I’ll see you soon, Micah,” she says, and then she’s gone, and it’s just the kid—Micah—and I left standing there.
“Um…” I begin.
“Do you know my dad?” he asks, and my heart sinks.
What the fuck is this? Nathaniel has a son? Does he have a wife tucked somewhere after all? Was all of this just a torrid affair?
Fuck. Am I the other woman?
I look at Micah, who’s studying me with big eyes that remind me far too much of his father’s. He seems unsure of me, and I can’t blame him.
I’ve been there.
Seven years old, walking into my dad’s office at his old job, surprising him with the muffins I’d made. I’d opened the door, and the first thing I’d seen was his secretary, Marlene, bent over his desk, my dad standing behind her, thrusting and grunting. Their focus hadn’t been on me, or the door, and I’d left before either of them realized I was there.
My mom had been waiting in the car for me.
I didn’t tell her. Didn’t even know what I’d seen, really, except to know that it was wrong. I’d never looked at my dad the same way again, and, a few years later, Mom had passed. I’ve never forgiven him.
I blink, forcing myself back to the present. This changes everything. I can’t continue our arrangement. I won’t fuck Nathaniel if there’s an innocent child in the mix who could be hurt by what we’re doing together.
A wife. He probably has a wife somewhere. Or a girlfriend. So not only am I being paid to sleep with him, whether he wanted to admit it or not, but I’m also probably a home wrecker.
I hate myself more than a little when the realization hits me.
“Where’s my dad?” Micah asks shyly.
“He’s at work. I’m going to go get dressed, and then I’ll take you to him. Okay?”
Micah nods. “Okay.”
“Are you hungry?” I ask. I don’t know why. It just seems like the sort of thing you should ask a kid. Something normal, other than “Sorry I’m screwing your daddy.”
He shakes his head.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” I head into the bedroom and close the door, then rest my head on it as I try to get myself under control. I want to cry. I want to punch Nathaniel Stone in his stupid perfect face.
Most of all, I want to pretend none of this ever happened.
Chapter Ten
Nathaniel
I stand there, half listening as Vanessa prattles about a show she saw, some resort she went to, and shopping, shopping, shopping. I glance at her, taking in her thick red cascade of hair, her slick red lips and very nicely enhanced curves. But today, it’s doing absolutely nothing for me. And I realize why most of the time I spent with Vanessa was in bed, where the only words she bothered with were, “Yes,” “More,” and “Harder.” I hide a grimace. Today, of course, she’s not here as one of my favorite fuck buddies, but as an artist my gallery is launching this evening. More importantly, perhaps she’s standing here as the wife of one of my best, wealthiest clients.
Why we even started our secret trysts eludes me now. Although, even as I begin to think about it, the answer is coming. Something to do with Danneel… the loneliness of being alone… the need to touch and be touched…
“Hey, boss.” I turn to the doorway leading into the gallery and see Bruce, dressed in his usual gray uniform. A pang of guilt hits me, and I try not to let it show. “Vanessa’s paintings are all in the exhibition room. Do you need me to do anything else with them?”
“No, Bruce. That’s perfect. Thank you.”
He gives me a grin and a small wave, and another, harder pang of guilt hits me. I was fucking his daughter not even an hour ago, and I’ve done absolutely filthy things to her over the last couple of weeks. When I’m between Poppy’s thighs, the last thing I think about is how great and loyal her father is an employee. When I’m sucking her clit and making her scream my name, the thought of the potential, very nasty, very public lawsuit that could come from this doesn’t even enter my mind. Conflict of interest doesn’t even begin to describe it, yet I can’t seem to bring myself to care. Spanking her sweet ass, seeing my handprints on her gorgeous, smooth skin… I don’t think about much at all during those moments, except for how much I want Poppy.
Vanessa keeps talking as if Bruce hadn’t been there at all. She’s very good at ignoring things that she considers beneath her interest. For all of her talent artistically, as well as in the sack, she has a personality that’s distinctly lacking.
And what does it say about me that, until recently, I never even gave that fact a second thought?
“It’s been a while, hot stuff,” Vanessa says in a low, sultry tone. She reaches out and runs her fingertips over the edge of my tie, long red nails gently scraping along my chest. “What’s been keeping you so busy lately?” she asks with a faux pout.
I give her what I hope is a casual smile. “Work. You think all of this magic happens on its own?”
She laughs, throwing her head back, and thrusting her chest toward me. “It’s not the only type of magic you’re good at,” she murmurs. She inches toward me, breasts pressed to my chest, the scent of her perfume surrounding me.
A few weeks ago, I would have been ready to take her up to my office and succumb to the pleasures of a convenient quickie to sate both of our libidos. Vanessa’s talented with her mouth.
Not as talented as Poppy though.
The thought comes to me, and I give Vanessa another small smile. I have no interest in fucking her, and that thought alone rocks me. I never cared one way or the other about her personality before, and if she were around, we’d always been good at finding ways to slip away and do the nasty, sometimes right under her husband’s nose. Up until now, I’d never felt guilty about that—mowing another man’s lawn. Yet the idea of it has presently left a bad taste in my mouth.
Vanessa starts rubbing up against me, and I gently put my arms on her elbows, ready to push her away from me. I don’t want to offend her. Not only do I have to work with her to get this opening off the ground, but her husband and his money help keep this particular gallery very much in the black. The last thing I need is her telling him that I’ve been fucking her behind his back for the past few years, which is something she’d totally do out of spite. I know that much about her, for sure.
But… then again, she loves her husband’s money even more than I do, and outing what we’ve done together would have her out on her ass within minutes. So, I’m not overly worried about it, but I’d still rather avoid any stupidity if at all possible. I take a small step away from her, but she follows with a glint in her eye.
“Ooh. Playing hard to get, Nathaniel? I like it. Maybe I can tie you up and have my way with you,” she adds with
a smile.
“Vanessa—”
“Or… you could just take me up to your office, bend me over your desk, and give me what I need. You know it’ll be good,” she murmurs, and I glance toward the doorway to the main gallery.
“We should probably go over the final layout for the exhibit to make sure you’re pleased with it,” I tell her.
“You always, always please me, Nathaniel,” she states, drawing herself closer to me and putting her arms around my neck. Her body is plastered up against mine. And all I keep thinking is how much I don’t want this. Not with her, anyway.
Poppy’s face imprints on my brain again, and all I want to do is ditch Vanessa and go back to the penthouse so I can demonstrate to Poppy just how much I’ve missed that sweet little body—despite the short amount of time I’ve been away from her.
“I’m seeing someone,” I tell Vanessa, more abrupt than I intended.
She laughs, low and teasing, and then she lifts herself up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine. “So am I, remember?” she murmurs and kisses me harder.
I raise my hands to her upper arms, ready to gently push her away, when I hear someone clearing their throat nearby. Shit.
I spring away from Vanessa and look toward the door.
The first thing I see is Poppy. And though most people wouldn’t recognize it, I can tell between the raised eyebrow and the set of her jaw that she is utterly pissed. I’m already heading toward her to explain when I notice a small figure come up to stand beside her. Micah.
“Hey, buddy,” I say to Micah.
For some reason, this only seems to piss Poppy off more. She gives me a cold glare and puts her hand on Micah’s shoulder, gently leading him away and into one of the other parts of the gallery. She doesn’t even give me a backward glance, and my heart lurches. My gut twists. She knows he’s my son.
“Your new toy is a bit young, Nathaniel,” Vanessa purrs, and I catch the edge to her tone. Vanessa might come off as a bimbo, at the best of times, but she’s from a wealthy family and is educated. She’s smart enough to call out sexual tension when she sees it. “Not the smartest idea for a man of your position and wealth—to play with girls barely out of high school.”
“Mind your own business,” I mutter, and then I take off, heading toward the doorway to find Poppy and Micah.
Damn Vanessa for being so clingy.
Damn Mrs. Henderson for bailing on Micah today.
But most of all, damn my own stupidity for not at least telling Poppy about Micah so she wouldn’t be surprised by something like this.
Then another realization hits me. If Vanessa saw so easily that there was something going on between Poppy and I, does that mean others have too? Roberto? Bruce even?
Could this single event be the start of a shitstorm that I’m not sure I can weather?
Chapter Eleven
Poppy
I’m standing in Nathaniel’s office. His son, Micah, is sitting in one of the chairs, legs dangling, kicking back and forth while he waits for his dad.
His dad.
Son of a bitch.
I am officially the biggest idiot on the planet, and Nathaniel’s the biggest jackass on the planet. I should have known better. Someone that rich, that good-looking, that smooth—of course, he’s a cheater. A manipulator. They know just how to twist you, just how to wrap you around their little finger. They get what they want, and they don’t care about how their actions affect anyone else.
I know because I know my dad. Until my mom died, he never felt a single damn bit of remorse over what he’d done… what I’d witnessed him doing. And I should have goddamn known better. I was the floozie bent over the desk this time. I’ve been in Micah’s shoes before, and I feel like shit. I can’t meet his eyes.
Great. I’m a coward and a home wrecker.
And who was that woman downstairs anyway? His wife? His girlfriend? His lover? Well, his other lover? Any one of those options makes me feel sick.
I hear footsteps coming toward the office, and a moment later, Nathaniel is there. Micah jumps up and runs to his dad, and Nathaniel picks him up and folds him into a huge hug. Despite my current twisted gut, the softer part of me is smiling at the pair. It’s obvious that Nathaniel is smitten with his son. His eyes completely give him away—glazed with genuine warmth.
And, unfortunately, girls tend to eat up such tender gestures like they’re a warm, slice of apple pie.
“Hey, Micah, why don’t you go down to the front desk and see Roberto? He has a surprise for you!”
“A surprise?”
Nathaniel nods. “And then we’ll go get dinner. Okay?”
“Okay!” Micah shouts, and then he runs out of the office, leaving me alone with Nathaniel.
I can’t even stand to look at him.
He walks into the office, then steps toward me. I can smell him, and all I can think about is how much time I’ve spent with that scent surrounding me, with it on my skin from being in his arms. Beneath him. On top of him. All I feel now is used and dirty.
He’s standing in front of me, waiting for me to look at him. He can wait forever.
“Poppy,” he begins. Something snaps. I finally look at him, and before I realize what I’m doing, I slap him as hard as I can across the face. I can feel tears stinging my eyes, and I blink hard, willing them not to fall. I take a step back, shocked by what I’ve done. He stares at me for a moment, but the anger I expected to see isn’t there.
He nods, slowly. “I deserved that. Please, let me explain,” he says, and there’s a bit of a tremor in his voice. I’m not sure if it’s anger or what, and right now, I don’t really care.
“There’s nothing to explain. You’re a goddamn liar and a cheat. You’ve got a wife, and a kid, and a whole life you kept from me. What the hell else is there to explain?” My voice had become a shout, and I didn’t even care. I needed some outlet for the rage and hurt swirling inside me, and short of hitting him again, screaming was the only thing likely to make me feel better just now.
But damn, do I want to hit him again. And I want to lock myself somewhere and have a good, long cry because I’m a mess and I hate that he’s made me feel this way.
“Poppy—”
I start to walk away, and he steps in front of me, blocking my path. “Baby, I’m not married. Not anymore, anyway. Micah is my son. There is no wife.”
“Yeah? Then who were you kissing downstairs? Another one of your whores? Man, I’m gonna be pissed if she’s making more than me.” I go to walk away again, and he grabs me by the arms and pulls me to him, crushing me against his chest.
“Calm down. Stop acting like a child.”
That’s it. I shove him back, hard. “You’re not my father,” I snarl. “Get your dirty, disgusting old hands off me. The only reason I ever slept with you was to pay off my father’s debts. You’re nothing.”
He seems stunned, and he drops his hands. “You don’t mean that.”
“The hell I don’t.”
Before he can say another word, I run out of the office, determined to put as much space between us as possible.
Downstairs, I try to compose myself as best I can when I approach the front desk, which is unavoidable due to how close it is to the door of the gallery. Roberto and Micah are engaged in a thumb war behind the solid marble counter, and I almost manage to walk past without either of them noticing.
“Poppy, are you leaving? I thought you might here to help with the final preparations for the show tonight?” Roberto calls out when I’m literally a hairline away from the door.
I take a quick, deep breath and turn to him, spreading a convincing smile. “Ah, no. Mr. Stone said I can still have the day off. I was just, ah, double-checking that he didn’t need me.” I know it’s mere seconds away before my cheeks turn pink and give me away completely, so I swiftly add, “I’ll see you tonight though. Bye.”
But then Micah pipes up, halting me in place again. “It was nice to meet you, Poppy. You�
�re pretty.”
The fresh smile that lights up my face is all genuine. “Thank you, Micah. You’re quite handsome yourself,” I reply, and he giggles.
Outside, the cool air comes like a godsend, temporary relief from the beyond-uncomfortable situation I was just made to suffer through. Yet, as I head toward the subway, all I can think about is the crazy mess that I’ve just left behind me.
This is on you, Poppy. You should’ve known better than to fuck your boss… repeatedly.
But if that’s true, then why don’t I regret any of it?
Chapter Twelve
Nathaniel
I stand in my office, frozen, for a good ten minutes after Poppy storms out. There’s a dead weight in my gut and tightness in my chest. I feel like I can barely breathe.
Part of it is anger. I’m pissed at Poppy for blowing this so far out of proportion. I understand that she’s hurt, but assuming the absolute worst of me after we’ve spent so much time trusting each other in other ways just… I can’t deal with this shit right now. The woman trusts me to spank her, to punish her, to tie her up and have my way with her body, but she won’t give me five goddamn minutes to explain myself before assuming the worst? Fuck this.
And fuck Vanessa too. Though not the way she wants.
Shit.
I’d meant to tell Poppy about Micah. I wanted to. I needed to be sure, though. I didn’t want to introduce her into Micah’s life and then find myself bored with her, tossing her aside the way I did so many other women. If she was going to be part of Micah’s life, I had to be sure how I felt about her. And I was there. I was just about ready to tell her and ask her to meet him.
To tell her everything.
Get your dirty, disgusting old hands off me!
Remembering her words is like a knife straight to my heart. Hearing her tell me that she’d only fucked me so she could have my money… I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time my money meant more than anything else, but I’d expected better from her. She hadn’t seemed like the using type.
