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I don’t even date, for fuck’s sake, because I know from experience that people want more than I can give them.
I can’t handle a fucking dog. I can’t even handle having a girlfriend without fucking everything up.
Ugh. My stomach sinks. That teen crush I had years ago bursts back into my life like a comet, thrilling through me. His eyes are still the deepest, richest green, like all the shades of an old-growth forest. My stomach tumbles.
Pippa Hartley is standing in my living room, playing with the dog, and I can’t breathe.
I can’t fucking think around Pippa Hartley. It’s always been like this.
She’s beneath me, head tipped back, eyes closed, with an expression of pleasure on her face as I thrust into her. I’m going to be thinking about that later with my hand around my cock, and I hate myself for that.
There’s no way I can tell her the truth—that she’s the girl I was obsessed with for two years in high school.
My brain isn’t working. That’s the only explanation for why I’m just standing here, staring at an almost-naked Pippa in a tiny towel.
She’s been sending me daily emails with updates, and even though I never respond, I look forward to them. I wait for them, refreshing my email while I’m sitting on a plane or between training sessions.
“Stop crying,” I demand. “I’m trying.” She takes a shaky breath.
“You can’t be crying in public,” I tell her. Again, my voice comes out sharp and stern. Jackass. “It’s unprofessional. You’ll move in tomorrow.”
“Andrew.” He says the word like it tastes bad. I meet his piercing gaze, blinking in confusion. “Yeah. He’s young. Probably my age. He’s a personal trainer.” Jamie’s gaze turns cold before he prowls to the door. “I’m coming with you.”
“Your ex is a fucking loser to let you go,” he bites out.
I can’t get one particular thought out of my head. I really, really want to fuck my pretty assistant.
I picture Pippa’s mouth around my cock, her gray-blue eyes looking up at me, gauging my reaction. Blood rushes to my dick, and I’m hard.
“You want to make it up to me?”
I wanted to kiss her so fucking badly.
“The last time I played for someone, they laughed at me.”
“Who?” I demand in a low, lethal voice. “Tell me. Names. Now.”
“That guy was never good enough for you. Not in high school and not now. I hope you fucking see that.”
“I thought you were gorgeous, too,” he murmurs, looking at me in a way that makes me feel like I can’t breathe. “Even back then.”
I was focused on his weaknesses when mine sits right behind me.
“This isn’t getting back on the ice. I haven’t performed on stage since high school.” “I remember.”
Footsteps make my eyes open. Jamie stalks toward me with a furious look on his face. “Wha—” I start. His eyes flash with heat. “That was fucking amazing.” His hand comes to the back of my neck and he drags my mouth to his.
I said you’re my assistant, but what I meant was you’re special and I don’t want to hurt you.
Hearing that Zach couldn’t make Pippa come? It lights my blood on fire. I’d make her come. I’d make her come so fucking hard.
“Stop moving,” I grit out. She gives me a look. “Stop stabbing me with that skyscraper.”
Zach couldn’t make her come, and I want to so badly. Not just because of my competitive nature, but because Pippa’s lovely, and she deserves everything good.
“Come on, songbird,” I murmur. “You going to make me beg?”
“Beg me,” he demands in a low voice that makes me shiver. “Beg me to let you come, songbird.”
“Good girl,” Jamie growls. “Such a good fucking girl for me, coming so hard.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, searching his dark eyes as he glances at the door and then back to me. His mouth crashes into mine.
“You want me to finger you?” I nod again, hands tensing on his broad chest. More than anything. He raises an eyebrow. “Say please.” “Please,” I whisper. “Good girl.”
“We should end it there,” I mutter. “Not a fucking chance.” His voice is thick. My gaze drops to Jamie’s lap. He’s fully hard, erection straining against the fabric of his sweats. Heat pulses low in my stomach, but I continue playing the song.
Seeing her up there, it’s so obvious: I’m head over fucking heels for this girl, and I have been for a long time. A lot longer than I realized.
Pippa Hartley has me wrapped around her little finger. I’ll do anything for her, and I’m not even mad about it.
“I have feelings for you, songbird.” My heart pounds, and the rest of the bar falls away. “I like you so fucking much. I don’t want to pretend I don’t anymore. I flew out here for you.”
“You’re going to tell me what you want.” I kiss a trail across her skin, down her thighs,
Being fucked by Jamie Streicher is a religious experience.
“Anything you want, songbird? It’s yours. Where you’re concerned, money is no object, because making you happy is worth it.”
My fucking heart. Pippa has it in the palm of her hand.
Pippa’s my forever person. I know that now. I think I always knew it.
