Swing (Landry Family 2)

A giggle floats through the air, my abs clenching at the thought of hearing that same sound charged with my name. While I’m inside her. Or her lips are coating my cock. Or—

“Are you listening to me?” she laughs.

Her voice pulls me from my daydream. We’re standing at a doorway. She’s flipping on the lights to a little office and stepping inside. I follow her, like a puppy looking for someone to play with. At least I’m not drooling . . . I don’t think . . . but I probably am panting. I need played with. What can I say?

The room is painted an off-white color with dozens of finger paintings and macaroni art like we used to make in elementary school tacked to the walls. Glancing around, I wonder if she’s some sort of art teacher.

I search for something with her name on it, a photograph to give me a clue as to who she is and what she does. Nothing. Just construction paper chains hanging off of a fake tree in the corner.

The notepad in her hand hits her desk with a smack. Fighting a smile, she gives me a quick once-over. “Do you need an escort?”

“Thanks, but escorts aren’t my thing,” I grin.

She leans on her desk, her cleavage just peeking out of the top of the fucking dress I want to rip off her body. She’s doing this on purpose, the little minx.

She drags her gaze down my body, letting it linger on my lower half, but returns her baby blues to my eyes, smirking. “So you just prefer to wander around and see what turns . . . up?”

My head angles to the side as I watch her assess my reaction to her innuendo. Before I can respond, the phone on her desks comes to life. She places a hand on the receiver. “I need to get this,” she says. “Three floors.”

“Up,” I wink. “Got it. What’s your name?”

“Danielle Ashley, director of Child Services.”

“I’m Lincoln Landry.”

“I know.”

She seems to think she has an upper hand because she knows who I am. Truth is, she obviously doesn’t really know who she’s up against because I always stay ahead of the count.

“See you later, Dani.” I’m out the door, leaving her standing there with her jaw open.

“It’s Danielle!” she shouts behind me, but I don’t look back.

Danielle

“HELLO?” MY GAZE FALLS ON the spot he just occupied on the other side of my desk.

He’s so tall, so wide, so broad, so . . . big. My cheeks burn, a grin splitting my cheeks as I remember the definite outline of just how big he probably is. If the old wives’ tales are true and penis size and shoe size are related, he must wear at least a thirteen.

“G’day,” Macie responds through the line.

“G’day? Are you Australian now?”

She laughs. “I have a patient that’s Australian. I’m in love with the accent. Will says he’s going to kill me if I don’t bloody stop.”

“I can see why,” I joke. “What’s happening in Boston?”

“On lunch break. Called to see what my best friend is doing.”

Falling into my chair and squeezing my thighs together to try to quell the ache throbbing between my legs, I look once again at the doorway. His cologne, a musky, rich fragrance, still permeates the air. It’s like he’s still taunting me without having to even be here. So unfair.

“Thank God you called,” I mutter. “I’d probably be on my back on my desk right now if you hadn’t.”

“What?”

“I mean, I can’t help it. I’m just a woman. A badass one with the restraint of a saint, if the last ten minutes prove anything, but I was cracking. I’m only human.”

“Slow down there, Saint Danielle. What are you talking about?” she laughs.