My Dad's Best Friend (A Touch of Taboo 3)

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.”