Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 60131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
I pushed up the fabric, silently giving him the go-ahead to touch me, to make me slip away from this darkness, but he stalled.
“Please touch me,” I whispered. “Please…”
His hand didn’t move, so I vowed to move on to someone else.
I started to walk away, but the stranger gripped me harder, holding me still.
Giving me what I wanted, he slid his hand under my dress and pushed my panties to the side.
Then he took things further and pressed his mouth against my neck.
I let out a slow, unsteady breath as he trailed hard and long kisses against my skin.
His mouth feels so good…
I didn’t want to ruin my fantasy with reality, so I didn’t turn around to see his face. With every touch he gave me, I envisioned Mr Dawson.
He pressed the pad of his thumb against my clit, rubbing it in a slow, tortuous circle.
I gasped, and he gripped me harder to prevent me from turning around.
“This is what you call beneficial?” Mr. Dawson’s deep voice was in my ear.
Not giving me a chance to react, he slid two fingers deep inside me, keeping the rhythm with his thumb going with ease.
“Harlow?” He bit my neck. "I don't see how this benefits anyone but you…”
“Maybe that's what I meant then.”
“I see.” He stalled his hand briefly, leaving me balancing on the edge of pleasure. Then he bit the shell of my ear.
“Ride my hand,” he commanded.
“Now,” his voice was harsher. “Show me how you’ll ride my dick when I fuck you.”
I steadied myself to grind against his wrist, using my hips to slide up and down his thick fingers.
"Good girl,” he said. “I would fuck you a lot harder than this, though…”
I could no longer hear the music. All I could hear was his voice in my ear, my heart beating recklessly in my chest.
He held me taut as I came apart, preventing me from falling face forward on the dance floor.
When my breathing slowed, he spun me around to face him.
Even in the dim lighting, I could make out the conflicted expressions on his face.
“Here.” He yanked off my panties and slid them into his pocket. Pulling the handkerchief from his blazer, he slid it between my legs, wiping me dry.
“Are you going to say thank you?” he asked.
“For what?”
“Giving you what you really needed,” he said, pressing his forehead against mine. “More than an off day…”
“I’m still taking Saturday and Sunday off.”
“I’m aware,” he said, his lips nearly brushing mine. He looked as if he wanted to take me home and finish what we started, like he wanted nothing more than to kiss me senselessly and finally cool the simmering tensions between us.
“Don’t lie to me again, Harlow,” he said instead. “Clear?”
“Clear.”
“Good.” He stepped back. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”
When I retrieved my phone from the coat check, he’d sent me a text message.
Mr. Dawson
Regarding your question from earlier…
No, I don’t fuck ‘as good as I dance.’ I fuck a lot better…
TWENTY-ONE
HARLOW
The remaining weekend hours slipped by far too fast. No matter how hard I tried to hold onto my seconds of freedom, they ticked by without any regard for my wishes.
No matter how hard I tried to think about something other than Mr. Dawson controlling my body with his fingers, my mind insisted on incessantly replaying that moment.
The way he held me as I came down, used his handkerchief to clean me and kissed my neck while whispering.
I still felt the lingering passion under his touches, the primal urge to want to take things further without the pain of restraint. His willingness to cross the line with me without worrying about the consequences.
Maybe he saw me as more than his nanny.
Maybe he was waiting for me to confirm that we could be more.
If he was willing to take the first step, I could take the second.
The morning I returned to Park Towers, I ironed Olivia’s school shirts and set out the twins’ outfits for the week.
Then I headed to Mr. Dawson’s bedroom.
Without knocking, I pushed his door open.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing a towel around his waist.
He stared at me, his lips parting, and I sucked in a breath.
Silence hung heavy between us, waiting for someone to shatter it.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” I made the move.
He didn’t answer.
“The children are sleeping, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Good to know.” He motioned for me to come closer. “What do you need?”
“It’s about the other night at the club,” I said. “What happened between us.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Hawthorne. I haven’t been to a nightclub in over a year.”
“Okay, it was technically a ‘lounge,’ but that’s not the point. I just wanted to know if it meant something.”
“Again, I have no idea what you’re saying,” he said. “Last I checked, you were at some developmental children’s conference, studying boundaries.”