I huff out a moan before spitting into my hand, messy and wet, just enough to ease the glide of my hand over my hard length.
It’s nowhere near as good as her mouth would be, but the sensation still makes me toss my head back and bite my lip in pleasure. I rub the pad of my thumb over the head, collecting precum and smearing it down my cock.
“Fuck,” I groan, bucking up into my hand as I imagine her between my thighs. “Just like that, sweet thing.”
Her name is a mystery, and it feels like a tragedy to not be able to moan it into my pillow as I work myself up, slow and steady. I don’t know the color of her eyes either, so they stay closed in my fantasy, long blonde lashes fluttering againstcheeks flushed in pleasure. I fist a hand in my own short cropped hair just for the added sensation, wishing desperately that I was wrapping her pretty curls between my fingers.
What does she sound like when she’s choking on cock? I’ll never get to hear her gagging on me, so my imagination runs wild, taking everything I want in my mind.
“Deeper,” I murmur, fisting my hand down closer to the base of my cock as I imagine forcing my way past her gag reflex to bury myself in her throat.
Fuck, it’s been so long since I even bothered to really work myself over, and she’s such a perfect little canvas to project all my desires onto. If I could, I’d have her on her knees for hours, watch tears well in her eyes and drip down her cheeks as she struggles to take me. I’d spread her open on my lap and watch her ride me until her thighs shake from exhaustion, and then I’d flip her over and bury myself into her so deeply that I’d carve out a space only my cock would ever touch.
I toss my head back in pleasure as my fantasies take form, my hand pumping furiously as heat gathers in earnest in my gut. All I want is the silky soft heat of her pussy, to feel her stretch wide around me and shake as I draw orgasm after orgasm out of her.
“Fuck,fuck, that’s it, right there, sweet thing,” I groan, senseless babble falling from my lips as I fuck up into my own fist.
It’s the thought of her begging me to fill her up that sends me crashing over the edge, my imagination conjuring images of my cum dripping down her thighs.
I let out a wordless shout as I cum, every muscle in my body going tight as pleasure slams into me. I want her in a way that’s purely primal, and I sink my teeth into my pillow to sate the urge to sink them into her throat.
It’s a poor substitute for warm flesh and breathy whimpers in my ear, but even as my head still swims with pleasure, I know better than to think any of this can be anything but a fantasy.
I’m here to do a job and then go home, and David’s daughter can’t be more of a distraction to me than she already is. I can conjure as many filthy thoughts as I want to, as long as they stay in the safety of the dark, behind the locked door of my trailer. All I can do is sink into my mattress and catch my breath for now. I’ll go back to work tomorrow, and I’ll act like nothing happened, and I’ll keep my eyes—and my hands—to myself.
Chapter Five
MAGGIE
Stayingup with Penny the night before my first day of work may not have been my best idea. She lives almost an hour from the clinic, so I had to be up way too early for having gone to bed at two.
The stupid button up uniform shirt sucks, but no one has yelled at me to actually close it, so I’m treating it more like a jacket than anything. Maybe I can get away with saying I forgot it a few days a week. I’m not going to roll over and behave just because Dad pulled some strings.
Still, it’s not like this is hard work or anything.
The manager is a stout middle aged woman with short black hair cut into a bob who introduces herself as Brooke. I vaguely remember seeing her around when I came here as a kid for my vaccines, but she doesn’t make any mention of remembering me. It’s better that way, makes me feel less like David Montgomery’s daughter and more like my own person. I have no doubt everyone knows that my dad got me this job, but I’m more willing to go along with this if they don’t treat me like some crybaby kid.
Brooke shows me the ropes before the doors open, walking me through the computer system and printing out a script for me to follow when the phone rings.
“So all you have to do is click on their name,” Brooke says, pointing to one of the scheduled appointments on the screen, “and then click the dropdown and change the status to arrived. The computer will automatically print the chart in the back, and I’ll put the charges in.”
“Yeah, cool.” I don’t hide the boredom in my voice. “So how long do I get for lunch? Is it at, like, a set time, or can I just go whenever I want?”
I won’t pretend that I want to be here any more than they want me as a replacement for their secretary. We’re all counting the days until I can get out of here, and there is no point pretending otherwise. I’ve always been upfront and honest, even to my detriment, and I see no reason to change that now.
“Brooke, sorry to interrupt,” Dr. Mulaney says, leaning out from the doorway with an apologetic smile on her face. “Can I borrow you for a moment? I need you to look over some of this paperwork for that insurance claim.”
Brooke pushes back from the desk with a nod. “I’ll be right there. Maggie, if someone calls and you don’t know the answer to something, just write down their number and we’ll call them back when I’m done here. I’ll be back to walk you through the rest of check in. You get thirty minutes for lunch and two fifteen minute breaks throughout the day. You can’t combine them or leave without telling anyone.”
“Cool,” I drawl carelessly.
I wait until she and Dr. Mulaney round the corner to pull my phone out of my pocket. Thank fuck for that interruption. I’m going to go insane if Brooke hovers over my shoulder all day. I need a break from all the expectations and how serious everyone is. The phone has only rung twice since we opened, and I doubtanything important is going to happen while Brooke is gone. It’s as good a time as any to answer texts and scroll through memes my friends sent me.
I stumble across a post from a page suggested for me, almost scrolling past until the edge of a tattoo catches my eye.
It looks oddly familiar, and I click on the page. It’s nothing special, pictures of sunrises and rolling pastures. I finally find the photo that was suggested to me, and my eyes damn near bug out of my head.
That’s the new guy, in all his shirtless glory. His head is dipped down, face covered by a cowboy hat, and his muscles gleam with sweat in the low light of the sunset. The tattoos on his arms are sparser than I remember seeing, but the date shows it was posted almost two years ago , he looks good. He’s absolutely stacked with thick, corded muscle, his hips narrowing down only for my view to be cut off by the hem of his jeans.
