Page 17 of Big Balls
“Well Katydid, tickling is something between Daddy and his best girl. I can’t be handing out tickles to just anybody.”
My eyes trace along the lines of Zoe’s body, though—the enticing soft curves of her breasts and the swell of her ass. I drink in every inch of her shape like a thirsty man coming home after months in the desert, and let’s not pretend I’m not imagining my hands all over her, making her cry out.
There’s no denying that I want Zoe. I want her so badly that it’s destroying my composure. Every time I jerk off, it’s to thoughts of grabbing her tiny little wrists, pinning her hands to the bed, and then burying my face between her legs until she begs for mercy.
“Daddy,” my little girl says in her testiest voice. “It’s not just anybody. It’s Auntie Zoe. She likes being tickled.”
The series of thoughts that burns through my brain are definitely not innocent. My eyes dart up to meet Zoe’s and I grit my teeth against the feeling of guilt that washes over me. I wish I weren’t like this—uncivilized and unable to function normally around her.
I need to get myself under control. We have to have a talk about what happened and make sure that it never happens again. I know she was super starstruck when she met me, and I can’t be involved with anyone who thinks about me like a commodity instead of like a regular person.
I give her a little knowing nod instead and turn away. I could get into a lot of trouble if I’m not careful. And I’m not the type of man to cause trouble.
I’ve been careful my entire life. It’s not going to change now because the nanny that fucking Sebastian chose is so damn appealing.
It was just a game. With my little girl there, it wasn’t going to get out of hand between us. Well, any more than it actually did.
She couldn’t have gotten out of the house any faster after we kissed, but I wasn’t imagining the sound she made when our lips met.
I know she felt it, too. That moment when I’d forgotten my daughter was there. When I forgot about everything except the feel of the soft skin of her throat against my hand, and how right it felt when she gave in to my kiss.
“Zoe,” I say flatly, with my back still facing them both. “I need to speak to you. In private.”
I stalk toward the giant library that houses the desk that is allegedly for all of my home office needs. I don’t actually have home office needs, but it’s one of the things a man like me is supposed to have at home, so I have it.
It’s like the Lamborghini Diablo that I drive. Star athletes who are billionaires drive expensive sports cars, so I drive a stupidly expensive sports car. When I asked Katy about her favorite sports car, she said, “Duh, a Lambo,” and that’s how I ended up with my current ride. It’s red, with a black leather interior. My team’s colors.
But again, this is all just flash. It’s not really who I fundamentally am, and that’s why it feels awkward when I slide my heavy executive chair behind the mammoth desk the interior designer bought for me and lean into giving Zoe my best glower.
She sits and looks everywhere except my eyes. Her fingers slide along the lines of her thighs as she rubs her hands along her clothing, and my mind momentarily freezes, stuck in a loop of imagining the heat of her skin there. The hands I lift to my face are shaking, so I clench them into a tight knot.
I must have made some sort of noise, because she’s looking at me, and then I see her lick her lips.
She catches me watching her mouth, and the profound embarrassment that consumes me simply reinforces the need for this talk. We have to reestablish the professional boundaries of this relationship.
I clear my throat. “Zoe, I needed to talk to you.”
She nods. “Yes, that’s what you said.” Her eyes flick to my mouth, then drop.
Or did I just imagine that? Is it possible that I’m only seeing what I want to be true?
I clear my throat. “It’s about the kiss.”
Zoe freezes like a deer in the road, her gaze locked against mine. “Nope,” she says, shaking her head. She stands up and gives a little stretch, and I swear I do not look at that sliver of her stomach.
I turn my head slightly to one side. “What do you mean ‘nope’?”
She gives me a pointed look, then turns her back to me. “Let’s put that behind us. Like it never happened, okay? We need to keep things professional if this is going to work.”
I watch her as she turns and walks away from the office. From me.
I want to chase after her, grab her, and show her not only that it sure as hell happened but that we should do it again and as often as possible.
Wait, no. That’s a terrible idea.
Zoe just asked me for exactly what I planned on asking for from her. She wants to act like it never happened, and make sure we keep things professional.
I’m leaving in another few days. I’ve got more than enough on my mind. And I need to be able to trust the person taking care of my daughter.
