Page 26 of That First Night
“That you do, bud.”
The drive home after getting James from Marc's apartment has me more nervous than normal. I am not a person who usually feels these types of things, but I haven’t had anyone live here since James was born. That side of the penthouse has been practically untouched.
I lived in a total bachelor pad before this. It was the perfect spot, close to all the bars and clubs so I could go out with the guys and come home for a happy ending. I bought this place because I knew James needed a solid foundation of a home to live in. There were supposed to be three of us here, but Sheila wanted no part in any of it.
With Peyton being here, it’s going to feel all sorts of weird as fuck because we aren’t used to having a female around us all the time. And another part is her history with me, but James obviously doesn’t know this. When she showed up in my office, I almost lost all my restraint around her. My hands craved to touch her, and I wanted to spread her out on my desk to eat like it was my last meal. I’m damn proud of myself for keeping it as professional as I did.
I park the car and James and I walk hand in hand into the lobby.
“Good evening, Mr. Ford,” Jim greets me with a smile. “And good evening to you too, Mr. James,” he says to James.
“Hiya, Jimbo!” James greets. “How’s Dooky-west doing?”
Jim and I both let out a full belly laugh. Every day, James asks how ‘Dooky-west’ is doing. Yes, dooky... like one you drop in the toilet. When James was two, Jim asked him what he should name his goldfish and James chose Dooky-west. Jim didn’t have the heart to tell James to pick another name when he saw how excited he was. So here we are, asking how Dooky-west, the goldfish, is doing today.
“He’s doing great, James,” he continues to laugh. “Have a good night, Mr. Ford.”
“Thanks, you too, Jim.”
“Oh and Mr. Ford?” He stops me as I walk away. “Your new guest has settled in nicely.”
I give him a tight nod as James and I enter the elevator. I can feel my stomach sinking with nerves and I hope he’s right that she is settled in and feels comfortable here.
The elevator doors ding open and it’s dark and quiet in the living space. James immediately runs upstairs to his room to get ready for his bath. He’s so good with his routine when we get home in the evenings, and I am so lucky that he never tries to fight me on it. While he makes himself busy, I find myself walking down the hallway to greet Peyton and see if she needs anything.
I pause outside the door of her space when I hear music coming from the other side. I give three hard knocks on the door. When she doesn’t answer after a few moments, I turn the doorknob to see if it’s unlocked and sure as shit, it is.
Slowly pushing the door open, I scan the room, but I don’t see her anywhere.
“Peyton?” I call out to the room.
She still doesn’t answer, so I walk over to the bathroom door where the music is coming from. I knock three times on that door, calling her name but there is still no answer.
Panic takes over me that something might have happened to her. I don’t know why my mind always goes to the worst-case scenario. Maybe it's the dad instinct in me, but I don’t hear movement on the other side of the door, just the music. Turning the knob, I fling the door open, and Peyton lets out a shriek.
She’s naked.
She’s fucking naked, soaking in the oversized bathtub in the ensuite bathroom directly next to the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city.
“Thomas!” she screams.
I can’t find it in me to look away and for some reason, she hasn’t moved her hands out from under the water to cover herself up either.
Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun and her breasts are beautiful, rounded mounds that would fit my hands perfectly. I can’t see anything below them because of those stupid bubbles that are covering her slim waist and tight pussy I remember so vividly.
“THOMAS!” she bellows again, and I’m snapped out of my trance.
My hand finally snaps to cover my eyes, to respect her privacy and you know, keep the lines of professionalism drawn, blah blah.Fuck the lines.That’s what I think.
“Peyton, oh my God, I am so sorry!” I yell back at her, with my hand still over my eyes. “I knocked multiple times, and you didn’t answer so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m okay—”
“Iknowyou’re okay,” I interrupt her as I adjust the semi growing in my pants so she can’t see it.
“We can talk when I get out,” she replies in a much softer tone from our bathroom yelling match. Even though I can barely hear her over Taylor Swift singing about how she’s the problem.
“I’ll be in the kitchen.”
