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"This reminds me of teenage dating. The curfew," I say.
A current of guilt washes over me when I realize she was a teen herself not that long ago. Damn. This is wrong. It should be wrong. She's much younger, she works for me, and the optics of the affair can be harmful—especially for me since I have more to lose. But all the rationale in the world can’t stop me from wanting her. From putting all I've worked for on the line for her the second she takes her clothes off or smiles at me.
"Did you date a lot as a teen?" she asks, yanking me from my thoughts.
"I had sex a lot," I say. "Does that count?"
She splashes some water on me. "So your love life hasn't progressed much."
"You can't change what's working."
She settles in the tub in the seating area with jets spraying all over her. For a moment, I'm mad at the endless bubbles hiding her beauty. "That's fear talking," she says, and a sober expression washes over her face.
I frown. "Moonlighting as a therapist again?"
Hazel waves me off. "You're a very innovative, consummate professional, a risk taker. Yet you favor predictability and don't take any chances in your personal life."
She makes it sound like I'm a bitter retiree. "I'd say screwing my assistant is taking a chance."
"For me or for you?"
"For me," I say but don’t elaborate. I don't want to ruin the energy between us by sounding more important than I am. Sure, I have more to lose in a way—a reputation I've worked hard to build. She's younger and can start over as many times as she wants—young, beautiful, and bright. I clear my throat. I'm missing something—her opinion. "How is it bad for you?"
She squares her shoulders and our gazes tangle. "You can fire me tomorrow and ensure I don't find work anywhere else in town."
I get closer to her. "I'd never do that. Ever," I say with honesty, hoping she can believe me. Despite my flaws, I'd never be so petty as to hurt her professionally. “You need to believe me, Hazel."
She regards me in silence before she looks away. "You can break my heart," she says in a low, sad tone, like deep down, she knows her fate is sealed.
You’re a piece of shit, and once you get your fill of me, you’ll leave. That's what she’s implying. That's her fear. Is it mine?
Or is my fear wanting to stay with every fiber of my being and not knowing if I'll be worth her while? My gut clenches. The knot in my throat has a strong pulse.
"I'll try not to. What makes you think you can't break mine?" I ask, and each word carries a different emotion.
“Look at you.” She rolls her eyes in a vain attempt to lighten the tension crackling between us. "I doubt I have that power."
"You'd be surprised," I say softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Gently, like I don't want to disrupt her. Like she's a delicate being who can't handle any inconvenience. "Turns out you have all sorts of powers over me."
I capture her lips with mine and sweep my tongue over hers in an intense search for dominance. She rises to the challenge, encircling her arms around my head and licking my tongue with an eagerness that sizzles along my nerve endings. My cock hardens, a stir already filling my balls.
I pull her to me, our bodies glued to each other, and I lean back on the sitting area of the tub. She sits on me. I thrust my cock into her, and we moan at the same time.
"We have to make this quick," she says. "I have to leave soon and…"
I flip her around and slam all the way to the hilt, water sloshing everywhere.
"Fuck," she hisses.
"You were saying?" I remove my cock abruptly.
She undulates her hips, shifting. Her upper body trembles, both hands splayed on the edge. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
I swat her ass, and she yelps. "And no talking about leaving."
"No talking about leaving," she repeats, her voice breathy.
"Good girl," I say and slam into her again.
