Hard Working Hero (Hard Working Hero 1)

Page 9

I keep stroking my cock, moving my hand faster and faster as I drink her in. Her arousal coats my tongue and lips, and I swallow as much of her as I can. Her sweet flavor slips down my throat, making my cock throb in my hand.
I can fuck her right now, slip right in there and make her mine.
But I can't, I won't. Even if she begs me to, I can't cross that line. Narissa is still the boss's daughter. Fucking her will only complicate things. Eating her out, however, is barely a slap on the wrist. It's not sex. It hardly even counts as anything more than a little treat in exchange for a hard day's work. I'll indulge myself.
Over and over my tongue flicks her clit. Her needy button swells against my tongue as her pussy seeps like a fucking waterfall. Her legs wrap around my shoulders and her thighs squeeze against my head as she fucks my face.
Narissa yells loudly as her body convulses with pleasure. That's it, that's all I need to send me over the edge. My balls draw up and my stomach tightens as I blow my load all over my hand.
Warm, sticky strings of cum drape over my knuckles as I pull my face from her pussy and grin. Wiping her off my face, I lick her off my fingers, sucking them clean.
She jumps down from the workbench, grabbing her jeans off the floor and tugging them over her legs. Slipping her feet back into her shoes, she lets out a satisfied breath.
“Well, now that that's out of the way. . . back to work?” she asks.
“Back to work,” I say with a chuckle.
She surprises me more than once after our little tryst. Narissa is a hard worker. She helps me build the boxes for the six cupboards she destroyed with her car. Tomorrow we're going to work on the doors and staining the surfaces.
They'll be ready a lot sooner than if I had done them over by myself.
Narissa pulls the elastic from her hair, shaking out as much sawdust as she can. The dust spreads from her hair to her clothes as she flips her hair and runs her fingers through it.
“It's no use,” I say. “You're going to find that shit everywhere for a few weeks.”
She shrugs her shoulder, tying her hair back up. “You know what, I had so much fun today, I think I'm going to smile every time I see saw dust for the rest of my life. I think I even feel it in my pants.”
Chuckling, I find I’m really into this girl. I expected her to complain about breaking her nails or getting dirt on her clothes. I expected her to be the complete opposite of what I got.
She didn't challenge me. She didn't question my methods or reject any directions I gave her. Narissa is surprisingly willing to learn.
And her pussy is a meal I can eat for days.
I might have to find a reason to extend this little project just to keep her around a bit longer.
Why rush something so good?
“How did it go yesterday?” my father asks, taking a sip of his coffee as he relaxes back with newspaper. He throws one leg over the other, adjusting the paper so he can peer at me over the edge as he waits for an answer.
My father is always dressed like he's going to a business meeting. His crisp button-up and starchy pleated pants almost crinkle as he shifts in his seat. His shoes shine, casting a light off the toe from the sun through the window. A dark blue blazer hangs off the corner of his chair, stiff as a paper bag.
Always clean shaven and smelling like he just walked out of a barber salon. His hair is combed to the left side with a feathered cut straight out of the nineties. This is the man I've seen every single day for as long as I can remember. The only sign of age on him is the thick wrinkle across his forehead and the tiny lines around his mouth when he smiles.
“It was fine,” I say. I hold back the tremble, hoping he can't read the nervousness in my voice. I was hoping to avoid him. I'm afraid to look him in the eye. I don't want him to spot the rosy cheeks I'm still carrying with me after Oliver ate me out.
He arches a brow. I suck in a breath of air and hold it in. Oh God, what's he thinking? What's he going to say?
The long pause is killing me. I'm hanging on, waiting for the hammer to drop.
“Good. What time are you supposed to be there today?”
Oh, thank God. I exhale quietly.
“He told me to meet him at his shop at ten.”