Page 27 of Off-Limits

I want to tell her he was, I was, but the reasons surrounding the temptation is fucking wrong. I was thinking of Blossom, but I was also thinking of what I walked in on.

Dottie. Her hand between her legs as she edged herself, pulling on her nipples to the point of pain. I could tell every time she reached her threshold because her eyes screwed up and she’d let out this adorable gasp.

I know I’ve already said it, but I am going to hell.

He was.

It’s all I write. I feel like I’m betraying her, but that is so fucking stupid.

The read message pops up but she won’t reply. Her offline status has flicked on. What is she still doing up? I want to ask but I’m drained. Too exhausted to even think, and now post nut clarity has kicked in, I know what I need to do.

I just don’t want to do it.

Throwingon a white shirt and jeans, I grab my work boots and head out of my room to make a coffee before walking downstairs to check on the boys and shop. I hear Dottie humming a tune I can’t discern, before I round the corner and find her in a pair of tight blue jeans that hug her ass like a second skin, and a white off-the-shoulder top. Her purple hair is pulled up in a messy bun with what looks like a paintbrush sticking out of it and a pencil.

“Mornin’,” I grumble, causing her to gasp and turn around.

“Shit, Uncle Damon, you startled me.”

Uncle Damon. Fuck.

I notice the pink tinging her pretty face.

I can’t be thinking of her this way. For crying out loud, I watched this girl grow up, babysat herwith mydaughter.

“Soooo…” we both say in unison, and she dips her head.

“You go,” I offer, moving to the coffee machine and realising she’s already brewed it.

“I just wanted to say that now you’re back, I’ll finish the mural in the office and leave when Arrie finds a replacement for yourreceptionist.”

Well, that settles that; I won’t need to ask her to leave. I’m sure I can handle her being around for a little longer, and it won’t take her long to paint a mural, right? I try and convince myself.

I have self-control. I pride myself on it. I can do this.

Dottie clears her throat, and I’m brought back to the conversation.

“Wait. Where is Selina?”

“Arrie fired her.”

I groan, pour the coffee into my mug that reads:Assholes need love, too, and turn around to face her. Leaning my ass on the timber top bench, I arch a brow at her for an explanation.

Huffing out a breath, she blows over the rim of her mug with her eyes on me before taking a sip.

My cock jerks in my jeans.

“She didn’t like her, and quite frankly, neither did I.”

“You didn’t huh? Why?”

She shakes her head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Dorothy May Wilmott.”

“Would you not?!” she shrieks.