Pride & Precedents (The Park Brothers #2)

16. Camila

Chapter sixteen

Camila

" O h my God. I think I just came in my mouth!" Rory raves around a mouth full of Eggs Benedict. With her eyes closed in ecstasy, she misses my cringe. A24 finally booked her for an AD gig on their next feature film, and I'm treating her to brunch at Bea. It's cozy, and the food is delicious; it's almost worth braving the Times Square crowds a few blocks over. I'm not sure the bottomless cocktails were a great idea, though, based on Rory's passionate gesticulation and current lack of filter.

I slouch down in my seat.

"Could you act like you've been somewhere with tablecloths, please? They're gonna kick us out!" I hiss.

She gives an exaggerated lick of her fork without breaking eye contact, and I gulp down the last of my mimosa to soften my embarrassment. The waitress swoops in like a hawk.

"Another round of mimosas coming right up, ladies!" she practically sings. Great. Just what Rory needs: more alcohol. Before I can stop her (or suggest water instead), the waitress takes the empty carafe and departs as quickly as she arrived.

"Take your time!" Rory calls after her, a bit too loud.

I like to take my time, Ms. Sanchez.

Henry's words have been echoing in my head since he left me in a quivering pile of need propped up against my kitchen counter.

When I got stuck in a long line at the grocery store the next day: I like to take my time, Ms. Sanchez.

When I set the timer on my crock pot for this week's meal prep: I like to take my time, Ms. Sanchez.

Hell, even when I got stuck underground in the subway on the way here: I like to take my time, Ms. Sanchez.

One second, I'm a normal, functioning adult, and the next, I'm trying to hide the response in my panties from just the memory of his voice. I attempt to discreetly shift in my seat, but, of course, Rory doesn't miss a thing.

"What's up with you, sis?" she asks, looking pointedly at my lap. Busted.

"Nothing. Just…used the wrong fabric softener, I think." I stuff a bite of waffles into my mouth, hoping she'll let it drop. She doesn't even blink.

"You've been staring into space every few minutes, smiling when you think I don't notice. And now you're fidgeting in your seat like you're in heat. Try again."

Shit. And here I thought I was being stealthy. I've never been like her; she'll share the juicy details down to the color of the guy's underwear. How do I dish about sex with a sister I helped raise?

"Well…"

The waitress thankfully arrives with a fresh carafe of mimosas and I stall further by pouring us each a glass. She downs half of hers at once, then puts her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hands.

"Mmm. Thank you. Now spill it."

Even tipsy, she's like a pit bull. I push my food around on my plate, refusing to make eye contact.

"Well, I…sorta…hooked up with Henry the other night."

She raises an eyebrow in question.

"My boss? You met him at The Commodore a while ago?"

The grin she gives me is so big and knowing my cheeks flush scarlet.

"Oh really?!! And you seriously weren't going to tell me this?"

I shrug, suddenly finding the drink menu fascinating.

"Wow. I'm hurt, sis. So what are we talking? Over the clothes? Under the clothes? Under the sheets ?"

She waggles her eyebrows suggestively and I can't help but giggle.

"Stop! I'm not telling you that!"

"Either you tell me now, or I stand up and sing a rendition of 'Uptown Funk' for the whole restaurant. You know I'll do it."

When I hesitate, she starts to scoot her chair out and I panic.

"OK! OK! Stop!"

She folds her arms but doesn't scoot her chair back in, letting me know she's not bluffing. Fuck.

"Ugh, fine! It was just a little… hand stuff ."

" Hand stuff , huh?" She scoots back in and takes another sip of her drink.

"Over or under the clothes?"

I slouch further down into my chair, trying to become invisible. It feels like everyone is listening in to our conversation.

"Under."

"Ooh!" Her eyes light up like when I used to surprise her with a trip to Sephora on break from school. God, this is mortifying. I've got to get some female friends.

"That sounds hot. Was it hot?"

There's no point in lying now.

"It was beyond hot."

She chuckles, and the waitress clears our plates. Rory puts her chin back in her hands and stares at me with mischief in her eyes.

"So, my big sis finally got some action. Thank God, because I was starting to worry."

"Lack of dick never killed anyone, Rory," I roll my eyes. "Why would you worry about me?" Now it's her turn to shrug.

"Ever since…well… you know . Ever since then, you've been great at taking care of Gabe and I, but not so great at taking care of yourself. First you started dressing like a nun, and then lately, you started acting like one. All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl, Camila."

For a moment, I'm too stunned to speak. Rory was really worried about me?

"Wow. I thought I had my shit together, and now my little sister thinks I'm about to pull a Jack Torrance."

She grabs my hand across the table and squeezes.

"You have your shit together. You have a great job, a great apartment, and you're about to become a lawyer so we can take Hollywood by storm." Her face turns serious. "But you haven't been having any fun." She smiles again, warmer this time. "From the look of it, you're having fun now. That's all I'm saying."

I squeeze her hand back and chug my drink, slamming the empty glass down on the table.

"You're right. It's past time for the return of Fun Mila!"

"So, Mr. Park," I ask, sitting so close at the conference table our thighs touch, "now that you know I'm in law school, does that mean you'll help me study for the bar?" I bat my eyelashes at him, enjoying seeing him sweat.

In the week since our night at my place and my eye-opening brunch with Rory, Fun Mila has been out in full effect. Every now and then, I call him Henry in the office just to see him squirm. I've been touching him unnecessarily—a hand on his shoulder when I give him a file, a graze of my breasts as I pass him in the kitchen—and slipping notes in with the papers on his desk.

Those new pants make your ass look great. ;-)

I think about our after-work rendezvous every time I pass my kitchen.

Are you up for some "overtime" at my place tonight?

It's definitely against BBS help from a partner at BBS&P is invaluable.

While he's exacting and domineering at work, he's a surprisingly accommodating teacher. He patiently explains legal concepts that have been tripping me up for years, breaking things down in a way professors often fail to do in a virtual class. Because he's a closet dork, he still has his study materials from his days at Yale, and promised to bring them the next time we meet up. He even offers to put together some practice questions he says will help get me thinking like a lawyer, not just a law student.

Still, concentration has been a challenge. First, he took off his jacket, leaning back to get comfortable on my tiny IKEA couch. Then he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar when we got to the multiple-choice questions. When the Chinese food delivery arrived, his tie was gone and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle. When he had to repeat an essay prompt a third time, he looked at me with a smirk, and I realized he'd been doing it all on purpose.

"You're not playing fair, Henry," I pout, reaching for the last crab rangoon.

He chuckles and takes a big drink of his bottled water. I shamelessly gulp down my sugary soda.

"Fair? Was it fair to send me all those notes about my ass and working overtime?"

I playfully punch his arm, annoyed he's right. I can hardly to stay mad with someone who sets my panties on fire with just the sound of his voice.

"Maybe I should say I'm sorry," I say, scooting closer to him on the couch, "but I'm not. You were such a tease the other night, and I wanted—" I gather my books and place them on the coffee table. "No, I needed to make you pay for leaving me hanging like that."

"Leaving you hanging?" He lifts an eyebrow, the smirk still in place. "I'm pretty sure I'm the one who left that night unfulfilled."

I kneel on the floor and revel in the eagerness on his face when he sees me settle between his thighs.

"I may have cum, but I was far from fulfilled. That was just foreplay."

I run my nails down his legs before reaching for his belt. His breath catches and he bites his lip. I love a man who knows when to shut the fuck up.

The fine leather slides easily through the loops of his pants, and I reach for his fly next, the sound of the metal teeth the only noise in the apartment. His cock pushes against the fabric of his boxer briefs, impatient for my attention, but Henry stays silent.

"No objections, counselor? I know how much you like to take your time."

He swallows audibly, and I can't help but smile at my power over him.

"No objections," he croaks.

With the green light, I reach one hand into his slacks, squeezing his length through his underwear. He sucks in a breath when I lazily stroke it, feeling it harden further.

More than ready to get my hands on the thick rod between his legs, I lift the material and his cock springs free, the force so strong that it almost slaps his stomach.

"Impressive," I murmur, leaning closer to smell the musk of his arousal.

His pupils are blown wide as he watches me intently. He's clearly as pent up as I am, and I'm happy to provide some relief.

I lean closer still, rubbing my cheek against the velvet skin of his manhood. I give the tip a small peck, enjoying the salty pearl of precum that coats my lips, and open my mouth to engulf his head in a full, wet kiss.

"Goddamn, Mila," he hisses, his hands clutching the fabric of my couch. Pretty good, but I can tell he's still holding back.

I take more of his cock into my mouth, swirling my tongue around to feel all the ridges of his girth. God, this is going to feel amazing when it's inside me.

His breath is coming in pants, but a loud moan escapes when I use one hand to caress and squeeze the flesh of his sac. He curses violently and pushes himself further into my mouth, knocking against my tonsils. That's more like it.

I continue to massage his balls with one hand, stroking the portion of his dick I can't fit into my mouth with the other. He starts bucking uncontrollably, muttering filthy half sentences that make me grow wetter, burn hotter.

"Fuck yes."

"Oh my…ah!"

"Wait, ugh, mmm."

Am I going to cum just from sucking Henry's cock? That would be a first, but it feels possible, given the desperate clenching of my pussy.

"Holy fuck!" he shouts, as his warm cum fills my mouth. I continue to stroke and suck his dick, coaxing the evidence of his pleasure up from his balls and down his shaft to get every. Last. Drop. I didn't fall over the edge with him, but I'm out of breath, and my thighs are wet with my own excitement. Henry, likewise, is panting, trying—and failing—to keep his cool.

"Camila, that was…" he gestures, searching for words before dropping his hand with a slap on his thigh, completely dumfounded. I preen at the implied compliment.

"Yes, it was."

I sit back on my feet and gasp when Henry abruptly pulls me up to sit next to him on the couch.

"Let's get one thing straight, Camila. I want this. I want you ."

"I want you too," I whisper, leaning into his hard body.

"But," he continues, "we have to keep this quiet around the office. No more little notes, no special looks. At work, I'm just Henry Park, Jr., your boss. Whatever happens between us after work stays between us."

He looks at me, still breathing hard, but with an expression that begs me to take him seriously.

"It stays between us. Of course," I nod.

He gives me a quick, hard kiss on the lips, then groans. I follow his eyes to the clock on the wall. 12:37 AM.

"That was amazing, and I'd love to continue, but…"

"But it's late," I finish. He nods grimly and starts pulling his pants up, looking around for his tie.

He gives me another sweet kiss on his way out the door, and I lean my head against it once it's closed. Henry is so much better than even my dirtiest fantasies. I'm in so much fucking trouble.