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As he stiffened below he lifted his hips from hers and pledged, "The way in which I assisted is our secret forever."
He'd whispered because walls do have ears, and was rewarded with a heavenly tongue reaching in to entwine with his.
Daddy was elated to see his daughter take that trophy and gave her a dazzling red Italian sports car in reward for her brilliance. Harry had yet to ride in it which probably was a blessing because he's a leggy six-three.
Dragging his thoughts back to the present, Harry mused, that while aware Sierra had never wanted him as a date, she hadn't wanted anyone else to have him either.
"She's professionally jealous of me and wants me to rot, alone," he said aloud. "Why? For fuck sake, how will I ever know how to understand a woman like Sierra?"
He decided it was a challenge to try to break the code to enable such understanding. In coming back from Europe, she appeared recharged and apparently set to be properly tutored by him before presumably trying to roll him off the promotion ladder.
He mused, "I'll never have a better opportunity to crack her intellectually and emotionally and perhaps sexually while I'm working on grooming her journalistic skills."
He smiled, aware he'd frankly admitted it: he did want a night between those thighs.
Why?
Because there was no better screw around who was potentially available to him. That's why.
He scratched his chin thinking her father was dreaming to think Sierra and he would marry - people, especially younger people, generally have to like one another before they decide to marry.
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