Fifth Avenue Fling: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy (Billionaires In Charge)
Fifth Avenue Fling: Chapter 14

Friday night, I figure if I stay away from the house, I can’t get in trouble, and Killian can cool off. Thankfully, he orders food from one of his fancy restaurants so I can clock off as soon as he gets home from work.

Teagan roams around the house like an angry bull. I try to cheer her up, but nothing can break through the grouchiness brought on by her being grounded.

So when I cross the bridge back to Queens on Friday night, I’m actually mildly relieved.

Since Orla isn’t bartending, we check out a comedy show and flirt with guys who attempt to mimic our accent (yawn) but are forgiven because they’re pretty. I’m fickle.

Come Saturday morning, I teach my yoga class, then Orla and I go for a stroll in the park. I love New York parks on the weekends. Perfect for people-watching.

“Liam asked me to deliver a message since you’re ignoring him,” Orla tells me. “He wants you to give him another chance.”

I can’t help but let out a snort. “Tell him message not delivered.”

“He’s gutted. I almost feel sorry for him.” She grins at me sheepishly. “He…”

“He what? Spill.”

“He told everyone in the pub that you’re sleeping with your new boss.”

I stop short, almost choking on my coffee. “What the fuck? Why the hell is he making shit up? Just because I don’t fancy him? Ugh.”

I didn’t think I could be any more pissed off at Liam. I was wrong.

“I’m just the messenger.” She shrugs. “He said he saw how Killian looked at you the other night.”

“Like he wanted to kill me?”

“No, like he would take out Liam and anyone else who got in his way to get to you. I tried to tell him it was bollocks. Sleeping with Killian isn’t on the cards.” She side-eyes me. “Right?”

I roll my eyes and look away. So even Liam noticed the charged atmosphere between Killian and me that night. “Liam couldn’t see in front of his own face. He was in no fit state to judge anything.”

Did the security crew notice the weird tension as well? There’s no way I can ask Sam about it.

My phone beeps, and I pull it out from my yoga pants pocket.

Killian: Where are you?

No niceties. No hint of tone.

Jeez, what is wrong with me? My heart is pounding. It’s just a text message. And I’m not working today, so I don’t owe him any answers.

“Liam?” Orla asks.

“No,” I say, my eyes fixed on the phone as I wander. “Killian.”

“What’s his deal messaging you on a Saturday?” She scowls. “You’re not even working today.”

“He wants to know where I am,” I murmur. Why?

“Dick. He better not be trying to rope you into some work stuff.”

I message him back, telling him I’m in Queens with Orla.

Almost immediately, his typing dots show up.

Killian: One of the team will come to get you when you’re ready to head back to Manhattan.

I show Orla the message. “I think he’s trying to be nice?”

She reads it and frowns. “You don’t need collecting. He’s not your da.”

I text back I’m fine, and the phone immediately rings in my hand.

“He’s calling? God, he’s so heavy-handed. Don’t answer it.”

“Killian,” I say, bringing the phone to my ear.

“Clodagh,” his gruff voice replies. “Why are you refusing the ride?” His almost accusatory tone sends my heart racing faster.

“I’m staying with my friend Orla tonight.” I halt in my tracks, making the dog walkers and runners flow around me. Did I miss something in the manual I was supposed to do today? “Is that a problem? I didn’t think you needed me today.”

I ignore Orla’s glares and turn away from her. Why is he taking so long to respond?

“I don’t need you,” he finally says, his voice low and stern. “It’s just that… you work for me. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Heat rises to my face as I fight the urge to smile. “Do you call all your staff who work in that big glass skyscraper to check if they’re okay?” I can’t help myself.

I can hear the frustration in his voice as he responds, “No, I don’t, but you live with me. I need to make sure you’re looked after.”

“Do you miss me?” The words fly from my mouth before I can think twice. Oh God, why did I ask that? “Ignore that. I’m fine, Killian. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“There’s a tracker on your phone for safety. Call the team at any time if you need anything.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Or call me.”

I notice he doesn’t answer my question about missing me.

Why does he care so much about my safety? What the hell does he think will happen to me in a park in Queens at midday, surrounded by joggers and dog walkers?

To be fair, I almost got kidnapped last Thursday night.

“Thank you. What are you doing today?”

“Teagan’s still grounded, but we’re going to visit her grandmother. My mom.”

“That’s nice for her.” It shouldn’t matter to me, but I’m glad Killian and Teagan are spending time together today. “Well, I’d better go,” I say as Orla folds her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes at me. “Have fun, Killian.”

“Remember to use the credit card for anything you need.”

I’ve been too afraid to use it for anything other than food and transport so far. “Anything?”

He laughs. He laughs. This might be the first time I’ve heard him laugh properly. “Anything. I don’t care what you spend it on, but keep it legal. See you tomorrow. I gotta go.”

The line goes dead.

“Orla.” I smirk. “We’ve got some shopping to do.”

***

When Monday comes, I regret splurging with my new shiny all-paid-for credit card. Yesterday, Orla and I went shopping to buy the sexy underwear I saw the first day I bumped into Killian.

Turns out that shopping in designer stores on Fifth Avenue isn’t as fun as I expected. Some of the assistants were a bit snooty, and all one store seemed to sell was a single handbag.

That turned into a bottomless brunch, which turned into cocktail happy hour, followed by a nightcap at a late-night jazz bar, then shots o’clock.

This morning, I bounced out of bed at five o’clock, lured into a false pretense that I didn’t have a hangover, likely fueled by the last of the alcohol leaving my body.

I cheerfully made Killian and Teagan’s breakfast. I took Killian’s suits to the dry cleaners. I cleaned all the ground-floor rooms.

Now, it’s one o’clock, and I’ve spectacularly crashed and burned. My head is hanging out of my arsehole.

This is why when I find myself staring at the most beautiful bathtub I’ve ever laid my eyes on, I decide it would be a crime not to use it.

It’s a freestanding white marble tub with a high, sloping back elevated up on two steps of blue tiles. I just need a good soak to ooze the rest of the alcohol out through my suffering pores. The bath in my apartment is good, but this is next level; a seven-star bath.

Killian never uses it. I know because I clean it every day. He only takes showers in the massive two-person shower.

I strip off my denim shorts and top, flinging them onto the chair along with my underwear.

Technically, I’m not breaking any of his rules. The manual doesn’t explicitly say I can’t use the bathroom on Killian’s floor, just that I have to clean it. And I have hours before Killian will be home from work.

The water roars from the fancy wall-mounted bath taps.

I step in and sink into pure sweet heaven.

“Yes,” I moan loudly as the water reaches my shoulders. It’s like bathing in the Icelandic Blue Lagoon. It’s so deep I’m hidden by its sloping sides.

I tip my head back and close my eyes for a second. Cleaning a Fifth Avenue townhouse is no joke. Luckily for me, he doesn’t check half the things I’m supposed to be doing, and he and Teagan only use a fraction of the house. Bit of a waste, really.

I toss some serenity salts into the bathwater, then play around with the hydro-jet settings. The jets are everywhere—on the four sides of the tub, as well as on its base.

Oh.

Oh.

That’s nice. Very nice, indeed.

The pulsing water hits my exposed clit, causing wave-like sensations.

If I move a few inches…

Holy fucking potatoes.

I’ve never used Jacuzzi jets to get myself off before. Maybe this is an untapped kink.

I put my feet on the edge of either side of the tub and strategically raise my hips for a better angle over the jet, then I crank up the power.

Full speed ahead and hands-free.

My toes curl against the tub’s sides, and my hands grab each side as I gyrate in a gentle, circular pattern around the jet centered underneath my pussy.

This is intense.

My pussy muscles contract in pleasure as the powerful pulsations pound me again and again.

Pure hydrotherapy horny bliss. Gyms should include this in water aerobics classes.

I’m so swollen, so ready with need… and now I’m picturing my grumpy boss climbing into the bath. The thought sends tingling sensations through my body. Delicious shock waves make me buck and thrash about the tub.

What I wouldn’t do to have his dick deep inside me right now. I want him to fuck me so hard the New York City Council would have to issue a noise pollution warning.

I really, really need to get laid.

Living under the same roof as Killian Quinn has me so wound up that I’m a horny mess. I have to find someone—not Liam—who can distract me.

The sound of the jets mingles with my breathy, desperate moans that echo around the bathroom. Nothing else matters except my overwhelming primal need to come hard with the help of a Jacuzzi jet.

I have no shame.

I let out a final cry and shudder as the climax overtakes me.

Well, that was interesting and unexpected.

***

Thirty minutes later, I’m a prune. I’ve turned the jets down to the lowest setting and reach up lazily to open the window above the bath to clear the steam.

I can’t believe I just made myself come with a jet spray when my ex never managed to do it once. Un-fucking-believable.

I could do with a post-coital glass of wine, but I have more chores to finish, so I need to force myself out of this tub. Magically, the water doesn’t even go cold.

The steam has cleared, meaning it’s my cue to get my shriveled ass out and back to work. I swing one leg over the tub. I can do this.

Except the sound of movement downstairs makes me go rigid in the bath.

Fuck.

What the hell was that noise?

My ass clenches in terror, and I worry it will swallow the plug.

Someone is coming up the stairs. Closer… closer. They’re advancing too quickly for me to jump out and get my clothes on in time.

Who the hell is it?

Teagan’s at school, and Killian’s at work. Oh my God, what if it’s an intruder? Or does his security team know I’m in the tub? Are there sensors in the bath or something?

I turn the Jacuzzi off so that the only sound is the mild sloshing of the water as I pull my leg back into the tub.

The bathroom door swings open. I duck down just in time, submerging everything but my face in the water.

It’s him.

Killian.

I know just by his breathing.

“Connor, this asshole is showing up at the office every day,” he growls from the doorway.

Dear God, are two of them in the bathroom?

I hear the distant sound of a male answering him. No… he’s just on the phone.

He can’t see me because the bathroom is the size of a one-bed apartment, and I’m hunkered down in the tub at the far end.

Now is the right time to wave a hand and communicate my presence.

Except I’m naked, and that’s a tad inconvenient.

Slowly, I lift my head to peek out over the tub.

He’s completely naked. He’s growling something down the phone something about a casino in Brooklyn as he strides toward the shower.

I push my head back down again, my heart hammering.

I only saw his massive cock for a few seconds, but it will be forever ingrained in my memory. No wonder he’s so arrogant. All those liquidized almonds are paying off for him.

What’s my action plan?

What the hell am I doing? Why don’t I speak up? Why don’t I say I’m in the bath? Hmm. It feels like I’m one bad decision away from getting fired.

I hear the shower door slide open.

My action plan is just to breathe. Breathe, woman, breathe.

I’m past the point of no return now. Too much time has passed, and I can’t just pipe up and say, “heya. Don’t mind me!”

I brave another peek. He steps inside the shower and turns it on from above. Now I have a side view of that magnificent muscular ass and his heavy cock.

He spreads his large thighs wider as he directs his face against the stream of water from the ceiling. His eyes must be closed. He’s in his own world.

Damn. His back muscles look even better with water running down them.

And those thighs. I love rugby player thighs.

He turns to face me, and I bite my lower lip to stop myself from squealing.

I’m playing with fire, not hiding. As panicked as I am, I can’t look away. His eyes are closed as he lets the water run over his face, but he could open them at any moment.

I greedily take in every inch of his broad, toned body. The water runs down his V to his thick cock. That’s definitely a two-hander. My pussy clenches as I imagine his cock driving into me.

He runs both hands through his hair, and dear God, I swear it might be the most arousing sight of my life. I’m melting in the bath water.

Any dick after this will be suboptimal.

The man has to have some physical flaw; he can’t be perfect. He must have bunions or something. His toes looked a bit hairy the night Liam tried to kidnap me.

After a long moment, he lifts the shower gel and smears it across his chest.

Now is my cue to duck back into the water. If I’m quiet, I can get away with this. He’ll never know I’m here.

Hurry up, man. You’re clean!

My throat is tickly. I have the urge to cough, but I’m fighting it, swallowing hard to quell the sensation. My nerves rise as the itch refuses to go away.

A loud groan from the shower makes me jump out of my skin. Followed by another lower one.

No.

Please no.

Not here. Not now.

Sounds of movement come from the shower. Maybe he isn’t doing what I think.

“Hi, guys!” says a chirpy female American voice. “I’ve missed you. It’s super hot here in Cali, so I’m going to get more comfortable.” There’s a pause.

“Oh, that feels so much better,” she coos in a low, breathy tone.

By the sound of Killian’s heavy breathing, I can only presume she’s taking off her clothes.

This is not good. He’ll be furious if he knows I’m witnessing his personal library of fantasies firsthand.

The female stops talking, and there are more sounds of movement from Killian.

A second woman speaks up, her voice raspier and less cheerful. “You’ll be feelin’ the burn in your legs after ten minutes of this,” she says.

For a second, I think I’ve spoken. It’s the only explanation for why I can hear my own voice.

It’s me.

It’s one of my plié squat classes that I put on YouTube.

I have to look. I’ll regret this for the rest of my life if I don’t.

Killian groans louder, a fierce sound that sends heat racing through my body.

I poke my head up.

One palm rests against the shower wall above his head while the other aggressively fists up and down his length.

I can just about make out his phone through the steam, resting on the shower tray in front of him.

“It really works your inner thighs, so it does,” I say on the video.

Killian Quinn is masturbating to a homemade Pilates video of me.

“Clodagh.” It’s a low and drawn-out groan. It sounds like he’s in pain. No man has said my name like that before. I feel it between my thighs. “Yes.”

He pumps his thick, angry cock harder and faster as I hear my voice instructing viewers to widen their legs into a nice deep squat. I watch his sexy forearm strain as he pumps.

Yes. I agree with him. Oh fuck, yes, yes, yes.

It’s an enormous penis. A beast twice the size of anything I’ve ever experienced. That thing would rip me apart. Fact.

I wish I could see his face properly. I want to see what he looks like when he comes apart.

My hand slaps over my mouth to stop myself from screaming as another groan rumbles from him. Delicious female ear candy.

Is this like menstrual clocks? Does living with someone cause synchronization of masturbation?

The hand not fisting his cock fumbles with the phone, and the sound lowers, so my Irish accent disappears.

Should I be offended?

His breathing grows more aggressive and labored. He’s no longer looking at the video. He’s too far gone. His hips rock as I wonder if he’s imagining thrusting into me right now.

His forehead leans against the shower wall as he stiffens, buttocks clenched.

His whole body tightens and shudders with a guttural growl that reverberates into my clit.

With a final jerk, every muscle in his body clenches and stiffens, and he comes hard.

Niagara Falls style.

I stop breathing. I can’t cope with this.

His release seems to last an eternity. It streams down his thighs, being washed away by the water. His hands brace against the wall to steady himself.

Every muscle in my body clenches with him as if we’re connected. I’m terrified, confused, and aroused, all rolled into one.

“Fuck,” he mutters through clenched teeth.

I duck my head down again and close my eyes. Show’s over.

Shallow, quiet breaths and you’ll get through this. Be brave.

The shower door slides open. He clears his throat awkwardly as I hear him rubbing his skin with a towel.

Please don’t come over here.

The bathroom door opens, filling the room with a gust of air. I’m safe. He’s leaving. Thank God, because the tickle in my throat is back with a vengeance.

I shift slightly in the bath to relieve a cramp in my hip.

Bad plan.

Terrible idea.

Catastrophic mistake.

The luck of the Irish isn’t with me today.

The plug is no longer in the hole. Houston, we have a problem.

My backside is firmly blocking the plug hole, trapping the draining water. The most annoying high-pitched whistle emanates from beneath me as the water drains slowly through the bottleneck that is my bum.

I can’t stop it. I can’t stop this train wreck. I can’t move for fear that the water will drain faster.

If only there was a hairdryer nearby that I could electrocute myself with. It would be easier.

And there he stands.

Towering over the edge of the bath with his massive, angry cock, naked and glaring at me, eyes blazing in complete and utter disbelief.

My dignity flows down the drain with the water. This is worse than Killian discovering my criminal record.

“Hi,” I croak, arms crossed over my chest like a vampire in a coffin as the last of the water rushes away with a loud gurgle, followed by an undignified squeak.