Earning Her Keep, page 6
As my trickling wetness proves, he’s got nothing to be sorry for. He really is just so handsome. Out here in the crisp fall light, his eyes are even more alluring. His presence even more powerful.
“Sorry…for?” I tilt my head. “For scaring the chick man to death or…”
“Fuck the chick man,” he growls. “I’m sorry for earlier. The way I was. The way you make me act.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say, shaking my head, looking up at him in the sparkling light. An oak leaf swirls softly down from a branch above and lands on his shoulder.
I hold the box on my hip and take it off, spinning it by the stem as I search for the right words. They aren’t difficult to find.
“I liked it. A lot.”
He runs his massive hand through his thick dark hair. “Don’t lie to me.”
I let the oak leaf fall and gently touch is forearm. Muscles ripple beneath my palm. “I’m not lying. I liked it. I loved it.”
“Fuck,” he says, watching me close. “I just… I couldn’t help myself. I’ve wanted you for so long. And once I had you, I couldn’t stop.”
I feel my wetness thicken. My core tightens with the burning fire of wanting him all over again.
More than ever I want to give him what he wants. But I know that there’s something I need to tell him. Because even though I came here under false pretenses, I don’t want to lie to him any more than I have to. “But I have to tell you…”
He groans. “Here we go.”
I purse my lips and steady myself to admit the thing I’m so ashamed of saying. “About the reading to you at dinner. I can’t.”
“Won’t, you mean. Because I’m a fucking animal.”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, truly, I can’t. I have dyslexia. Even the simplest words are just so…” I clear my throat, trying to shift my emotion. But it’s right there, bubbling up. Tears sting my eyes. “I’m so ashamed but the fact is, I hardly know how to read. And so as much as I’d like to read to you at night, I simply can’t.”
His expression changes, shifting from smoldering to paternal. From lover to protector. “You have dyslexia? But your teachers taught you coping strategies, right? Figured out…”
I’m already shaking my head. “No, I…” I say quietly, not wanting to admit that I was never sent to school.
Home schooled, that’s what Judith used to tell the authorities. The truth was she only bothered with enough to satisfy their inspectors. A few tricks I could pull that made me seem normal, like some sort of trained monkey pretending to be a real human.
“I never learned to read, not properly. I can, but not much. Not a whole book. It exhausts me even to try.”
And my heart just about bursts.
He reaches forward and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, lingering there. Touching me. It’s all the gentler because I know just how rough he can be—how rough he wants to be. “Do you want to learn how?”
I’m so ashamed that I can’t even keep my eyes lifted. I stare down at a lightning bug pulsing gold on a blade of grass. “Of course.”
“Then let me help you,” he says, running the pad of his thumb down my cheek with such tenderness that my heart just about melts. “Have dinner with me tonight. No reading required. I’m having a dress sent to your room I want you to wear. For me.”
“Okay,” I answer, smiling so hard that it pinches my cheeks. He places his thumb on the edge of my jaw, drawing my face up again. I manage to lift my eyes, meeting his gaze.
He nods down at me. Studying me close. Smiling now, just a little. “I want you to be happy, babygirl. I want to give you everything you need and more.”
I feel dizzy with desire for him. And excitement, too. “What time should I be ready for dinner?”
“Seven. Sharp. Don’t be late.”
CHAPTER 7
Dane
She’s late. It’s 7:01 and 22 seconds and she isn’t here yet.
I’m fucking annoyed. At least, a part of me is. My anxiety monster is running in circles, wondering why I’m not losing my mind.
Yet.
For some reason, I have no problem giving her the patience and grace that I refuse to give myself.
7:02. Alright, fine, yeah, it’s pissing me off a little. Patience running thin. I pace around the dining room, whiskey in hand, making sure everything is set in my checklist in my head.
I set the dinner menu around what she loves to eat. When she started the job, I had Ethel ask her about six hundred questions, including allergies, food sensitivities, and a whole fucking page about her favorite foods.
So the menu tonight starts with arugula with candied walnuts and goat cheese, with a lemon vinaigrette. She just said she liked salad. Iceberg with ranch dressing, to be precise, but man, I just want her to have something better. Main course will be roast chicken with mashed potatoes—and asparagus. She didn’t mention asparagus. But I love asparagus and Ethel makes a mean fucking asparagus with Hollandaise.
Pure fucking heaven.
Well, no. Emily is pure fucking heaven but Ethel’s asparagus is close.
And for dessert is chocolate lava cake with cookies and cream ice cream. Not my usual, but I can deal. For her? For that sweet face and that cherry I’m taking very soon? Anything.
I glance back at my watch and it’s 7:03.
I’m about to lose my fucking mind when the door swings open. And there she is. In a forest-green satin dress I picked out for her. No bra. She’s wearing a thong I picked out for her too; the lace makes ripples in the satin. The dress hugs her curves just fucking right. On her feet are four-inch neon pink Jimmy Choo peep toe pumps that I picked out, too.
She my own personal fucking wet dream. All innocence and little girl sweetness and at the same time, like sex incarnate.
She smooths the fabric nervously as she walks in, oblivious to her power. “Hi,” she waves, her voice a whisper.
“You’re late.”
She blinks up at me, rocking forward on her tiptoes. “I’m in heels. And there are lots of steps.”
I can’t help but smile down at her. “Three minutes I can forgive.”
“But not five?” she plays with a smirk then smiles again. Her dimple puckers her cheek.
“Not five. I’d send the cavalry.” I clear my throat. “No, I’d be the cavalry.”
“Hmmm.” She sweeps her hair to the side. Lifts an eyebrow. “So does that mean I get punished if I’m five minutes late?”
“Yeah.”
“’Mmmm-kay then! Be back in two minutes,” she chirps, and turns to go on a little skip-hop, teetering off balance on the heels like she’s going to run away.
Cute as fuck.
My deep belly laugh takes me by complete surprise. But she’s not surprised; she doesn’t know how fucking rare it is. And her giggle dances with my laugh, filling this big dining room with the sounds of happiness for the first time in as long as I’ve lived here.
I grab her by the forearm and spin her back into my arms. I press my nose to the part of her hair, savoring her sweetness.
I offer her my hand and lead her to her place at the table. I pull out the chair and she sits down.
I watch her as she takes in the room. At the yellow lilies on the table, also her favorite. At the music playing. Max Richter remixing Vivaldi.
“I like the way you do things. The new and the old.”
I know she’s talking about our surroundings, or the music, but she could also be talking about the two of us. I’m not that old, but I’m a fuckload older than her sweet pure eighteen years. More than twice her age. “Seems to work out.”
She takes her napkin and places it carefully on her lap. “Can I ask you questions now? Is that allowed?”
“Not yet. Tell me about the reading first.”
She inhales, surprised, off-guard. “Do I have to?” Her cheeks ripen to pink, the wash of embarrassment flowing down and blooming on her chest.
I don’t even justify that with an answer.
She sighs. “Well. It’s bad. I never had a chance to really go to school. Not like most kids. I was home-schooled, and not very well. Just the bare minimum. And it wasn’t enough.”
I fucking understand where she’s coming from. I know what it’s like to feel trapped in your own mind. Trapped by what seems so easy for everyone else. “Let me do some research. Let me see what we can do.”
She nods. Her eyes shimmer with warmth. “I don’t want to be a burden, though. I don’t want your pity.”
I shake my head. “Never, baby. I promise.”
“Good.” She stands straight, head up. Her confidence makes me proud. “Now my turn. I’m so curious about you. Can I ask about you? Please?” She leans in, hand on my lapel, making my cock jump and weep, then she adds on a soft whisper. “Please, Daddy.”
Jesus, she knows how to hit below the belt.
The earnestness of her question, her genuine desire to know the rules, only hardens me more and cinches my chest. I was half-hard as soon as I saw her but now, I’m nine inches of forged steel in my pants.
“You can ask. But I might not answer.”
She nods. “Alright. What I really want to know is what you do for a living. How do you have all this?” Her eyes sweep the room. “How do you have Ethel and Morty, and those cars, and this estate? You hardly leave the house.”
“With an office like mine, I don’t have to.”
She tilts her head in curiosity. “That’s true. I haven’t seen your office, have I?”
I sip my whiskey. “Nobody has. Not even Ethel.”
“Well, well,” she bobs her eyebrows, now tasting the freshly-squeezed ginger mint lemonade I have on the table for her. She gives a little moan of pleasure as she tries it. “This is amazing. I said I liked lemonade but I’ve never tasted it like this.” She holds the glass in front of her, turning it back and forth on a nod, then finishes, “And seeing your office is my newest challenge.”
She licks her lips. My mind spins with images of fucking her on my glass desk. The squeak of her ass cheeks on the tabletop. The puddle of her wetness on my office chair. Stuffing my cock down her throat until she gags. Until she’s nothing but tears and sweat and my seed.
Fuck.
Ethel comes into the room, snapping me out of my filthy thoughts. She serves the salads, explaining to Emily what everything is on the plate. “Oh, I love candied walnuts. And goat cheese! Even though I’ve never had them, I can just tell. So fancy.”
Cute. She’s forgotten I know that, too. “I know what you love. Even things you don’t know you love. Always remember…” I wait for Ethel to be on the other side of the door. “Daddy knows.”
She takes a bite of salad, watching me over her fork. “I can’t decide if you’re a dream come true or a stalker.”
“What if I’m the stalker of your dreams?”
She nibbles her arugula and considers it. “That might work.” Her eyes sparkle and she smiles again.
“My turn, then. You asked one question and now I ask one.”
“That’s fair,” she says with her mouth full. “Shoot.”
I want to ask her more about her dyslexia, more about her background, but I don’t want to push too hard too fast. Not like this anyway. When it comes to fucking her, that’ll be a different story. “You don’t look or act anything like the girls we’ve hired before.”
“Oh wait. Wait, that’s something I’ve been dying to know!” she chimes in. I know she’s deflecting, but I let it slide for now. Fuck knows, I don’t want her to start asking too many questions about me in return.
“About all these girls.” She narrows her eyes. “Where do they go? How do you pay them so much? Please, God, don’t tell me they’re all buried in the garden or now earning their keep in the basement working as cam girls.”
The buried in the garden thing is darkly funny, but the cam girl thing—that says something to me, something she doesn’t realize. It’s not what your garden variety eighteen-year-old girl would mention. Coupled with the mystery around her schooling, I know there’s more here. Wherever she came from before this, it wasn’t good.
And that just makes me want to protect her even more.
“After they leave, they go off on their way, a hundred thousand richer. Beyond that, it’s not my business. I just don’t like attachments.”
“But do you…” she gestures at the space between us, “… from before, when we were. Do you do that with…”
“Fuck no.” I sound angrier than I intended. But that’s good. She needs to know how fucking special she is.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest that—you’re, I didn’t…” she stammers, but I see the relief wash over her face.
“I like when you’re unsure. It makes me want to teach you the rules. All the fucking rules.”
But I know she didn’t mean anything by it. And it’s a fair question. My reaction is on me. The idea of someone taking advantage of girls like that makes me fucking crazy. Just like she does. “I’ve never done anything like today with anyone but you.”
She looks reassured and peaceful again.
The prettier she gets the more I want to ruin her.
She gets back to eating her salad. A leaf of arugula gets stuck on her lip. I gesture to my face. “Got a little…”
“Oh geez, sorry.” She feels for it with her silky pink tongue. “Did I get it?”
“Yeah. Except now all I can think of is that pretty tongue doing more important things than licking a piece of lettuce.”
A walnut falls off her fork. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment and desire. Her nipples perk up under the satin. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
She studies me for a long moment then looks down into her lap. “Make me wet with just a look or a word. It’s annoying.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Just you fucking wait, little girl.”
Dinner is pretty goddamned wonderful. The last month getting to know her from afar paid off, because even though everything she says is new, it also feels familiar. And right. Like home.
The more we talk, the more I like her. And the more I let myself like her, the more I’m willing to admit that I don’t like her.
I love her.
But how can I offer her any kind of life when I barely have one of my own?
The main course arrives and she devours it. She starts off with her fork and knife, but halfway through she picks up the drumstick and eats it with her hands. For a neat freak like me, it’s a shock. But a shock I welcome. Because I adore the life she brings to my life. The warmth she brings to my world.
Not to mention how fucking bad I want her. Every minute I’m not inside her is a minute I can’t bear.
All these fucking feelings, they’re all new. The need. The want. The hope. She’s unleashing feelings and hopes in me that I have never felt before. Never thought I’d feel in my life.
But I’m still so fucking curious about her. I know a lot, but not enough. “So tell me. If you could do anything, what would it be?”
She blinks a few times, looking down at the tablecloth, as if completely surprised by the question. “Anything?”
“Yeah. Dream job. Dream life. Anything.”
She blows out a breath that catches her hair, making a curl fall softly against her cheek. “Well, my pie-in-the-sky dream would be to have my own yoga studio. I love yoga…” she trails off, cocking her head. “Which I’m pretty sure you already know.”
“Shit. Know it? I’ve been jacking off to you doing down dog every morning for a month.”
She lets out a saucy little moan. “God.”
No kidding. The way her pussy presses out from the soft opening in her thighs. Bliss. “But yeah, I gathered you’re a yoga fan.”
“I’d call my studio Go With The Flow.” She smiles at the dream, and it makes her even sexier than before. “And you know, you could probably benefit from it.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m not in the yoga-studio funding business,” I say but that’s a lie. I’ll fund fucking anything to make her happy.
“I know that. I mean, you might benefit from yoga. It might help you and, you know, your issues.”
Here we fucking go. “Issues? What fucking issues?”
Right on cue, my goddamned watch beeps out a reminder.
She nods knowingly. “Those issues. The control.” She leans in a little closer. “The O.C.D.”
Nobody talks to me like this; I never let anybody close enough to know what she knows besides maybe Ethel and Morty but even them I keep more at arm’s length. “I don’t know if I’m relieved or infuriated by this fucking conversation.”
She bites her tongue with a little laugh. “Maybe both.”
Definitely both. “You didn’t seem to mind my need for control earlier.”
Her eyes flash and dilate. Her nipples tighten. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about your watch dinging every twenty minutes. How you triple-check the locks every time you walk out the door. How every day at 7:55am, you come down and drink a kale and whey smoothie, which you hate? Understandably. But you do it because it’s—” here she adds air quotes— “on the schedule. Everything by the schedule. Everything. Who lives like that? Loosen up, maybe. Start with some yoga.”
She shrugs, twisting her perfect pink lips.
She’s got a fucking point. But I’m not ready to concede. “Well aren’t you fucking clever? But don’t forget, that discipline is what brought you to me. So don’t trash it.”
She lifts her shoulders, like she’ll give me that, and eats a candied walnut off her salad plate with her fingers. “I’m not trashing anything. But you’re not the only one that’s been watching, you know. I see you. And I see a better way to live, if only you’ll let yourself be happy.”
She’s naïve and young, but she’s got courage and wisdom. And I love that. She’s got me right where she wants me. And right where I want to be. But it’s time to take back some power. Time to fire the big guns and go for a subject change.
“Anyway. It’s chocolate lava cake and cookies and cream ice cream for dessert.”
