Page 1 of The Maid

1

It had been seven years since Gunther McCall had been home for an extended period of time. Since sixth grade he'd been living in upstate New York at a premier boarding school, only coming home during holidays. And even during holidays, sometimes he'd meet his parents at one of their many vacation homes. But now, having just graduated high school, he was going to be home, in Miami, for an entire summer before flying off to Croatia to start his gap year abroad.

Being at home was simply a layover until he had to catch his flight, and he wasn't looking forward to spending three months with his father, Liam, who wanted to mold Gun into a perfect socialite and future president of McCall Conglomerates, the holding company of the McCall empire.

Last night there'd been a farewell (and clandestine) drinking fest in his dorm room with his buddies and he was still hungover. All Gun wanted was to faceplant right onto his bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.

He walked into his childhood room ready to toss his duffle bag to the corner when all the blood from his body went straight to his dick and all thoughts of sleep fled his brain. A woman in a black skirt was bent over his bed, fluffing a pillow. Her white cotton panties were riding up her ass and if he looked carefully (which he did) the cotton molded around her pussy lips giving him a great shot of her—"Oh god!" the woman squealed, a hand on her chest as she stood and righted her dress. "You scared me to death!"

"I scared you? It's my room." Now that he took her in, the skirt was actually an ill-fitting dress. A uniform, actually. The same one the rest of the female staff at the house wore. The ugly clothes didn't do anything to diminish her sexiness. Her red hair, which she had in a bun, and her piercing green eyes couldn't be masked by a piece of ugly clothing. She was stunning. Her plump pink lips and light spray of freckles on her nose and cheeks made her look young and innocent. Not at all like any other member of the household staff.

Just as he was about to reply, his mother walked in. "Oh, Gun, honey, I don't think you've met Adalyn, have you? Adalyn, this is our son, Gunther."

Gunther didn't take his eyes off of her. Her cheeks were beet red, but she stood straight and extended her hand. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. McCall. I was just straightening up before you arrived."

"Please, call him Gunther," his mother said, fluffing the top of his hair as if he was eight instead of eighteen. "Gun, you remember Ms. Finney, don't you? This is her niece." Ms. Finney had been the live-in maid at his parents' house since Gunther could walk. Of course, he remembered the small plump woman who cut his steak into small pieces and made sure his sheets were always clean and bed perfectly made. A woman who had been more of a mother to him than his own mother, in my ways. This Adalyn person looked nothing like Ms. Finney. "She's been working here for the last few months."

"What happened to Ms. Finney?" he asked.

"She had two herniated discs and decided that it was time to retire," his mother said.

"And you took her job? You're our maid?" Gunther asked, surprised, and sounding arrogant even to his own ears.

"Yes. It's not forever but I'm at Miami University and your mother was kind enough to let me stay living here while I went to school. It's a wonderful arrangement," she said, sweetly to his mother who did not have an ounce of 'sweet' in her.

"Of course, darling," she smiled, fakely, at Adalyn.

"Okay…" Gun sing-songed.

"Anyway, I'll get out of your way. Pleasure to meet you, Gunther." Adalyn did a sort-of wave-slash-curtsy thing and rushed out of the room.

"Get yourself settled. The Gomezes are coming over to dinner tonight," his mother said.

He groaned. "Tonight? Seriously, Mother. I haven't even been home five minutes and you're already trying to play matchmaker?" The Gomezes had a daughter who went to St. Katherine's. They'd practically grown up together but after he left for school, he rarely saw her. That had been enough. She was short, pudgy, had braces, and hair the color of straw.

"Melissa is a wonderful young lady. You two would be perfect together," she said in that tone that Gunther knew was not to be messed with. Gone was the playful woman who'd just ruffled his hair, and in her place was Mrs. McCall, the Chairperson of at least seven different charities, the heiress of the Van Buren Oil Company, and the woman who never took no for an answer.

"Fine," he said. "I need to catch up on sleep first."

"They won't be here until seven. You have time for a nap," she said, closing the door to his room behind her. "Rest up, but make sure you're up and ready by the time they get here. It'll be a formal affair."

Of course, it was formal.

After his mother left, Gunther tried to relax on his old bed, but the smell of that Adalyn woman was on his sheets. Not to mention, the sight of her cotton-covered pussy was on his brain. His dick stood up in attention, again. Why was someone that looked like her working as a maid? And how old was she? All the maids he knew were old. Adalyn was far from old.

"Fuck," he groaned and decided to take a shower and see if cold water would tamper down the horniness that had overcome him. He stood up to walk to his en-suite when there was a knock on his bedroom door. "Come in," he hollered.

Hesitantly, the door opened, "I forgot to stock your bathroom with towels," Adalyn said, with a handful of folded white towels in her hands. "If you don't mind, I'll just—" she said, walking straight into his room and into his bathroom. With his arms crossed over his chest, he watched her. She was still in that ill-fitting black dress that did nothing for her curves but still managed to turn him on.

"I'm sorry but it's weird that you're our maid. You don't look like a maid. It's Friday night, shouldn't you be doing keg stands at a college party or something?"

He could hear her chuckle from the bathroom and then she walked out, shutting the door behind her. "Frat parties aren't my thing." He noticed her raspy voice, something he hadn't detected before.

"And being a maid is your thing?" he asked.

Her smile immediately morphed into—something else. Her arms were crossed over her chest much like his, one brow arched up high and she looked deadly. "Some of us need to work to get by, Gunther. Not everyone can afford a year trekking through Europe or a Porsche or—"

"Corvette," he corrected her, and she rolled her eyes. "And I don't think you should be talking to me like that. I'm like—your boss."

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