Page 18 of Hired Help

I lean across, tracing a light circle on the exposed part of her knee. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re asking to get a closer look at my cock.”

Her fingers move to her lips, twisting them shut, eyes twinkling.

I flick the button of my jeans open, enjoying the mix of alarm and eagerness that flitter into her gaze. “Would you like to perform a thorough examination, or do you have staff for that?”

A sharp edge cuts into her smile and she doesn’t need to shake her head or draw her knees to her chest for me to know the banter is over.

I lift my cup, draining the last of the tea before walking it back into the kitchen, leaving the button undone so she won’t take its refastening as rejection. When I return, Brooke holds her cup in her right hand while her teeth worry at the fingernails of her left.

“Do you want me to ask you more questions?” The query is more of a prompt than anything else. She’s skipped an important piece in our conversation. I can sense the desire forsomethingpulsing from her but know that she hasn’t revealed it yet.

It’s often like that. Clients will have specific needs they’re too afraid to come right out and ask for. Texts and emails have made that easier. For many, putting words into a device and pressing send is a thousand times simpler than stammering the same truth out to a real person.

But Brooke didn’t disclose anything in her initial request. Just that she wanted to book a session and had never done this before. Not an opening that offered many clues.

She frowns, shaking her head, picking up the explanation of her sexual experience where she left off. “My boyfriend and I, we also went down on each other and we’ve… used our fingers and stuff.” A faint smile hits her as she says that, then she buries her nose in her cup for a moment, gathering herself. “We tried a toy for a while but even that didn’t help.”

“Help what?” I ask, a suspicion firming in my mind.

“I couldn’t…” she waves her hand, and I don’t want to put words in her mouth, but I also don’t want her to struggle unnecessarily.

“You couldn’t climax?”

She sags in relief and nods, taking another sip. “That’s what I want. I want to try sex with another person, with an expert, and see if that helps me to come.”

And god help me, I can’t think of a more tantalising prospect.

CHAPTERSIX

BROOKE

My cheeks could heata house for a family of four, they’re so hot. I can only imagine what I look like to this gorgeous man. A man who sleeps with women as aprofession.

Probably like a child, I concede as he miraculously stumbles across the right answer, even after my inadequate summary.

But perhaps I fumbled for the right words because it wasn’t until he was here, in front of me, that I understood I didn’t just want to parade this man in front of a school dance like another fancy toy I bought with daddy’s money.

I want him to help me. To take away the horrible feeling I’ve had since I first had sex with Harrison. To remove the awful panic, the sensation I’m flunking a test everyone else in the world passes with ease.

Much as I should regret choosing Harrison’s dad for my doomed experiment, that’s the one area of comfort. I can’t stop looking. He’s gorgeous.

I shift position on the chair, feeling my attraction turn to arousal. Not just because every inch of him looks lick-able, but talking about sex aloud is its own kind of turn-on.

Even if the words I’m using make me embarrassed as hell.

“Have you ever brought yourself to orgasm with a toy?”

I put the cup on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest for comfort as I consider my answer. The question sounds easy enough, but I worry where my answer might lead. As though reading my mind, Daegan gives me a comforting smile.

“This is an information gathering exercise, it’s not to judge you and any details you give me remain confidential, you have my word. All I want is to find out about your sexuality, what your body responds to. That will help us explore options that have a better chance of success.”

A chance of success.

The idea thrills me. When I sat in the café, I thought this was possibly the worst mistake of my life, but this isn’t anything like the discomfort when I first mentioned something to my doctor.

With every passing second, the conversation expands my erogenous zones.

My voice is muffled by my knees. “A logistical problem to be solved.”

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