Page 22 of Hired Help

I try, I really, really try, but even with the pressure from the heel of my hand, my clit needs more, wants more.

The fingers on my nipple disappear and there’s a slap on the outside of my thigh, making me jump. Then another, harder, getting closer to far more sensitive places.

“You do what I tell you when I tell you or I’ll grow impatient and shove my entire hand inside you. Is that what you want? You want my fist inside you on our very first date?”

The stretch of his fingers is already running along the edge of pain. The threat blasts another wave of tingles through my core, turning it into a tightening, clenching mess.

After one final slap of warning, his hand returns to my throat, then higher to cover my mouth, the fingers mashing my lips against my teeth and gums, cutting my breath down to a fraction as I desperately suck air through my nose.

And the noise, the uncertainty, the awkwardness, the myriad sensations send me spiralling. Everything combines—the stinging marks on my thighs, the pain in my nipples, the carelessness of his fingers stuffed inside me, the rasp of his breath in my ear while I struggle to breathe and the woman on the television who now begs and pleads for her partner to stop, would you please stop—until I convulse, muscles spasming until pleasure spreads out in a warm gushy wave that envelopes me from head to toe.

Tears spring to my eyes because it’s good, so good that I never want it to end.

Then his fingers are gone. He practically folds my body in two and curls me against him, tucking my head against his chest while the television blares out what should so obviously be a private watch that it makes me giggle, mind still lost in ecstasy until I don’t really know where I am.

My tears start and don’t stop, the sobs shaking me harder as he rocks me back and forth, fumbling for the remote to turn off the tv, so my crying spell is the only sound in the room.

Atrociously loud.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, planting a kiss on the side of my forehead as I try to curl into an even tinier ball. “I’ve got you.”

I should be embarrassed but instead I’m relieved; to finally let go with my body and my emotions. To grieve what I’ve lost while I’m still buzzing from what I finally gained.

Maybe it shouldn’t count. I’ve made myself come before, though the process is so unreliable it’s been a while since I bothered.

But nothing of this feels like something I achieved alone. Not when aftershave and masculine sweat fills my nostrils. Not when the fingers a man made me use on myself are being sucked clean in his mouth, the rough caress of his tongue another layer on my current ecstasy.

So, I let go and cry until the urge completely dissipates and I’m still held against a strong chest, my hand tiny as it curls up near my cheek, resting against the bulge of his muscles. Crying until I’m spent, then falling into a doze.

I jerk awake a few minutes later, sitting up and moving apart, blushing at my behaviour.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, not able to raise my head for the longest time. “Sorry. I don’t know—”

My words break off as he cups my cheek, rubbing his thumb along my jawline. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You don’t have to apologise or explain.”

His manner is so calm that I relax despite myself.

He strokes a few strands of hair from my face, whispering in his kind voice, “I don’t think you’re broken if that’s what you were afraid of.”

And it was but hearing him say that while the ocean waves of ecstasy have left their salt-encrusted imprint on my body makes me laugh again, close to delirium. I’m hardly able to believe that the sensation, this entire capability, was inside me all along.

“Thank you.” A thought gradually occurs to me, and I sit upright. “Did you…? Do you need me to do something—”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Oh.” I settle back against the couch, moving slightly apart, my embarrassment growing the more I recover.

My eyes steal further glances at him, scarcely able to believe how handsome he is. The physical appeal growing now I also know how good he can make me feel. So good, I want to offer him something in return.

“I don’t mind helping.”

He wrinkles his nose and breaks into the most beautiful smile.

I want to look away, I’m staring, but his features hold me entranced. So familiar but subtly different. There’s a gentleness about him. Where Harrison is vibrantly funny, sometimes carelessly sharp, his edges are muted.

Most of all, he seems kind.

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