Page 54 of Hired Help

It gives me the courage to reach for what I want.

I hug her tighter. “If you want to do this, then we would have to do it properly. No payments. No appointments. No lying. No pretending.”

She twists, moving far enough away that she can look into my eyes. That she can see the hunger there, the longing that pushes aside my misgivings to capture what I need.

“But I need you to be honest with me. Whoever I date must be onboard with what I do for a living. I really enjoy your company, Brooke, but I don’t think that’s what you want. Not after you spent a month paying me not to see any other clients.”

“But I could still pay—”

“No.” My voice comes out sad even to my ears. I rest my forehead against the side of her head. “No more payments.”

“Maybe it will upset me but it’s not…” She twists to fully face me, and I watch the colours shift in her eyes as she struggles to form the words. “Can’t you let me try? I really like you. I thought…”

And I know where her sentence is going. “You thought I liked you? I do. But I’ve had relationships where my partner couldn’t handle my profession. It ends with everyone unhappy.”

She gives me a watery smile, eyes shimmering as she whispers, “I’m already unhappy. Being with you is one of the few things I enjoy.” She shifts on the bed, turning so her ear rests against my chest. “Why can’t you accept my money? If we’re in a relationship, shouldn’t we share?”

It’s a valid question. My pride insists I can’t, setting rules and parameters that mightn’t make sense from a logical standpoint but that I also can’t shake.

But even if I could accept it, money isn’t the only consideration.

“I’m twice your age,” I argue. “We’re at completely different stages in our lives. You’re gorgeous, you’re rich and smart and young. I’m sure any boy at your school would be ecstatic to fill the same role.”

Her shoulders pull tighter. “Is it…? Do you not want me because…?” She shuts her eyes while I try to decipher where she’s headed. “Harrison told everyone I’m terrible in bed. That I was disgusting and smelled awful.” She hitches in a breath that’s eighty percent sob, holding herself so tightly, the wrong move could snap her. “If that’s why, could you just tell me, even if it’s hard to say?”

I groan against her neck, appalled at how far divorced from reality her fear-filled question is.

The tension in her body tells me the story is true, but I don’t know how to reconcile those statements with the joking, laughing Harrison I remember.

Then I close my eyes and see him screaming with rage, shouting threats. I fell out of touch with my boy, and he’s changed.

“There isn’t a single thing about you that’s disgusting.” My words are true, but I don’t know if she believes me. Instead of relying on my speech, I spread her out on the bed, having to massage her stiff arms and legs until they relax enough to lie flat.

I start at the top of her scalp, sniffing, then move farther down, nuzzling in beside her ear where the crook of her neck and the long hair form a soft and inviting cave.

It’s lovely, I want to stay there and inhale her intoxicating warmth, tease the hairs on her cheeks with my soft breath, but I take another long sniff and press on, wanting to reassure her, knowing those words must have cut deep. Wanting to heal her and accepting that to do it, she’ll have to stay.

I turn her onto her front, straddling her with knees either side, my arse kissing against hers as my mouth works its way down her body inch by glorious inch, inhaling an olfactory sampling at every step.

Once I reach her ankles, I twist her again, onto her back. Then I return to her neck, kissing across her pert breasts before traversing her stomach, rubbing my beard against the soft skin there until she laughs, pushing me away.

When I reach her lower belly, I lever my arms under each thigh, pushing them up so they’re splayed open and bent at the knee, then I feast on her.

My tongue pushes into all her nooks and crannies, stroking her clit with my tongue, licking and whirling and finally sucking while she writhes beneath me.

I come up for air and her hands push me back into place, making me laugh, the vibrations sinking into the tender skin of her inner thighs.

“Are you laughing at me?”

There’s fear in the question and suddenly I’m transported back in time. Back to when my self-awareness swung wildly from far too little to far too much. My emotions on a hair trigger.

The certainty that everyone knew what they were doing apart from me. The self-consciousness that made every interaction a new level of awkward.

I tilt my head up, keeping my grip on her thighs so they stay open. “I’m laughing from enjoyment because you’re perfect, you smell like the world’s best dessert, and I’m fucking starving. And now, I’m formerly requesting my newest fucktoy shut her goddamn mouth and let me eat.”

My mouth dives back into its work as my fingertips dig deeper into the meat of her thighs, only loosening when I need to put them to work, sliding two in and out of her juicy cunt.

When she twists her fingers into my hair, I move up her body, kissing her all the way until I’m high enough to meet her gaze. “You’re serious about trying this for real?”

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