Page 65 of Hired Help

I bridle at the perceived insult, then a bubble of laughter bursts free, my emotions turning on a dime. “Well, that’s not happening either.”

At the block entrance, I peel away from him, heading for my room, unable to contain myself enough to go to my next lesson. While the two bells go, I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I can’t close my eyes, every time I do I see the video footage play out, see the rapture on Brooke’s face.

The same expression I just saw in real life—a hundred times brighter, a thousand times more arousing.

All those times I’d held back my wilder side during sex, not wanting to scare her or hurt her, anxious to demonstrate each time how much she was loved… and now I find out she didn’t want that.

She just wanted someone to hurt her, insult her. Treat her like she’s nothing. Offer the use of her to his friend.

A tiny reminder uses its inside voice, telling me how she liked to pull my hair. How she once mentioned I could do that to her, but I never had.

My instant rebuttal is that I didn’t because she’s a fucking princess and deserves to be treated like one, but I also realise that’s something that came from me rather than something she wanted. My anger is accompanied by a flicker of shame. Had there been other things she’d asked for, indicated she desired, which I just ignored?

Like a friend helping himself to a handful of her tits. It didn’t escape me that her muscles clenched harder, her breath became rougher as Everett touched her.

She liked it and I wonder if I could do that again. Not in the heat of the moment but with planning and preparation.

Could I let another man touch her, fondle her, grope her with my permission? Stand back as another man fucked her, waiting patiently for my turn.

Or not waiting. If Brooke liked the extra partner, could she take him in her cunt while I held her head steady, fucking her face with my cock?

I’d been rough with her that way once. While giving me head, the sensation had got away from me, and instead of letting her direct operations, choosing how to move her mouth on me, I’d pinned her to the bed while I thrusted into her, making her choke, making her gag.

Making me ashamed of my own behaviour. So ashamed, that when she suggested doing it again, I withheld, going down on her twice as often in penance.

Now a squirm of regret wriggles through me.

Another request I’d ignored.

I turn, punching the pillow to make it more comfortable, then jabbing at it, a flurry of blows because it can’t complain.

For months, I’d worried our unequal endings were signs she wasn’t into me. That we were great as companions, as friends, but becoming lovers was a step outside our relationship lines.

If I just need to change things up, really tune in to the messages she’s sending me instead of overwriting them with how I think she should be treated, could we get past this?

She could have come to you. She could have explained or threatened to break up with you.

And I’m left back at my starting point. Because the one thing I know for certain Brooke understands about me is that I hate cheating. Infidelity is my one true line in the sand, and I know she knows this because I’ve flat out told her.

But if you asked someone to join in… that’s not cheating. That’s sharing.

The thought spins me out, but it excites me, too. An idea to consider if we ever get past this dreadful stalemate.

And after today, for the first time, I think there is a way past it. For me, at least.

If she likes it rough, if she likes it dirty, I’m willing to oblige.

The solution Joseph presented to me in the cafeteria a lifetime ago recurs to me. His suggestion had been to fuck the entire senior year until I was free of her, an idea I still can’t stomach.

But to fuck Brooke out of my head? That might work.

If I treat her like the panting slut she is for long enough, I might free myself of any lingering dreams about a future. If I treat her with the disgust she deserves, that might become my primary emotion when I look at her.

In the absence of any other bright ideas, it’s worth a shot.

* * *

I leave it a few days,letting my idea settle. There’s no repercussion from my lunchtime meltdown, not so much as being called into an office for an informal chat.

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