Page 73 of Hired Help

Then his hand reaches out of the tub, picking something from the floor, and all thoughts of the machine in the bedroom are forgotten as I arch an eyebrow at the device in his hand. A clit sucker.

I look on with interest as he presses a button and the machine hums into life. Then it’s gone from sight, dipping below the level of the water.

He spreads the lips of my pussy apart with one hand, the other steering the bud of the machine against my core. As the vibrations tease at my clit, I close my eyes to enhance the sensation. When I try to place my hand over his, he clicks his tongue against his teeth, whispering, “You’re not the one in control here.”

With the sucker settled in place, he moves his other hand up to my throat, clasping it lightly with his fingers, increasing and decreasing pressure in tandem with the beat of the device.

His hands on me are like a master playing an exotic instrument, bringing me to life with such gentleness that I half expect my mind to go wandering. But the moment it tries, he’s there with a faint crush on my windpipe, a reminder that when Daegan’s in control, my brain’s not allowed to leave the building, not until he’s brought me to the exact spot he wants me to go.

So, I surrender completely, experiencing the same dazed bliss he always brings out of me. My body relaxes into his arms, trusting him, relying on him, even though every part of my history screams not to.

His arms tighten around me, keeping me safe, catching me before I’ve even started to fall.

CHAPTERTWENTY

DAEGAN

Brooke’s bodyloses all its unexplained tension. It’s probably the toy, the heat of the bath working its magic on her muscles, but in the moment, it’s like she’s letting go for me.

A dangerous idea, addictive, and I would warn myself away from the sensation but it’s too late. Its claws are already digging deep into my flesh, my brain, making the idea of releasing her back into the wild absolute torture.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, knowing it will bring that frown of annoyance to her brow. A girl who’s been told that so often only to have the words followed by indifference or outright cruelty.

Not that she thinks it’s untrue, but she knows that, in the end, it doesn’t matter.

So I search for other words, others truths about her, ones that won’t come with the same heavy baggage being dragged behind them, seams loosening, zippers bursting open to reveal the unkempt packing while an embarrassment of dirty knickers spill on the ground.

Words that will connect with my burgeoning emotions for her. The respect for how she navigates in a world that seems determined to twist and turn to keep her out.

“You’re so determined.” And that’s better but not the level of complimentary I’m going for. “I love how courageous you are, going ahead with your plans even when they unleash utter mayhem.”

Except that makes her sound like a rich bitch, doing what she wants with no thought to the consequences and it’s not that, close but no cigar.

My fingers tighten on her throat when she tries to reply, a gentle reminder she’s not allowed to take over. Not when she sought me out to make her feel good.

“I admire how you can be so vulnerable and open, even though you’ve been hurt. It’s brave. I hope you never lose that ability, to keep trying to get what you need even when the people around fail you.”

Her hand grips the side of the tub, squeaking against the porcelain as her thighs clench around my fingers, around the toy, making the bones in my hand grind against each other as I fight to keep it in place.

I swap, leaving the perfect resting spot of her throat to take the toy, shaking my other hand out underwater before rewarding it with a soft stroke of her arse. My fingers find a plaster, loosening in the water, and I tug it off, curious how she’s hurt herself in such an unusual place.

My fingertips seek the injury while I twist her to the side, clinging to the edge of the bath, mouth hanging open, the squeeze of her thighs still intense but my swapped hand placed at a far better angle.

“You’re so smart and so funny,” I whisper, not even sure if she’s listening any longer. But that’s just as good. Let my words sink into her subconscious while the rest of her mind is occupied with the pleasure rolling across her body in waves.

She makes a small cry, swallowing the sound before it can get doing. “You’re so fucking sexy when you make those noises,” I tell her, lifting my hips so she knows what she’s doing to me. “When you make those sounds, all I want to do is sink my cock so far into you that you’ll feel it for the next month.”

Her head drops back, exposing the full length of her throat.

My fingers desperately want to head back there, but I continue to tilt her, bumping her hip to the surface, reading the small lines carved in her tender flesh.

HP.

I doubt she got the carving because of a deeply held love of printers, which means the other obvious option is someone’s initials.

Harrison Powell.

A reminder that she’s not mine, no matter how it seems that way.

---