Page 1 of Hired Help

CHAPTERONE

BROOKE

Six monthsafter losing my virginity to Harrison, sex feels like an exam that I’m failing. All the in-depth discussions, fear-filled confessions, and enthusiastic physical explorations beforehand didn’t prepare me to be half a year deep into this business without an orgasm in sight.

“Does that feel good?” Harrison whispers before his teeth dig into his plump bottom lip like they’d sink into the juicy flesh of a strawberry. His gaze locks to mine while he slides into me inch by delectable, throbbing inch.

“It’s fantastic.” And it is. My eyes brim with love as the intensity of his gaze grips my concentration, holding it tight while it fidgets and fusses, an introvert desperate to sneak offstage.

We’re in the bedroom of my childhood home, now the residence of stepmother number three, trying to be quiet. It’s near the end of our two-week winter break, and with Harrison staying here the whole time, we’ve already had three narrow escapes.

Neither of us wants Alicia bursting into the room to catch us out… but the threat of that happening adds a frisson of excitement into the mix.

But those rippling sensations are transitory. The moment my attention slips from its razor focus, so do all the delicious tingles and friction and throbbing-so-good-it-aches.

“Fantastic,” I repeat, the mantra a hollow offering as the sparks of lust fizzle.

I wish he’d stare at me longer with those dark hazel eyes, but they’ve already moved to admire the motion where we’re joined, his girthy cock plunging into me. He’s transfixed by the visual in a way I envy.

All I see is the wobble of my breasts, the jiggle in that poofy bit of my lower stomach that I can’t get rid of no matter how many times I cut carbs or add an extra circuit of the track to my daily run.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harrison murmurs, slowing to kiss me. The statement sends a pleasurable thrill snaking along my spine, and the sentiment goes double for him.

My hand splays across his chest, eyes feasting on the way his skin glistens from exertion. There’s the white stretch of a surgery scar along his sternum and I run my finger along it before flattening my hand over his heart; the firm curves and ripple of his muscles making every touch a delight.

His silky black locks are gorgeous, and they ignite a zap of lust as I twist my fingers into their length, clenching into a fist with strands caught between, tugging until the resistance ignites a shudder of exultation that pierces to my bones.

I’d welcome him doing the same to me. Would welcome an experiment with being rougher, treated carelessly, flirting with pain. I’ve asked him before, but he’s hesitant. He treats me like the finest porcelain, ready to slip through his fingers and shatter on the floor.

Stroking my hair is more his speed. Wonderful when I’m curled next to him on the sofa snuggling, but it does nothing for me mid-action.

I try to hold him in place for longer, enjoying the press of his lips, but his mouth moves from mine to fasten on my breast, his tongue licking across my nipple, their peaks only reactive to temperature, barely acknowledging any other sensations. The vibration of his moan across my chest is a thousand times better than the wet sucking of his mouth.

A renewed flutter of interest seizes my clit, and I tilt my hips better to meet his thrust, helping him go deeper, the drag increasing against my walls while I feast my eyes on his naked beauty.

His skin is shades darker than mine, with a rosy tint beneath that always gives him a glow of good health. Far better than my pallor, which means even after a week of sunbathing, if I lie still, I could be mistaken for a corpse.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight.”

A whip of pleasure cracks across my brain. I try to grasp it closer, but it’s already gone.

Anxiety spills forth in its place.

There are girls in the world who’d come with just a flicker of his finger across their clit. There are girls who’d gasp and clench and curl their toes, girls who’d squirt and make a spectacle, girls whose spasming muscles would bring him along for the ride, bonding with him in a shared afterglow.

The pleasure I get when Harrison gives that moan deep in his throat that means he’s close, when he loses the tight control he clings to and thrusts deep, hard, fast like his pelvis is possessed by a jackhammer, that’s the pleasure I deny him by resolutely failing to come.

Failing on his fingers, on his cock, on any toy he’s holding.

He withdraws, rolling me onto my belly, plunging his fingers inside me, and it’s good. Really, really good. I arch my back, trying to encourage them deeper and he meets the challenge with the perfect thrust, curling the tips as he withdraws so the drag against my walls intensifies while I rub my pussy against the clumped bedclothes.

“You like that, baby?”

“Mm-hm.”

“You want to try doggy-style?”

A sensation stirs deep inside my core as I mumble in agreement. A tiny ember but if I can just hold on to it, grab it firmly with both hands, I could gently blow it into a roaring fire.

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