Page 71 of Hired Help

“I need to go,” I say, kissing him goodbye. My hand lingers on his chest, eyes searching his expression for confirmation that it’s okay, my core heating at the thought I’m travelling from son to father. Each perfect for me in their own way. “I’ll catch up with you at dinner. Save me some lasagne if you get to the cafeteria before me.”

* * *

When I arriveat Daegan’s home mid-afternoon, the real estate sign has a large sold sticker across it. The change is hard to see from the street because it’s broken in two and tossed on the far edge of his front porch.

A flutter of doubt hits my centre. There are so many things that could go wrong. But if you don’t ask, you don’t get.

Daegan answers my knock and practically drags me inside, an enthusiastic greeting which divests me of most of my clothes. He carries me through to the bedroom, dumping me on the bed while moving to grab a blindfold from his chest of drawers.

There’s something on the floor behind him, but he blocks it with his body. A new chair but covered with a drop cloth like it’s waiting for a big reveal. A frisson of excitement stands the hairs of my arm on end as he covers my eyes, then cuffs my hands in front of me.

“Well, hello to you, too,” I murmur, a wedge of trepidation grabbing me. The sensation isn’t unpleasant, quite the opposite. It’s the never quite knowing what he has in store which makes every visit worth it.

He plunges his fingers deep into my hair, angling my face to receive his kiss. “All the hellos,” he mutters after subjecting me to a punishing kiss that makes my lips swell, top and bottom.

“I thought you might appreciate a gift,” he says, the tease in his voice so similar to Harrison’s that for the moment, I imagine he’s standing in the room.

Another rush of pleasure swamps me at the thought, my nipples tightening in response.

“Someone’s thinking wicked thoughts,” Daegan says with a tinge of amusement as he drags a heavy object across the carpet, bringing it closer to the bed.

A moment later, I feel him kneel on the mattress, positioning himself behind me, all his clothing divested so when he folds his arms around me, consuming me in his embrace, his naked skin kisses against mine.

“I was feeling lazy,” he whispers, the vocals puffing against my skin. “So, I brought a machine on board to help us out.”

“You’re delegating sex to a machine?” My voice is incredulous.

And scared.

And completely fucking on board with this plan, whatever the hell it turns out to be.

“Mm-hm.” He lifts my cuffed wrists and presses a hard plastic object against my right palm. “This is the remote and pressing these buttons is going to be the only exercise I do today.”

“It’s like your service levels have dipped since I stopped paying you.”

He picks up on the shrill notes I’m desperately trying to keep from my voice.

His arms move to embrace me again, one hand cupping my forehead, so my head is held securely against his chest. “I promise to deliver the same number of orgasms,” he says, leaning into the tease but in such a way I know the fun won’t be at my expense. “If I delegated that to—”

“The rise of the machines?”

“Just one but yeah. It’s rising to the occasion in all the right ways.” He shuffles me forward, and I let him move my limbs, position me to his liking. Then he shifts off the bed, humming under his breath so I know where he is.

Again, there’s a brush of movement over the floor, then his hands are on my lower back, thumbs rubbing the dimples either side of my tailbone. He slides one hand between my legs, levering my thighs apart.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs in encouragement, in appreciation. “That’s my beautiful girl.”

A breath catches in my lungs, my chest aching at the words. I’m glad my eyes are covered, my head facing away from him to hide the uncertainty in my expression.

My body trembles. Every nerve ending switches location to the outside of my skin, reacting violently to the slightest shift in the air.

“Can we stop?” I ask, all thoughts of safe words and gestures departing in a rush of panic as I tremble from head to toe.

“Of course,” he says, the teasing note gone from his voice and replaced with concern. “Do you want me to take your blindfold off?”

“No, I—” My voice cracks and I whip my head back and forth.

I don’t want to see anything but more than that. I don’t want to be so exposed.

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