Page 10 of Fake Maid

“I am?”

“Yes.”

I scoff, but it sounds weak. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

A hand presses at my lower back, arching me away even as he pulls my head harder back. I’m bent in the most shameless position, my ass squirming against his cock as my spine bows and my chest thrusts at the ceiling.

Eli saws his cock between my ass cheeks, up and down, and the size of him makes my mouth water even through our layers of clothes.

“Think about it, darling.” He bites my shoulder, then soothes it with a lick. “If you want this cock, you’ll have to be mine.”

It should be ridiculous. A laughable statement. But right this second, I’d give my left arm to feel his rock-hard length slide inside me. If he’s this domineering, this possessive when our clothes are still on, when we haven’t even kissed yet…

I whimper.

“Leave the mop.” Eli steps away, letting go of me suddenly, and I stagger, my knees like jelly. “I need your services elsewhere.”

I wheel around, cheeks hot. “My services—”

“Your feather duster.” He grins, eyes twinkling. “My office. Now.”

Usually, I hate being bossed around. It’s the worst thing about fashion shoots—grumpy men barking orders.

But when Eli does it, my pussy clenches and my clit throbs. God, what is happening to me?

Who is this girl who whimpers and writhes against a strange man in a pool house? Whose thoughts scatter to the wind every time he murmurs in her ear?

I don’t know, but I want to find out. I stumble forward and follow Eli into the grounds.

* * *

Cleaning should not be a sexy activity.

I know that for sure.

It’s something you do because you have to, to not be a slob, and maybe there’s a flash of satisfaction for a job well done.

Coral likes cleaning. It’s one of the many ways we are completely different, never mind that our faces are identical. She says she finds it therapeutic—the methodical way you work around a room, finding a rhythm, letting your mind drift and your muscles burn.

She likes the quiet, too, and the mansion’s views.

Me, I find the quiet here eerie. Kind of sad, like loneliness echoes through the halls. But the views… I glance over at Eli, leaning back against his desk as he watches me dust with dark eyes.

Yeah. The views are pretty freaking fantastic.

His dark hair is even more rumpled since our messy clasp in the pool house. His eyes shine beneath his lowered brows, and his firm jaw is clenched tight. The hand with the cast rests in his lap, the fingertips still and curled over the plaster, but his other hand grips the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles are white. Like he’s clinging on for dear life to keep from lunging toward me.

A long-sleeved black cotton shirt stretches over his chest and shoulders, hiding all the ridges and planes of muscle that I felt against my back. His gray jeans are soft and faded, clinging to his toned thighs, and god, I want to scratch my fingernails down those jeans. I want to pop the button open with my teeth.

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs, cocking his head as I run my feather duster along his office bookshelves. I keep sneaking glances at him, tiny snatches which make my body thrum. “I can’t tell if you’re angry or so turned on you might snap.”

I choke out a laugh, rocking onto my toes to reach for the top shelf. My tunic rises, brushing against the backs of my thighs, and I suddenly wish I didn’t have leggings on.

“The second one.”

He growls in approval. The low, rumbling noise stiffens my nipples under Coral’s tunic.

“Are you ready for me to fix that for you?”

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