by S. J. Hooks
“Good girl.” He slides his hand to my front, caressing my slick skin with firm touches until I’m panting, teetering on the edge. “You ready to beg me?”
“Never!” I yell, all the while arching my back and pushing back against him. The sound of his dark laughter sends pleasant chills up my spine, as does his hand making impact with the fleshiest part of my ass. I love it all and I never want him to stop.
“Please, please, make me come, Sir!” The words spill from my mouth suddenly, with no hesitation. I can’t seem to remember why I wouldn’t beg him before. I cry out as he fucks me through my orgasm, my body tightening and then relaxing down onto the desk, my limbs limp in the aftermath.
He’s not done with me yet. I’ve only just managed to catch my breath when he starts again, pulling me back onto his cock in slow, deep repetitions, enjoying my surrender and how I’m freely letting him move me for his pleasure. He leans over me then, cradling my jaw and brushing his thumb against my lips.
“Suck. Make it nice and wet.”
I do as he tells me, moaning around his thumb as his strong hips keep up a steady rhythm. He removes it from my mouth and the next thing I know it’s back there, stroking gently. I tense up and he stops moving.
“Let me. I won’t hurt you.”
“Are—are you going to . . ?” I can’t even say the words out loud.
“Not tonight,” he murmurs, pressing the digit lightly against me. I gasp softly, clenching my fists as he slowly presses on and my muscles give way.
“I-I can’t ever do that, Sir. You’re too … big.”
“Shh,” he soothes, his free hand stroking my back. “Of course you can, beautiful. And what’s more, you’ll like it, I promise. I’ll never do anything you don’t want me to.”
I groan as he starts fucking me again, his palm making gentle passes over my skin until I feel myself relaxing into his touch, but still tensing slightly as he penetrates me completely with his thumb.
“Here you go,” he coos, reaching his other hand around to my front to touch me. Moaning, I unclench as I focus on the other sensations.
“There’s my sweet girl,” he praises, taking me with slow, deep thrusts. “Just enjoy this. Fuck, you’re so wet right now. I knew you’d love this.”
“Oh, please,” I groan, gripping the edge of his desk.
“Tell me you love it,” he commands.
“I do, Sir.”
He presses against my front and starts moving his finger in and out of me, timing it with the thrusts of his hips. I never would have thought I’d like this, something so lewd, but I do. God help me, I do.
“Ahh, feels good. Sir, I, please,” I babble. “So good!”
It doesn’t take long before I come again, the feeling of his stroking fingers and his thick cock making me cry out in abandon. He follows immediately after, nearly collapsing on top of me as both of us gasp for breath. I had no idea it could be this good.
“Mmm.” He sighs, inhaling deeply against my skin before giving my shoulder a gentle bite. “Perfect. You were perfect.”
After he’s recovered, Mr. Thorne lifts himself off me, telling me not to move. I hear him leaving the room, and a few minutes later he returns, cleaning me with a warm, wet towel. I stay where I am until he comes back again, still completely exposed, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. Gently, he helps me off his desk and puts my nightgown back on. I can’t help but avoid his eyes, feeling shy after what just happened.
“Darling girl,” he whispers, tilting my head up to examine my face. He must like what he sees, because he smiles at me. “We will make it work with Luke’s schedule. We can talk about it later, all right?”
Relieved, I return the smile.
“Fancy heading downstairs for a movie?” he asks. “It’s still early.”
I’m surprised that he’s asking me; this is his time. I’m not complaining, though.
“Sure. Would it be all right if I put something else on? I’d rather not have Luke see me like this if he wakes up.”
Mr. Thorne nods. “Of course.”
“Can I get you anything?”
He tells me to get the bottle of red already open from dinner, and to get myself a drink too. I go to the bathroom before changing into my pajamas and checking in on Luke, who is thankfully still asleep, before getting the wine, and I make some popcorn while I’m at it. Mr. Thorne isn’t in the living room, so I sit down and wait for him. He comes in after a few minutes and I do a double take, seeing him dressed in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a gray T-shirt. His hair, which is usually severely styled, is now tousled and damp from the shower. He looks … young.
“So what types of movies do you like?” he asks, handing me the remote. “Pick one.”
He wants me to decide?
“Not horror or tragedy. I like happy endings.”
“Don’t we all,” he murmurs, picking up his wineglass and swirling the ruby liquid.
“Well, yeah,” I say awkwardly.
He glances at me. “You were different tonight. Upstairs.”
“Good different or bad different?” I ask apprehensively. I can’t always be sweet and accommodating now that we’re together 24/7 and I wonder if he’s realized that too.
He chuckles. “You really have to ask after what we did?” He raises his eyebrows. “After how I fucked you?”
I blush, looking down to hide my smile. “I guess not.”
“Maybe I should make you mad at me more often, if that’s what happens.” He reaches out to touch my cheek. “If it gets that fire in your eyes again.”
“I thought you didn’t like that sort of thing,” I admit.
He shakes his head. “Just because you’re sexually submissive doesn’t mean you’re a doormat, Abigail, far from it. It takes a strong person to let someone else be in charge.”
“I never really thought of it like that.” I take a few seconds to consider what he’s saying. “So you liked that I was, uh, a brat?”
He laughs softly. “In everyday situations, I expect you to do as I say, but there’s that and then there’s sex. Your subsequent submission was all the sweeter because I had to work for it a little. I had to fuck the defiance out of you, manhandle you a little. And you liked it.”
I more than liked it. It was incredibly hot having him take charge of me like that. It makes perfect sense that he’d like that too, because I did submit in the end and happily so. But I thought he wanted to be in control of everything all the time, so why does he want me to do things like pick out what movie we watch? He’s so confusing.
“It really was amazing.” I blush again.
“Agreed. So will you tell me what made you angry?” he asks, handing me my wine.
“Luke wouldn’t get out of his bath, and he didn’t want to go to sleep. I’m used to that happening sometimes and it’s usually not a big deal. But I knew I had to be with you by nine and I was stressing about being late. When you mentioned it, I couldn’t help but feel like this will never work and that Luke was in the way of you getting what you want.”
“That’s not how I felt,” he says.
“My parents and even Luke’s own father, they all saw him as an inconvenience.”
Mr. Thorne blows out a breath. “I know the feeling.”
“You do? How?”
“Let’s just say my father was of the belief that children should be seen and not heard. Or, actually, not seen either.”
“Will you tell me about it?” I ask carefully. I haven’t forgotten how he reacted the last time I asked about his family, telling me in no uncertain terms to mind my own business, but he seems very open tonight. And maybe things have changed between us since then?
“I grew up in an all-boys boarding school,” he says after a beat of silence. “It was very strict and everything was on schedule. It’s second nature to me now, I suppose. I didn’t see my father a lot growing up, and when I did it was best to stay out of his way.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He leans a little closer, running the backs of his fingers down the length of my hair. “You aren’t like that with your child, and based on experience, I’d say that’s a good thing. I can be more lenient about when our time together starts at night.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t aim for nine o’clock. I want those three hours a night with you when I’m home,” he says in a firm voice.
I nod eagerly. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Good, now find a movie for us to watch.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He frowns a little, taking a sip of his wine before looking at me again.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Come here,” he orders softly.
I tuck myself into his side, amazed at how right it feels when he puts his arm around me. I start scrolling through the movies, smiling as I feel him smelling my hair.
“Abigail?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“When we’re like this,” he says softly, “and I tell you it’s all right, you may call me by my first name, Simon.”
My heart skips a beat and I tilt back my head to look up at him, but I don’t get a chance to speak before his lips are on mine, kissing me tenderly.
This feels nothing like a business arrangement.
A little stunned, I go back to the movie selection.
“Back to the Future?” I ask. “I’ve heard it’s good, for an old movie.”
“Brat,” he laughs, tickling my side.
I grin up at him before pressing play and settling in with his arm still around me, a huge smile on my face.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning, I wake early. It’s Sunday, the end of our trial weekend, and I’m worried what might come out of our talk today.
As per our agreement, I change out of my sleepwear and into a pair of jeans and a sweater before leaving my room and checking on Luke. He’s still asleep, tangled up in his Lightning McQueen bedding, and I tiptoe out of his room again, deciding to let him sleep in. Tonight, he’s back to sharing a room with Jo’s girls, and I’m sure they’ll keep each other up way past their bedtime. The arrangement isn’t ideal, but I don’t have anywhere else to take him if Mr. Thorne doesn’t ask us to come back here. I’m not completely sure if he will. This was a trial, and I know Luke has had a great “vacation” here, but things haven’t been completely smooth between Mr. Thorne and myself. I know he enjoyed last night and I did too, but that was less than three hours out of a whole day, and I still have no idea how he feels about having us around the rest of the time, especially since he was out all day yesterday.
Half an hour later, Luke joins me in the kitchen as I’m cooking breakfast and helps me set the table for two. I know Mr. Thorne won’t be joining us, but I’ve made enough so that I can serve him in the dining room when he wakes up.
“This tastes good, Mommy!” Luke exclaims with his mouth full, eating his maple syrup and berry oatmeal with gusto.
“Thanks, baby,” I reply, taking a sip of coffee. “When we’ve cleaned up, I think we should go for a walk. What do you say?”
Luke groans, but nods anyway. He’s not big on the cold, and neither am I, but we’ve been inside the whole weekend and a little fresh air will do us some good.
“Good morning.”
I look up, seeing Mr. Thorne at the door, dressed very casually in a sweatshirt and jeans. His hair is unstyled and he looks relaxed.
“Morning, Mr. Thorne!” Luke waves his spoon excitedly, sending a spray of oatmeal across the table. Immediately, he slinks down in his chair, eyes averted. “I’m … I’m sorry,” he hiccups.
“It’s okay, hon,” I soothe, pulling him into my lap. “It’s just a little mess, no big deal.”
As I cradle him, I glance up at Mr. Thorne, who’s wearing a startled expression. Is it there because of the mess or Luke’s reaction? He walks to the kitchen sink and returns with a rag, cleaning up the oatmeal.
“See?” he says. “All gone.”
Luke lifts his head and Mr. Thorne smiles at him. My heart flutters in my chest.
“All gone,” Luke echoes, jumping back into his seat and continuing to eat as if nothing has happened.
I walk to the counter and watch as Mr. Thorne rinses out the rag. I want to jump into his arms and kiss him. I want to thank him so much for not yelling, which is what Luke expected him to do, because that’s what his father would have done. I tried my best to shield my son from Patrick’s outbursts, but sometimes it was impossible.
“I’m off to the gym,” Mr. Thorne announces.
“Oh, no breakfast?”
“Save me some for when I get back? I’ll be a couple hours.” He lowers his voice a little. “And then perhaps we can have our talk?”
My stomach flips. “Of course.”
“I’d better get going. With all this delicious food I’ll be eating from now on, I can’t skip the gym.”
From now on? That must mean he wants us to move in, right?
“I’m sure you can find ways of working it off between nine and midnight,” I whisper, feeling my face flame.
Mr. Thorne lets out a surprised laugh, brushing my fingers with his in a hidden caress. “I’m sure I can.”
Luke and I finish our breakfast and after cleaning up the kitchen, we head out. It’s getting cold outside, and I’m thankful for our new coats and boots as we walk down the long driveway, hand in hand. There are lots of people out and about today, and we pass several couples walking their dogs and families who have also ventured out into the cool autumn morning. We find a playground about half a mile from Mr. Thorne’s house and Luke asks if he can go play.
After a few minutes, we’re joined by a couple and their little boy. The woman is a gorgeous blonde with piercing blue eyes and the man is tall and broad with a well-trimmed beard. They could be movie stars with their impeccable clothing and hair, and I feel a little self-conscious.
“Mama, can I play with him?” their son asks, pointing to Luke.
The woman turns and looks at me, wearing an open, friendly expression.
“Yes, of course,” I manage.
“Go ahead,” she tells her son.
The boy runs straight up to Luke and asks if he wants to play. He has a little wagon with him which is filled with toys, and soon we parents are completely forgotten as they run around the monkey bars, waving little plastic swords, their shouts and laughter echoing through the air. I smile at the sight of Luke playing with another boy, something he hardly gets to do.
“So, are you new to the neighborhood?” the woman asks me.
“Oh, uh, yes,” I stammer. “It’s very nice.”
“We love it here,” she says, and the man nods in agreement. “Is your son in school?”
“Not yet. He’s been home with me until now. But maybe soon?” Why am I asking her? “Um, what about yours?”
“J.R. is in Pre-K just down the road at Oak Street. It’s fantastic. He only goes part time right now, but we’ll see what happens when the new one arrives. I’m pregnant, by the way. Already starting to show and I’m still nauseated 24/7. Isn’t motherhood awesome?” Her eyes light up with humor.
I nod my head, not sure how to respond.
“Honey, you’re doing that thing again,” her husband says, sending me an apologetic smile.
“Oh, hush. I’m just being friendly,” she says to him before turning back to me. “Just tell me if I’m being too much, okay?”
“Oh, no. You’re, uh, fine.”
Her smile is blinding. “So you’re a stay-at-home too? What does your husband do?” She points her thumb at the man. “He’s a director. You know, like a movie director, but with music videos and stuff. That’s how we met.”
“You’re a singer?”
“Pff, hardly.” She laughs. “I used to model. Can you believe that?”
I can definitely believe it, although she’s just shattered the stereotype about models being aloof.
<
br /> “I’m sorry, I’m not letting you get a word in,” she says. “You’re at home too?”
I draw a breath, trying to figure out what to say. “Er, no. Not exactly. I just started working in the neighborhood. I’m a … a housekeeper.” I look over to where Luke and their son are playing and smile at the sight of them chasing each other around. Both of the parents smile too.
“We should do a play date sometime, if you’re going to be around,” the woman suggests. “I know J.R. would love that.”
“And you’d love having someone to gossip with,” her husband supplies, sticking his hand out to me. “I’m Dave McLean and this nosey creature is my wife, Lila. She’s really quite nice, I promise.”
I shake his hand, laughing a little as she elbows him in the ribs. “Abigail Winters,” I say. “And that’s Luke,” I continue, pointing to him. “I’m sure a play date would be fun. I just have to check with Mr. Thorne—I mean, my boss, first, about his schedule.”
Lila’s eyes widen. “Wait, not Simon Thorne, right?” she asks.
I look at her nervously. “You, uh, you know him?”
The two of them share a look. “We’re just next door,” the man, Dave, says. “His neighbors.”
“O-oh. That’s nice.”
Lila is still staring at me like I just grew a second head. “I had no idea Simon had hired someone,” she says. “That’s so weird.”
“Lila.” Her husband sends her a chastising look.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” she tells me. “It’s just that I suggested the very same thing to him last year, and he rejected the idea completely, like I was ridiculous for even suggesting it. Said he didn’t want or need a housekeeper.”
Fuck. “Oh.” I pretend to be clueless. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I was just surprised. Simon is pretty private. Hey, are you with an agency?” she asks, smiling. “We’ve been talking about getting some help around the house, so if you could recommend someone?”
I stare between the two of them, struggling to come up with a good answer. Thankfully, the kids decide to come running over at that moment, distracting both of us. Luke’s face is flushed with excitement and J.R. is panting.