Maid for the Billionaire

by Abby Knox

  “You moved the journals,” I say, my voice trembling, not even knowing where Luke is or if he is within earshot.

  Soon enough I feel his presence behind me. I’m staring at the floor by the wall of the guest room, at an empty space where my mother’s journals used to be. I have to work hard to remind myself that I gave him complete permission to do exactly what he did. So why am I getting emotional?

  Dammit, that tremble. I hate it that I start to well up when I’m feeling some kind of way. I can’t bring myself to turn around.

  “I did,” he says. “I needed to vacuum and I needed to get everything off the floor, so I used an old bookcase in the garage that wasn’t being used. It’s all organized by date—”

  “Wait a minute,” I say, my stomach starting to kick like a mule. I spin around. “You looked inside them?”

  He shakes his head. “No. The dates are on the outside. I just put them in order. Look, I’m sorry…”

  I don’t reply but I brush past him to go to the office where the rest of my parents’ things were.

  “Where are the newspapers, and the notebooks?” I ask, looking around and seeing nothing where it should be. Yet also feeling a creeping sense of relief, combined with guilt over feeling said relief.

  “I took the liberty of organizing everything…”

  I turn to him, my eyes surely looking crazy even though I try to keep my voice calm. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.

  “The library.”

  Five minutes ago I was aroused with the anticipation of seeing Luke again. Now I’m mad as a wet hornet. Not mad at Luke, but mostly mad at myself for giving him free rein just because I woke up in a good mood and was surprised and excited to see him. And mad at myself for the teeny, tiny sense that it’s probably for my own good that all my parents’ clutter is out of sight.

  I storm down to the library. Luke follows me but says nothing. Does not plead for me to fix my attitude, nor does he remind me that I agreed to this.

  Damn him for not judging my out-of-control reaction to change.

  Entering the library, everything looks different. All the furniture is in its place, just moved slightly. But I knew if I had to look for something I lost, it would take ages. My methodical madness was gone.

  “I knew it would be changed, but I wasn’t prepared for it,” I say.

  “Stella, I should have gone slower with it, to get you used to everything. But I just started and I couldn’t stop.”

  “Where are my cookbooks? And my vinyl? And my comic books?”

  “Follow me,” Luke says.

  He takes me around the entire house, showing me every last thing he’s moved, put away, reorganized and alphabetized. I don’t know if home organization porn is a thing, but he could star in it.

  When we finish at the kitchen door that leads out to the pool, he rests his hands on the doorknob and looks at me hesitantly.

  “Are you mad?”

  “A little,” I say.

  “Sorry.”

  I offer him a small smile. “Don’t be. It just feels like my mom and dad aren’t here anymore.”

  He nods. “OK. And it might get worse; I have more to show you. Are you ready?”

  I can’t imagine what that is but I say yes. He opens the door and outside on the back patio are half a dozen plastic tubs. “What’s this?” I ask.

  With concern in his eyes, he replies, “Random junk. Broken things. Outdated papers that need to be recycled. Old clothes that should be donated or tossed. And, actual trash, I’m sorry to say.”

  I am shocked to my core. “I didn’t have any trash just lying around my floors.”

  Luke speaks softly. “Not out in the open, but once I excavated the guest room and the office, well, it was clear that a lot of things had not been moved or cleaned for a very long time.”

  I know what he’s saying. I didn’t clean or sort anything belonging to my parents. I let them live this way before I arrived, and I’ve been putting off dealing with all of this mess.

  My chin starts to quiver.

  “Do you want to go through it before we donate it or toss it? To see if there’s anything you want to keep?”

  My fingers twist together anxiously. “And you kept the important stuff? You kept all my mother’s cookbooks and my dad’s journals? And the newspapers from the years we were born and other important dates? He collected those.”

  Luke nods solemnly. “I swear. But you can—”

  I hold up my hands. “No, it’s better this way. I just need to lie down for a while and process.”

  “Want me to bring you some tea?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know what I want. I feel…funny.”

  “Baby, what’s wrong?” I hear him say before the bottom drops out. My stomach feels strange. Not like I’m going to throw up, but like it’s full of something intangible but very bad. Dread? And now I can’t breathe.

  “I feel like I’m going to die,” I blurt out. I’ve had this feeling of overwhelming dread before, but I’ve never said that out loud to anyone.

  “You’re having a panic attack. Come on, let’s go sit by the pool.”

  The episode passes with Luke holding my hand, helping me focus on my breathing, reminding me that I’m safe. His calm, even voice brings me through to the other side, until I no longer feel like I’m going to die, but I definitely feel something else.

  “I think I’ll take some tea now.” I stand up but my feet don’t touch the ground for long.

  “Come on. Up in my arms, let’s go.” He carries me up to my room, where he’s already laid out my fluffiest bathrobe. He must have done it before I came home from work, and the thought makes me want to cry. How can one man be this good?

  Then I remember. My dad was just this good to my mom. One of my favorite things about my dad was the way he treated her. I have clear memories of him fetching her favorite bedroom slippers every night as we sat around and watched the nightly news. She never asked him to; he just did it. And when she started to fall ill, he would put them on her feet for her. He did that for her even on the night she … oh god, don’t think about that now. Bottom line: It’s not that crazy to think this guy is for real.

  Before I let him set me down on the bed, I reach up and kiss him on the cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  He sets me down and kisses my forehead. “You rest. I’ll be right up with your tea.”

  I don’t have time to feel the warm, cozy feelings he creates in me. After I peel off my work clothes and don the robe, other feelings bubble to the surface. Here they come. For the first time since my parents died, I’m crying. Real tears. No, sobbing. Full-body, heaving sobs.

  I’m right in the middle of it when Luke brings me my tea, which he quickly sets down before sitting down next to me to stroke my hair and hand me a tissue.

  “Since when is a dude not terrified of a woman sobbing?”

  “I’m your housekeeper. I’m here to look after you.”

  I laugh in the middle of sobs. “Come down here with me, I need a hug.”

  To my surprise, he hesitates. “I've been working hard all day, I don’t want to get my stink on your fancy bed linens.”

  “I don’t care about that. Spoon me. Please?”

  He laughs gently but then quickly has me wrapped up like the little spoon. I’ve never felt so small and protected in a man’s arms. I spend all day being strong and capable and, although Luke doesn’t take that away from me, there’s something to be said for feeling precious and delicate, with a big wall of muscle between you and the harsh world.

  The memory comes back to me of him calling me “baby” when he first realized I was having a panic attack. The simple term of affection gives me butterflies.

  This is so fast, but it’s right. I’m his to call “baby” if he wants to.

  When I can finally calm down enough to speak plainly, I tell him, “I never thought anyone would stay with me while I’m having such a messy emotional breakdown.”

>   “I’m here as long as you need me.”

  “How about forever?”

  His belly laugh vibrates against my back. “At $20 an hour, even you might go bankrupt.”

  I have to laugh in return, though through tears. “You’re going to charge me $20 for the time we were making out?”

  “Oh no, that’s extra,” he says. I slap his forearm where it’s wrapped snugly against my rib cage, and he lands a kiss on the side of my head. Warmth spreads over me and I nestle in closer to him.

  Luke strokes my hair until I stop crying. Until I fall asleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Luke

  Stella stirs in the middle of the night, rolling over to face me.

  I haven’t slept; I’ve just been lying here holding her, listening to her breathe, making sure she’s OK.

  I feel like such a dick, going crazy on her house the way I did.

  She had given me carte blanche, but then I went beyond that. I’ll never forgive myself for putting her through that. I hope I’ll be in her life long enough for me to prove to her how sorry I am that I caused her pain. She didn’t deserve that.

  But then, the blankets rustle and she takes my hand and fills it with warmth. Doesn’t take me long to realize she has opened her bathrobe and covers her breast with my hand. And her leg is rubbing up against mine.

  Touching her warm breast, the nipple growing hard in my hand, makes me ache for her. Knowing she wants me, and that she wants me to be in the moment with her, floods me with more happiness than I deserve.

  Her skin against mine stirs up all the feelings. My body is tight with need, the need to roll her onto her back and dive in. Fill her. Plunge my cock inside and take her. Kiss her mouth, her breasts, every inch of her. Taste her juices. Wring out every last ounce of energy in me, in the effort to make her feel good.

  Gritting my teeth, I have to put on the brakes long enough to say something. As much as I hate it, I pull my hand away and cover her breast with her robe. She whimpers. I pull her up to sitting as we face each other on the bed.

  “Before this goes any further, I want to apologize for pushing things so far this morning. Or, yesterday morning. I’m not sure what time it is.”

  “You didn’t push,” she says.

  “But we need ground rules. I can’t be in a relationship with my client,” I say.

  Her face falls. “Oh.”

  “So I quit. I’m already in a relationship with you. So I quit.”

  Stella smiles. “Quitting two jobs in one day is some kind of record, I’m sure.”

  I shrug.

  A look of concern shadows her face. “But how will you live? You can’t pay rent with no job. You’ll have to live here. In the guest room.”

  I shake my head. “No way can I let you be my sugar momma. I still have my job waiting tables.”

  A sly grin takes over. “Then how about you quit your serving job and I help you start a business as a closet organizer?”

  This throws me for a loop. “A closet organizer? Still kinda sounds like you’re my sugar momma.”

  She shrugs and traces one finger across my cheekbone and over my lips. “Don't get too hung up on the idea. I think it’s kind of hot, the idea of letting me set you up. Does it threaten your manhood?”

  How could anyone threaten my manhood when her delicate fingers create such a reaction in me? How could anyone’s manhood be threatened, when said manhood is throbbing as about as ready to burst through the fly of my pants like the Kool-Aid Man bursting through a wall.

  Boy, why are you thinking about the Kool-Aid Man? That’s beyond unsexy. Still, with the way she’s touching me, everything feels sexy.

  “No,” I say. “It’d be a pretty small man who felt it was wrong to accept help from his woman.”

  Suddenly her hand lands full on my crotch. My junk is in her grasp. I suck in a breath. “Stella. Shit.”

  “I definitely don’t see any small men here. Do you?”

  Unable to take any more, I scoop her ass up onto my lap and claim her mouth with mine. She gasps and excitedly moans into my mouth when my tongue makes no hesitation this time. Neither do my hands, which help themselves to the opening of her bathrobe, pulling it down off her shoulders. I pull her against me and let our heated skin stoke the inferno building between us.

  “I like holding you on my lap like this. Now I can see and touch all of you at once.”

  I let my eyes travel over Stella’s forehead, her cheeks, her mouth. Her breasts. The heat between her legs that carried me away this morning in her kitchen.

  I’m planning a long trip for my hands and mouth and I can’t decide where to land first.

  “Are you my girl, Stella? Is this a real thing? Are we for real doing this? Because I gotta tell you, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  She grins down at me, lacing her fingers through my hair. “You say and do the sweetest things,” she says.

  My arms lock around her waist. “Look at me. I know we just met, but I don’t say things just to impress people.”

  Her sexy smile fades to something that I can only describe as regret. “Then I’m sorry you came to LA because you won’t get far in achieving your dreams without being fake as hell. Sorry to be a downer.”

  “That’s not true. I came here to fulfill my dream and I found it. It’s you.”

  Stella takes a shuddering breath and falls against me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. The shuddering doesn’t stop, and soon I realize she’s laughing.

  “Baby, what is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she squeaks against my skin, her breath hot. “I’m just finding myself totally naked on a man’s lap after years of being alone, after he’s seen my atrocious mess of a house, after he’s seen me have a panic attack. I can’t imagine why you’re not running for the hills.”

  I grip her shoulders and gently force her to look me in the eye. “Because I’m a grown-ass man and I see you.”

  “Flaws and all?”

  “Amazingness and all.”

  “You’re the amazing one. I can’t believe everything you did for me.”

  “Sweetheart, I haven’t even started doing things for you. Are you ready to stop talking now? Because I might be the one to start crying soon.”

  All it takes is a “yes” from Stella.

  My goal is to make her feel better than she’s ever felt in her whole life. I don’t know nor do I care about anyone who has ever touched her before, but she’s damn sure going to forget about all of them when I’m through with her.

  Spoiler alert: I’m never going to be done with her.

  Her sweet nipples in my mouth make my body and brain react as if I’m tasting candy. The taste of her skin is like a sugar high. And her moans, which get louder and louder the more of her breast I take into my mouth, are like a drug all their own. I can’t get enough of her sounds. I nibble and suckle on her tight peaks until her hands begin to wander south to her split.

  I grip it in my hand. “What are you doing with that?”

  She whimpers, her eyes nearly feral as they flash at me. “I can’t take it, I need to touch myself. It’s too much.”

  I offer her my hand. “Then use this,” I say.

  Her mouth drops open slightly in shock, then she attacks my mouth with hers, taking my hand in both of her small hands and placing it on her pussy, using my hand to stroke her up and down while we kiss.

  I can’t turn off the urge to control where my hand goes, but I do my best to let her use me. Stella frames her hand over the back of mine and plunges my fingers into her sweet folds, up and down, using my fingers to make herself squirt. Good god, this woman.

  “Look at you,” I grind out, still under her control. “I might be the luckiest son of a bitch who ever lived.”

  My woman is gripping my hand and riding it, covering it with her juices, and devouring my mouth with hers.

  Her moans become a hitched, high-pitched squeal, and I feel her thighs begin to shake.

&
nbsp; “Not yet,” I say.

  “What?” she replies breathlessly.

  “Lie back on the bed; I need to taste you. I don’t want to just touch you until you come, I want to drink you in and make every part of you mine.”

  My Stella is so beautiful sprawled out on the bed before me, I have to pause to admire her.

  The early morning light spilling in the window and illuminating her body makes her look like an angel. The sight of her opening up to me, body, mind, and soul, is more than my heart can take. I can only hope to make sure she knows her true self is safe with me.

  I run my hands over her skin, feeling her softness, astounded by her beauty and her vulnerability. I’m shaken by the look of absolute trust in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Luke?”

  “Just gazing at my bright little star.” My bright star I’m falling for, ass over tea kettle.

  And at the center of my little star lives the sweetest honey. I’m powerless yet emboldened at the first taste of it. The more I kiss, lick, taste and suck, the more delicious moans fall from her mouth, and the more sweetness she gives me.

  My tongue finds her clit, the swollen berry at the center of her pleasure, begging for my attention. I gently kiss it, then wrap my lips around it and give it what it wants. I tease it with my tongue again and again until I feel my lover’s thighs begin to tremble again, her body squirming.

  “Come for me, sweetheart, and let me taste it.”

  “Not yet. Please. I want to come with you. I want you all the way inside me while we both come.”

  Without giving her request a second thought I pull Stella upright and hoist her onto my lap again, my big hands gripping her ass. She’s so wild with need now, it overpowers all my thoughts. I’m just so happy to have her close to me, urgently sharing her taste with her mouth.

  Her round ass feels so good in my strong hands, I find it hard to control myself; I find my hands wandering into a whole new territory.

  “Sorry. Rogue finger,” I whisper as I force my trouble-making digits away from the valley been her cheeks.