by Emerson Rose
Back in my room, I grab my phone and lay down in my bed that still smells of sex and Sasha, my new favorite smells. I send her a text.
Me: Your door is locked.
Sasha: I know.
Me: What if Tori needs you?
What if I need you is more like it, but she’s being stubborn, so I have to use what ammunition I’ve got.
Sasha: You’re right across the hall.
Me: I have to work in the morning.
Sasha: SO DO I!
Me: I have surgery.
Sasha: I have to care for your most precious possession, your daughter.
She’s got me there.
Me: What if I lop off some poor woman’s breast because I’m tired?
Sasha: I’m sure you’re skilled enough to give her a newer, better, BIGGER one.
I laugh, she’s right, I could.
Me: What’s your problem with big breasts?
Sasha: No problem.
Me: Please, unlock the door, so we can talk.
Sasha: There’s nothing left to say.
Me: There’s plenty to say. For instance, why did you say we have nothing in common?
Sasha: Because we don’t. I used to sell shoes, you’re a doctor. I think that says it all.
Me: That doesn’t say shit. Unlock your door, so we can talk face to face.
Sasha: No.
Me: Sasha.
She doesn’t respond, and I’m losing my patience. She will not dismiss me like this. I get up and quietly walk to my office to get the master key to all the rooms in the house. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.
It’s a bold move, one I would never make with anyone else staying in my home. I slip the key in and open her door. The light is on next to her bed, and her phone is lying next to it flashing my last text message. I hear the shower running in the en-suite bathroom and smile. Perfect. She can’t get away from me now, and I can show her at least a dozen things we have in common in the shower.
I try the doorknob, and it’s open, not that it matters. I have the key in my pocket. Steam pours out the door when I open it. I can see her curvy silhouette behind the frosted glass of the shower. Her arms are over her head shampooing her hair. She doesn’t sense my presence, and I plan on taking full advantage of that.
Silently, I strip my t-shirt off over my head and drop my shorts releasing my throbbing erection. The shower is a walk-in with no door, just an open space at one end. I step in blocking one of four jet sprayers, and that gets her attention. She spins around spraying water and shampoo everywhere including right into my eye.
“What the hell? Didn’t I lock the door?” she yells, and I reach out and cover her mouth.
“Shush, you don’t want Tori in here, do you?” I tip my face toward the water to rinse the burning soap from my eye. So much for a smooth romantic entrance where I grab her around the waist, spin her around, and ravish her before she can complain about me coming into her locked quarters.
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you invaded my privacy,” she hisses in a whisper. “What are you a part-time criminal or something? Picking locks…” she says under her breath while turning away from me to finish rinsing her hair.
“It’s my house, and I have a key. I didn’t want to use it, but you weren’t being reasonable.” I step forward and remove the detachable showerhead to rinse her hair myself, anything to get closer to her wet body.
She tries to step forward, but I slide my arm around her waist and pull her back to my front giving her the full effect of my length. At first, I think she’s going to struggle, but I suspect she’s getting butterfly zings in her pussy because her muscles relax, and she melts against me. I continue to rinse her hair until the water runs clear, and I replace the showerhead in its cradle.
“Conditioner?” I ask knowing full well that if her hair is anywhere as tangly as Tori’s, she will never get a brush through it without conditioner. She points at a bottle on the stone bench with a pump on top. I push the pump three times and work the slippery product into her hair from scalp to ends.
“You’re good at that,” she says, and I lean around to look at her face surprised by the compliment. She’s frowning, and her bottom lip is sticking out in a pout as if it pained her to admit that I am good at taking care of her hair.
“I’ve had a lot of practice washing hair.”
Her frown deepens, and she glares at me. “Tori’s hair. Geesh, you’re the jealous type, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” I take a deep breath in through my nose and blow it out rolling my eyes. At least she’s the honest, jealous type.
“So, you text that we have nothing in common, and I would like to counter that statement.”
Still frowning she answers, “Go ahead.”
“Come here,” I take her hands and lead her to the stone bench. I sit and slide back with my back against the wall and pull her down to sit between my legs facing away from me. I wrap my hands around her waist and slide one up between her breasts to nudge her chin so she will lean her head back on my shoulder. “That’s better. Okay, so things in common. We both like kids, mine, in particular, and you can’t possibly deny that.”
“I cannot deny that I love Victoria.”
“Good. See? Progress.”
“What else?”
“Well, we have a mad appreciation for Mexican food. Those were the best chicken tacos I’ve ever eaten.”
“Thank you. What else?” she replies curtly.
“We both love the ocean, in different ways perhaps, but it’s a shared interest just the same.”
“What do you mean in different ways?”
“You like to surf, I like to fish. And then there is our shared belief that medication should be used in moderation.”
“What?” She lifts up her lip in a snarl and turns her face to mine. I can’t resist having her mouth so close to mine, and I kiss her. My hands wander up and down her body sliding over her breasts and down to her thighs where I push them open and circle her clit with the tip of my finger.
“Turn around,” I command, and she wastes no time slithering around in my lap. “Put your feet up on either side of me.” She does as instructed, and I slide my hands under her wet ass pulling her toward me and entering her slowly. We did fast and furious in bed, and now I want to take my time with her in the shower.
When we are joined, I slide my hand up her back and gather her hair wrapping it around my wrist. I give it a little tug baring her neck to my mouth. I lick and kiss all along her shoulder, neck, and behind her ear, which seems to be the power button for butterfly zings.
Her sighs and moans propel me on until my cock is about to burst. “Move,” I say against her ear, and she lifts up as much as she can in her position. I cup her ass and help her lifting her up and down on my cock. “Goddamn, you feel so good. I want to worship every inch of your body, Sasha. Every. Single. Inch.”
She ups the pace and digs her nails into my shoulders. As much as I want this to last, I can’t stop her. Her big, silver-blue eyes bore into my soul setting me on the verge of a climax. What is it about this woman? She makes me want to break all of my unspoken rules.
Don’t get attached. Yeah, too late.
Don’t bring her to my bed. Rule broken times two.
Don’t expose Tori. She’s her fucking nanny for Christ’s sake.
Don’t fall in love. I’m not sure on this one because I lack experience, but if I had to guess, I’d say I’ve broken that rule, too.
Suddenly, every muscle in her body tenses, her head falls back, her mouth opens in a silent scream, and she comes violently arching her back. It’s a beautiful sight watching her let go with no inhibitions. Not a lot of women can do that.
When she’s beginning to come down from her high, I stand up and press her back against the wall. She clings to me, and I thrust into her like an animal with no restraint until I come with her name on my lips.
“Sasha, Sasha, Sasha…” I murmur dropp
ing my head into the crook of her neck. Her hands slide around my back, and she holds me tight.
“You see, we have a lot in common after all.”
“What do you mean?” she says still catching her breath.
“We both love shower sex.”
She makes a thoughtful face. “Okay, so we have a few things in common, but we come from different worlds, Xander. If you want to have fun while I’m working for you, that’s cool, but when the job is done, we’re done.”
I can live with that. At least she’s not telling me this isn’t going to work anymore. I am a very persuasive man, and I’m used to getting what I want. All I have to do is make sure this job never ends and show her that our worlds aren’t so damn different. Easy.
“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal. You have to stay as long as I need you, though, and you’re mine while you’re here. No sleeping with anyone else.”
“Fine, as long as that goes for you, too.”
“I have absolutely no interest in being with anyone but you.”
She relaxes her legs and lowers herself to the floor. “I have to rinse my hair,” she says like the past fifteen minutes never happened. I reach up for the showerhead again and commence rinsing her hair. When her hair is soft and silky, I squirt body wash into my hands and set about washing every part of her. When I’m finished, I shut off the water and dry her with a fluffy white bath sheet and walk her out of the shower to the mirror. I scoop her hair over one shoulder and kiss her neck. Then I leave without another word. I’m afraid if I say anything, she will renege on our agreement, and I worked too hard for that to happen.
Dripping wet and still naked, I risk a peek into Tori’s room and find her not in bed. Shit, where the hell did she go now? In my room, I find the answer to that question when I see a little lump sleeping soundly on my side of the bed. Great. I’m going to have some explaining, or should I say lying, to do in the morning.
I cross the room to my bathroom to dry off and put on a pair of shorts and another t-shirt. I’m hit with a twinge of guilt when I get back into the bed I had sex in less than an hour ago. I try to close my eyes and sleep, but Sasha is everywhere. My sheets smell like her sweaty skin, and my hands smell like her conditioner.
I fling off the sheet and round the bed scooping Tori up and returning her to her bed without waking her.
When I crawl back into my bed, I sprawl out and breathe in everything Sasha until I fall into a Sasha dream-filled sleep, and wow, does she give good dreams.
Sometimes life is a dream you don’t want to wake up from.
15
Sasha
I haven’t been so tired or so sore since I spent a week living on the beach and surfing with my ex-boyfriend in Maui five years ago. My alarm is chirping next to the bed when I open one eye to be sure the sun is up, and it is.
Could have fooled me, my body says it’s two in the morning, and I have five hours left to sleep, but the clock says it’s 7:00 a.m. My middle-of-the-night shenanigans with Xander have left me with a sex hangover, and that is bad news. Victoria and I are going to the zoo today, and then I promised more surfing lessons. I think we are going to have to schedule a power nap in there somewhere. Five-year-olds can still take naps, right? What am I saying? I’m twenty-nine, and I still enjoy the occasional nap.
I drag myself from the bed, and the memories of the night before start seeping from my sleepy brain. Damn Xander for being so persistent, damn him for being so charming, and damn him for being so great at sex.
I’ve always been a one-and-done girl. I’ve never even been able to make myself come more than once, but Xander can make me come with a look from across the room. I can’t even count how many orgasms he gave me last night, but I’m sure it’s more than I’ve had in the past five years combined.
How is this man not married or at least engaged or in a serious relationship? He’s got everything. He’s a prime catch, the perfect bachelor, but he’s forty-five years old, and as far as I can tell, he’s never been married.
That’s a conscious decision. You don’t end up alone when you have everything Xander does unless you want to be. Does he want to be alone? It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.
I wobble to the bathroom on jello legs to pee and brush my teeth. Thankfully, I don’t need to shower, so I throw on some shorts and a tank top and start toward Victoria’s room, but she’s already in the hall waiting for me, and she’s dressed, sort of.
“Hey there, you’re up.”
“Uh-huh, I’m hungry.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“Um, I dunno,” she answers, and I realize what a dumb question that is to ask a five-year-old.
“Is your daddy gone?”
“Yeah, he’s not in bed.”
“You slept with him last night?” I ask wondering how that happened when last I knew she was in her bed.
“Uh-huh, I heard a noise. Daddy said I couldn’t sleep with him anymore.” I’ll bet he did, at least until I move out anyway. That makes me sad. I don’t want to be the reason she can’t go to her daddy when she’s scared.
“You can come to my room if you get scared in the night, okay?”
Her eyes brighten, and she takes my hand. “So, is that what you’re wearing to the zoo today?” I ask looking at her ensemble. She’s wearing her bikini bottoms, galoshes, and a long-sleeved sweater with feather clips in her hair.
“I wanna go shell hunting first.” Shell hunting, huh? Well, that explains the outfit at least—a sweater for early morning breezes, boots to protect her feet in the tide pools, bikini because hey, it’s the beach, and feathers because… well, she’s got me there.
“Okay, that’s cool. How about some pancakes first?”
“Yes! Real pancakes?”
“Uh, yeah, what other kind is there?”
“My Zion makes the kind that you put in the toaster. They’re good, but real pancakes from the restaurant are better.”
“Eggos, yes. Eggos are excellent when you’re in a hurry, but we have all the time in the world. I’ll show you how to make them, come on.”
Downstairs, we get to work making pancakes. From what I can gather, Zion isn’t much into cooking. Victoria doesn’t come right out and complain, but her joy at being taught how to do things from scratch speaks for itself.
About an hour later, we are finishing our funny-face pancakes, and I receive a text.
Xander: How are my two favorite girls doing today?
I smile even though I know I will only be one of his favorite girls for a week or two.
Me: Great, just finishing pancakes, and then we are going shell hunting on the beach. How about you?
Xander: Not as good as pancakes and shell hunting but good, tired, but good.
Me: Tired? Why ever might you be tired?
Xander: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with a certain somebody being stubborn and pig-headed last night.
Me: I have no idea what you’re talking about. I had a great night.
Xander: Mmm hmm, I did, too, eventually.
He makes it sound like I fought him off when he took me to bed—hardly. He’s just being a baby about me pumping the breaks.
Me: Okay, well we have to go, see you at dinner.
That ought to irritate the crap out of him. I practically dismissed him after he just told me he had a great time last night. Serves him right, I wasn’t the only one being unreasonable. He unlocked the door to my room and invaded my shower! If that isn’t pushy and cocky, I don’t know what is.
Xander: I have a meeting tonight, I won’t be home for dinner. Also, don’t wait up for me, I’ll be late.
Oh, well la-de-da. He’s going to be late, don’t wait up, huh? So much for being monogamous while I was staying with him. Oh well, I didn’t want things to get serious anyway. Or did I?
I send him a clipped I-couldn’t-care-less text. I don’t want him to know that blowing me off tonight hurts.
Me: Cool. Later.
I press the phone against my chest and look at the ceiling. I want to respond. I want to know what he has to say, but my pride won’t allow it, and I ignore his messages for the rest of the morning.
Victoria and I combed the beach for shells. We didn’t find many, but the few we came up with I told her we could use in a craft tomorrow. She thought this was the best news ever.
“We getta use glue and glitter and stuff?”
I open my eyes wide and lean in close to her face. “Yep, the messier, the better.”
“Awesome,” she says making a fist and pulling her arm down in the universal awesome gesture.
“Zion doesn’t do crafts,” she says poking her bottom lip out in a pout.
“That’s okay, some people are just naturally more crafty than others. Maybe when she comes home, we can teach her some crafts?”
“You would do that?”
“Of course.”
“I love you, my Sasha.” She steps in close to me and hugs my legs. I stroke her hair. Man, it’s easy for kids to express their feelings. When do adults lose that ability?
“I love you too, my Victoria.” She looks up at me still holding my legs and smiles a melt-your-heart kid smile that does just that.
“Shell time!” she yells running for the glass wall. I follow her, and my phone chimes a text alert again. Great, he’s going to keep it up until I respond. Well, I hope he can get used to rejection fast because I am not responding.
I glance down to see what kind of message he thinks will capture my attention, and I freeze.
Enrique: Nice digs.
Shit, shit, shit. How does he do that? Every time we have an encounter, I change my phone number. I’ve changed my phone number six times over the past year, and every time he figures it out. If I could go into the witness protection program and change my entire identity, I would. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, Enrique hasn’t exposed me to any illegal activities that would make me valuable to the authorities.
I have been crossing my fingers and my toes for the past two weeks since the car accident that he would decide that enough is enough. I guess I didn’t cross them hard enough.