Good Girls Like it Dirty

by Carmen Falcone

  She circled between people, and the tray was almost empty when she heard a deep masculine voice behind her. “Monique?”

  The little hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. Drawing in a breath, she turned on her heel to meet the man who had the power to send her hormones into overdrive with one single word.

  Dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt with an open collar and dark denim jeans, Zaine looked as hot as ever. He regarded her with a special interest; specks of silver flickered around his sultry brown irises.

  “Fancy meeting you here, Monsieur Zaine,” she said, though she should have guessed he would be attending. Zaine and Doug were friends, and Paula had been the one who recommended her cleaning services to Ashley. “Care for an appetizer?” she asked, wishing her voice didn’t tremble at the end.

  “No thanks,” he said, inching closer. He stared deep into her eyes, causing butterflies to cartwheel in her stomach. “I already had quite the appetizer earlier,” he said in a low tone.

  What would have happened if she had accepted his offer? If she had screwed him then? Behave, Monique, behave. No good ever came from listening to her impulses.

  Goose bumps covered her flesh, and she clamped her lips to suppress a moan. What if she followed her carnal instinct to give herself to him… Just once? She wanted to give in to the insatiable need sitting heavy on her chest and tingling in her breasts. Oh, how she wanted him. But she didn’t dare. At least not here. “Then you should stick around for the full meal. It’ll be served later.”

  Desire glinted in his eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  She squared her shoulders, desperate to sound calm and collected. “Great. I heard the chef is amazing. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  Zaine gripped her elbow, making her look at him square in the eye. Every part of her throbbed for him, her blood pumping hard and thick in her veins. His gaze darted to her eyes, then dropped down her mouth. She sucked in her breath.

  “What if I’m starving and don’t feel like waiting?” he said in a sexy, growly voice.

  Chapter Two

  Zaine closed the gap between them. A part of him warned him to be cautious, but the rest of him disagreed. When he’d seen her working at the dinner party, he didn’t flinch and walked over to talk with her. His intention to make things nice and give them a clean slate disintegrated the instant he’d approached her. Screw the high road. And screw the repercussions.

  For the last few months—even while married—his life had been a hazy blur of continuing motion: he worked, made money, exercised, tried not to think about the gap separating him and his then-wife. Then, after Ashley left, the new post-breakup lifestyle overwhelmed him. A few women had invited him for drinks, but he’d been in no mood for a rebound romance and declined their offers. He hadn’t been ready to get to know anyone, to share first date conversations and be charming. Not yet.

  “Meet me in the bathroom upstairs,” Monique said in a voice above a whisper.

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. He let go of her elbow and glanced around them to ensure no one had witnessed their intimate exchange. To his satisfaction, the guests faced the other way, and judging from their natural body language and scattered chuckles, they probably hadn’t noticed anything. By the time he’d turned to face her again, Monique was gone.

  Fuck. What had he done? He discreetly strode up the stairs. As he was a longtime family friend, anyone would assume the downstairs bathrooms were occupied and he was heading to the second floor to use another one. Or maybe he’d wanted to appreciate the brand-new paintings Doug kept bragging about.

  He’d worry about an excuse later—if needed.

  Now the only thing he wanted was to bang the hot French maid. Who cared if it sounded clichéd or wrong? There was nothing wrong about her devilish grin or the way she looked at him. She sent him sinful signs he didn’t dare ignore.

  His body throbbed with need, his every cell fully alert as to what he had planned to do. His internal clock had regressed a good twenty years. If he didn’t make it to the bathroom soon enough, he’d explode.

  The door was closed, and he knocked twice. She opened it, and he entered without delay. She launched herself at him, and he slammed her against the wall. A decorative vase of flowers fell to the floor and broke, but she chuckled instead of fussing. Determined, he dipped his head and captured her lips in his. She opened her mouth, compliant, warm, and willing. The moment his tongue stroked hers, a wave of primal arousal washed over him. He trembled, in pre-orgasmic fashion, and intensified the kiss, resolute to explore that sassy mouth of hers.

  “Oui, oui,” she whispered, and moaned. The sexiest sound he’d ever heard. He wanted to record it.

  “You’re so fucking hot. Jesus. I’m almost coming,” he said. If she wanted him to last she’d have to slow the fuck down.

  “Me too. Touch me.”

  Slowing down wasn’t in the cards. He slid his hand down the boring uniform. Knowing Paula like he did, she’d probably chosen the plainest dress to minimize Monique’s curves. He palmed her DD-cup breasts, earning another whimper from her lips. To shut her up, he fused his mouth with hers again, and this time, she grinded against him, showing him how much she needed his tongue, his hand, and soon, his dick.

  When he reached between her thighs, he felt the heat seeping through the fabric before he even touched her intimately. She arched against him, and he hiked up her dress and pulled down her G-string. The sensual scent of female arousal swirled into his nostrils and he breathed it in.

  He slid a finger into her soaking wet pussy, and she gasped.

  “God, you’re soaked, Monique. Is this all for me? This drenched cunt?”

  She quivered. “Y-yes, Monsieur. All for you,” she said, her voice wavering.

  He parted her slick folds, adding two more fingers. She arched herself into him, obviously so, so ready for more, for all he wanted to give her. This woman was pure dynamite under his touch. “I’ll take it all, do you understand? I’m going to touch you until you come, then suck your naughty pussy until you cream on my face. Then I’ll fuck it so good you’ll go crazy, honey.”

  “Mon Dieu.” She clenched her thighs around his hand. She rode his hand like it was his rod, grinding it breathlessly. He flicked her clit while thrusting his fingers in and out of her, curling his index against her G-spot, driving her crazy for him. She grabbed his collar with both hands, and he felt a surge of her pearly essence dripping on his hand when she moaned into his ear and started to shake. “Yes. Yes…”

  She quivered in his arms, and he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her closed eyes. A strange wave of affection washed over him, even though he barely knew her. She gave herself to him so freely and unconditionally; sometimes couples that had known each other for decades didn’t share this immediate, raw, insane chemistry.

  The sound of a knock on the door almost made him jump. Shit.

  She stiffened in his arms, and when he stepped back he noticed the shade of pink coloring her face, the sweat glistening over her forehead. She looked freshly fucked even if he hadn’t been lucky to take care of her the way she deserved. But he would—hell yeah, he would. He gestured for her to be quiet, and while she composed herself behind him, he opened the door a fraction.

  A teenaged boy, probably friends with Paula and Doug’s sixteen-year-old son, stood in front of the door, eyes glued to his cell phone. He texted faster than a lot of people jogged.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well,” Zaine told him, touching his stomach to sound more convincing.

  The blond teen looked up and nodded. “Ugh, no worries, dude. Feel better.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and closed the door behind him. Let the teenager find any other bathroom in the huge house. When he turned to her, she gave him a half smile.

  “It’s time for me to go,” she said, her voice steady. A couple of strands strayed from the ponytail, and she tucked the rebellious pieces of hair behind her ears. His fingers itched to
mess it all over again. “I’m sure they’ll be wondering where I’ve been.”

  “Can I see you later?” he asked without an ounce of shame. There was no going back; he needed to have her.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Won’t it be too late for a full meal? I’d hate for you to get sick from a midnight feast.”

  He angled closer and ran a finger down her pert nose. “I’ll survive. I’ve been looking forward to the banquet.”

  “How do you know you’ll get a banquet and not, let’s say, a small offering?”

  “I’ll devour whatever I get,” he said in a deep, low voice.

  A zing of energy passed between them, and she stared at him with a devilish twinkle in her eyes. “I don’t doubt it, mon chéri. À bientôt,” she purred, before leaving the bathroom.

  Damn the woman. She kept him in suspense. He glanced around, and decided to put the big pieces of the broken vase in the trash. Then he splashed some cold water on his face and sucked in a breath. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and for the first time since his separation, a genuine, devilish grin spread across his face. So what if screwing her blurred the lines? This was just sex, nothing more. She’d brought his mojo back and he’d be a fool if he didn’t see it through. He couldn’t think of the last thing he wanted as much as he wanted Monique, and that scared and excited him in equal measure.

  Zaine took the stairs and found Doug waiting at the bottom.

  “How are you doing, man?” Doug gave him a tumbler of scotch and leaned closer, like they were about to have a one-on-one conversation.

  Zaine swallowed hard. Had the teenager suspected something? Had news of his make-out session already spread? He clasped the square glass. He didn’t want to embarrass Monique or make things awkward for her in any way. “I’m good.”

  Doug nodded. “I noticed you went upstairs for a while.”

  Zaine cleared his throat. He wasn’t one to lie, but this time he had to—for Monique’s sake. He took a generous sip of scotch, the strong amber liquid rolling down his throat and loosening his limbs. Around them, the party continued in full force with a few groups gathered in the house, drinking, laughing, and having fun.

  “This must be difficult for you. Being out without Ashley,” Doug said and gave him a condescending pat on his back.

  Of course. His friend had assumed he’d left the party because he’d been uncomfortable in a social setting post-separation, not because he’d tried to bang the sexy maid. He let out a sigh of relief. Doug’s out-of-touchness had finally come in handy. “It’s okay.”

  “Have you talked to Ashley recently?” he asked.

  Zaine pinched the bridge of his nose. Doug always meant well, even if Paula’s overbearing ways had rubbed off on him since their marriage. “Yes. We’ve worked together on some projects. And we text about some house stuff. But nothing too personal,” he said. He should have known blending their services would affect him at some point. He built houses and buildings, and she decorated them. They had their own offices in different parts of the city, but naturally they had shared clients and accounts. Successfully so. “We’re working out details of the divorce peacefully.”

  Turned out they made better business partners than spouses. Zaine had been frustrated about his marriage ending, because he’d invested time and had put his heart on the line. Yet, as the bitterness from the breakup subsided, questions began to form. In the last couple of years, had they really had a fruitful, engaging relationship? Whenever they weren’t working, they spent more time with their electronic devices or watching the news than talking to each other. As for social outings, they usually included mutual friends or business acquaintances. No romantic dates.

  “Are you thinking about dating soon?”

  Zaine brought the glass to his lips and said, before taking another sip, “Eventually. In some ways, I’m already back in the field.” Monique had brought out a side of him he had long forgotten—even before the dissolution of his marriage. Perhaps even before Ashley. Monique awakened in him an adventurous, playful, daring side. He no longer wanted to watch porn at home alone—he wanted to reenact all those dirty scenes with his sinful maid.

  “Good. See how going out’s better than avoiding everyone?”

  “I have to agree. Coming here changed the course of my evening for sure,” he said, grinning as he noticed Monique carrying a tray and stopping in front of them.

  Zaine locked his spine in place, her effect on him undeniable. He wanted to touch her soft skin, to caress her endlessly. His flesh tingled, and he caught himself fidgeting, tapping on the side of his glass.

  “Gentlemen?” Monique held the tray, the neutral expression on her beautiful face not giving anything away.

  Doug lifted his hand in refusal, but Zaine didn’t pass up the opportunity to tease her. “I’m famished. I’ll take one. What is it?”

  She tilted her head to the side, staring him square in the eye as if she were about to whisper a secret. “Upside-down mushroom tartlets.”

  He glanced at the tiny brown tarts adorned with some greens, then stared back at her. “Sounds like the kind of appetizer that’ll only make me hungrier.”

  She lifted her chin, and the ghost of a smile formed on her lips. “It’s a risk you have to take, Monsieur.”

  He didn’t reply, but took a canapé without tearing his gaze from hers. Before he murmured “thank you,” she nodded and left to serve other guests, and he had to will himself not to look at her. God. He glanced at his watch. How much longer until her shift was over? He’d ask her that next time he saw her. His alone time with that bombshell couldn’t come fast enough. And sadly neither could he.

  …

  Monique rushed into the kitchen, flustered. Shyness had never been a problem for her, but every simple exchange with Zaine sent her blood to a low simmer. She needed a personal fan and an icy drink whenever she shared oxygen with him. The way he looked at her like he’d seen her naked. Because he has.

  A sharp sound yanked her from her thoughts, and she blinked, startled. When she looked down, she realized the plate she’d held had slipped from her hands, and dozens of pieces of china littered the marbled tiled floor. “Merde.”

  “Crap is right,” said Paula behind her.

  “I’m sorry,” she rushed to say, and kneeled down to pick up the pieces on the floor. She heard Glen whistling behind her, but he didn’t do anything to help. Bastard.

  Paula snorted, visibly impatient. “Is there something going on? You disappeared when we were the busiest. Someone told me you’re flirting with my guests and now you’re breaking my family china.”

  A warm wave spread across her cheeks and neck. How could she deny flirting? Doug probably told Paula about her exchange with Zaine. “I went upstairs to clean up after a guest said someone broke a vase in the bathroom,” she said in an even tone.

  Paula folded her arms, tilted her head to the side. “Really?”

  Putain. I’m bad at this. “I’m so sorry about your china. I can pay you back,” Monique said, swallowing her pride. Maybe she sucked at lying, but at least she was trying to make amends. “I was distracted,” she said, choosing not to throw Zaine under the bus. He wouldn’t get in trouble for making out at their house, but Monique knew Paula was friends with Ashley, and she’d hate to involve more people than necessary.

  “Pay me back?” Paula laughed with sarcasm.

  Monique’s stomach churned. She’d been regarded in such a belittling way before, and swore she’d never again allow herself to be the girl people pitied.

  “You’d have to work your butt off to afford it. Listen, having you help me clearly was a disastrous idea. You’re good enough to dust off the shelves and scrub the toilets, but you lack the polish to serve at a sophisticated dinner party.”

  Monique’s shoulders involuntarily sagged. She’d come from a large family, and her mother had to endure a lot of hardship after her father left them. Yet she’d never felt as dirt poor as now, with that stupid rich wom
an sizing her up. Was she going to let her, though?

  Pull yourself together. Monique locked her spine in place, though her fingers trembled as she removed the apron and tossed it on the kitchen counter. Didn’t matter how she felt…all she needed was to show Paula that money didn’t give a person carte blanche to bitch at the help. Or anyone.

  “What are you doing?” Paula furrowed her brows.

  “I’m leaving. You’re right. This wasn’t a good idea,” she said, pleased at how collected she sounded.

  Paula grabbed her elbow like she was an eight-year-old girl who’d left the dinner table without asking for permission. “Are you insane? You can’t go anywhere, dinner hasn’t been served yet,” Paula said, digging her fingers into Monique’s skin.

  Monique glanced down at her reddening flesh. Her heart thumped at the base of her throat. Anger surpassed frustration, and she jerked free from the woman’s hold. What the hell was she thinking? “You have hands and legs. Work it out,” she said, walking to the food pantry where she’d left her purse and stuffed her clothes.

  “This is stupid,” Paula said, following her footsteps. “You can’t leave. The dress you’re wearing’s mine. Or were you going to steal it like the little crook you are?”

  Was she really worked up because of this tacky dress? She’d worked for Paula’s family for months and never imagined one day she’d be treated with so much disrespect. “No problem.” Swiftly, she slipped off the dress, and it pooled at her heels. She quickly retrieved the clothes she’d worn that day, then pulled on her jeans and shirt while Glen watched her, his jaw dropping.

  Monique didn’t care. Growing up, she’d hated feeling like she wasn’t good enough around her father’s second family. He’d moved on and married some lady with money and snooty kids from a prior marriage. During the family events she’d attended, Papa’s new family looked down at her and her three siblings. She’d sworn she’d never allow anyone to treat her with contempt because of her lack of social standing and disadvantaged financial status.