by Mac Flynn
He smiled. “I wondered if you liked the house.”
I allowed my eyes to wander over the room. “It’s pretty nice. Not going to be easy to dust, though,” I admitted.
He chuckled. “What about to live here?”
I returned my full attention to him and tilted my head to one side. “Do I have to do that to get the job? Live here in a servant’s room or something?”
“Not exactly.” He leaned forward and closed the distance between us. My heart thumped so hard in my chest I thought I’d reenact the scene from Alien. His eyes swept over my costume and I blushed when I noticed there was lust in their depths. “You’re beautiful in that uniform, but then, you’re beautiful in any clothes. . .” he murmured.
I squirmed under such an intense, heated scrutiny. “A-aren’t I supposed to be interviewed by your employer?” I reminded him.
He slipped from his chair and seated himself beside me on the bed. One of his hands settled on my thigh just below the hem of the short skirt. He leaned towards me and his breath tickled my ear. “You are.”
I started away from him and twisted so I had a full glimpse of John. “But you’re not-” I froze when I saw the devilish smile on his lips. He was the employer. “B-but you said you were his secretary!” I reminded him.
John chuckled. “I didn’t lie. I am my own secretary, and thus my own employer, and I’ve chosen you as my new employee.”
My eyes flitted to the door. “B-but the others. Their interviews and-”
“Already taken care of. They weren’t who I was looking for when I placed that ad.” His hand slid up and toyed with the hem of my skirt. My chest heaved with my quick gasps. He lowered his head and planted soft kisses on my neck. He pulled away and his breath tingled my heated flesh. “When I placed that ad I thought to find more than an employee. I wanted a companion, one who would understand me, speak to me. I’d almost given up when you came.” He raised his head so our eyes were level. “Your beautiful, real self.”
He locked lips with me in a searing battle of passion. A sensual heat flowed through me that lit my body alight with the fires of lust. I groaned and leaned against him. His chuckle reverberated through me and he pulled away. His bright eyes seared my soul with his need. I shuddered beneath such an intense look and turned away. He caught my chin between his fingers and turned my eyes back to him.
“I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first I saw you enter my study. Your friend’s praise of your personality confirmed my first impression of you, and your reaction to my-well, my actions sealed my decision. I want you to be my companion, my bride, my wife. Will you accept me?”
What was I to say? A rich, handsome man just professed his undying love for me and offered me a marriage proposal. “Yes,” I whispered.
All the tension, all the strain inside of me melted away, as did our inhibitions. He captured my lips in another hot, passionate kiss while his hands groped for my bare flesh. One hand slid under my short skirt and toyed with my flimsy underwear. His fingers pressed against my soaked, hot center, and I thrust my hips into his grasp. He lay me down atop the bed and draped himself across my side. His lips pressed sweet kisses against the tingling flesh of my neck. His fingers rubbed against my sensitive clit, pushing me deeper into an aching need that demanded satisfaction.
“Please,” I moaned.
“Not yet. . .” he murmured as one hand slid up to the buttons on the front of my blouse. His fingers popped them open one by one. “I want to enjoy you more.”
I shuddered and lay my head back as my bra and breasts were revealed. He brushed away my bra and cupped one of my large, swollen mounds in his hand. His fingers massaged me like he’d done before, and I reveled in the intoxicating feeling of him pleasuring me. I arched my back and pushed myself into his grasp. He brushed aside the entire front of my shirt and dove his face into my mounds. His hot, wet lips caught a pert bud and he suckled me like an infant. I grabbed his head and moaned.
I slid my legs so they lay on either side of him and raised my hips to rub my heated core against him. He grunted and raised his head. His eyes were wide and blazing with lust. A grin slid onto his lips. “You little vixen,” he scolded me.
I whimpered and squirmed beneath him. My hoarse voice told him of my desperate need. “Please. I can’t take this. I need you,” I pleaded.
His hands were as deft at taking off the rest of my clothes as my buttons. In a few moments we lay naked atop the bed sheets. His handsome body hovered over mine, and I sought to cover my folds of fat with my hands. He grasped my wrists and placed my arms on either side of me. I was laid bare to his lustful eyes. His chest heaved and his stiff member throbbed. He covered my body with his own and teased my hot, wet entrance.
I sighed when he penetrated me. He was large and stiff, but I comfortably covered him in my soft, wet walls. He paused and gasped for air. “So perfect. . .” he murmured.
I couldn’t focus on his compliment. All I knew was the hungry ache inside me. I squirmed my hips. He grunted and thrust deeper inside me. It felt so right being connected to him. We were one and the same. Both our bodies demanded satisfaction, and nothing but blissful orgasm would appease the lustful need that consumed us.
He pulled out and pushed inside. Each stroke stoked higher the fire of lust inside me. I gasped and clung onto my lover. The fire inside me was painfully wonderful. It enveloped me in its warm, lustful embrace, but demanded more. Its hunger was insatiable. My only thought was to increase this bliss, to appease the growing hunger inside me.
“Faster. Oh god, more,” I groaned.
My lover grunted and obeyed. His teasing penetrations changed to strong, hard thrusts. They were wild and uncontrollable, like the fire inside me. Our passionate embrace turned into a frenzy of lust. Our hips thrust against each other as each of us sought to stoke the flames. I reveled in the feel of him inside me, stroking my sensitive nerves until they pulsed with pleasure.
The ache inside me grew stronger. I thrashed and squirmed in his strong embrace. Our sweat-soaked bodies slid against one another in a frantic dance. I knew nothing but my lust for him, that strong, powerful need to be taken by another and seduced into orgasm. My legs wrapped around him, deepening his powerful, possessive thrusts. I was his to take, to pleasure, to please. Each penetration drove me closer to heaven, to the completion my body so demanded and longed for.
“More. Just a little more,” I groaned. My body twitched as spasms of orgasm swept through me. I clung to my lover and whispered sweet praise into his ear. “So wonderful. So hard. God, I’m so close. Just a little farther. Oh please god, don’t stop.”
He responded with harder and deeper thrusts. His muscles tensed and rubbed against my pert, swollen breasts. My body finally gave in to his penetrations, his demands. Orgasm after sweet orgasm swept over me. I leaned my head back and cried his name to the heavens. He continued to thrust into me until his orgasm overcame him. With his energy spent, he collapsed onto me.
We both lay there for a moment wheezing and covered in sweat. I shifted and winced when my sore muscles protested the movement. This wasn’t going to hurt later; it hurt now. Of course, the thought of being the wife of a rich, handsome man helped ease the pain. Unfortunately, there was some lingering doubt.
“Did you. . .did you really mean all those things you said? You know, about marrying me?” I asked him.
He raised himself up onto his arms and looked down at me with kind smile. “With all my heart. I want you to stay here with me and be my bride.” I recalled a memory from yesterday and burst out laughing. He raised an eyebrow. “Was it something I said?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “No, but it’s something I promised. I hope you don’t mind a friend coming to live with us.”
John leaned down and pressed a soft, passionate kiss on my lips. He didn’t mind, and Aimee moved in while we were on our honeymoon. I often thanked her for looking through the Help Wanted section of the paper, and she never gave up looking
for her own wanted rich husband. As for me, it was a glorious life with my employer, my love, my husband.
A note from Mac
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Continue the adventure
Now that you’ve finished the book, feel free to check out my website for the rest of the exciting series! Here’s also a little sneak-peek at the next book:
* * *
Billionaire Seeking Bride #3:
I never expected to meet the man of my dreams seventy floors above the ground, but that’s how fate planned it. I wished she’d planned it a little closer to the ground, but with how everything ended I shouldn’t complain.
My story starts on the ground in a small internet cafe.
“You see anything?” I asked the woman seated at the opposite side of the small, round table. She had her eyes glued to a laptop screen in front of her.
She shook her head. “Nope, you?”
I sighed, leaned back and closed the lid to my own laptop. “Not a thing.”
She frowned at me over the top of her computer. “You shouldn’t give up. We’ve only been looking for an hour.”
“That’s an hour of my life I want back,” I quipped.
This conversation is probably a little confusing to you. Maybe I’d better start with my name. It was Susan Brid. My occupation was Unemployed, hence the laptops. The person opposite me was my best friend, Grace Sanders. She was trying to help me find another job and figured that two people tackling the online job boards was twice as effective. This was the third day we’d tried searching, and my occupation was still Unemployed.
“Come on, you can’t give up,” she insisted.
I leaned over the table and frowned at her. “Grace, I’ve been looking for a job for four months. I’ve put in hundreds of applications, had only a dozen interviews, and gone through countless hours waiting for a callback. That hasn’t happened. I just don’t think I’m going to find a job here.”
She slammed her fists on the table. “But you can’t move!” The other patrons of the cafe jumped. Grace sheepishly smiled at them and sunk in her chair. “Sorry.”
I smiled at her. “It’s been fun staying at your apartment, but I just can’t keep mooching off you. I need to go back home and start looking there.”
“But that’s way up state,” she argued. “And besides, what are you going to do up in farm country? Buck pigs and butcher bails?”
I snorted. “Yeah, Grace, because those damn pigs need a good bucking.”
She straightened in her chair and goofily grinned at me. “Okay, so I don’t know the farm lingo, but you’re not leaving me alone in the wilderness that is the big city.”
“Grace, you grew up here,” I reminded her. “You could probably fend off a dozen hobos and a couple of rapists with a spork.”
Grace shrugged. “Maybe, but I’d like to do it with a friend by my side.”
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. “Then your friend is going to have to find a job.”
Grace’s lips turned down and her eyes flickered down to the screen. They widened and her smile returned. “Here’s just the thing!”
I sat up and raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“It’s an exciting job at one of the larger companies in town,” she told me. “You get to see a lot of people, get to know the building really well, and you’re sure to reach the top within a few days.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything,” I pointed out.
“Well, you get some great medical, and you never have to work nights,” she added.
I frowned. “Grace, what’s the job?”
She shrank beneath my glare. “Window washer?” she squeaked.
My face fell. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she confirmed.
“No way.”
She sat up. “Come on! It’s a job, it pays well, and you get to stay here!”
“Yeah, a permanent resident in one of the local cemeteries,” I quipped.
“You can’t be that bad,” she argued. “You’re not afraid of heights and you’re in pretty good shape. For the shape you’re in, that is.”
“Thanks. . .” I grumbled.
Grace leaned across the table and lay her hand atop mine. She met my gaze and her lower lip quivered. I leaned away, but she grasped my hand.
“Do it for me?” she whimpered.
“No. Don’t do this to me, Grace,” I warned her.
Her lower lip trembled like a bobblehead in an earthquake. “Pretty, pretty please?” she persisted.
“Grace, I said I’m not getting myself killed,” I insisted.
“You only have to get yourself injured a little. Maybe a sprained wrist, or a broken bone, or maybe some serious fractures that leave you lame for the rest of your life,” she suggested. “Then you can live off disability.”
“I’m not making myself lame just so you can have a roommate!” I argued.
“Come on! At least send in a resume!” she pleaded.
I wormed my way out of her grasp and stood. “No, and isn’t it time for you to get back to work?”
Grace’s eyes widened and she checked her watch. Her eyes got even bigger. “Oh shit!” she yelped, and jumped to her feet. She slammed her laptop closed and stuffed it into her bag. “I am so dead!”
“I’ll have the wake ready for you at the apartment,” I promised her.
“Don’t forget to have chocolate cake. I love chocolate cake,” she added.
I rolled my eyes and waved goodbye as my frenzied friend rushed out of the cafe. She disappeared down the street, and I dropped back into my chair. I glanced over the other customers and found that they stared back. I shrugged.
“She’s on a constant sugar fix,” I told them.
A few smiled, but most went back to their mochas and computers. My face fell and I ran a hand through my long brown hair.
“What are you going to do, Susie?” I murmured.
The only thing I could do was get back to work looking for a job. My savings would expire in a few weeks, and I refused to live off the kindness of my friends, even if they were willing to support me for the rest of my days.
In my searching I came upon the window washer job Grace mentioned. Her description of the benefits was accurate, even if she did leave out the minor details of the constant threat of injury and certain doom. The doom part was a deal-breaker for me. I just couldn’t force my unemployed self to click the ‘Submit’ button on the job application website.
As it turns out, I didn’t have to.
I spent the rest of the day looking for work and finding nothing I was qualified for. At five I returned to the apartment I shared with Grace and got dinner ready. A hearty meal of ramen with a side of pop. Grace returned from her job at the artist studio and plopped herself in one of the living room chairs. I sat cross-legged on the couch close by. She sagged into the sagging, third-hand chair and groaned.
“That Freddy guy try to get you to model nude again?” I guessed.
“Twice,” she replied.
“You should really complain to HR about him,” I suggested.
“He is the HR, remember?” she pointed out.
“How’d he get the job again?” I asked her as I popped open my laptop. A notice in the lower right-hand system tray told me I had an email.
“It was either him or the crabby bitch who teaches Post-Post-Modern art,” she explained.
I surfed to my browser and opened my mail. “Post-Post-Modern art? Isn’t that where they make a blank canvas and call it art?” I teased.
“No, that’s
Minimialism. Post-Post-Modern art is where they draw something nobody cares about and try to get people to care about it,” she told me.
“Uh-huh,” I absently replied as I read the email header. ‘RE: Job Application.’ I clicked on the email and looked over the contents. My mouth dropped open. “I have an interview. . .” I whispered.
Grace’s eyes widened. “You did?” She scrambled over to the couch to get a look at the screen.
I waited until she was close before I rapped her upside the head.
“Ouch!” she yelped. She leaned away from me and rubbed the back of her head. “What was that for?”
“For putting my name in that stupid window washer job!” I snapped.
She blinked at me. “How’d you know I did that?”
I turned the laptop screen towards her so she could read the email. “Because that’s the job I have an interview for.”
Grace’s face lit up with a smile. “That’s great! That means you can get a job and stay and we can-” I held up a hand.
“I didn’t say I was going to go to the interview,” I pointed out.
Her face fell. “But you can’t say no! This might be your only chance!”
“At averting death? Definitely,” I quipped.
Grace dropped to her knees and clasped her hands together. “Please? Pretty please?”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, but no more stealing my resume and sending it to anybody, got it?”
She smiled and nodded her head. “Yep! Sure thing! Won’t do it again!”
“Good. Now crawl across the rest of the house. The dust bunnies are trying to take over the place,” I told her.
“Sure thing! Anything for my favorite roomie!” she agreed. She turned and shuffled away on her knees.
“I’m your only roomie,” I reminded her.
“And that makes you that much more special!” she shouted from the bedrooms.
I smiled and shook my head. My attention returned to the email. It was written by a Mr. Bruin, head maintenance man to the building. His email was curt and blunt, and I imagined he would be the same. Tomorrow’s interview would prove me right or wrong.