by Rush, Ava
SLEEPING
WITH
THE HELP
by Ava Rush
Other books by this author:
Crazed: A New Adult Romantic Suspense
SLEEPING WITH THE HELP
Copyright © 2013 Ava Rush
Published by JAF Publications
The moral right of Ava Rush to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanic, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Title
Copyright
Sleeping With the Help
Sleeping With the Help
This was the second time that Rod Bentley's generously sized manhood had startled me with its presence. The first had been in my office; and now, in the living room of my home. As he stood completely naked in the middle of the room, hard-on throbbing, pointed in my direction, and a broad smile beneath his bushy, graying mustache, I didn't know whether to hand him the glass of champagne I'd poured or put it down and go to him immediately.
“You've earned this,” he said. He peered down at his cock, then back up at me, his smile widening. “All of it.”
“I'd be content with you paying what you owe me for getting you out of yet another bind,” I teased. I decided that putting the champagne down was the best option, seeing as he had other things on his mind to devour.
He took a confident stroll towards me, pulling me close to him with one strong arm. I felt the wooden imprint of his manhood against my abdomen. My body brushed against the gray-brown patch of hair on his bare chest, which blanketed his chiseled abs. It still surprised me how a man of fifty could be in such great shape; he could give guys half his age a run for their money. Literally. As one of the richest men in Virginia he beat out competition from all directions, and was good-looking to boot. Six foot one and bald (by choice), he was the only bald guy I'd ever found attractive enough to invite into my bed; into my panties. He was the only guy who could really pull off the look.
“You know I always pay up, doll. I'd be a fool not to pay my attorney now, wouldn't I? Especially when she makes me this hard.”
“This is highly unprofessional, and unethical,” I said, though more to myself than to him. My words lacked real feeling. I wasn't going to deny myself a bit of fun after months of hard work. He was right; I had earned this.
“You smell good enough to eat.” He buried his head in my neck, pushing my long, chestnut hair off my shoulder, and I felt his tongue dance across my flesh, forcing my eyes to flicker shut. “What's the scent?”
“Elegance,” I murmured, growing wet as he held me tighter, closer, his cock digging further into me.
He looked at me with a wicked grin, and slowly, without looking, undid the buttons on my blouse. “You'll be anything but elegant when I'm screwing you.”
I knew it was a promise, and it sent a shiver of excitement down my body, causing goosebumps to spread all over my skin.
He pulled away my shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and reached round to undo the hook of my bra. That too fell to my feet. He took one of my breasts in his mouth, gently sucking on my nipple, and lightly grazing his teeth against the sensitive area. As I threw back my head his hand disappeared beneath my skirt, and before I knew it he was sliding my panties down. I helped him out as best I could, just about able to find the strength, still overcome with ecstasy from his assault on my nipple.
With my panties now around my ankles, he led me inelegantly towards the back of my couch, before bending me over it. I gripped onto the top, my nails digging into the leather as he lifted my pencil skirt up to my waist. He reached his hand around to my chest and massaged my breasts, his fingers working my nipples, his touch getting more aggressive as the seconds rolled on.
So distracted with the assault on my breasts and the pleasure shooting through me, I was off my guard when he finally entered me from behind, driving his throbbing member into me. I let out a startled cry, as I had done the first time we'd done this, only truly able to appreciate his girth once he was inside me.
His thrusts came quick and rough, every now and then forcing a grunt from his lips, whilst consistently making me moan and shoot off the requisite “oh God, yes!”. My hold on the couch was so strong now I thought I'd tear the fabric.
“How elegant are you now?” he groaned, slamming his member against the wall of my hole. One of his hands clutched my butt firmly.
I knew I didn't look elegant or lady-like bent over the back of my couch like a hooker, but he felt so good inside me that I didn't care how I looked. My perfume should have been called Desperate!
As he neared his climax, his plunges sped up, and my whole body jerked as he took his final stab. He exploded, and collapsed on my back, his breath heavy on my flesh.
“I should get into trouble more often, so you can keep saving me,” he said breathlessly, moments later.
I laughed. “You do that. Your trouble keeps me in expensive suits.”
Someone tapped the living room door. And then, “Miss Victoria, sorry to bother you. I'm leaving now.” A woman's voice, timid, apologetic and heavily accented.
“Okay, Lupita. See you tomorrow,” I called back, my voice heavy with post-sex breathlessness.
“Your maid?” Rod asked, finally pulling out of me and helping me up.
“Yep. I don't know what I'd do without her. She goes above and beyond.”
“Next time tell her to join us. I don't think I've boned a maid before.” He thought about it, then continued, 'Women who've dressed as maids, but not a real one.”
“Well, I don't sleep with the help, so that's not going to happen,” I said adamantly. That had always been my motto, and I wasn't about to deviate from it.
With both hands fastening my platinum and jade studded earrings, I bent down in front of the coffee table in the living room, peering into the darkness to find the right foot of my Louis Vuitton heels. This seemed to be the way I started every morning court appearance, rushing about searching for discarded items of clothing and trying to do a million things at once. Other people's lateness pissed me off to no end – I'd fired a couple of people over it – but I'd never managed to curb my own. The ultimate hypocrite!
My cell phone buzzed on the table.
“Talk fast – I'm going to be late for my court appearance. Judge Rickards is already on my ass for last week; I don't want to give him something else to penalize me for.”
“Just calling to remind you to bring the Montana v Winchester Homes case file.” The voice of Jake – my assistant – as on edge as I was, traveled down the line. 'Though you probably didn't need reminding.' He chuckled nervously, boyishly, sounding every bit the pimply, nerdy Ivy-Leaguer that he was.
“No, I didn't need reminding,” I said quickly, slipping on my newly located shoe, phone held to my ear with my shoulder. I made a mental note to run into the study and retrieve the file... which I had forgotten.
I heard the front door close, then Lupita popped her head around the corner, a huge bunch of white lilies occupying both hands. I noticed immediately that her normal honey colored complexion had turned a shade similar to the flowers she had in her hands. She looked sickl
y, though she continued to smile as she handed me the bunch.
“I've also been told to remind you that there's a partners meeting at three this afternoon,” my assistant continued. “They don't want you to miss it like you usually do.”
I took the flowers from the maid and read the card, not paying much attention to the conversation.
The only things as beautiful as you. Paul x.
I groaned and rolled my eyes, shocked by how cheesy the note was. I felt like sending him a fossil with the note, The only thing as old as you. Victoria. But although I was known as the Steel Woman in the industry, I didn't go around insulting people, especially people as powerful as Paul. He'd been trying to poach me for two years, trying to get me to join his law firm. If he hadn't been so sleazy I might have really considered it. But he was approaching seventy and in his old age he'd apparently forgotten how to be respectful.
“You want me to put them in a vase, Miss Victoria?” Lupita asked, little droplets of sweat dripping down her forehead. It couldn't have been any more than 50 degrees – she must have been the only person in the city sweating.
“No, the trash is fine,” I said, handing them back to her.
As she took them from me I hung up, cutting my assistant off mid sentence. And then I heard a thud in the hallway. When I rushed out I found Lupita lying on the floor, motionless.
“Overruled! Now move on, Miss Nash!” The booming voice of Judge Rickards echoed through the courtroom, as he repeated the command for the third time to my insistent objection, his face red with anger, his icy blue eyes narrowed at me. I was beginning to think that was the only word in his vocabulary when it came to me. Talk about biased. He was still sore about me causing the jury to laugh at him in my cross examination the week before.
I slumped in my chair and called him a dick-less asshole under my breath before laughing behind my hand at that imagery, then stopping when I realized how unprofessional I looked.
He called a fifteen minute recess a few minutes later, which no one requested. Everyone knew he wanted to spend that time in his chamber throwing back his bottle of forty-year-old single malt whiskey, if the rumors were anything to go by. Thankful for the break I rushed out of the courtroom and found a quiet corner to make a call.
“Hi. I'm calling to check on a patient. She came into A&E this morning. Name's Lupita, erm... Morales. No, Montez. Lupita Montez.”
After a moment the nurse said, “Obviously we can't give out any medical information. But I can tell you that she's conscious.”
“Is anyone with her? Family, friends?”
“Her son and daughter are here.”
After thanking the nurse, I hung up feeling like a complete shit, despising myself more than I did Judge Rickards. Lupita had been my maid for two years and I didn't even know she had children.
Navigating my way through hospitals was right up there in difficulty with passing the bar. My directional skills were crap, and the signs were confusing.
"You're really going to miss the partners meeting to go see your maid in the hospital? Why?" Jake had asked, once court was adjourned. He looked at me as if to say, "The Steel Woman doesn't do things like that. She doesn't care about anyone."
So I gave him an answer that I knew he would have found satisfactory, and very like me. I said, with my most blasé shrug, "I really hate those meetings." He probably wouldn't have believed me if I'd been straight with him, telling him that I actually cared about Lupita. And it certainly wouldn't have done anything for my hardass image.
Wandering through the disinfectant scented corridors, trying my hardest to ignore all the sick people around me, I turned onto a ward, crashing through the double doors, and immediately wished I hadn't. Several beds were lined up side by side, so close together I couldn't imagine how the staff had gotten the patients in. Crammed together like the hospital wanted to see how many patients it could squeeze in. And right at the end of the row lay a sheet-white Lupita, oxygen mask over her face.
Around me nurses scurried back and forth, between beds, seeing to the sick and wounded. A couple nearly knocked me over as they rushed to their crying patients. It was my worst nightmare realized; I couldn't imagine how awful it was for them.
“Lu,” I said when I reached her bed.
She opened her eyes, removing the oxygen mask with a pale, shaky hand. “Miss Victoria, you didn't have to come.”
“Have you been properly seen to?” I asked, gulping back my worry. She had always been a slim woman, but in the bed she looked thinner than I'd ever seen her. In fact, she'd been looking thinner for a while, now that I thought about it.
“The nurses, they're very busy. I'm, I'm fine.”
No, she wasn't. She was far from fine. Something fierce and angry came over me, welling inside me threatening to explode. I didn't know where it came from, but I knew what I wanted to do. It was as if the lawyer in me took over. I'd never protected anyone's human rights before – it had never paid particularly well – but I thought now was a good time to start.
“This is unacceptable!” I roared, peering around the filthy, understaffed ward, disgusted by the conditions. “I'm getting you moved to a private room.”
I heard Lupita try to protest in a weak voice, even trying to reach for my hand to stop me, but I was already halfway to the nurses station. With a clenched fist I stopped in front of the two nurses behind the desk.
“I want that lady moved to a private room. Right now,” I demanded, pointing at Lupita, who'd now raised a weak hand to stop me.
“Look, Miss, the patient doesn't even have medical insurance. She doesn't get a private room.” The nurse, who was chewing gum, spoke with such an attitude I wanted to reach over the desk and slap her right across her pock-marked face.
“Well, I'll take care of that. But I want her moved.” I bit back my rage, trying to keep calm.
“Are you family?” the nurse questioned, still chewing. Now she even had the audacity to blow a bubble with her gum.
“Does it matter?” I said, more furious than I wanted to be.
She shoved a clipboard and form at me, and slapped a pen on top, which had a severely chewed bottom. She was probably the culprit, seeing as she couldn't stop chewing long enough to have a conversation.
“Fill this out.”
“Then you'll move her?”
“If there's a spare room, then yes.”
I returned to Lupita's side, form in hand. She sat up.
“Miss Victoria, you don't have to worry about me. You should get to work. Mis niños will be back soon to look after me.'
“I'll go once they've moved you to your own room. And don't worry about the bill – I've got it covered.”
She started to protest, and tears welled in her eyes, but all I heard was jumbled Spanish.
“What's going on here?”
A man's voice, deep and sinister, crept up behind me, freezing me in place, pen suspended above the form. When I spun around I didn't know who I expected to find there, but it definitely wasn't him. In that setting, surrounded by invalids and rundown nurses and doctors, he looked like an apparition. Not really there. But even in my wildest imagination I never could have imagined someone as beautiful as he was; someone even half as perfect.
It took a while for me to pick my jaw up off the ground and stop mentally drooling, but when I did it took even longer for me to avert my gaze. To say he was striking was an understatement. His jet black hair contrasted against his radiant, honey-olive skin. With the deepest brown eyes – so devilish and daring, squared at me giving them an almost black hue – he looked like the love interest of many a telenovela's dames. Beneath his tight black attire – jeans and a Tee – thick muscles bulged, golden arms so strong, so powerful I didn't doubt that he could lift me with one arm.
I gulped, my mouth suddenly dry. I went to speak, or to stutter, to be more accurate, having no idea what I would say, but Lupita spoke first.
“Hijo, this is Miss Victoria. Look, she came all th
e way from work to see me.”
Now, I'd always been useless with languages, and had never taken the time to learn more than a few words in Spanish, but with my limited knowledge I was sure hijo meant son. And when the realization hit me, once again I let my jaw hang. I was sure I looked brain dead.
“Ah, so this is the woman responsible for you being in here?” he spat, narrowing his eyes even further at me. He crossed his arms, shooting me an unblinking look that could kill.
I went to speak once again, to defend myself, or to question what he was insinuating, but once again his mother jumped in.
“Eduardo, don't be rude, hijo.” From the grimace she gave then it was as if his accusatory words had physically pained her. She looked at me. “I'm sorry for my son, Miss Victoria. He gets wound up sometimes. He's nineteen, so everything bothers him.” She tried to laugh but started coughing shortly after.
Nineteen! Only nineteen! What the heck was she feeding him?
“That's fine,” I said in a quiet voice. “He's just looking out for you.”
It could have been all in my head, but I was sure I saw his eyes quickly, stealthily scan me from head to toe. And I could have been imagining the faintest scowl crease his mouth, that perfectly shaped mouth, as though my very existence insulted him. Was it the suit? My hair? My shoes?
I'd never worried about how other people perceived me physically – my reputation in the legal field was more important to me – but here, beneath his stare, I suddenly felt like my looks were on trial. I suddenly felt conscious, so much so that I made a feeble attempt to fix my hair, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the window.
“Miss Victoria is getting me moved to my own room. And look, hijo, she's taking care of my medical bill.”
With the fire in his eyes and the way his arms swung loose, I thought he was going to strike me.
“We're not a charity!” he growled, first to his mother, then turning his rage on me. “We don't accept handouts.”