She laughs then, and this time her whole face lights up. She really is stunning.
“A job is a job. But no… I’ve always wanted to be a writer.” She hesitates on the last word and I get the impression there’s something she isn’t telling me. Then I remember her face when I mentioned the Times reporter and I sigh and rub a hand over my eyes.
“You want to be a journalist, don’t you? That’s why you looked so offended a minute ago.” Jesus, I really am blowing this.
“Maybe,” she acknowledges, looking down at her coffee. Then she glances up at the clock. “I really should get moving,” she says quickly. She takes a few mouthfuls of coffee and gets up to resume cleaning. I want to talk more, to learn more about her, but I feel like she has effectively shut the conversation down. I wonder why she’s so guarded…perhaps she had a bad experience with a boss in the past? The thought makes my blood boil as a surge of protectiveness comes over me. Which is crazy, because I don’t even know her…yet.
But I will, I decide as I watch her dust, her ass wobbling temptingly in time with her movements.
Work which used to hold all my interest had become boring, but now something has changed all that.
My sexy new maid.
Another day done. I feel exhausted. Luckily Adrian wasn’t around much today so at least I didn’t have to deal with another grilling.
Because so far, I have no story. Talking to other staff members and cleaners at Sebastian’s office has revealed nothing more exciting other than the fact he tends to keep to himself but is always polite. Hardly front-page worthy stuff. I haven’t caught even a whiff of a scandal.
But I need a story. Which makes me exactly what Sebastian already thinks reporters are all about… ‘just trying to dig up dirt.’ What would he do if he knew that’s exactly why I’m there every morning, cleaning his office? I feel like the worst kind of person, especially now that I know he likes me. He hides it well, but I’ve seen the desire in his eyes. I know he was staring at my ass yesterday.
I want him. I can’t deny that…but I also want a story. Of course, if Adrian had his way, I could have both but I’m not that mercenary, whatever Sebastian thinks about journalists. I wonder if I should just cut my losses and run. I’ll get a job somewhere.
I sigh and head for the shower, grabbing a towel as I go. I look down at my naked body, wondering what Sebastian would think of it. I’m not skinny like the typical Manhattan girl, but judging by that look in his eyes, he doesn’t seem to mind.
Once again, I find myself thinking of Sebastian as I run my hands over my body, soaping myself, but this time I don’t push the thought away. My body aches, and I can feel the desire ignite down low in my core as my pussy contracts, responding to my fantasy. As if he really is here and it’s really his hands soaping my breasts.
My nipples harden even under the hot steam, puckering as I imagine his mouth on them. I circle my hands around the fullness of my breasts, cupping them together as I circle my thumbs around my nipples and then lightly run the pad of my finger across one aching tip. I hear myself gasp as longing curls under my skin and my clit throbs, practically begging to be touched. I want him here, holding me, playing with my body in ways that no man ever has before. Teaching me what it feels like to be with a man like him.
I slide one soapy hand down the soft curve of my belly and cup my mound, feeling the heat of my pussy throbbing against my palm. With my other hand I tease one nipple, stroking it softly one moment and then pinching it the next, wondering how Sebastian would touch me. Whether he would be gentle, or rough. Water cascades down my body as I arch my back under the flow, the feel of the water thrumming against my skin adds to the sensations that are coursing through my nerve endings and igniting my skin.
I slide my other hands down between my thighs, responding to the ache there, and I can feel how slick my folds are with my juices. I run a fingertip between them, moaning as I reach my clit and it stiffens in response to my touch. I wish my finger were Sebastian’s. Or better yet, I wish it was his tongue. The thought of his mouth on my most intimate place sends a shudder through my whole body and I lean against the tiles of the shower wall, resting my forehead on the enamel. In my fantasy, Sebastian is here with me, on his knees under the fall of hot water, his hands gripping my thighs as he buries his head between them. I have no real life experience to know what it feels like, but as my hand works my clit, the sensations build in my body and damn, but it feels good.