The Maid

by Sidney Halston

  He took a final step and the backs of her knees hit the bed and she tumbled down. She could have pushed him away. She could have asked him to leave. But none of those things happened because he knew just as well as she did that the chemistry between them was undeniable.

  "This is a terrible idea."

  That was not a no.

  "You're right," he said as he reached for the bottom of his shirt, pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. "Most of the best times begin as bad decisions."

  She bit her lips, her eyes trailing up from his abs to his neck. "Say yes, Addie." When their eyes locked, her piercing green eyes were hooded with lust. Her legs parted enough for him to move between them, and he knew at that moment that this would be the best sex of their lives.

  And he hadn't even kissed her yet.

  "Yes," she said in a breathless whisper.

  "Thank God," he said.

  "We can't get caught."

  "Fuck no." His parents would kill him. "Just sex. No messiness. I leave in a month." And he wasted no time kissing her, hoping she wouldn't change her mind.

  * * *

  Gunther took her face in his hands, his tenderness surprising her. He sucked on her tongue and nipped at her lips until a moan escaped her. His big hands roamed over her body as he lay over her, his weight on his elbows.

  Adalyn had slept with three guys. The first was when she was seventeen and it had been a disaster as most first sexual experiences were. From twenty to twenty-two she'd been a with Luis, a steady boyfriend, and they'd had sex whenever they were alone, which wasn't that often. After they'd broken up, she'd met Steve. T and they dated for about a year and the sex with Steve had been great. Or so she had thought until now. The way Gunther kissed was wonderful and she wanted more of it.

  Unfortunately, Gunther broke the kiss and stood them both up. The way he took charge and stripped her pajamas off her body and then removed his own clothing, made her feel as if she'd been the inexperienced one of the two, even if she was so much older. He didn't fumble around; he was focused and assertive. Even though he was tall and lean, there were muscles hidden underneath his clothes that she hadn't expected. His thighs were his best feature.

  "I've been playing football since I was ten," he said when he caught her looking at his thighs.

  "I know," she whispered.

  "Ms. Finney talked about me?" he asked.

  "All the time."

  He smiled big, which was disconcerting. He had a very sincere smile with gorgeous white teeth. "You want to talk about my aunt?" she teased.

  "Fuck, no," he said, and gently, he moved her back to this middle of the bed and tossed a condom by her pillow. He was very prepared, she thought.

  Lying next to her now, he continued to kiss her as his hands caressed her body, working on one nipple and then another until he finally reached past her belly to the apex of her thighs. He nudged her legs apart and then began playing with her pussy with his fingers until she was writhing next to him. He dipped his fingers inside her and then out and then back in, alternating being in her and playing with her clit. His mouth, meanwhile, was on her nipples. "Gun…Gun…" she yelled, loudly, his dick hard and throbbing against her leg. When she was just about to orgasm, he stopped, put on the condom, hovered over her and then slid inside. They both moaned in pleasure and he used his finger on her clit while he fucked her.

  It was fast but it was great.

  "Oh God," she said, feeling deliciously relaxed. "Wow."

  "You feel so good," he said, rolling off her. "Just like I knew you would."

  "I was serious about no one finding out about this, Gun."

  "They won't find out," he said, taking off the condom, tying it at the end, and tossing it into the waste basket by her little desk.

  They spent the rest night doing the most unexpected thing.

  They talked. They laughed. They just stayed in bed, naked and talking.

  He told her about his upcoming trip and how he had gone behind his parents' backs and applied to a few schools that were scouting him for football. She told him all about school and how she was working towards her Masters in Finance.

  At some point, before the sun rose, Gunther said, "I vote for a second round before the sun comes out." She giggled and rolled over him. Before he left the next morning, they'd done it two more times.

  * * *

  Sometime at the end of July while Addie was sweeping the kitchen floor, the front door was slammed shut, followed by yelling. She knew one of the voices all too well. The last month had consisted of a lot of sex and more sex and one of those yelling voices had spoken to her tenderly many times over the last month while they had wild sex. Yes, there had been work and school, but the sex had been a wonderful distraction. She looked forward to the evenings when Gunther snuck into her bed or when they stole a kiss (or a make-out session) during the day. She'd learned that Gunther, big muscular Gunther, was actually quite sweet and attentive, which was why hearing him raise his voice alarmed her.

  "I don't need your Goddamn money!" Gunther yelled.

  "Really? How the hell do you plan on paying for your little vacation? Huh? You ungrateful little shit?" Liam, his father, yelled back.

  Addie tried to leave, she didn't want to be caught listening in, but they were on the side of the kitchen and there was no way for her to escape.

  "I have two colleges trying to recruit me for football and I have grandfather's trust."

  "You're trust fund won't get you back to the States from Europe. You should've studied a little harder. Clearly, you have absolutely no concept of what anything costs. You will go on your little trip, come back, and start school as planned and that's the end of it. I don't want to hear one more word about football. Is that clear, Gunther?"

  There was just silence and Addie's heartbeat rapidly.

  "Gunther. Is that clear?" Liam's voice boomed.

  "Yes, sir," Gunther replied, the snark evident even from the other room. A door slammed and then another and then she was alone in the kitchen.

  Their relationship had been purely physical and had an expiration date. Yet, she felt drawn to him from the first moment they met, and now, she needed to check on him after the intense fight. She finished all her tasks while listening to the sounds coming from the house. From the faint sound of ice on glass, Liam was sitting in the library drinking and Monique had gone shopping earlier in the day. The rest of the staff was spread around the house in different rooms. The coast was clear.

  Carefully and quietly, Addie went upstairs and without even so much as a knock, opened the door to Gun's bedroom and closed it behind her. Gun, who sat at his desk doing something on his laptop, looked over his shoulder. "I wanted to check if you're okay," she said, standing near the door.

  "No. I'm not," he said, spinning his chair around to face her.

  "I'm sorry, Gun. I didn't mean to overhear but you guys were loud. Is there anything I can do? You want me to leave you alone?"

  He reached for her hand and pulled her gently toward him. "You know…" He kissed her knuckles, softly. "You're the only thing stopping me from packing up all my shit and leaving?"

  "Don't leave," she said, realizing at just that moment how much she meant it. She really didn't want him to leave. Unfortunately, she didn't just mean 'don't leave now', she meant 'don't leave, ever', even if it was just wishful thinking. She sat on his lap and hugged him. "Stay the rest of the summer."

  He pushed her hair to the side and landed sweet kisses along her neck. "I think the longer I stay the harder it's going to be to go."

  "Forget your dad. I'll keep you distracted." She kissed him hard, her arms tightening around him.

  "I wasn't taking about my dad, Addie. But, if you're looking for ways to distract me, I'm all game, Addie baby."

  2

  TEN YEARS LATER

  Gunther sat in a booth in a darkened corner of the hottest night club in Miami Beach, two beautiful blondes on either side of him and a chilled bottle of vo
dka on the table. He was just getting ready to make it a truly memorable night with the inseparable and well-known socialites, Candy and Kandi. Already half-drunk and practically mauling him under the table, they were as close to a sure-thing as they came.

  "Gun, my man! What are you doing here?" A very familiar voice yelled over the loud thumping music.

  "George!" Gun hollered as he reached over the table to bump fists with his good friend and defensive lineman, George "the Truck" Devereaux. "If anyone asks, you didn't see me here," he said while pouring clear liquid into a shot glass and sliding it over to George.

  "Hi, I'm Kandi with a K and this is my friend Candy with a C," she reached over the table, displaying her full rack to George. George took her hand and kissed the top, then smiled at her friend who was busy typing something into her phone.

  "Yo, Gun," George said, lifting his chin at something behind Gun. Gun looked over his shoulder to see a group of spectators taking photos with their cell phones. "I think your cover's blown, buddy," George said.

  "Fuck!" He couldn't get in trouble again. If his coach, found out, he'd be benched. Just two weeks ago he'd been arrested for public intoxication and the month before that he'd gotten a black eye and subsequently fined for getting into a brawl in a bar. All of it had been dealt with very quietly, thanks to a lot of money and even more connections. In Gun's defense, the asshole the previous month deserved the bloody lip for talking shit about the team, who had recently lost the Super Bowl.

  Using his hips to shuffle Kandi out of the booth, Gun slipped out. "Whatdya think was going to happen, man?" George asked. "You're sitting in the VIP section at Pyramid with these two beautiful ladies. The most attention-seeking women in all of Miami." George smiled and winked at the women. "You think you were going to go unseen?" George said with a chuckle as he poured himself another drink and slid into the booth between Candy and Kandi.

  "Shit. Couch's going to have my ass." Gun said as he signaled for the waitress to bring the check. Without so much as a glance at the bill, he handed her a credit card. The music beat loudly, hot sweaty bodies were pressed tightly against each other, and the strobe lights were unexpectedly beginning to make his head hurt.

  "Come back here, sweetie," Candy yelled over the music. Suddenly, all those fake blonde extensions and those tits spilling out of a skin-tight dress didn't look appealing. Those tits were not worth screwing up his future. Neither was Kandi’s mouth-watering ass.

  Why had he decided to come here tonight? He had vowed to lay low until things in the tabloids cooled off. Instead, he'd gone to see his filthy rich elitist family that afternoon for his aunt's sixtieth birthday party. Party being a very loose definition of the word. It had been in a Country Club, they had had a string quartet, there had been lunch and some wine. There was small talk and highbrow backhanded compliments. They'd thrown their typical jabs about his wasted life playing professional football instead of taking over the family business, and the next thing he'd known, he was walking into Pyramid, Miami's trendiest night club in a sea of night clubs, ready to trade in his wine buzz for a full-blown Vodka bender.

  Seeing the camera phones everywhere had been a dose of cold water.

  In a blue wig and skin-tight, and dangerously short white dress, the waitress came over and handed him the leather check holder and leaned into his ear. "This is awkward, but your credit card was declined. Do you have another?" she whispered.

  He had millions, no thanks to his billionaire family. It was all due to a very successful career in the NFL. So, how in the hell could his black American Express be declined? Feeling annoyed, he opened his wallet, took out another card, and handed it over. There were still stragglers hanging around with cameras and cell phones and this was not something he needed in the media.

  Gunther McCall heir to the McCall fortune and wide receiver of the Miami Tornados can't pay his bill at local night club.

  Or

  Socialites Candy and Kandi, leave Gunther McCall for George Jones Jr. when his credit card is declined.

  The thought made him cringe. His coach would have his ass for publicly humiliating the team, and his father would give him an earful for humiliating the family.

  George now sat where Gun had been sitting not ten minutes earlier. Gun's mood shifted from 'ready for a night of drinking and fucking' to 'just fucking pissed off' while his friend, drank his Vodka and flirted with his two women. The waitress returned with a look that said she was both concerned and embarrassed.

  "What the fuck?" He snatched the leather folder from her hand and looked at the bill for the first time. Perhaps, three thousand two hundred and eighty-two dollars in the hour he'd been at Pyramid was excessive, but that was a mere drop in the bucket compared to how much money he made. "ATM?" He asked over the music and the waitress pointed to the back of the club.

  Irritated as all hell, Gun stomped to the back, sidestepping and trying his best to ignore his fans along the way. He swiped his card into the machine, punched in his pin number and attempted to take out the maximum allowed. The machine paused for half a second and then a big red sign flashed on the screen. Declined.

  "What the hell is going on?" He grunted as he slammed his palms on the machine, causing it to shake. With each step he took back to the table, his mood soured further. "George, man, something's wrong with my cards. Spot me and I'll get you back tomorrow." He asked knowing full well that George had more than sufficient funds to cover the bill.

  Too preoccupied with the women and the booze, George waved him off as Gun tossed the bill on the table and stormed off.

  A ten-dollar taxi ride later, about all the cash he had on him, Gun stumbled into his four thousand square foot apartment in an exclusive high rise in Miami Beach. He kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the floor. Knowing it was too late to call Mario, his financial adviser, instead, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and went in search of his iPad.

  Mario had fucked up a few times lately and was getting on his last nerve. He hated to fire the man, but this had been the last straw. What if George hadn't been there tonight? His temper flared but punching someone wasn't an option, and neither was getting obliterated, fucked, and numb. Instead, he was pissed off. He pulled up his accounts and there was plenty of money. More than he'd need in a lifetime. So, what the hell was going on?

  He sent a quick email to Mario, asking that he called him as soon as he woke up, then turned on the television and sat back to polish off a bottle of Johnny Walker while watching ESPN. Seemed like his night of obliteration and numbness would, in fact, come true.

  Gun wasn't sure if the noise he was hearing was the pounding headache or his phone vibrating from somewhere on the floor. Still in his black slacks from the previous night, he was on his stomach, his face smashed into the leather sofa. One leg and one arm halfway off and the bottle of whiskey still in his hand. The noise began again, and he awkwardly and painfully rolled off the couch. He was on his hands and knees looking for his phone when he heard the front door open and shut. There were only two people who had a key to his house——his mother and his assistant—— and he knew his mother was still upset at him for walking out of dinner the previous night. So that only left…

  "I've been calling you."

  "Fuck off, Jefferson!" Gun grunted as he rifled around the floor looking for his phone.

  "Using my full name. You must be really pissed-drunk."

  On his hands and knees, eyes barely open, he continued to feel around. His head throbbed and his mouth was dry. The last thing he wanted to do was hear a lecture from his friend. Then, his head bumped into something—something that smelled familiar. The flowery scent of his past. He stopped in his tracks and sat back on his haunches as his eyes slowly drifted up a tight little body encased in black stockings and a fitted cream--colored skirt. Crossed arms around a white blouse with red hair cascading down narrow shoulders, he was met with green eyes. Green eyes he hadn't seen since leaving for Europe ten years ago. A trip, w
hich had been cut drastically short, when he had been recruited during a last--minute spot to play college football at Notre Dame, something that went completely against his parents' wishes and was still a point of contention between them.

  "Looking for this?" the bombshell asked, holding his phone casually in one hand.

  Once he picked up his tongue off the floor and put it back inside his mouth he nodded as she tossed it to him. But of course, he missed it because right at that moment he couldn't wrap his head around the woman who stood not five feet away from him.

  "Gun, this is Adalyn Finney. She says you've met before."

  With her hands on her hips, looking like a cross between a Dominatrix and tough-as-nails attorney, she said, "Do you always hang out on your hands and knees in your home, Mr. McCall?"

  "Do you always barge into other people's homes in the early hours without calling first?"

  "Gun, it's noon," Jeff said. "And I left you a voice mail yesterday and then called you last night and again this morning to remind you."

  Feeling emasculated by his position on the floor looking up at this woman, the only woman who'd ever meant anything to him, he stood up and took a step back. "To remind me of what? I already have a maid; I don't need another one."

  She looked as if she'd been physically assaulted by the verbal jab. "Go fuck yourself, Gunther."

  "Oh—" Jackson said, surprise at the interaction. "So, you guys like really really know each other."

  "Unfortunately," she said, which sent a stab of pain into his unfeeling heart.

  "I need a shower, water, and an Aspirin before you even start to explain what the hell is going on."