by Daisy Jane
I’d love to lace my fingers through her hair, stare down into those green eyes, find her worries and take them from her. My lips would meet hers and god she’d taste so sweet, like the way she smelled—purity and heat. Kissing her mouth, tracing the curve of her jaw, down to her neck, my tongue would discover every inch of her hot, sweet skin. Little moans would get trapped behind her pink lips as I pushed my hands under her top, letting her perfect breasts fill my palms. Oh, that feels good, she’d purr, her hands filtering through the sides of my hair, as she let my palms wander down. She’d be shy and try and resist but eventually, I’d pull those shorts down and find the seam of her, my lips and tongue sweeping through it, tasting her, making her melt under my touch.
A mix of morning wood and the fantasy of Britta had me hard, so I reached down and held myself, tightly.
“Oh yeah you like it when I get this hard for you, don’t you baby?” I said aloud, imagining myself now standing with beautiful little Britta on her knees before me. Can I taste you? She’d ask, innocently, sweetly, that long hair of hers draped over her breasts, pink nipples making their way through. She’d be nodding eagerly, hungrily, her tongue out, waiting for the head of my straining cock. Hand wrapped tightly around myself, I stroked hard and quick, imagining I was in her mouth, her tongue teasing the underside of my cock. At first her eyes would be shut, but then as I rode her face quicker and harder, she would open her eyes, watching me glide in and out of her with awe. Little gasps of pleasure transferred from her tongue to my cock and just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, she’d reach up and gently, cautiously, cup my balls with her palm.
Fuck, I growled, spilling out into my boxers, on my belly, rope after rope of warm spend coating me.
This is why I changed my own sheets.
After I came, I showered and trimmed my beard, going over the list of things I had to do that day. I had a meeting in the city in a couple of hours, I needed some dry cleaning picked up, and I had a conference call later in the afternoon. But I had time. And time is all I needed to lay a plan into place to get to know more about Britta.
As I was halfway down the stairs, the doorbell rang. When you live on a hill and your house has not one but two gates keeping people away from you, your doorbell isn’t something you hear very often. Glancing at my watch I saw it was not even 7am. Whoever it was had the gate codes, which narrowed it down to my business partner, who didn’t often visit unannounced because we were partners, not fucking girlfriends. Trying to run down the remaining list of people in my mind, I made my way to the door realizing the irony of living in a glass house with a solid wood door. The one place you want to see people is the one place you can’t.
A familiar scent flooded in as I pulled the door open, instantly making my cock stir and my heart jump. There she was, standing on my porch, wet hair over her chest, her uniform on and a white envelope and a cellophane bag of little blue cookies hanging from her bandaged hand. Dark half-moons rested under her eyes and I wondered how long she had to wait in the emergency room last night. Tired or not, she was still fucking beautiful. But she looked so young, so fucking young.
“Hello,” she spoke quietly and I could see how nervous she was, her free hand unable to stop tangling with the hem of her polo.
“Hello,” I repeated, surprised she’d come back to my house. Surprised, shocked, and getting quite fucking hard, too.
“My cousin told me that you want to pay for the hospital bill,” her voice trembled as she spoke, her eyes gripping mine.
“I do,” I said, and before I could stop myself, I pulled the door open all the way. “Please, come in.”
She took a cautious step forward then froze. Her eyes flitted between mine as she gnawed at the corner of her mouth, seeming hesitant.
“I shouldn’t. I don’t think the agency would like that,” she said, stepping back.
“Britta,” her head jerked up when I spoke it, as if she didn’t think I knew what her name was. Oh baby, I know your name. And I know the face you make when you suck my dick… well, in my fantasies at least.
“Brooks,” she replied. She got the card. If she knew my name, her cousin had given her the card I left, not just told her I’d come by.
I was normally a man of manners and restraints, but that man was gone. He’d been replaced by a man made of only primal and carnal urges. It would’ve taken a divine intervention to stop the feelings that were coursing through my veins after hearing my name on her sweet lips. I couldn’t stop myself. I was growing unrecognizable.
“Come in, now.”
My tone was rigid and low and her eyes flared. She wasn’t scared. Was she? Or was she excited?
She stepped inside and I closed the door. It was silent for just a moment, her lip trembling slightly as pink crept up her chest and into her neck and cheeks. If she didn’t want this and if she were scared, she wouldn’t have come here.
I needed to know if she tasted as good as she smelled. And here she was, in the flesh, nipples hard, batting her lashes at me, those lithe legs twisting nervously underneath her.
Gripping her by the hips, I lifted her up easily. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around my neck as I backed her up to the front door, pinning her there between the wood of the door and the wood in my pants. It usually took me some foreplay and fucking around to get as hard as I was right now, but something about Britta instantly turned me into a rock. Pushing my body tight to hers, she moaned quietly, as my cock pressed up against her through her shorts.
“Do you like macarons?” she asked, breathless, her eyelids growing heavy with need. Seeing her so turned on floored me, blood surging through my thighs, my body awake, buzzing, skin growing hot under her erotic gaze.
“Never had one,” I snarled, slanting my mouth over hers, fast, desperate. She opened her mouth to whine, a cry of her need, and I took the opportunity to drive my tongue inside, hotly, destructively.
Fuck she tasted so good, sweet, sugary and warm. And cake, always there, the scent and taste of cake. She kissed me back, hard, our passion growing out of control. Her hands drifted down my chest and struggled at the buttons of my dress shirt. She wanted me, she wanted to touch me, feel me, but not yet. I needed her too much first. Reaching out, I grabbed her wrists to still her.
“Not yet,” I growled, burying my face into her neck, dragging my tongue down, kissing along her collarbone as she panted and moaned. With my arms wrapped around her back, I carried her into the kitchen and sat her down on the counter top.
“I wanted to do this to you yesterday,” I whispered, not scared to let her know just how much I wanted her. In the past, I’d always been hesitant, even coy, but with Britta, I didn’t want to play any fucking games. I had to have her and I wanted her to know it.
“Oh,” she breathed as I worked the buttons on her shorts while kissing her ear, followed by her cheek, then finding her full sugary lips again.
“Stand,” I commanded, and she did instantly. Pulling down her shorts, I saw she had on pink cotton panties with little yellow daisies on them. It made me stall for a moment—she felt and looked so innocent, so young. And right when I started to wonder if she was too young and if this was wrong, she reached out and placed her hand over the bulge in my pants, my erection swelling brutally from her touch, my breath now rapid, uncontrollable.
“Oh my,” she seemed surprised, her voice was low and quiet, almost shy.
“Not yet,” I said.
Maybe when I was twenty, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself. I’d probably ripped those panties clean off, spun her around, bent her over my counter, parted her lips and fucked her hard until I came, not caring at all about her getting off or if she even enjoyed it. But at my age, I knew the beauty of foreplay.
I lifted her up and sat her on the counter, again, and positioned myself between her knees. Wrapping my hands around her face, her hair weaving between my knuckles, I kissed her again, wild, our breaths jagged and urgent.
“Do you want
me to touch you?” I asked, pressing my forehead down to hers, still being taller than her, even with her sitting on the counter.
She nodded, her breath hot on my nose.
“I want to hear you say it,” I said, another surprise to myself. I usually wasn’t a talker during foreplay or even sex. But all I wanted to hear was my name on her lips, again, hear her say how much she fucking wanted me. This beautiful young creature who could have anyone, I needed her to tell me she fucking needed me.
“I want you to touch me, Brooks,” she whimpered, taking my mouth with an unexpectedly passionate kiss. A kiss for a lover, not for a casual fuck.
“Say it again,” I said, running one of my hands up her polo, cupping her soft breast over her bra. She filled my palm so perfectly, and I squeezed, gently.
“Oh,” she moaned to my touch, trying to keep her eyes open, to catch her breath so she could speak. “I, I want you to touch me, Brooks. Please, please touch me,” she begged. Then she leaned in, breathing out all at once – “After I read your poem, a storm starting building inside me everywhere, for you.”
Fuck. Whether she knew it or wanted it, I had to have her. I needed her to be mine.
Slowly, I drug the back of my knuckles up the inside of her thigh, smooth and silky. She watched me through heavy lids, her nipples in spikes under that white shirt. Touching her felt so fucking good but watching her watch me was an entirely different thing. It was erotic and that wasn’t a word I thought would ever be a part of my life, sex or otherwise.
When I got to her panties, I slowly slipped one finger under the elastic, running it up and down, only slightly touching her bare pussy. She was hot and wet and when I looked down between her thighs, I could see excitement on her seam, dark on those little panties, unable to be hidden. My mind raced with the heady realization: I knew myself, and now that I’d felt her, tasted her—I knew no one else could please me but her.
Moving my face to the side of hers, my lips pushed up against her ear, I told her how much I liked it. “You’re wet and it’s making me so fucking hard, Britta,” I growled, letting my tongue drift up the underside of her earlobe, my finger now playing at the apex of her thighs.
“Oh my God,” she panted, her head dropping back, the bottom of her hair dragging against the marble countertop. How easily she’d let me put my hands on her, taste her lips and touch her. She wanted me, maybe only physically, but she wanted me and being wanted by Britta made a masculine, primal urge inside me come alive. And it made me want her that much fucking more.
Slowly, I drove two fingers into her wetness, my thumb coming to rest on her clit. God she was so fucking wet. And tight. So tight. Fuck, her sweet pussy would strangle my cock. As her breathing quickened and her hips began to buck gently yet impatiently against my hand, I could feel my generous length straining inside my pants. Sorry to suffocate you buddy, but not now. I need to please her first.
Knowing she was getting close, I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her up, tight to me, pressed my head down to hers.
“Open your eyes and look at me when you come,” I commanded, having never made a sexual command in my life. The commands I made were always business related, which paled in comparison to this.
Her eyes fluttered open and met mine, hazy and lust-filled. Tucking her lip in, she nodded yes, her cheeks flush.
“Say it,” I said, driving my fingers inside her, to the hilt, curling them deliberately. Her pussy was hot and tight, and her clit was puffy as I combed it down with my thumb.
“I’ll look at you when I come,” she agreed before kissing me unexpectedly, her tongue sweeping mine as I pulled my fingers from her, driving them in again with more force. She curled her fingers around the collar of my dress shirt and tugged until our lips were touching, her body trembling at my will.
Moving from my collar, she held my face in her hands, kissing me, her hunger staring me in the eyes. Though I’d asked for it, I’d never actually looked a woman in the eye and kissed her as she came. It was never that personal with anyone.
Until now.
9
Britta
Without saying a word, Brooks had full control of me, body and mind, the moment he opened his front door. And now I was on his kitchen counter, his powerful fingers pushed all the way inside of me, touching places no one has touched. He kneaded the back of my head as he held me, my hands woven through his short beard, our lips tangled in a frenzy of heat and passion.
He wanted to look in my eyes as he made me orgasm. Oh my god, is this really happening? And right my release drew nearer, he pulled his fingers from me slowly, leaving me hollow and aching with need.
He was teasing me, making me want it so bad I’d do anything for it. And he was right. I would. Even though I knew my job was more important than one-morning-stand with a gorgeous man, I couldn’t stop myself. Under his gaze I belonged to him, without limits.
“Don’t stop,” I panted, wanting nothing more than to feel his huge dick against my thigh while he filled me with his fingers. I could see his raging need for me in the ravenous look in his eyes. In one strong push, his fingers were inside me again, my lips on his. He finger-fucked me like that, our lips tangled, his thumb playing tight circles on my clit until I couldn’t handle it anymore.
“I’m going to come, Brooks,” I panted, lips grazing his. Then his finger was under my chin, forcing my face up to his, our eyes locked.
It was intense.
I couldn’t believe I was doing it. I’d never been attracted to intense guys but something about being so intimately touched and looked at in that way—it made me feel close to Brooks, like he didn’t think of me as Britta the maid, but just me.
My orgasm took control, my thighs squeezing around his tight waist, fingers holding him by the belt. The warmth of his waist against the back of my fingers sent me over the edge, my sex gripping him so tight. Releasing, tightening, over and over as I panted out, screamed out, moaned out his name. “Brooks, Brooks, oh Brooks.” His name echoed inside my veins as the fog of my orgasm lifted. It was intense. It felt so fucking good.
I’m so screwed. I want more of him now and forever.
He kissed me, his tongue discovering my mouth thoroughly before pulling away and grabbing me a napkin. He washed and dried his hands before gathering my shorts off the floor and pulling them up my legs for me. As his hands grazed my thighs, my body tingled hotly, as if I hadn’t just had the orgasm of my life. I’d never been aroused after orgasm before, but with his amber scent whirring around me, the heat of his body so near, the outline of his rock-hard cock visible—I knew I had to have more.
He kissed me again and then leaned back against the counter across from me, a smirk on his lips. God he was so sexy, how in the world was he single? The strands of ash in his sandy hair were amplified in the morning sunlight, and all I wanted to do was straddle him and feel him push that magnificent cock inside of me.
The way which I wanted him surprised me. Maybe it was just because it felt so good to finally feel good. After everything that had happened. It was euphoric to be desire by him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice low, the compliment unexpected to me. It wouldn’t have mattered if Brad Pitt had shown up in that exact moment and told me I’m attractive. After hearing those words from Brooks, I knew it only mattered that he found me attractive.
“What are you thinking about, Britta?” he said, and the way my name sounded coming from a cruelly handsome man like him nearly melted me.
“How surprised I am,” I said, taking him in as he informally leaned against the counter, magical hands now in his slacks. I wasn’t surprised to feel that his body was sinewy and tight with muscle under those expensive dress clothes. I was surprised that he took me that way, so powerfully and dominant.
“Surprised?” he questioned, one peppered brow raising.
“Yeah,” I said, smoothing my hands down my tangled and messy hair, which now made me feel insecure and juvenile. “Sur
prised that you find me attractive, surprised that I did that… surprised I want to do more…now and, honestly, surprised that you even see me.”
“See you?” his tone was confused.
“You know, I’m me. I’m a maid. I breached your privacy. And I know you saw where I live so add ‘I’m broke’ and yeah,” I seesaw a hand in the space that separates us. “You’re you and I’m me. So, why are you doing this?” I sounded more like Melody than myself, but it all tumbled out of my mouth so quick, I couldn’t stop it. My truest feelings out there—I felt inadequate.
He paced to me, running his palms up the outsides of my thighs, his touch making my spine ripple. How could someone make you feel this good? It scared me. My breath caught.
“With my eyes closed, I would see you,” he said, leaning down, slanting his mouth over mine. I let him kiss me how he wanted, to see how he liked it and I committed it to memory, so I could kiss him just how he desired later. When he broke the kiss, I wrapped my hands around his neck and barely touched my lips to his.
“I want to make you come,” our mouths grazed as I said it, and I felt the weight of him against me again as he leaned in to me. He groaned, raw and guttural, his cock pulsing against my thigh.
Then an alarm sounded. Not an emotional alarm, an actual alarm, making us both jump.
“Oh my gosh,” I squealed, looking down at his fancy watch, as he stopped the noise coming from his phone. “7:43! I still need to call an Uber!” I panicked, hopping off the counter, racing towards the door. I made it just a few paces before Brooks was behind me, grabbing my hips, pulling me back.
“You have 15 minutes. I’ll drive you. Where are you going?” he pulled my hair back and kissed my neck. His lips were warm and though it wasn’t overly seductive, my chest tightened, and my panties were put to the test.
“Just, um, just up the road. The Nolan house,” I panted, head drifting to the side, Brooks’ length pushed against the back of me. God, I wanted to touch him, feel him, taste him, something I’d never done with any guy.
