His Young Maid: A Forbidden Boss Age Gap Romance

by Daisy Jane

  “When she passed, I was relieved because I needed my life back. I was drowning, and I felt so selfish for it,” she admitted, tears streaming down her smooth cheeks, bottom lip trembling. “Who is happy when their mom dies? I’m an awful person. That’s why this stuff is happening.” She pulled her sleeves over her fists, balled up, and put them to her head, sniffling quietly.

  “Britta, listen to me. It is normal to be relieved when an extremely difficult situation comes to a close. Emotionally, you are not fit to withstand that type of situation for such an extended period of time. To celebrate and welcome your freedom returning is normal. It does not change the love you had for your mom, at all.” I spoke with authority, my voice solid, raised. She nodded, I saw in the peripheral, my eyes now locked on the road, unable to look at her so close to me. It was driving me nuts. Even in her state of despair, she drove me nuts. I wanted to toss her on my cock and bounce her in my lap until she was screaming my name, no mention of guilt allowed. I’d make her feel better.

  But she wasn’t ready for that yet, so until then I had to use my words.

  A few minutes of silence passed and by the time she spoke, we were approaching the gate at the bottom of the hill, at my house.

  “Thank you. Thank you for saying that. I know you’re right. I guess I’m just trying to feel bad for myself and I shouldn’t. I don’t have it bad. It’s a rough patch and I’m fine. I was lucky to have had her.”

  She smooths her hair and tugs at her skirt and it’s only now that I realize she’s wearing a short plaid skirt and an oversized sweater that resembles the fur of a teddy bear, same tanned color, too. The skirt immediately makes my cock stir and that twist in my stomach grows tighter, too.

  “When you’re ready to tell me about Nolan,” I say, following the curl of the hill leading to my home. When I’d had the place built, the hill seemed like a good method to keep people away, let me sulk in peace. But now that I actually had someone that I wanted to be home with, it felt like a barrier to happiness.

  She sighed heavily, but nodded and I parked my car outside of my garage, reaching over to hold her hand with mine.

  “It’s a bit ironic but its your fault,” her lips curled, a soft smile there, teasing. “I was thinking about you, actually, and I put my hand on the doorknob to the master bedroom. I didn’t turn it, or open it but he – Ted Nolan - was coming out as I did. I guess he thought I was trying to walk in on him or something. He said I should follow the rules if I want my job,” the words set fire to me as she spoke them, imagining Ted Nolan’s fat fucking fingers, greasy and immoral, itching to touch her and wrap his round gut around her smooth curves, pressuring her to do it. Acid formed a thick wad in my throat and I had to swallow it down twice.

  “Anyway,” she said slowly, her eyes focused in on mine, trying to parse out my feelings, see what was happening behind the understanding nod and slightly dark gaze.

  “He just started getting close to me, stepping towards me. I kept stepping back and he just kept coming forward.” That fucking cowardly piece of shit, who takes advantage of a young girl like that? Okay, so she’s an adult and can handle herself but still, this shit was pretty fucked up, even for the ugliest drunk in town.

  “What,” my jaw nearly comes unhinged as I attempt to control my mounting anger, nostrils threatening a flare. “What did he do then?”

  “He said, um, well he did this,” she cradled her chin between her pointer finger in thumb, and tugged and tightened it with slight aggression. I let myself imagine what Nolan’s fingers looked like against her pure, sweet skin and it felt like a fucking knife slicing through my gut. My mouth tasted copper.

  “Then he said, umm,” and I could see the flushness creep up her neck, as the tendons in mine tightened with pain, my jaw flexing tight. Her voice was low, her eyes staying on our hands, fingers woven together. “Do you want to go in that room and spread those sweet thighs for me? Take me inside and accept every inch of it, because I’m your boss.”

  To say I was filled with a fiery rage would not do justice to how I felt. How the fuck did Ted Nolan think he was going to talk to her like that and get away with it? Because she’s a young girl? A maid? What the fuck! My hand broke free from hers and I smoothed the sides of my hair, then skated a hand down my face.

  “It’s okay,” she leaned in, resting one of her hands on my knee across the cab.

  It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t even fucking close to being okay. In fact, I was worried I might actually kill Nolan and never get to see Britta again.

  But her hand on my thigh sent jolts of bliss through all of my nerve endings, temporarily easing the fire for revenge in my belly.

  “I don’t want to stay in a guest bedroom, either,” her small hand drifted down my thigh, leaving the casual touch of my knee in the past, her fingertips curling into my leg. “I’m sorry I doubted you. Mr. Nolan just had me confused. It all just got to me,” the ends of her fingers brushed against my balls, full and heavy. “I have wanted you since the first day I came into your house.”

  The confession comes as news to me, and I wonder if it was simply the house or the appeal that had her interested. I had to ask.

  “Why?” admittedly, it sounded silly for me to ask. I’m a wealthy, handsome, established, mature bachelor. And yes, mature is what the agency called guys over forty, like me.

  “The note by the bin, the poem, the words just kind of floated through me, settling inside me somewhere, making an appearance in my brain nearly every day. And I just wondered so much about you, and what you were going through.” Her response is mature and eloquent, and I realize she is emotionally so much older than her age. So sharp and sweet.

  “Are you sad?” she asks me again, her eyes tugging at mine, wide and innocent.

  I take a breath, and speak to her with all walls down.

  “I had come to accept that I had been in love once and because it didn’t work out, I wouldn’t find love again. I didn’t want to believe it, but I accepted it. And then time… a lot of time passed. So much that I became a self-fulfilling prophecy, I started to wonder if I’d even know it if it were under my nose. If I’d even had it right the first time—if I’d ever had it at all.”

  “Oh.” She said simply, a slight hesitation lingering in the air, Britta too scared to ask me if I thought I’d find it. She wanted to know, if it was even possible for me to be capable of love, at least. But we couldn’t go there, not yet. I’d just started building her up after an awful day. I just wanted to make her feel good, so badly.

  “Why did it stick with you?” I asked, truly wondering.

  She chewed the corner of her lip and nodded soulfully before responding.

  “Because I had those same questions. But mine weren’t about love. They were about happiness. At the time I started working as a maid, I just wondered what there was left for me in life. And I wore a smile every day to hide the fact that I didn’t see a future that wasn’t miserable.”

  Though I’ve not been in as challenging positions as Britta has, I understand what she’s saying.

  “Are you miserable still?” I ask.

  “Not anymore,” she exhales against my face, her body inching closer to me in the car.

  “I’m glad,” I say, controlling the heaving breaths that soar in my chest, controlling the urge to grab her and pull her onto my lap and feel that hot pocket of flesh pushed tight against my steel cock.

  “I know something that will make me feel better,” she muses, her eyelids growing heavy, lips falling apart as she awaits my answer.

  “What is that, Britta?” I know as I ask that it will be something sinister. She isn’t asking for lobster, she’s going to ask for me, in some form or another, and I want nothing but to give it to her.

  To give everything to her.

  “I want to make you feel good,” she rasps, her pink tongue drifting over her top lip. “And I want you to make me feel good, too.”

  Jumping from the car, I grab her from the passenge
r seat, hoist her over my shoulder and make my way inside.

  12

  Brooks

  I climb over her slowly, like a predator, my cock dragging against her core, her body heat radiating onto me.

  “I’m going to flatten you to the mattress and fuck you hard,” my voice is a growl, the flare in her eyes turning my dick to steel.

  “I’ve wanted to fuck you like this since the moment I heard your voice in my kitchen,” I say, as my confession laced with a primal urge comes free.

  With Britta, I want to indulge in all my most carnal desires, I want to live to please her, fully. It’s sex, of course it’s sex, she’s a fucking glowing, gorgeous thing. But it’s more. Forty-eight and I’m getting a hard-on whenever I’m around this girl. Making my heart race and filling my mind with possibilities, fantasies of the future. It’s familiar and new, all at once. It gives me a rush of excitement just to be next to her and in her presence, I feel like I am truly myself.

  “Do it, I want you to fuck me hard,” she exhales, her nipples like sharp peaks dragging through the short, barbed hair on my chest. Our clothes lie in a heated trail to my bedroom and god her body feels so good against mine. Her palms stretch out over the Egyptian cotton sheets, head rolling in a tangle of blonde hair as my lips drift down, making a hot line down her core. Any thought of where we’re going or what we are doing is cast aside when my tongue finds her clitoris, swollen and wet. Using the pad of my tongue, I massage it carefully, gently, then with more and more firmness, my own groans pulsating all the way up through my scalp, down to my toes. Her hips raise off the bed as she pushes her pussy into my mouth, grinding and grating against my tongue. Her words are a heated jumble in the air.

  “More.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  “Oh, baby.”

  “Make me come.”

  Those last words bring me to a halt and I lift my face from the warmth of her slickness.

  “I want to watch you,” I say, wrapping my arms under her thighs, driving her up on the bed, to partially sitting. Her eyes are hazy, cheeks rosy, nipples pouting at me. She nods, as if love drunk, my tongue driving her mad. Nothing but the urge to come is on her mind now. I hold her there, like that, cupping my mouth over her sex again, swirling my tongue around her sensitive, swollen little clit. The way she rolls her hips against my mouth while I have her pinned, holding her down, my tongue driving deep inside - it drives me fucking crazy. My cock is thick and hot against the bed, throbbing, precome leaking freely. I should have better restraint, at this age, but that sweet taste of cake she holds between her thighs makes me so hard, my balls feel like they may explode.

  Her head tilts back, her golden hair dragging against the pillow as her tongue slides over her bottom lip, legs falling apart, giving me more room to work. I hold her thighs apart, working her pussy with my tongue, her sweet honey coating my mouth, bringing my own needs closer to the surface.

  Her breathing quickens and I know she’s close. Looking up through the valley between her breasts, I watch her eyes flutter closed as my tongue sweeps through her folds once more, twice more, the last time resting over her clit. Then her thighs fight my hands, her spine curls delicately as she grabs the sides of my head, tugging at my hair. She rides my stiff tongue as she orgasms, her wet flesh all over my face, her little whimpers nearly burning me alive. She screams, I growl into her and when she comes down, I find my place next to her on the bed. I need time to catch my breath but she’s young, she doesn’t need time, she needs me, and she shows me.

  Crawling between my legs, she wraps one small hand around my cock, her fingers not quite meeting. She begins to move her hand up my length, and the sight of her there with the taste of her still on my lips, it drives me mad. I become young again, a young man chasing his need with no finesse or art. I need to come and I need her to make me come, again. No matter how unrefined the way.

  I don’t recognize myself as I sit up, grabbing her head in my hands, guiding her down onto my cock, her sweet little mouth open and eager. Her purrs of satisfaction ripple through my aching balls and make my thighs tighten. She’s new to this, I can sense, as her teeth periodically graze my length while she sucks me, slowly, up and down. But it’s the best fucking blow job I’ve ever gotten, because her need to consume me is raw and visceral. It’s the hottest thing ever.

  I should be able to let her blow me, watch her work on my dick while I pull that silky curtain of hair away from her face. I should. But when I watch her take my length, feeling her gag as she pushes me to the back of her throat, I feel my orgasm snake up my thighs and tear through my core.

  “Fuck, baby, I’m close,” I warn her.

  But she doesn’t relent. She shakes her head and continues to suckle and swallow me, eagerly, faster and faster. It’s nearer now, I know as the coil in my stomach tightens unbearably, I feel it happen.

  She makes a noise on my cock as the first spurt leaves me, then whimpers with delight as I continue to release, and what a fucking release it is. I’m a fucking water hose in her mouth, unloading shot after shot, her throat working with me to take it all down. And as I feel the last of my orgasm leave me, her tongue keeps working the underside of my cock, milking me. God it feels so good that I don’t know if I can handle it and before I know it, I come again, unexpected for us both. An innocent giggle slips past her lips as she tries to keep swallowing, a trickle of spend dribbling down her chin, onto her bare breast. When she finally releases me, she holds my softening cock in one hand and uses the other to collect the stray spend, pushing her finger into her mouth, eyes on mine.

  As she crawls up to me, settling in the spot between my chest and arm, I realize it.

  She’s ruined me.

  I can never be with another woman. I know it.

  13

  Britta

  I feel silly admitting it, but I tell him anyway.

  “That was my first time doing that,” I pressed my lips to his chest, kissing him gently. I loved how he smelled like sweat and cologne, his skin salty on my tongue.

  “Which part?” he asked, adjusting in the sea of pillows behind us.

  “What I just did to you,” I said, running my hand over his solid, fuzzy chest. He felt like a real man, made of muscle, showing age, capable and strong. I loved touching him. I loved what he’d said to me in the car, about finding love. It was so honest and quite unexpected coming from a man like him. It was true, we all just wanted to be loved but didn’t know if we’d ever have it. “And what you did to me,” I admitted in a small tone, my hands drifting down his tight belly, resting over his softened but still impressive cock. I couldn’t keep my hands off him. I need to feel his warm skin, everywhere.

  “First time giving and receiving oral sex?” he asked with surprise.

  “Yeah,” I said, letting my fingertips comb over the length of him, slowly. “I’ve only been with one other guy. My boyfriend when I was nineteen.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve been with him?” he asks, his palm smoothing its way down my bare back, making my pussy throb. His hands on me are unlike anything else.

  “We broke up on my birthday. And I’m close to 21 now. It’s been,” I count in my head and am surprised when I realize just how long it’s really been. “Almost two years.” It sounded so long out loud. Like decades.

  He’s quiet, and I think for a moment he’s embarrassed for me that I’ve been celibate for two whole years. Wondering what’s wrong with me. Then he speaks, his palm on my back, pulling me on top of him.

  “I’m glad no one else found you before I did,” he says, his dark eyes carrying a serious expression.

  My lips find his and as much as I want him to think I’m a good lover, sexy and skilled, I can’t calm myself when my naked body is pressed to his. Our teeth grate and I’m everywhere, hair flying, legs flailing, moans escaping me. After a few crazy minutes he’s on top of me again, the weight of his hard cock on my belly making me wet, hungry.

  “Fuck me,�
� I pant against his lips, the threat of his solid body on top of me making me tremble with need. I just told him to fuck me! It was out of character for me yet it felt so natural.

  He slants his mouth over mine and I can still taste myself on him, and it drives me wild. I savor the sight of him hovering over me, full of desire, cock hard against me.

  “Hold on,” he rolls off of me and pulls open a drawer, bringing back a gold packet with him. On his knees over me, he tears open the package, his eyes locked to mine. But I can’t help it when my eyes magnetize to his hands, fondling his thick length, rolling the rubber onto himself. I’d never seen a man touch himself before and though it was utilitarian, it floored me. In response, my thighs dropped further apart, exposing my wet heat to him. His eyes went there for a moment, to the apex of my thighs, before he crawled over me again. Our hands tangled together between us, both of us fighting to guide him into me as fast as possible. The groan he made when he pushed inside of me nearly made me orgasm right then—deep and raw, filled with pent up lust. And how it feels for him to fill me, its inexplicable.

  “You feel so good,” he said on an exhale.

  “You too,” I say, adjusting to his size as his hips roll into me, pushing me higher up on the bed. I wrap my arms around his neck, kiss his jaw, my lips ending at his ear.

  “I want you,” I tell him softly as he impales me with his glorious cock, stilling when he’s to the hilt.

  “Don’t tease me,” he groans, and though it’s a light warning, I take it as an admission of his fear, fear of getting hurt.

  “I want you,” I breath to him, moving slow circles with my hips. Motionless as he holds himself deep inside, my heart begins to race. “More than tonight,” I say, his brow cinching with strain, his sinewy arms caging me in.