Blue-Collar Boys (Service Calls - Alpha Male Romance Erotica Stories)

by Aria Hawthorne

  Enzo arrived to drain and clean Vanessa’s luxury whirlpool, and he breezed in through the gate without permission, and stumbled upon her sunbathing topless—her breasts, upright and erect. She was stretched out on a white lawn chair—as if she was balancing atop a parachute—her white robe and white bikini bottoms blending into its surface. When she heard footsteps, she barely turned her head to acknowledge the interruption. Instead, she squinted into the sun through her oversized designer sunglasses and glared at the backlit pool boy.

  “You’re blocking my light.”

  Enzo offered nothing. He did not shift his body nor did he lower his eyes to scan Vanessa’s bare breasts, nor did he flinch when she drew her palms behind her head, accentuating the peach curves of her perfect breasts.

  “If you’re here to clean my pool, you’re too late. I’m sunbathing now, and I prefer to have a bit of privacy.”

  “I am only interested in the whirlpool,” he replied, his Italian accent stern and measured. “The rest does not interest me.” Enzo’s sisters and mother regularly sunbathed naked on the pebbled beaches of Italy. It was nothing knew to him, and he made sure that Vanessa knew it.

  She suddenly rose and wrapped her bathrobe over her body. “Most of the regular cleaners know how to maintain both. You must be new and inexperienced.”

  “I am not new,” he countered, staring straight through Vanessa’s sunglasses. “I usually only visit the houses of our best clients. But today was a slow day.”

  Vanessa glared at him. She wanted to slap that his Mediterranean five o’clock shadow right off his face. But if she struck him, he seemed like the kind of man who might strike her back. His eyes narrowed, black and fierce, and his husky accent made her shiver with the breeze.

  “You are cold?” he noted with a smirk. “Then maybe it is time to go inside and get dressed.”

  He swiped up Vanessa’s white bikini top and passed it off with force.

  “The whirlpool. Where is it?”

  Vanessa nodded beyond the ivy vines of the bamboo gazebo. “If you really know what you’re doing, it shouldn’t take very long. I expect you to be gone by the time I return from lunch.”

  Vanessa knotted her robe with firm authority. She was used to giving orders to her male employees who thought they knew more than she did because they had an MBA. She could deal with those young, cocky assholes; they were white-collar sycophants who needed their six-figure salaries more than they needed to defy their female boss. But Enzo didn’t need anything she had to offer. His abrupt manners and callous glare told Vanessa that he had come from nothing and could return to nothing. And he certainly didn’t care about pleasing anyone, especially not Vanessa.

  “I’m hungry, make me a sandwich,” he snapped at her as she rolled open the sliding glass door and stepped into her house.

  Vanessa glared back at him. Their eyes locked. She immediately thought of all the ways she could put him in his place, including calling his manager and requesting that he be fired on the spot. But it was the way that Enzo lifted up his maintenance kit from the patio, as if he was the one who was going to leave, unless she obeyed. Vanessa shifted in the doorway, questioning why she was vacillating between acquiescing to the demands of her new whirlpool man and maintaining her icy facade. Maybe it was the way that Enzo was staring her down with his fearless black eyes. Or maybe it was the way he was looking through her, like she was hardly of importance at all.

  “White or wheat?” Vanessa heard herself ask.

  Enzo didn’t respond. He was surveying Vanessa’s whirlpool, taking in its dimensions and design.

  “French,” he finally said without looking up. His eyes remained fixed on the Jacuzzi, tracing the path of its drain hose and searching out the power switch.

  Vanessa nodded and started inside.

  “And don’t get dressed—” he said with command.

  Vanessa paused in the doorway when she heard Enzo’s order, but she did not glance back. She wanted to glance back. She wanted to know if Enzo was watching her. She imagined his black eyes tracing the outline of her body through her robe, the same way he traced the drain lines of her whirlpool. But she refused to look back; she refused to grant Enzo the satisfaction. Instead, she stepped inside the safety of her house, sliding through the door like a cat, escaping through the narrowing crack at the last moment.

  As she sliced up the hard French baguette, Vanessa felt a burst of adrenaline pulse through her heart—a pang of anxiety and discomfort. For as long as she could remember, she was always the boss; she was the one who called the shots; and she was the one who told her blue-collar workers what to do and when to do it. Now, she was frantically rummaging through her refrigerator, searching out the prosciutto and tomato, determined to make just the right sandwich that would please her Italian stranger. She had mayo and mustard, but she risked enduring his stern disappointment unless she used olive oil. She considered adding Swiss cheese, but refrained. There was something primitive and rugged about the sandwich, and she wanted to keep it that way. She placed the sandwich on a paper napkin, then balanced two chilled bottles of imported beer inside a wicker basket tray. She wondered if Enzo liked salt and pepper. At the last moment, she added the shakers before sliding back the glass door and stepping out onto the patio with a sense of insecurity. Vanessa Demos was the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company, and yet, she didn’t understand why she was fretting over making lunch for her whirlpool man, or why it was giving her so much pleasure to obey his orders.

  Vanessa traced the coral stone path to the bamboo gazebo, nestled in an enclave of her Elysian backyard. Winding around the roses ducking through shaded trees, she balanced the wicker tray, carefully calculating the proper angle to keep the beer bottles upright and symmetrical. But it was short-lived. The bottles toppled to one side when she halted in front of her Jacuzzi, a contemporary blend of stainless steel and transparent glass, which was already drained, cleaned, and re-filled with fresh churning water—waiting for her.

  “I made sandwiches and brought beers,” Vanessa forced a smile, but she was only met with silence, then a directive.

  “I want you to remove your clothes, and get inside…”

  Vanessa heard the order come from behind. She hesitated.

  “I wasn’t sure if you wanted cheese or not—”

  “Set it down and get undressed.”

  His voice was firm and unwavering. Vanessa wondered if he was sitting on the lover’s bench, built into the side of the gazebo, or if he was directly behind her. Vanessa set the tray down on the stone steps, and untied the sash on her robe. She still wore her white bikini top and bottom.

  “Everything,” he said.

  Vanessa trembled with the fear of the unknown. By the sound of his voice, he had moved closer now. She slowly unhooked the clasp of her bikini top, letting it fall from her body. She paused, but there was only silence. He was waiting for her to fully obey. Vanessa placed her fingernails on the corners of her bikini bottoms, and slowly peeled them down over her hips, then thighs, then stepped out of them. She was exposed and vulnerable, and the uncertainty made her tingle with anticipation.

  “The water is warm. Get in,” Enzo said in a low, even tone.

  Vanessa watched the water bubbling and frothing—a cauldron of steaming excitement. She remembered the day she had picked out that whirlpool. The showroom was lined with boring above-ground models with fake oak trim and beige interior shells. They were all the same—all decidedly suburban. Her whirlpool, on the other hand, was a custom piece of glass art with a sleek curved profile. Vanessa stepped closer to the hot tub and ran her fingers across its foaming bubbles. She felt him watching her from behind, tracking her every move with his eyes.

  Vanessa slipped both legs over the curved edge of the hot tub before submerging her entire body into its waters, baptizing her naked body into the sanctuary he had created for her. The heat scorched her skin, tiny air bubbles clung to her nipples and waxed pussy. With Vanessa’s other blue-collar conq
uests, she always made the first move. It was always an easy game of cat and mouse, the cat baiting the mouse, trapping her prey under her rules—and her rules alone. But not with Enzo. With Enzo, she felt afraid to confront his callous eyes, which threatened to reject her if she failed to obey. It was this threat of rejection that was dangerous and exciting. It was this threat of rejection that made Vanessa want to submit to him more than she wanted to dominate him.

  Vanessa suddenly felt his strong, raw hand encircle the nape of her neck, the firmness of his grasp told her to be still. He was in-charge. Vanessa waded in the bubbling water, her heart racing, her senses heightened. She felt his hand constrict tighter around her neck, holding her down—steady—as his free hand curved over her shoulders and down her breasts.

  “I’m going to touch you now. If you resist, I will leave and not come back.”

  Vanessa’s muscles flinched. She bit her lip. She wanted to look back. She wanted to make eye contact with him. But he kept her leashed from behind, his grip as stern and unforgiving as his cold, even tone.

  Vanessa watched Enzo’s forearm snake over her breasts like a threatening boa constrictor. His fingers twisted the tip of her left nipple with perfect precision—that sweet spot between pleasure and pain. She studied the deep scar along his wrist—a rope burn that had permanently blazed a pink bracelet into his olive skin. She felt his fingertips turning her nipple to the left, then the right, searing the sensation through her body. When she opened her mouth to release the sting, he released it for her, relaxing the pinch, letting the water from the jets massage away the throbbing ache. He ran his hand under her neck and supported her chin, handling her the way an owner handles a pet. Vanessa shivered, not because she was cold or afraid, but because she was waiting for him to touch her again—with force and without forgiveness—deep massaging strokes of her breasts. But he refrained. Instead, she sensed that he was admiring her sloping shoulders and mocha skin. She sensed the whispers of his lips across her collarbone, his mouth running up her neck with pleasure bites. He ended on her ear, the warmth of his breath and the suction on her lope radiated pleasure down her thighs and between her legs. The churning water washed over her body. The pulsing thrusts of the jets relaxed her insecurities. Vanessa wanted Enzo inside the whirlpool with her. She wanted to watch the stream rise off his bare back as he smothered her with his chest. She wanted to dig her fingernails into his shoulder blades as he forced his way inside her. She wanted to feel the heat from his cock intensify with the heat from the jet stream flowing between her legs.

  But Enzo didn’t care about what Vanessa wanted. He only cared about making her submit to what he wanted from her. His arm wound down her chest and across the sharp bones of her hips. His hand stopped at her pelvic bone and he cupped her waxed pussy in the palm of his hand. The weight of his forearm pressed between her breasts, and he pinned her body against the sloping glass of the whirlpool. Vanessa wrapped her fingers around his arm, grasping it like she was fighting for breath. But there was no resisting him. He shifted her body and angled her pelvis directly above the recessed floor lamp, allowing a stream of light to flood over her bare crotch. Then, his hand spread apart her knees. She flinched as his wrist pressed between her inner thighs. He kissed the nape of her neck, gently, calmly, signaling that he would not hurt her if she accepted him. His tongue swept into her ear. She savored its rolling wet licks, cooling her desires. She was sweating under the oppressive heat. Moisture from Enzo’s mouth lowered her fever. He was preparing her for his forbidden touch, lowering her defenses, so that he could be the one to build her up.

  Vanessa slowly felt the tip of Enzo’s finger nudge upwards into her pussy, one at first, then a second, nestling their way between her outer lips. His left hand stroked her throat and held her chin. Steam lifted off the whirlpool. Perspiration glazed her forehead. The swirling jets drummed with a swooshing whirl. She could not see his face, only his forearm, shimmering underwater, his right hand cupped against her crotch. But she could feel him seducing her, invading her like a criminal. Vanessa felt herself caving in, spreading her legs wider, coaxing his fingers to explore her with every exhale of breath. She needed a distraction, something to take her mind off his complete domination of her. She searched out his free hand, and enveloped his forefinger and thumb with her mouth, sucking hard with provocative clucks of her tongue, mirroring the rhythmic stimulation he was creating inside her. She reached back to feel his body. His thick black hair, his prickly chin, his strong tense neck. He was probing her G-spot with both fingers, massaging her clitoris with his thumb. She wanted more. Adjusting her seat in the hot tub, she pressed her pelvic bone against the base of his hand and arched her back, pushing him deeper and deeper, searching out a way to build and release, build and release. Enzo found it for her. He shifted her body, forcing her backside squarely over the ejaculating pulse of the jets. The spouting stream thrust against her anus, stimulating her with pulsing reverberations. Vanessa surged as Enzo fingers penetrated her without restraint. She opened her mouth to release a scream, but only dry heaves escaped. During all her conquests of blue-collar men, she had never climaxed in this way. Now, her body shuttered with collapsing gyrations that made all her Dominatrix desires dissolve away, like the wafting steam of the whirlpool. Enzo released her as she heaved a sigh and slithered down into whirlpool, submerging herself under the frothing water, drowning with the inebriation of ultimate relaxation.

  Vanessa had always believed in the thrilling adrenaline rush of domination—the invigorating power of controlling men by inciting their primal passions and preying on their sexual weakness. But now, one thing was clear—what Vanessa enjoyed most was the thrilling adrenaline release of allowing the right man to dominate her.

  END OF SERVICE CALLS

  Be sure to check out Book 2 in the series:

  Blue-Collar Boys – Repairs & Maintenance

  Website: frenchkisspress.com

  Twitter: @frenchkisspress