by Faye, Amy
"I don't know," I tell him. "I forgot. But they keep putting it in my glass and I keep drinking it."
He laughs, and I can't help but smile at my own joke.
"I could buy you the next one."
"That would be awful kind of you."
He puts an arm on the small of my back. It feels sexual, and I don't doubt for a moment that he means it to.
I don't stop him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
At some point, I'm going to have to talk to her or let her go. Neither one seems like a good solution. If I had gotten over myself, stifled my anger like I'd been doing for months before, it wouldn't be a problem.
But instead, I'd made it a big deal by reacting to it at all. She must have known that I left because of her mother. So that much wasn't a surprise.
That I'd not want to talk to Deborah was no doubt obvious even before it had happened. But the way that I'd reacted? Only an idiot wouldn't be able to realize that it was because there was something there. I'd been able to deal with so many other scumbag in my life. One more shouldn't be any kind of big deal.
And no doubt, she's realized that. There must be questions. Must be. And if I'm going to make this relationship work, even just as far as keeping her in the office, then I'm going to have to answer those questions.
Which has been where I'm stumbling.
I take a deep breath. Shannon's holding my calls. Thank God, too, because I don't know if I could actually take one right now. It's been three days and I still don't actually know if I could focus on the law if I tried. So far, I haven't had much luck.
I managed it once. I could manage it again. But something in my gut tells me that I can't just leave things the way they are.
Stand up, I tell myself. Get out the door.
The only way out of this mess is getting myself to it. Sure, there's a risk. She could hate me when I go through the whole thing. She might not want to even hear it. But that's not really a choice that she gets to make.
She needs to know, and after we've slept together, it's something she deserves to know. She's sitting in a room full of people, pouring through a dusty old book. The smell of the library reminds me of college, reminds me of my early days of doing this exact work while I was still working on my degree.
I touch her back, and she reacts immediately, even if she tries to hide it. Her back straightens and she arches a little, her body unable to decide whether to escape the touch or to press deeper into it.
"I need to talk to you," I say softly. "Outside."
She follows me through the door. I don't look her in the eye, because if I did, then I'd have to deal with the confusion and uncertainty and perhaps even fear in them.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I managed to keep my frustration under wraps just long enough to make the hallway. Then he turns and stops and I shut the door behind myself.
"What?" My voice might convey some of that frustration.
"We need to talk."
"We're talking."
"I just wanted to tell you that—"
"Tell me what? Tell me that you fucked my mother?"
She'd thought it would work best to confess it to me. She always confessed once she was caught. It was easier that way. For her, at least. That way, she could always have the sympathy.
First, because she had no way of knowing that everything was going to go to hell, in spite of her pushing it all off the cliff. Second, then, because she felt really sorry about how everything went to hell.
"So you knew?" His voice is low and soft.
"I don't know why I was surprised. You're probably a real lady-killer, huh? So why should Mom be any different?"
He looks away from me, and his teeth press together hard. "Yeah, you think what you want, I guess."
"Well? What am I supposed to think?"
"Look, don't you worry about it. Think whatever you want to think. I'm not going to sit here and insult your mother to make you think one ounce better about me."
"Lay it on me. You'd be surprised what I'll believe about her."
I'm not sure who the hell I'm supposed to blame here. Because everything I've seen from both sides tells me, they'd both be guilty. Hell, I suspect she'd do it just for the fun of it, and he's got his thing for redheads, of course.
On the other hand, my mother's never made a decision I didn't have to pay for in my entire life. And this seems like her style. But I'm not ready to make a decision, either way. She's an idiot, but I'm not going to lay down for this womanizing little—
Not without being told what happened, and believing it.
"I don't want to upset you," he says finally.
"Too late. You can correct the record, or you can let me keep thinking whatever Deborah told me about it. Your choice."
"She was having an affair. My father's best friend. I don't really know how long it was going on for, but… well, I wasn't going to let it continue. But God damn it all if I wasn't too stupid to go to my dad about it."
He steps back away from me and drops his head, his eyes pointed right at the floor. A moment later, someone steps around the corner, sees the two of us, and walks through and into the records room.
"You were saying?"
"So I went to her to tell her to cut it off, and…"
"She denied it, I'm guessing."
"I didn't have any proof. You might remember in law school they taught about that. Proof's pretty important. But I'm twenty years old, and this is my mom, right?"
"No, I'm with you. But uh. I'm with you. Mom needs to be trapped in a corner before she'll cop to it. So you didn't get her to. Right. Tell me when it leads to the horizontal bop."
He winces and waits a moment to answer.
"Yeah. So I'm in my—our—parents' room, right? Trying to talk some sense into her. Trying to get her to just. Not even confess, just agree to break it off. For my Dad's sake."
"I'm with you so far. That seems like a far cry from 'and then I slept with her' though, so you'll forgive me if I don't see it yet."
"And then—Jesus. I don't know how else to put it. Um." He closes his eyes again, and I can see how frustrating it must be, given his reaction.
"Take your time."
"She gets up off the bed, she comes up to me, starts talking about how I've been working out, shit like that, I don't know."
I don't know how to feel at this point. I've never been on the receiving end of it, but I can imagine that my mother knows what to say to get what she wants. She's always managed it in the past. He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a huff.
"So then I'm standing there, with my goddamned mother putting her hand on my hip. And I don't want to sound weird but she was, you know, she was good looking, and I'm twenty years old. Idiot kid. But even I'm standing there thinking that this is a big god damn mistake, and then her hand moves, you know, from my hip to my… hip."
"Oh." I don't know what else to say.
"I could have stopped her, but I didn't."
"Oh."
"So I went to my dad, finally. And now she's playing him against me. Says it's all my idea. I seduced her. Well, who's he going to believe? His wife, or his son? Given that one of them has never shown any signs of infidelity—you know, other than all of the ones that he's ignored—and the other is just a horny teenager."
"Yeah." My gut sinks.
"So I left."
"I remember that part."
"I figured you might," he says softly.
"I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything. But I had to clear the air."
"Well, thank you."
"Yeah. You got it."
"I'm sorry."
"We're all sorry."
My gut is doing flips. "Okay can I confess something too?"
"Okay."
"Stay with me till the end on this, okay?"
"Yeah." His fingers tap out a dissonant rhythm on the wall behind him.
"I went out last night. Kinda, uh. Freaking out. About every
thing."
"Yeah."
"And I was thinking about you, and how I kinda, well, I've always had like. A thing for you."
He raises an eyebrow, amused.
"Yeah. Well. Moving on. So then my mother tells me, what she told me, and you're not exactly moving to tell me your side of things. You're also not exactly moving to pick up where we left off. So I figure, I've got to get on with my life, I guess. Stop thinking so much about… well, you get the idea."
"Tell me."
"I wanted to stop pretending that what happened the other day was suddenly going to turn into some kind of relationship."
"Good girl," he says, and I'm annoyed at the little shiver that rakes its way down my spine.
"So some guy. I don't know his name to be honest, he comes along."
"I'm not going to like this next part, am I?"
"I told you to wait," I say, and then I stare at him long enough to drive the point home. "So he's coming on pretty strong. And I'm not telling him no. Not telling him yes, either, but he looks like he'd about hump a bear if it let him."
His eyes close and a pained smile stretches across his face. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I didn't. I told him to buzz off and I went home a little lonely and a little horny and probably a little too drunk. And all I could think about last night was, I went out to forget about a relationship I wasn't even in, and I couldn't even do that right."
He takes a look at me. I wonder what he sees. Does he think I'm weak? Pathetic? What?
And then he starts moving, his arms wrapping around my waist, and he pulls me into a kiss. I can feel his stubble rubbing against my skin and I don't mind it one bit, in spite of myself.
My arms pull around him as well, and pull him in tight. I don't care about ten years ago. I just want what I want, and I want it now.
And for once in my life, I'm going to let myself have it.
Spanked By The Billionaire 1
BDSM Billionaire Maid Erotica
Evangeline Fox
Forty dollars and eighty three cents and a crystal figurine in the shape of a butterfly hide in my apron pockets. I look around me, checking to be sure that Mr. Rodin isn't anywhere that he can see me as I pick up a beautiful aquamarine ring that once belonged to his late wife. I slip it into my right pocket where it joins the figuring.
My sister's birthday is coming up, and she's going to be 16. I promised her I'd buy her a video game console, and I never break promises for my sister. I wasn't always a thief, of course.
In fact, before the housing bubble burst, my whole family was well off. I was in college, in my second year of studying business when the economy tanked. Nearly everyone in my family was laid off or lost customers or otherwise lost their source of money. At a time when we most needed help, we all lost the people who could help us. We were poor, and my parents could no longer pay for my schooling. Now, I'm forced to be a maid.
I was extremely lucky when Julian Rodin offered to hire me as a maid. He used to be a local politician, and when my dad worked in real estate he sold Julian Rodin his second house. That was a few years ago, and now Julian is extremely wealthy because of some good investments. When he found out how much my family was suffering, he found my mother a job as a secretary at a friend's law firm and invited me to become a maid. He even promised to pay me fairly.
And I guess he has. Fairly for a maid at least. I work hard, though, cleaning this million dollar home with its 3 floors, basement and huge garage. Some days I feel like I should just ask to move in, since I spend so much time here.
I had hoped to go back to school with this money, finish my degree and open my own business, but there's no chance of that happening. No, Mr. Rodin doesn't pay me nearly enough. I can just barely afford my small apartment, which is within walking distance of this mansion because there's no chance I could afford a car.
So I pilfer some things here and there. My pawn shop never asks questions about where I get these things, they just give me the money I need to pay for such luxuries as food and my electricity bill.
It's not as if I have something against Mr. Rodin. He's just a bit stingy with money and would never consider giving me a raise. He's never caught me stealing, and has never indicated that he even notices the things I've taken. Never has he asked me about the things that have gone missing.
Because of that, I've become more bold about it. Instead of stealing forgotten trinkets from the back of his closets, I'm stealing things left out in the open and with much more value. Still, he says nothing.
Slipping into one of the many bathrooms on the ground floor, I wipe down the sink and toilet before heading over to the nearby kitchen. Every time I open the fridge here, I'm surprised by how empty it is. Mr. Rodin eats out fairly often, though, so it's understandable. Rinsing off a recently used plate, I put it into the nearly full dishwasher and start it. My eyes dart to the clock on the oven as I raise my arms and stretch, my right elbow popping. It's barely even 5 PM and I'm already finished cleaning!
Tightening my pony tail, I tug on a few strands of my long black hair and make sure my hair is up tight. I step into the hallway and walk down the long red carpet to he library at the very end.
Mr. Rodin is typing away on his computer as I step in.
“Ah, Sophia,” he says, smiling as he looks up from the screen. He has high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. I always wondered why he never went into acting. He looks a lot like the villain from that recent comic book movie when you catch him at the right angle. He's tall and handsome, and always seems to be busy with something intellectual.
Music drifts softly from the sleek white computer on his dark mahogany desk, a classical piece that he plays often. I look around the room to be sure it's still clean. This is the first room I lean while Mr. Rodin eats his breakfast so that I'm not in his way while he works. Still, it always smells a bit dusty from the old books lining the walls and sitting haphazardly on tables around the room.
“I believe I'm done for the day, Mr. Rodin,” I reply, bowing my head and stepping my leg back for a curtsy. It's old fashioned, but I'm used to it. It's how he prefers to be addressed, and I'm in no position to deny him that.
“Ah, I see,” he replies. “Well, I had something I wanted to discuss with you, so if you wouldn't mind sitting down?” His hand pats the chair next to him. The cushion is plump and covered with velvet.
I hesitate for a moment, pressing my hand against the goods in my apron. They shouldn't be too obvious, so I smile and walk around the chair. Sitting down, I cross my bare legs in front of me. Another part of the job: I'm only allowed to wear dresses. It's a bit humiliating, but I do it. I've actually come to enjoy it, wearing a dress makes me feel a bit free.
“I feel awful even asking you this,” he starts, leaning forward and putting his hand over mine. “But I can't seem to find my gold cuff links and the camera I bought two Christmases ago. Would you happen to have moved them while cleaning, or seen them anywhere?”
I gulp and feel my heart jump. Oh god, I hope he can't hear it pounding against my chest. Those cuff links brought in $200 to pay for my ridiculous electricity bill two months ago, and the camera was worth $500 when I sold it on Ebay. That bought me some new dresses and shoes as well as a month's worth of food. My hand is still covered by his, and I find myself worrying that he might be able to feel my pulse. I smile and shake my head, pulling my hand back and willing my heart to slow to a normal pace. “No, sir. I haven't seen anything like that.”
He leans back, sticking his bottom lip out a bit. Mr. Rodin looks like a pouting child as he leans like that, a few errant black hairs dashing across his forehead. “I see. That's very unfortunate.” We both remain silent for a few minutes, until the awkwardness gets to me while he continues to pout.
“Ah, well, I have to get to shopping...” I say, starting to stand up.
“Yes, I forgot your sister's birthday. Well, one more thing before you go. Could you take a quick look at this for me?”
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He presses his hand against his computer screen, turning it to face me. On the screen is 4 photos. It takes me a few moments as I scan them to realize they're all of me. Black and white photos that look like stills from a video camera... My eyes widen. Each of the photos show me stealing something. Did Mr. Rodin install security cameras?!
Mr. Rodin shifts in his seat. “Now, if you had confessed to me, if you had been honest with me, things would have been much more simple. I would have fired you and sent you on your way.” His voice is deeper now, like a dog's growl. Dread washes through me. “But since you lied to me, more drastic measures are called for.”
“Mr. Rodin, please! I'm so sorry! Please don't call the police!”
He scoffs at me, crossing his arms and frowning. “I very well should call the police. But no, I won't do that right away. After all, your dad is a friend of mine and we wouldn't want him to see these photos, would we? And I don't want to shame him by sending his eldest daughter to jail. If you don't want to be put behind bars, you're going to have to do absolutely everything I tell you to do.”
My heart skips a beat and my eyes widen. Is he saying what I think he is?!
“To make this easier on you, and because I'm such a good guy, I'll also give you a raise. But only if you do absolutely everything I tell you to do, without question and without attitude.” He moves in close to me, looking into my eyes. His cheekbones look sharp in the lighting. “Do you agree to my terms, or should I call the police?”
I can't move. I can barely breathe. My hand comes up to my chest and I lean over, trying to force air into my lungs. Mr. Rodin picks up his cell phone, his lips again pressed into a hard line. He swipes his thumb against the screen. “No, wait!” I yell. He stops, his eyes flicking up to mine. “I agree.”
His lip twitches into a wicked smile. I feel nauseous and my head feels fuzzy.
“Stand up.”
As I scramble to my feet, he stands as well. Next to him, I am very short. He grabs my arm and forces me to turn around, facing his desk. Pressing against my shoulders, he forces me to bend over until my breasts press against the desk and my ass is in the air.
