And, a few months ago, he might have been able to do just that. Because a few months ago, Megan hadn’t taken to acting out every chance that she got to try and get him to punish her. Ever since they had started hooking up, and especially ever since he had laid into her in the kitchen that time, she had treated this as a game that she just needed to crack to get what she wanted out of him.
Misbehaving. Which might have been fun, really, if it hadn’t been happening around his own home, at times when he just didn’t have the energy to give her what she seemed so keen to take from him. He supposed he should have expected it; after so long out on the streets, being with him gave her a chance to get what she wanted and to explore her true desires. He just wished that she could respect his, at the same time.
So when he stepped through the door, and saw a vase smashed next to the window, he felt a swell of anger rush through his system. Not the kind of anger that he could work out with a quick spanking and a face-fuck, either – the kind that needed him to really give her a piece of his mind.
"Megan!” He yelled into the house. A moment later, she emerged from the kitchen, a small smile on her face.
"Yes, Sir?” She asked, and he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her over to the smashed vase. She followed him at once, not resisting for a second, and it frustrated him no end to know that every expression of anger would be met with a smile from her.
"You did this," he told her, and she nodded.
"I suppose I’ll have to be punished for it, Sir," she replied. And with that, he let go of her, and took a step back to look at her properly.
"Megan," he told her, his voice low. "This. Has got. To stop."
She eyed him for a moment, a sudden rush of nerves passing over her face. He could tell this isn’t what she had wanted to hear, not for a moment. But she had been the one to start this – the least she could do was see it through.
"W-what do you mean?" She asked, her voice wavering slightly. He rubbed his hand over his face in irritation.
"You know what I mean," he shot back, more angry than he could be bothered to hide from her. "You keep pulling shit like this. The burned toast is one thing, but this – you burned a shirt with an iron last week, and I know you did that on purpose. Now this..."
He gestured to the vase, lying in pieces on the ground in front of the two of them.
"You don’t just get to walk around here causing trouble because you think it’s going to get you what you want from me," he pointed out. She hunched her shoulders in a little. She could handle getting told off, but only when it was on the terms that she could choose - the ones where he would use her body for whatever he wanted, and she would enjoy each and every moment of it.
"That isn’t how this works," he continued. "I hired you, remember? And other things might have happened between us, but that doesn’t mean you have a right to disrespect my property. Do you understand that?”
She stared at him for a moment. Silently, he prayed that she was actually going to listen to him for a change, but he could tell, with a sinking sense of dread, that he wasn’t going to get so lucky. That smile surfaced on her face once more, and he had to look away from her to stem the rush of anger that threatened to take control of him. It was one thing to want to take control of her, and it was quite another to do it out of the sheer rage that was running through him at that moment. That was what her dady had subjected her to, no doubt, and he wasn’t going to be guilty of the same things her dad was. That, he was sure of.
"Why don’t you teach me another lesson?" She asked with enthusiasm. He shook his head, and drew his eyes away from her.
"I think I’ve done enough of that," he told her. Her face dropped again. It seemed like he was finally starting to get through to her, thank God.
"But what if I want more?" She asked, and, with that, the last inch of patience that he had had for her seemed to vanish. He clenched his fists by his sides, and looked her dead in the eye. He didn’t want her pretending for a second that he was anything other than serious in this.
"I should never have fucked you in the first place," he replied, his voice a barely-controlled fount of anger in that moment. Her face dropped, and her skin paled; even hurt, she looked so beautiful that it was hard for him to follow through with this.
"What are you talking about?” She breathed, her voice wavering slightly, as though she was on the brink of tears. He tried to ignore the guilt he felt for making her feel that way, and followed through with what she needed to hear.
"I’m talking about this," He replied, pointing to the mess that she had made on the floor. "Do you see this? This was precious to me. But you didn’t care about that. You just wanted whatever you could take."
She opened her mouth to protest, and then thought better of it and closed it again. Much to his relief. He didn’t want to hear another one of her excuses. He had given her enough time to get her attitude in check, and he wasn’t going to wait any longer. Yes, she had grown up in a hard, cold world, but that didn’t mean that she could just roll through everything that he held dear to him.
"I’m not laying a hand on you from here on out," he warned her. "You understand me? I’m not going to touch you. I don’t care what you do or what you want. This is your final warning. If I see anything else like this happening again, then you’re going to be paying for it out of your own pocket."
She caught her breath. It was clear she hadn’t been prepared for that. But it wasn’t any concern of his. Yes, he had led her on, he had let her think that her acting out would get her what she wanted, but now, it was up to him to lay down the law and make sure that she didn’t make that mistake again.
"And I’m not going to put up with this treatment of my living space," he went on. "If I see any more of this, if I get the feeling for a moment that you’ve been deliberately disrespecting my belongings or this home, then you’re going to get your notice and that’s going to be that. Do you understand?"
"You’d...you’d fire me?” She asked, and her eyes were wide and a little glassy, like she was running overtime to figure out what he was talking about.
"I’d fire you," he warned her. "You can pack up your things and leave. There are plenty of other people out there looking for a maid, but I’m not handling one who can’t treat the home she’s supposed to care for with any respect. I hope I have made myself clear."
Her eyes lowered to the ground, and it was clear that this was the last thing she had expected to hear from him. But he had to be honest with her. He couldn’t just let her run roughshod over his life, his home, everything that he had worked so hard to build. Burning his toast was one thing, but this was so far over the line that he knew he had to cut it off there and then to make sure that she didn’t push any further.
"Yes, Sir," She replied. "You’ve made yourself clear."
"Good," he sighed. "Now, please clean this mess up. And then make me a drink. I’ve had a long day, and I want to forget all about it."
"Of course, Sir," she agreed, and, without once looking up at him again, she backed off to take care of what he had asked of her.
And, for a moment, he felt a little guilty. Maybe he should have been gentler with her. After all, he had been the one that had brought up these rules for her, the one who had rewarded her bad behavior. If he had been a little firmer, if he hadn’t been so fast to give in to her when she tantalized him...
But now. He was the one in control here, and that was what mattered. She worked for him, and, beyond this small blip, he was sure that they could get back to that again, without the weight of everything that they had been through hanging over them. It might be hard to resist her, sometimes, and no doubt she would try to find a way to skirt around his rules and get what she wanted – but he would stand firm. No turning back. Megan was his maid now, and nothing more than that.
That was what he was just going to have to keep telling himself, when he saw the curve of her perfect ass contained beneath the confines of that tight, tempting unifo
rm.
Chapter 17
Tables turned
Ugh.
As soon as he woke up, he knew that finishing up that bottle of whisky the night before had been a mistake. He should have contained himself a little better, but after that conversation with Megan, he’d felt like he’d had no choice but to get drunk just to rub the memory of the look on her face out of his head.
He was still on the couch, the empty bottle of scotch next to him – damn, and that had been the nice stuff, too. He probably didn’t even appreciate the last few glasses, too drunk to think about anything but getting drunker.
The inside of his mouth tasted like shit, and he was starving hungry and a little sick all at the same time. He couldn’t remember seeing Megan much last night after she had cleaned up the mess she had made with the vase and brought him the drink, but she was probably just in a bad mood with him after he had laid down the law to her the night before.
"Megan," He tried to call out into the living room, but his mouth was so dry that it came out more of a croak. More frog than Prince, he thought to himself. He swallowed heavily, and tried again.
"Megan!” He yelled, louder this time, filling the space with the sound of her name. He paused a moment, waiting for the sound of her dutiful footsteps hurrying towards him, but instead, he was met with a deafening silence through the whole apartment.
Finally, with a groan, he managed to peel himself off the couch to see what the hold-up was about. And, as he got to his feet, he realized something – the windows to the condo were all closed.
He frowned. Normally, Megan would throw them open first thing in the morning to make sure that it was fresh and clear by the time that he got out of bed, but the place was sealed and stuffy as he crawled back to reality once more.
And something else was missing, too. It took him a moment to figure out what it was, but then it hit him. The smell of coffee. First thing, Megan would brew a big pot of coffee for him that he could work on over the course of the morning, but it was nowhere to be seen. Or smelled.
He made his way through to her bedroom, wondering if she was still in a bad mood after what had happened the night before and this was her way of protesting his new rules. He knocked, called her name, and, getting no response, slowly pushed the door open and looked inside.
But she was nowhere to be seen.
In fact, there was no trace of her in the room at all; it was perfectly tidy and perfectly empty, just the same way it had been before she had moved in in the first place. His stomach sank into his shoes. There was something wrong here, something seriously wrong. And he got the feeling that he had been the one to kick it into action.
He searched the house from top to bottom, growing increasingly concerned as he made his way around the quiet space, but she was nowhere to be found. Okay, so he had forgotten about his hangover, but it had been replaced by the deep, grinding dread that something really bad had happened. That he might have lost her.
Where could she have gone? As far as he knew, she didn’t know anybody in this town. Maybe Stacey? Yes, that would be his best bet. If she had gone anywhere, then she would have gone to her, surely.
He quickly grabbed his phone and dialed Stacey’s number; a moment later, her drawl came down the line. He rubbed his hand over his face, already feeling a little relieved. This had to be where Megan was hiding, for some reason.
"Hello, boss," she greeted him. "Something up?”
"Yeah, I need to know if Megan is with you," he replied, and she paused for a moment, clearly surprised by what he was asking.
"Megan?”
"Yes, is Megan with you?" He demanded, a little harsher than before.
"Of course she isn’t," she replied, curiously. "I thought she lived with you? She isn’t there?"
"No, she’s not here," he snapped back. He didn’t mean to be so blunt with her, but he was sure that she was keeping something from him and he needed to know that Megan was alright.
"Okay, you need to calm down-"
"Stacey, can you just put her on the phone if she’s there?" He pushed her. "I can’t think of anywhere else that she would be right now. Tell me if she’s with you, okay?”
"She’s not with me, Dravid," she told him, firmly. "Jesus, you sound frantic. I’m sorry, I don’t know where she is. But you need to take a breath and calm down if you’re going to find her."
"Thanks for your help," he muttered, and he swiftly hung up the phone. He didn’t have time to talk to Stacey if she couldn’t point him in the right direction. He didn’t know where Megan could have gone, but what he did know was that she was vulnerable right now and he at least owed it to her to make sure that she was alright, even if she didn’t want to be with him any longer.
Before he could think it through a moment longer, he headed down to the security desk at the front of the condo, and told the guys behind the counter that he was looking for someone – his maid. She was missing, and he had no idea where she might have gone.
"Oh, I think I remember someone heading out of here earlier," one of them remarked, furrowing his brow as though the memory was so distant that he was having trouble bringing it to mind. "A woman? Short hair?”
"Yes, that’s her," Dravid replied at once, and the guard nodded and turned to the stack of screens in front of him. After tapping a few buttons, he scrolled back some footage, and turned a screen to face Dravid.
"Is this her?" he asked, and Dravid felt a swell of panic as he saw her, in this flickering footage, marching out of the condo building. It was her, alright, no doubt about it – and she looked like she was on a mission.
"That’s her," Dravid replied. "What time was this?”
"Just past six this morning, I think," The guard replied, and he checked the timing on the footage. "Yeah, six-oh-two this morning."
"Shit," Dravid muttered. That was so long ago. If she had wanted to get away from him, then chances were that she had already managed to do that and put a fair bit of distance between them…
He made his way back to the condo, and turned it over again, moving furniture around, opening and closing windows, opening every cabinet that he could get his hands on. He knew it was ridiculous and that there was no way that he was going to find her in there – he had watched her walk out of the condo with his own two eyes, after all – but he couldn’t believe that she really would have left no trace of herself, no hint of where she had gone.
He slumped down on the couch when he was done, sitting in the bombsite of his apartment – if she had been here, it would have been spotless, but she was gone and he felt like his whole life was coming apart at the seams.
Still wearing his shorts and the tee that he had slept in, Dravid started pacing back and forth, trying to imagine where she might have gotten. Maybe she had gone to take care of some of her chores? After all, last night, he had laid into her, told her that she needed to take her work seriously or that there would be trouble. Perhaps she was just making a point of that, in her own little petulant way. Maybe she wanted him to worry, so that when she came swanning back through the door, and she could blink and smile sweetly at him and act totally stunned that he gave a damn where she had been in the first place.
But where could she have gone to that would have required her to get out of the house? He racked his brains, and then it hit him – the dry cleaner’s. It was a block or two away from his condo, and he knew that she had a couple of his suits down there getting ironed and cleaned for his next big meeting. Yes, she had probably just left early to take care of that – though he tried not to let his mind wander to the question of why the hell she hadn’t returned yet.
Not even bothering to run a brush through his hair or get changed into some more appropriate, Dravid threw on an old pair of running shoes, grabbed his money clip, and hurried down to the dry cleaner’s in the hopes of finding Megan once more. He could feel a few people staring at him as he made his way down the street, and he tried not to let it bother him; after all, this was a nice
part of town, and they were likely wondering why someone who looked as though he had just been peeled out of the gutter was running around in it. Hungover Dravid was hardly his most dapper look, and he knew that, but it was the last thing on his mind as he went to look for Megan.
He busted through the door of the cleaning place, and was met with total bafflement; the owner recognized him, just before the staff on duty kicked him out, and Dravid grasped him by the shoulders and directed to him the same question that had been running through his mind ever since he had gotten up this morning.
"Where’s Megan?" He asked, voice frantic. The owner furrowed his brow.
"Sorry, who?”
"The maid, the woman who comes in here to pick up my clothes," Dravid explained, as quickly as he could. He felt like every second that was ticking away was another one where she would be getting further and further from him, and he couldn’t handle waiting another second to get his hands on her again.
"The one with the short hair and the uniform dress?" The man asked, and Dravid nodded. The man shook his head.
"No, I haven’t seen her since she dropped off some clothes earlier this week," The man replied. "Are you here to pick them up? It looks as though you could..."
He trailed off, but his eyes made their way up and down his tacky outfit in a manner that made it clear what he was thinking. Dravid ignored him; he wasn’t going to worry about what he was wearing right now, not when Megan was out there on the streets, needing his help again.
Or maybe, he wondered at the back of his mind, she didn’t need his help. Not really. Maybe she had finally decided that she was done with him, that she was ready to move on. Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised at that, given the way he had spoken to her the night before. Maybe it would have been strange for her to stay, all things considered....
Megan Disgraced Page 13
