The Beauty Series(3)

By: Skye Warren


Today he wore jeans and a button-up shirt. He always went around his house in sweats, the super comfy kind, thin from frequent wearing and washing. He worked from home and almost never ventured outside. Plus he eschewed such society-imposed discomforts as regular clothes.

She could only assume this new formality was in reaction to the incident from last week. Perhaps he felt violated or unsafe with her, and although she didn’t blame him, she felt horribly guilty.

It didn’t help that she’d had explicit dreams about him and his cock two nights in a row. Dreams where he said those same words, but she was there, naked beside him, and she did what he asked. Masturbating to thoughts of each other was a contagious condition, one she’d now caught, she thought dryly.

He ducked out of the kitchen with a glass of water as she entered it. Concerned and, exasperated, she decided to confront him.

“Mr. Morris,” she called. When he froze, she softened her voice, “Blake, I wanted to apologize again for what happened last time. I should have left right away when I saw what you were doing…well, I was just surprised,” she explained.

He looked surprised now, too. He cleared his throat. “Apology accepted.”

He flashed her what was she supposed was a conciliatory smile but looked more like a grimace. And that made her think of what he looked like when he climaxed. Dammit.

She really should shut up now, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I was wondering if you, that is, if you were thinking of me…weren’t you?” she asked.

His eyes widened even as his lips tightened.

“Well, it’s only that, I wondered if… if it was just a passing thought or if it was more …” She trailed off.

He looked alarmed now and she cursed herself silently. “Erin,” he said, his voice strangled. “You don’t feel that I was asking you to do anything… inappropriate, do you? That I would try to make you do something—something you didn’t want?”

“No!” she exclaimed in dismay. “Of course not. I just meant that, well, if you were interested in me that way, well, I—” She took a deep breath and rushed out, “I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.”

“You—” He broke off. She noticed detachedly that his hand was gripping the counter so tight his knuckles were white. He swayed forward as if to approach her but then leaned back. “Are you sure? Are you sure you don’t feel pressured? I would never ever want you to feel that you had to—”

“No, no. It’s not that, I swear. And the same goes for you, too. If you don’t want to, please don’t feel that you must—”

“If I don’t want to,” he repeated, sounding dazed. His eyes unfocused for a minute, and then pinned her. He stepped forward and then circled around, standing behind her. Her hair rustled and scalp tingled where his face leaned into her hair, as if he were scenting her.

He trailed a finger lightly from the crown of her head, down her hair, along her shoulder and her arm. It wasn’t an overtly sexual touch, but she found it highly erotic. The past two days of heightened arousal boiled over in her until she felt strung out with need.

“Please,” she whimpered, shocked at herself even as she said it. She considered herself a proud woman, probably to her detriment. Her circumstances, cleaning houses while her classmates drove their Mercedes to class, ought to bring her down, but she would not be cowed. She was like him—she never begged, not for anything, money, favor and certainly not sex. Yet here she was wanting—no, needing him, a feeling foreign but very real.

Thankfully, he acquiesced.

“God, yes,” he breathed into her hair. “Come. Come upstairs where you can be more comfortable.” He led her upstairs to his room. She noticed dust gathered in a corner on the way and reality intruded briefly—that’s what I’m here to do, to clean his house, not have sex—but she forced it away. It had been a long time for her and she needed this badly. She would take this moment without apology to herself or anyone else.

In the bedroom he shut the door. No one else was in the house but the two of them, but it added to the intimacy of the moment. This wasn’t a chance encounter, but an illicit meeting. She stood eyeing the bed and swallowed hard. He came up behind her and again buried his face in her hair. Amused, she made a mental note to stock up on this shampoo. But then the heat of his body and his own woodsy scent enveloped her, and she forgot everything else.

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