The Maid (v.1) part 2

She didn’t remember taking the steps to stand before him. Her dustrag hung out of her jeans pocket, and she pulled it out and ran her damp palms over it.

He took it away from her, took each end in one of his hands, then hooked it around the back of her neck and pulled her closer.

She could count the hairs on his chest, she was that close. Her tits were almost touching him, and his belly was almost touching hers.

He was sending off waves of heat that bounced into her. Somehow that heat headed south, directly to her pussy. She tried to ignore it. She really did.

But when he yanked her dustcloth up, making her rise to her toes, when his mouth landed on hers again?

She couldn’t ignore the jungle drums beating between her thighs any longer. The moan that slid from her mouth into his was wild, untamed.

No one had ever treated her this way.

She moaned again as his teeth nibbled her bottom lip. Gods, who knew that being bitten this way could be such a turn on?

And she took a step back.

The ends of the rag pulled out of his fingertips, and fell to her chest. She grabbed it and stuffed it back in her pocket.

“No one has ever treated me that way before. I have dusting to do.”

“Perhaps this is exactly what you needed then, sugar.”

Oh, he was such a smug bastard! Why did her pussy like that?

“Go away. Go back to bed. Take a shower. Just….let me work.”

“You’d best make sure that shower is all shiny for me. I’m the guest, remember? And you dropped something.”

He pointed over her shoulder towards the bathroom. She half-turned. It was true. There lay a pair of boxers and one white sock. Well, it was likely white once upon its life. She marched over, snatching up the dropped items, and stalked down the hall to the washer.

He smiled as the lid jerked up, slapped back down. In seconds she was back, throwing him a murderous look as she sailed into the bathroom.

He laughed.

She heard the laugh. Cocky son-of-a-bitch, she fumed, whipping back the shower curtain. Who the fuck did he think he was?  How could a nice guy like Mike have a guy like this for a friend?

And why had he forgotten to tell her about this? She could have rescheduled for another day.

And despite her pique, she realized she had been the one to wake him, abruptly, from sleep. He was a bit grizzled, in that way of a man who hasn’t shaved in a day or so; maybe he got in on a late flight, and she’d disturbed his first rest in hours.

She felt guilty.

What was a piss and a few kisses in repayment for the shocking way she had awakened him, anyway.

She leaned into the stall, straightening the bottles there. She took her rag and began wiping.

He watched from the doorway, admiring her expressive face. He watched while anger and outrage were replaced by a softer, gentler expression.

Oh goodie.

Time to up the ante. Inwardly he rubbed his hands together. Quietly he slid his ratty sweats down around his ankles. Stepping free of them, he walked on silent feet into the bathroom.

She’d never even questioned why he would want the tiles wiped before his shower. Funny little thing.

He leaned into the stall and quickly flipped the water on. The sudden jet of cold water hit her on the side of her head, her torso, soaking her right arm as it reached across the stall.

Braced on that one arm, she pushed off the wall, sputtering.

“You…You… BASTARD!” she yelped. The water quickly changed from cold chill to lovely warmth.

“oops, don’t want you getting chilled,” he said, and he swooped her up and plopped her in the tub as he stepped in.

Confronted by a wall of delightfully warm water and a naked, nameless man, she stood in shock, torn between pleasure and the hottest flash of fury she’d ever felt before.

And then he kissed her.