"Did I wake you?" I murmur.
"Yes, but it's alright. I thought at first…I thought you were in danger." I feel his hand move up to my cheek, wiping the tears from my skin and then tucking damp, stray hairs behind my ears. A thrill of pleasure runs through me at his touch, washing away the lingering anxiety from my dream. I feel his hand stop at my jawline for a moment, and I freeze as it continues down my neck. His fingers trace over my throat, then run the length of my collar bone.
I quiet my breathing and try to lie as still as possible, even though my body feels like one massive live wire. I don't want to move and risk breaking the spell. His fingers lift the thin strap of my nightgown for a moment, and then drop it as they continue down my arm. I stay silent as his hand glides back up the inside of my forearm, my elbow, and then over the top of my ribcage, sending vibrations of pleasure running throughout my body. His fingers pause again, poised in the center of my chest, several inches above my breast. I watch them through half-open eyes, praying that he isn't going to stop.
Painfully slowly, he moves his hand over, his middle finger catching on the strap of my nightgown and pulling it to the side and over my shoulder. As it reaches my elbow, I close my eyes and feel the cool air blow against my now exposed nipple. His fingers glide back up, never losing contact with my skin, and glide over my breast. As he reaches my nipple, he brings the rest of his hand down, palming my naked breast. I can't control my body anymore, and find my back arching. His other arm pulls my far hip toward him, turning me so that I'm sitting up against him with my back to him. He moves that hand up, knocking my other strap down my arm so that my nightgown has now fallen completely around my waist. I hear him groan as he takes my breasts in both hands, massaging them firmly, before his right hand slides down my stomach. I gasp and raise my arms over my head and around his neck, feeling a pulsing desire take root deep within me.
His hand slips under my nightgown and I cry out as his fingers skim over my wetness. It's been so long…I can already feel an orgasm whipping up inside me as he circles my clit. I feel one long finger slip inside me and the aching need becomes unbearable. His thumb flicks mercilessly back and forth on me and I lose control, succumbing to the waves of pleasure that he's pulling out of me.
My body has released its final spasm and I'm relaxing back against him before I realize that I haven't reciprocated at all: we haven't even kissed. I tilt my head up toward him and part my lips, still lost in a haze of post-orgasm happiness.
"Cora…" his voice stops me. I stop and look up at him questioningly. "I…I should go." He brusquely pulls his arms away from me and swings his legs out of bed. I'm too in shock at his abrupt change to say anything. All I can do is pull the bed sheet up over my completely exposed body as I watch him walk toward my bedroom door. He leaves, closing the door behind him without even a look back at me.
I sink back down under the covers, pulling the straps of my nightgown back up over my shoulders. What. The. Fuck.
Chapter Fifteen
Why does today have to be Monday? I think to myself as I carefully dust every surface in the guest house, which is actually the size of a small family home. Mondays are Ms. Mueller's day off, which means I'll be in the kitchen by myself all night and far more at risk for having a run-in with Mr. Redmond. It seems so ridiculous to address him as mister after what happened last night, but he still is my boss, despite the fact that his hands have been all over me.
Heat rushes through my body at the memory. I try to push it away, try to remember that I'm mad at that asshole for leaving me the way he did, but I can't get my mind off the way his fingers touched me. It was clear he knew what he was doing, even if I hadn't been as backed up as I was. I mean the last time I had an orgasm was actually with Jaime, years ago. I hadn't even wanted to have one again, until I laid eyes on Brent Redmond.
"Cora," Mrs. Redmond says to me with a nod as she walks through the guesthouse living area. She's wearing chic workout gear and has a few droplets of sweat on her forehead. A personal trainer comes to the house three times a week to work her out in the gym in the main house's basement.
"Afternoon, Mrs. Redmond," I reply a little too formally, trying to cover the fact that I've just been thinking of the feel of her son's bare chest against my cheek. She walks upstairs and I continue working, but I'm unable to lose myself in the work like I normally can. Usually when I have a small enough task to focus on, my mind turns off, but today my thoughts are rebelling against me.
I have a curious feeling for the rest of the day that time is passing both too quickly and too slowly. I feel a mix of nerves and excitement when I see that the clock has struck six and it's time for me to start preparing dinner. Ms. Mueller has left her detailed step-by-step instructions for me—I'd have no chance without them—and I get to work preparing dinner. By the time seven rolls around, I've set the dining room table for two and Mrs. Redmond enters in from the back door.