I empty the trashcans – altogether three of them. I can find no evidence of used condoms (unless he flushes them down the toilet). And why the heck am I looking for used condoms anyway?
Focus, Liz.
I attempt to focus on cleaning as much as any maid can focus on cleaning. And it’s a damned effort, I can tell you.
On the bedside table next to the gorgeous lamp, I find two diamond cufflinks. (What is this, a test?) They are on a cream-colored card which says ‘To Alexander, with all my love. Tatiana.’
I take it the Redhead is Tatiana.
The main door opens. I jump and turn around. Footsteps pad on the richly carpeted floor, and Alex stands at the doorway. He’s dressed in a wife-beater, which is soaked with sweat at his chest area, and running shorts. He has obviously been to the gym. His face is flushed and sweaty, and he has a towel slung across his well-sculptured shoulders.
He smiles when he sees me.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” My voice is tinny in my ears.
Mangorean says you have to be careful, a little voice reminds me. Yeah, careful of what? We have already done the deed, and I was a willing participant.
He stands there, just watching me – smiling. Oh, but he’s so handsome, with the sun streaming through the windows lighting his dark hair into a rich golden brown. I’ve seen his naked arms before, but framed upon that wife-beater, his biceps appear even more pronounced.
I lick my lips. “You asked me to clean your room.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Good question.” He chortles. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”
“And getting me to clean your room is an excuse to see me again?” This cheeses me off . . . a little.
“It is your job,” he replies, deadpan, “and I happen to find you sexy in a maid’s outfit.”
OK. I think I know where this is going.
Never mind that my blood is doing Niagara Falls in my ears, and my pulse is thundering all the way down in my groin. (Yes, my groin.) Mangorean was right. Alexander Vassar does not have the most honorable intentions for me, and I find the notion incredibly sexy.
I should be outraged!
But no – my loins are melting as if a torch has been held to them.
Alex senses this. He moves closer, and I can smell his musky, sweat-soaked scent – as masculine as any love drug. Ohhhh, he’s sex on legs all right. He’s betting I can’t resist him.
But why is he betting on me? Part of me – hell, all of me – still can’t come to terms as to why he would desire me. Chalk it up to a lack of self-confidence, but my physical attributes have never been spectacular. Maybe it’s the maid outfit.
Yes, I’m willing to bet it’s the maid’s outfit.
“You know,” Alex murmurs, “I didn’t know that you were a virgin when we were together the last time. You should have told me.”
I don’t what to say to that. He’s very close now. Elbow length close. His heat emanates from his body, whose metabolic rate is off the charts due to his recent workout.
Maybe that’s it. His inexplicable attraction to me. The fact that I was a virgin when he took me the first time.
He leans over and takes my face in his damp palms. His pheromones – sexy as hell – fill my nostrils. His lips press against mine, and oh – they are so heavenly. So tender and so soft and a thousand different things that courses right down my belly to the nub within my pussy, and I feel a flower of desire open up in me.
His arms wrap around my body and his sweaty chest closes in on my breasts. He opens his mouth and his tongue thrusts suggestively into mine. He explores my tongue and teeth. This boy really knows how to French-kiss . . . maybe it’s because he’s European? Anyway, I shouldn’t overanalyze anything. I should just be in this moment, and hope it lasts forever.
His hands move down my back – down, down, down to cup my buttocks beneath my skirt. It’s very obvious what he wants, especially since I can feel his hardness poking through his shorts. I swear he doesn’t wear any underwear beneath those shorts, and this further excites me to know that his cock – that wonderful pleasure tool that has pounded and driven home into me – is just there, hidden by that soft, silky fabric.
We part for air.
“You know,” he murmurs against my lips, “I really need to shower. And it would be great if you can join me.”
OK. As tempting as that sounds, I’m going to have to draw a line here. No, it’s not about the shower. His mentioning me just triggered an alarm bell, that’s all. I know I’m a consenting adult . . . but still!
I place my palms upon his damp chest and push him away.
“No.”