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“I can hold it for you, until the evaluation is over,”
Sandy offers.
I just shake my head. “I need to be honest with him, even if it costs me my job.”
“He’ll fire you on the spot if you tell him what happened,” she protests. “I don’t want to lose you.”
I give her a hug and then pivot on the ball of my foot, marching straight to my death. At least it will be swift. There won’t even be the need for a review once he sees I’ve destroyed valuable property, property I couldn’t afford to replace or repair on my salary in five years.
I just hope I can get a job in the next half-decade. Leaving this position without a letter of recommendation is going to be a death sentence. Hopefully, I’ll be able to form a coherent sentence when he’s reaming me out, and ask him to show some mercy.
And mercy is exactly what Carter Cross is not known for, and holding any form of it back, from everyone, is exactly how he got to where he is today.
“Let’s go,” he beckons. I breathe in deep and press the front of my housekeeping outfit down, suddenly bursting out laughing as I realize I’m smoothing the area of my uniform between my breasts with a bronze penis.
“You find this funny?” he says from the other side of the door. Suddenly I can’t stop laughing. “Screw it,” I say under my breath as I reach for the door handle and pull it open, stepping inside and running into what amounts to a wall of bricks.
Angry bricks in an Italian suit.
2
Carter
For the last thirty days, I’ve been trying my hardest to keep her off my mind. Trying not to look at her, to think about her, and certainly not to touch her.
And now, with her body pressed against mine, I’m reminded exactly why, my need clearly pressing into her and despite layers of clothing separating our skin, I’m already on the verge of spilling my seed, the baby-making material I knew was destined for her no matter how hard I fought it.
She’s too young, too innocent, I try and remind myself. But with her body flush against mine, there’s no logic in the world that can convince me to avoid doing what I’ve needed to do since first laying eyes on her.
Make. Her. Mine.
“What is that?” I question.
“It’s one of your statues…private parts.”
“It doesn’t look very private being held in your tiny hands, little girl.”
She swallows hard and fumbles with the bronzed cock like not only has she never felt one before but possibly not even ever seen one before…in real life or the Internet.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve never really had one of these in my…I mean I don’t really know what to do with it or where to put it or…oh jeez!” she finishes, sliding past me and setting it on my desk before backing away like it’s a bomb, both her hands up like she’s trying to shield herself from the penis’s polished appendage before she moves her palms across each other as if washing her hands after touching it.
But more importantly, her words and her body language have just confirmed what I thought all along. She’s innocent, totally innocent, and I’m totally a fool if I don’t claim this angel immediately before someone else does.
A girl like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, at best. Hell, most men will never know what it’s like to even be in the same airspace as a woman of this magnitude, let alone have a chance at making her his…for life.
And as much as my need is primal, there’s clearly another part that extends well beyond that. There’s just something…paternal…that I can’t quite put my finger on.
“You broke a priceless statue that’s almost five hundred years old,” I say, leaving out the part that any objects a man owns is just about always replaceable. What’s truly priceless is her, and her alone.
“I’m sorry. I’ll pay it back from my future salary.” She swallows hard. “If I have a future here after what just happened.”
“Well,” I begin, moving back to my oversized leather chair and taking a seat. “I appreciate your honesty. It’s a trait I value more than just about any other. But,” I add in quickly. “I also have a strong admiration for discipline and clearly, after what’s happened, you need to be disciplined…if you wish to continue your employment as a housekeeper here in my home.”
Her chin tips down and she clasps her hands in front of her. “I’ll accept my punishment, Mr. Cross. I won’t argue. I just want to keep this job.”
Job is an understatement. Before this mishap with the statue’s manhood, I was planning on bringing her in her this morning and promoting her, making her my personal housekeeper. Showing her to my bedroom and providing her with a separate bedroom of her own, upstairs. The idea was to convert one of the many unused guest rooms and give her total control over the upstairs part of the house. I’ve asked Sandy about her progress and she’s commented on her promptness, attention to detail, and her work ethic, which I thought had been lost on young people these days.
And is she ever young, young enough to be my daughter if I’d ever taken my attention away from building a business and applied it to building a family. But why would I? I never had a reason to, a desire, a thought of it, until she came into my life.
