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Opening the door I’m immediately greeted with the smell of cedar shoe trees and some cologne that smells like fresh sawdust and the dryness of the desert mixed together. To say it’s masculine is an understatement. And to say his wardrobe is understated is beyond an understatement.
Sliding the oak hangers along the brass rod I notice all Italian names and the personal engraving of his initials in each suit. I didn’t even know Armani, Brioni, and Gucci offered haute couture, which, by the way, is a word I just learned after working here.
But what’s even more impressive is the other side of his closet. There’s statue after statue and I slowly move from one to the next as if I’m taking a tour in an expensive museum. The only name I recognize on any of the placards is Michelangelo, although I make a mental note to Google Auguste Rodin and Constantin Brancusi, as their work really stands out.
Speaking of standing out, I stand out like a sore thumb. Everything about his bedroom and adjoining closet scream opulence. Even the way the moonlight reflects off his four poster bedposts is practically a piece of art in the way it casts shadows against the wall. If only he were here now to catch me, and spread my hands against that wall and spank me yet again.
My mind drifts back to how delicious he looked this morning in his sweatpants and T-shirt. Seeing him in his suit is one thing, but catching him a bit off-guard, which surprised even me, is another.
The way that T-shirt hugged his barrel chest and the relaxed way those oh so comfy looking sweatpants draped from his lower half made me want to grab a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and curl up in his lap on a Sunday morning. How is a man allowed to look so perfect in a suit and also so imperfectly perfect in loungewear?
And doing it all with those tattoos on full display from his sleeved arms only adds to the billionaire bad boy vibe.
But right now I’m the bad one, snooping around in here where I shouldn’t be, having these naughty fantasies about the man I work for as a housekeeper.
“What do you think you’re doing in here?”
I yelp, gasping as I whirl around to see Carter standing in the entrance to the closet, his big body blocking any chance of escape I might have had.
I feel my legs quiver as I take in his imposing figure.
“You’re supposed to be…”
“Wherever in the world, I want, especially after I closed a deal early and came back to celebrate only to find the person I was going to share a glass of champagne with is giving herself a private tour of my art collection.”
His jaw firms as he steps inside the walk-in closet toward me, any words I had to try and make up for my unexcused presence in the one-room he told me not to enter, lost to the inability of my mouth to move to form a coherent sentence.
“What. Are. You. Doing. In. Here. Little girl?”
The raspy tone of the depth of his voice leaves no wiggle room for my answer, not that I ever plan on lying to him. It’s like his words reach down into my chest and pull the truth out themselves without me even needing to speak, but I know he wants to hear it from me regardless.
“I specifically told you not to come in here so that means one of two things. One, either you like lying to me or two, you’re a thief and this whole housekeeper thing was a setup the entire time,” he growls, demanding to get an answer out of me. “I’ve heard about those housekeepers who go to Dubai and steal vast sums of jewelry from their host families. Was that your ploy?” he asks. “Get in here and then get your hands on the goods before slipping away undetected.”
“No,” I answer, firming my stance as the moonlight shines through the corner of his irides. But as he continues toward me I can’t help but pull back in fear, although I’m surprisingly turned on by this exchanged, his eyes locked on me as he continues to march right toward me.
“Well, then. If you’re not a thief, and who would be that foolish considering you’d have to exit through the metal detectors and security, then there can be only one thing,” he says, running his fingers through the side of my hair gently, before grasping the back of my hair hard, turning my neck to the side and exposing my neck. “A very bad little girl.”
I gasp at his words, his gaze making my body feel boneless as if I could just let myself collapse and he’d hold me suspended, like a hand puppet, with a single one of his oversized mitts.
“And you know what happens to bad girls, don’t you?”
I swallow hard. “I…um…”
“Judging by your actions it seems you’ve forgotten.” He moves in closer, pinning my body to the wall. “But you’re lucky that Daddy’s here to remind you,” he groans into my neck, the tip of his nose skating along the tender part of my skin from the base of my ear down to my collarbone as he inhales the scent of my fear.
And that smell alone permeates the air as it flows from each and every pour of my body.
“And seeing that Daddy’s first attempt at discipline fell on deaf ears, well…Daddy’s going to make sure this time his words stick.”
6
Carter
All the blood in my body rushes straight to my cock at the sound of her tiny breath catching on those perfect little pink lips of hers. She is so small, so innocent, so scared…and even though inside I know my only job in life is to protect her, right now I feel like the biggest predator in the universe wanting to wolf her down whole in one bite.
Her cheeks blossom in a deep shade of red, visible even in the faint moonlight, which has me on the verge of tipping my head back and howling, letting the entire animal kingdom know I’m staking my claim.
I can’t wait to taste her, every inch from head to toe. I can smell fear, imagine her taste on my tongue, and feel her body in my grasp. All that’s left is to see her perfect body and hear her moan out my name. Not my birth name but the special name that only she can call me.
