His Young Maid: A Forbidden Boss Age Gap Romance Daisy Jane (love letters to the dead TXT) 📖

people to take care of my place, so I never felt the need to worry or question anyone at my home for anything. I trusted the processes.

Walking in through the back door of the butler’s pantry, which was directly off the kitchen, I could hear the sink was running. Fuck, I’d hoped the maids that were here today would not be downstairs, so I’d be spared the small talk. I hated to sound like a prick, and it wasn’t the fact that they were service people. It was just small talk in general. It was so painful and such a waste. I kicked off my shoes and socks, dropping the socks in the washer, setting the shoes onto the drying rack. Walking through the pantry, I came into the kitchen just as a gentle voice crept out in front of me, my head turning to see the back of her as she spoke out some familiar words: “I don’t remember my first kiss. I remember everything.”

My mind fogged. Those simple words sent a thrill tearing through my stomach. I couldn’t stop myself.

“What did you say?”

She turned and my god, she was fucking beautiful. Her skin was so soft it looked like it was angelic, and I could see the faintest of freckles melting into her, everywhere. Green eyes, bright and expressive as she dropped to her knees, trying desperately to salvage the glass she’d accidentally broken. I didn’t care about the glass. I wanted to see the way her eyes looked through those full lashes, I wanted to pull that long braid over her shoulder, wrap it around my knuckles before freeing it, letting the mane of honey colored hair flood her face. Her chest heaved nervously as she apologized, and I couldn’t help but notice her generous breasts, nipples piercing through the white collared work shirt. I watched her lips move and noticed the exquisite shade of pink they took on, like the dahlias my mother grew in our garden when I was a child. Her beauty stopped me, it stopped time in my kitchen, I swear it did.

Then, before I could say anything else, I saw the blood running down her arm. Her hand was cut, and I took her to the sink. She was talking, doesn’t want to lose her job, mom was an alcoholic. I was trying to focus. I wanted to listen but my cock was so hard, my stiff flesh pressing up against my zipper in heated agony.

Fuck, usually I had better control. Why was I so hard? Standing this close, I realized, she was the smell I’d been smelling, it was her. It was her shampoo or her lotion, something, but it was her. Sweet like cake. My cock twitched, threatening still against my zipper, so I squatted down and began to clean up the rest of the shattered glass.

She was so fucking beautiful. Made by God just to torture men, make them drool and pant.

The kind of pure beauty that definitely has a boyfriend. Definitely wants nothing to do with the lonely forty-something man who sneaks up on his workers.

But this fucking fox, this vixen. She’s so plainly gorgeous and yet she moves so self-consciously, as if she hasn’t the slightest clue. Even with her cut hand I want to hold her against the fridge and slant my mouth over hers, pin her with my hips and feel the smooth curves of her perky young tits under my palms.

Stand down, old man, I told myself.

Even though I didn’t feel old and I certainly didn’t look old, as I’d never had a problem with meeting women of any age, I was still nearing fifty and the years for me to fuck a twenty something were probably all long behind me.

But as she nearly ran out of my house and flew out of the driveway with the other girl, I knew I didn’t just want to fuck her. I wanted to know her. Something about her pure loveliness and real disposition had me deeply interested. I hadn’t been interested in anyone in… years.

See, it was never meeting the women that was the hard part. It was the staying interested in them that never quite panned out for me.

After less than five minutes around this fucking creature, I was hooked. I needed more. Even though I knew she was way too young, I couldn’t help myself.

5

Brooks

I wanted to know more about this girl, immediately. When you’re wealthy, you don’t have for phone calls, or wait in lines and your table is always ready. I sure as shit wasn’t about to wait another week to see this girl again. As it was, I had meetings scheduled for next Tuesday, the day the maids come, so then I’d be playing hooky just to talk to her. Weighing out the options, it seemed more reasonable to call the agency and get her information, if they’d even give it to me, than to cancel a full day of work and wait around my house, hoping the fucking maid shows up.

It’d been a few years since I’d signed the paperwork with the agency I was currently using, which supplied me with housecleaners, gardeners, lawn care and personal home management. I didn’t even know for sure who to call to get her information. And I did realize there was a good chance they wouldn’t give it to me. After all, to them I was just a dirty old man who liked the looks of a sweet young maid. I wouldn’t want them to give me the number, either.

Ed, the head gardener, walked past the side of the house, a potted pygmy palm in one hand. They all were contracted through the same agency, and though I didn’t make a point to regularly discuss things with Ed, I knew this was my first and best shot.

I made my way out of the slider, startling him as it slammed back against the inside track. Taking a breath, I dragged a hand