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

night, a hot omelet after scorching sex, a conversation about life with my hands on her soft skin.

“No,” she says finally, resting the fork on the plate, pulling her glass of water to her lips. “Some of the best times in my life had nothing to do with what I had. It was who I was with.”

My hands work the spot above her knees, kneading her soft skin, making my cock lift from my thigh. I’m growing insatiable for her; I feel like we’re both twenty.

“What do you like to do, when you aren’t working?” she takes the last bite and pulls her legs from me, taking her plate to the sink. She starts washing it and I tell her she doesn’t need to do that.

“What, you gonna leave it for the maid?” she throws a playful wink over her shoulder as she rises to the balls of her feet, reaching to turn the water off. The bottom of her ass is exposed, a strip of pink in the form of her panties settled in the split of her. Before I can stop myself, I’m behind her, smoothing my palms down those delicious little mounds, her spine curving, ass pushing back into me.

“Mmmm,” a rumble of delight comes from deep within her, getting trapped behind her closed lips.

“You can be loud with me if you want, you know,” my lips are at her ear when I tell her and I inhale her scent, sweet cake and raw heat. My dick stands on end now. I spin her around by the hips and drop to my knees in front of her, peppering her thighs with rough kisses. She moans again, broken and quiet but her mouth is open, emerald eyes darkly fixed on me. Sliding my fingers under the waistband of her panties, I tug them down and let them pool at her ankles, exposing her to me.

Leaning forward, I cover her bare pussy with my mouth, roughly sliding my tongue through her folds, against her clit. Her fingers tug at my hair and with each pass I make and I feel her thighs begin to tremble, more and more.

She’s soft and sweet, selfless and gentle. She’s fiery hot and sexy, more than meets the eye. She’s my wildest dreams come true. She’s the promise of something more, a happier life.

“Take me back to your bed,” she whimpers, and I rise immediately, hoisting her over my shoulder, padding across the living room to the stairs. I never carried Darcy. I never made her an omelet at ten o’clock at night. They’re both small things in the big picture, but it my neatly organized life, they are something. It isn’t lost on me that this is something.

Once in my bed, we’re reckless and wild, hands and legs everywhere, mouths twisting together. We fondle one another, searching for any pockets of untouched skin, desperate and hungry to explore it all. I kiss her deep while I fuck her slow and she moans, god she moans so loud when I fill her. The sounds of her coming undone will be my undoing, I know it.

When we come down, I hold her hand, our fingers interlaced against my heart.

We lay together that way, naked, sticky, our hands one against me, and talk. She tells me about her mother and how it was growing up with an alcoholic. She shares with me how going to culinary school has always been her dream, and that she did a semester at junior college for her mom, before dropping out to be a caretaker. Much like my dad steered me away from writing, Britta’s mother steered her from baking, saying a “regular education” has more potential with it. I listen, committing it all to memory, down to the tiniest of details. She begs me to share more and I do—though I am far less interesting despite being more than double her years. She hasn’t had it easy but her ability to see it through rose colored glasses is tremendous and makes me want to take care of her, give her everything she’s ever wanted.

As light creeps into my room, we drift off, not moving for the few hours of sleep we manage to get. I wake and despite not getting my normal eight hours, I feel energized and ready for the day.

Sleeping next to her felt more intimate than sleeping with her. And it felt really fucking nice.

15

Britta

Brooks isn’t annoyed when I wake in a frenzy to get back to my apartment before it’s time to leave for work. I don’t want Melody knowing I spent the night, not yet. After what happened with Nolan, she’d be skeptical and distrusting of Brooks, much like I was. And I just didn’t want to explain anything to her, not yet. It would ruin the small honeymoon vibe I was getting from my time with him.

“Thanks,” I breathed against his lips after a passionate goodbye kiss.

His tanned hair was poking out from the sides of a baseball cap, glints of age in his trimmed beard catching the morning light. He was sexier like this, rough and tired, than in his suit and glasses. I like how he looked when he was relaxed.

“Call me, I don’t have your number,” he said, lips turning up coyly as he wove his fingers through mine in the air, my arm the last part of me in the car.

“Oh yeah,” I pulled my hand back and stepped back onto the curb, throwing a quick glance up at the apartment on the 3rd floor. Lights were on. “I’ll call you,” I said, then I blew him a kiss like a reckless fourteen-year-old, and it felt great. He smiled, my chest tingled, and I went inside to get ready for work.

I’m running a little late when Melody knocks at my door, asking me if I’m ready to go.

“Yeah, it’s open,” I call back, pushing my hair into a loose ponytail on the top of