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

to see me or talk to me; I know because the agency called to make sure I wanted to keep her on my service after they relayed that she tried to get me off her route. I told them to keep her on, everything was fine. She didn’t want to see me, though, so I remained away when they came last week. I knew if I said yes to having her on another route she’d be replaced. These high-end discreet services wanted girls who wanted to be there, not trouble makers. Another bump in the road would be the end of the road for her, no matter what I said or did.

Instead, I wrote her a letter then threw it away. In the week since I’d spoken to her, I found myself swimming in a very deep pool of misery. And the amount of gloom which I was experiencing surprised me. I’d only spent a handful of time with her, we didn’t know each other’s nuances and annoyances, but still, I’d fallen for her. I know I had.

The delicate way which she laced positivity into all situations—she did it without being annoying, in a way that made me see things more positively. Tutoring for free when she was in debt, offering to pay for the glass I made her break, that sweet tone she used when tracing out difficult questions. She was pure, gentle and kind and when I thought about her, I thought about all the things I thought I wouldn’t have but suddenly wanted, desperately, with her. I’d been lying in bed at night thinking of what sex had been like with her. She was wild, unbridled and real; never trying to act sexy or do things she thought I wanted. No, she moved on my body doing just what felt good, and when we were together, I could feel that she was pleased, in more ways than one. And god, she was so fucking beautiful. The subtle curves of her petite frame, the way she gasped when I took her nipple in my mouth, how fast she came for me when I finally tasted her. She was perfect and in the span of a week I managed to break her trust and turn her against me.

The years of using services to take care of my sexual needs had my relationship skills rusty. She said she didn’t want to talk to me but it’s been a week. I’d given her a week. I need to see her one more time.

I find her number in my phone and call her.

“Hello?” I’m surprised when the line stops ringing.

“Hello.” Her voice sounds tired and I look at my watch to make sure I haven’t woken her. I have hardly slept ten hours total this whole week. It could be three in the morning as far as I know.

“Did I wake you?” I ask, seeing it’s nearly ten o’clock. I don’t let her answer. “Thank you for picking up.”

She makes a noise to acknowledge I’ve spoken, and I can imagine her on the old couch in her pink panties, hair splayed out everywhere around her, perky tits visible through her thin t-shirt. My chest tightens at the image, and doubles down when I remember she doesn’t trust me and I won’t ever get to have her in that way again.

“I just wanted to say a few things.”

“Okay,” and there’s a rustling noise behind her, like she’s sitting up. I wonder if she has that afghan on her and if she’s eaten.

“After Lucy, I just couldn’t see myself marrying again. And it took me a long time to date again,” I pour a few fingers of whiskey into a glass and lean over my kitchen counter, remembering how I took her there with my hands early that one morning. “After a couple of years of dating, I started to feel like a fucking asshole. Women wanted more and ended up disappointed when, after a few dates, I broke it off. But I just couldn’t connect with any of them. Everything felt so forced and fake.”

She makes another little noise, a cross between mmm and hmm, so I know she’s there and listening. I keep going.

“But I didn’t want to be celibate. And I didn’t want to lead anyone on. And the women I dated; they didn’t want to have just sexual relationships.”

“They were looking for more,” she says, her tone wandering.

“Yes, they were. And I knew that I didn’t feel more. I couldn’t remember all of what I felt with Lucy, it’d been so long ago, but I never sparked with any of the women I dated. And I remembered the spark.”

She doesn’t say anything but I know she’s still there as I watched the seconds count up on the call timer.

“My partner suggested I use this agency and at first I said no,” I settle into a seat at the bar, having moved around the house during the conversation, nervous energy setting me adrift. “I thought I could stomach being completely alone. But I guess I’m weak. I needed something.”

“Sex,” she says flatly.

“Yes. I wanted to have sex. And Darcy was just sex.”

“I don’t understand how someone can be in your bed and make love to you and wake up next to you and you’re able to call it just a business transaction,” I can hear desperation in her voice, which has replaced the anger. She wants to understand, she’s trying, she really is. Blood flows quick throughout me, my heart beating hastily. I’m on my feet again, pacing.

“Britta, listen, I know it’s hard to understand. But really, Darcy was just so I wasn’t alone and miserable all the time. She was under contract and understood exactly what we were. We were business.”

“I’m under contract, too,” her voice is so small, I just want to scoop her up and feel her against me, kiss her head and take away her worries.

“Not the same way and you know that. Britta, I wanted to