Mr Masters: Chapter 7

Knock, knock.

I glance up. “Come in.”

Mr. Masters puts his head around the door. ‘Nightcap, Bree?’

I smile. Bree. He called me Bree.

“Erm.” I scratch my head, glance back at my book, and then back at him. God, I’m at a really good part of my book and they are just about to get it on.

“If you would rather read your book, don’t worry about it,” he snaps quietly.

“Look at you, getting all annoyed.” I smile.

“I’m not annoyed.”

I hold my fingers up and pinch the air. “Little bit?”

He looks at me, deadpan. ‘Nightcap or not?’

“Yes. That would be lovely, thanks.” He turns and walks back to the kitchen and I follow him. My stomach does a nervous jitterbug dance as I take a seat at the kitchen counter.

He pours us a glass of red wine each, handing me mine.

We clink glasses and I smile. “I can’t stay long. One glass only.”

He raises a brow. “Are you brushing me off for your book?”

“Completely. Don’t be offended. I would brush Superman off for this book.”

He smiles and takes a seat opposite me. We sit in silence for a moment, neither of us sure what to say.

“Where are you going on your trip tomorrow?” I ask.

“Kent.”

“Ah.” I sip my wine, and then eye it in the crystal glass.

“Hmm, this is delicious.” “I have good taste.”

“Obviously.” I wink. “You hired me.”

“Sight unseen.” He smirks.

I giggle. “Kent is where Dover Castle is.”

“Yes. Have you been?” he asks, seeming surprised that I know this.

“No, but I want to. It’s on my to do list while I’m here. Its history fascinates me.”

“Why is that?”

“The Archbishop was slaughtered there in front of his altar by King Henry’s Household Knights.”

A frown crosses his face. “History buff, are you?”

I smile. “Perhaps. It was one of the reasons that Emerson and I wanted to come here. We love old buildings and history. We don’t have anything like that in Australia. Australia has only been a country for three-hundred or so years. The only old thing we have a lot of back home are tombstones.”

He sips his drink and licks the red wine from his bottom lip.

“There are lots of old things in the United Kingdom.” He raises his eyebrow suggestively as if to imply that he is one of those old things.

He’s just so…

“Do you travel much for work?” I ask as I try and remain casual.

No drooling at the table, fool.

“Not really.” He sips his wine. “I’m guest speaking at a conference.”

“Wow.” I smile. “Impressive.”

He smiles shyly and drops his head. “Hardly. I’m speaking on the effects of prison on drug addicts.

“Oh, that sounds heavy.”

He nods. “Could say that.”

We stay silent for a moment as the air buzzes between us, and if I’m not mistaken, he seems a little nervous too… or maybe that’s just because I’m nervous enough for the both of us.

“What have you got on this weekend? Anything fun?” I ask.

He exhales. “No. Not yet. You?”

“I’m going out with Emerson on Saturday night.” I sip my wine and lift my glass to him. “And you needn’t worry, I won’t be coming back here to embarrass myself again.”

He rolls his eyes. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”

“Because it’s beyond mortifying. I’m having it put on my tombstone.” I put my hand up in a rainbow shape. “Here lies Brielle, champion refrigerator humper.”

He chuckles, and I close my eyes, faking a shiver.

“Are you going out with your Canadian friend again?” he asks, suddenly falling serious.

I cringe. “God, no. That guy is a douche, and so not my type.”

His sexy eyes hold mine. “You have a type?”

My stomach flutters.

You… you’re my type.

“Everyone has a type… don’t they?” I smile shyly.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have a type?” I ask.

He refills our glasses as he contemplates my question. Jeez, slow down. These drinks are going down way too easily. We don’t want a repeat fridge humping performance.

He purses his lips as he contemplates my question. “I guess the women I’ve dated lately do fall into somewhat of a type.”

“You’re dating?” I ask, acting surprised. Thankfully, he has no idea on my spying activities this week.

His eyes dance with delight… or mischief. I really can’t tell.

“I date.” He smiles against his glass. “I’m not that old. I’m not dead… yet.”

I bite my bottom lip to hide my goofy smile. “I never said you were old.”

“You seem surprised that I date.” He raises his eyebrow, and this time I know it’s from curiosity.

“Not surprised.” I wobble my head from side to side. “Okay, maybe a little. I thought you would have a steady girlfriend.”

It’s him that fakes a shiver this time. “I have no desire to have a steady girlfriend.”

“A wife, then?” I laugh.

“Oh, hell, don’t wish that on me.”

We both laugh, and our eyes linger on each other’s faces a little too long.

This is getting a bit weird. I am seriously attracted to him.

“No girlfriend. No wife. What do you have?” I ask.

His dark eyes hold mine. “Friends with benefits.”

My heart begins to thump hard in my chest. “What benefits?” I whisper.

He smiles sexily and sips his drink, giving me his best ‘come fuck me look’. “Sexual satisfaction.”

I swallow the lump in my throat as I imagine him naked.

I really need to have sex. He could say the word milk and I would find it stupid hot.

“I should get back to my book,” I whisper.

He nods and rolls his lips, as if stopping himself from speaking.

“Thanks for the chat, Julian.”

His sexy eyes hold mine. “You’re most welcome, Bree.”

My breath hitches.

There is something about the way he says Bree that is just so… perfect.

“Can I help you with anything before you go?” I ask.

His eyes darken. “Like what?”

“Um.” I get a vision of me on top of him, naked in my bed, and I feel myself get wet instantly.

Okay, get back to your room, you dirty ho.

“Your itinerary or something,” I splutter, distracted by my wayward thoughts.

He smiles, as if knowing exactly where my thoughts were. “My itinerary is sorted, but thank you anyway.”

I stand and wash my glass up before I turn back to him. “Have a great trip.”

“I will. I’ll call you each day to check on the children.”

Our eyes lock once more, and my stomach dances with excitement that he will be calling me.

Just for the children, stupid, I remind myself.

I smile bashfully, embarrassed that he makes me feel like a giddy young girl.

I don’t remember any man ever making me feel like this. Is there something more going on here, or just wishful thinking on my behalf?

“Goodnight, Mr. Masters.”

He stands, and suddenly we are brought face to face, only millimeters apart. “Julian,” he corrects me.

My heart skips a beat at our close proximity, and I look up into his sexy eyes.

The power emanating from his body is palpable. He’d be so fucking dominant in bed. “Julian,” I whisper.

His eyes drop to my lips.

Oh God, is he going to kiss me?

Do it. Do it.

After a moment, he seems to remember where he is, and he takes a purposeful step backwards, nodding like a gentleman. “Goodnight, Bree.”

“What book do you want to read, Sammy?” I ask as I look over to his bookshelves. It’s 8:30 p.m. and I am sitting on the end of his bed while he dries himself after his bath. Mr. Masters left early this morning and we haven’t heard from him all day. Janine left about an hour ago after cooking dinner.

“I don’t know, do we have to read? Can’t we do something else for a change?” he asks as he pulls on his striped, flannelette pyjamas.

“Why, what do you want to do?”

He shrugs. “Watch YouTube or something.”

“We don’t learn much from YouTube, Sam.”

“That’s not true,” Willow calls from her room. “Everything I know I learnt from YouTube.”

“Is that where you learnt to eavesdrop?” I call.

“Funny,” she calls back.

I throw Sammy a wink. “I know, right? I’m hilarious. And I learnt it on YouTube,” I shout.

“Oh God,” I hear her mutter.

I think for a moment. What is something we could watch together, the three of us?

“I know. We could watch cat videos,” I say. Sam frowns.

“What for?”

“Haven’t you ever watched cat videos on YouTube?” I ask, shocked.

“No.”

“Will, have you?” I call, knowing that she’s eavesdropping.

“Nobody does that except losers,” she hits back.

I giggle. “Lucky I’m a loser then.”

I open up Sam’s computer at his desk and I log into YouTube, searching for cat bloopers.

Sam and I take a seat at the desk and we both wait.

A toddler is walking down a driveway when a cat jumps out and crash tackles him. He falls spectacularly into the garden, and we both laugh. A printer is printing out paper in an office and a cat comes in, attacking the printer with both paws as the paper comes out, and we both laugh out loud again.

A cat gets stuck in a cereal box and goes ballistic. A cat slips on the edge of the bath and falls in.

Stupid, stupid cats, doing every possible thing wrong.

It isn’t long before Willow appears at the door, lurking and wanting to see what’s so funny.

Naughty cat after naughty cat, we watch on as they jump scare, attack dogs, fall off things and generally act like me—super goofy—and we are all hysterical with laughter. This is the funniest thing I have seen in ages, and it just keeps on getting funnier. We are splitting our sides in laughter.

My phone rings in my pocket and I fish it out. The name Mr. Masters lights up the screen.

“Hello,” I answer, trying to act serious.

“Hello, Miss Brielle,” his velvety voice purrs through the phone.

My heart skips a beat at the sound of his beautiful voice. “Hi,” I breathe.

“Is everything all right?” he asks.

I see a cat fall into a pool after attacking its owner and I giggle. “Everything is great. Everything okay with you?” I ask.

“Yes, all good here. How are the children?”

A video of a cat chasing a bear comes on the screen, and the children all hoot with laughter. I can’t help but chuckle, too.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “Where are you?”

“We’re watching cat bloopers on YouTube.”

“Cat bloopers? It’s 9:00 p.m. Bedtime was half an hour ago.”

A man sleeping on a sofa comes on the screen, and a cat jumps up and attacks his dick. He jumps in fright and falls off the couch in shock. The three of us all burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” he snaps.

“The cat just attacked the man’s dick.” I laugh. “He fell off the lounge.” I can hardly speak from laughing.

“What the hell? Put the children on the phone.” I hand the phone to Sammy. “Hello, Dad,” he says, his eyes glued to the screen.

“Hello, Samuel. Is everything okay?”

“The cat attacked the man’s privates,” he blurts out.

“Stop watching such rubbish,” I hear Mr. Masters say.

A cat jumps off the kitchen bench and falls into the rubbish bin. It tips over and scares the dog, and we all burst out laughing again. Sammy can’t speak for laughing.

“The cat fell in the bin,” he screams in excitement.

“Good grief,” Mr. Masters groans. “Put your sister on the phone.” Sam passes the phone to Willow.

“Hello, Dad.” She smiles.

“Is everything okay, Will?”

A cat falls into a fish tank and we erupt again.

She laughs out loud. “Yes, Dad, everything is fine. I have to go.”

She hands the phone back to me.

“Can we get a cat?” I ask.

“Definitely not. I don’t think it’s at all humorous that a cat attacks a man’s dick while he sleeps.”

I burst out laughing again. “I’m so training it to do that to you.”

“Jesus Christ, Brielle.”

“All is good here, no need to worry.” I smile.

“Miss Brielle,” he sighs. “Please put the children to bed now. Enough with the stupid cats.”

I roll my eyes to the kids, and they both grin back at me.

“Okay, fun cop. Roger that. Say goodbye to Dad, kids,” I call.

“Goodbye, Dad,” the kids cry in unison, just as a cat jumps on a dog’s back. The dog takes off at full speed, while the cat hangs onto its back for dear life.

The kids all squeal again, and I hang up just before I burst out laughing.

We are so getting a cat.

It’s Thursday afternoon, and Sam and I are waiting for Willow outside her school. I have a surprise for her and I’m excited to share.

She walks up and gets into the car.

“Hi.” I smile.

“Hey,” she mutters as she does her seat belt up.

I pull out into the traffic, and my eyes flicker to her in the rearview mirror.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“Don’t tell me. You’re really a YouTube cat and not really a nanny?” she offers sarcastically.

“Meow,” I tease.

“Oh, God.” She winces. “Please, stop.”

I smile as I drive, and Sammy giggles. “I have two surprises for you, actually.”

“Yeah, what’re they?” She sighs, uninterested. “I thought you two could help me cook tonight.”

She frowns. “What for?”

“I gave Janine the night off.”

“Why?”

“So I could teach you how to make pasta.”

She screws up her face. “Is that my surprise? Sounds more like a punishment.”

“Well, I thought you could learn how to make fresh pasta, and then on Sunday night you could make dinner for your father, all by yourself.”

I watch her in the mirror as her eyes rise to meet mine, her interest sparked.

“Your father loved that pasta so much the other night, and imagine how surprised he will be if you know how to make it yourself.”

She bites her bottom lip as she contemplates the idea. “What’s the second surprise?”

“I enrolled us both in golf lessons.”

“What?” She shrieks. “I’m not doing golf lessons with you. You’re so embarrassing.” She stays silent for a moment. “Probably run over somebody or something,” she mutters under her breath.

I smile because I knew she was going to say that. “Okay, I won’t come, but you start next Wednesday.” I was never really enrolled anyway.

She twists her lips as she looks out the window, and I know that, even though she will never admit it, she’s kind of happy about it.

I grip the steering wheel and pretend to drive really fast. “Let’s get home and get our cooking on, baby,” I say in a French accent.

She rolls her eyes in disgust. “Oh God, make it stop.”

“You see this?” I bring my ball of dough back to me and then forward again. “You knead it across the bench.”

The children concentrate as they watch me, both of them kneading their dough.

Willow’s is sticking to the counter.

“You need some more flour,” I tell her.

She dips her hand in the jar and puts the minuscule amount onto the counter.

“Not like that,” I say. “Get a whole handful. Get into it, woman. There isn’t a flour shortage.”

I dig my hand into the jar and grab a big handful of flour and throw it across the counter. A little falls on the floor.

“You’re getting it everywhere,” she snaps.

I smile, pick my hand up, and I blow a little puff of flour into the air.

“Stop it,” she snaps as she concentrates on her dough.

Sammy’s dough begins to stick, so Willow grabs a huge handful and throws it across the counter, watching as it goes all over me.

My mouth falls open in surprise as I look down at myself.

She smiles goofily. “Oops.”

“Do that again and I’m going to crack an egg over your head.” I smirk as I continue to knead.

Her eyes dance with delight, and she puts her hand into the jar, throws a handful of flour across the counter, and watches as it goes all over me again.

“Right, that’s it.” I pick up an egg and Sammy squeals.

‘You wouldn’t.’ She gasps.

“Oh… I think I would.” I crack it over her head and it drips down her face.

“Ahh!” she screeches. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Believe it, sister.”

She picks up an egg and pelts it at me, smashing it straight into my chest.

“No,” Sammy yells excitedly, and we both turn to him.

“Get him,” I say.

“Ohhhh!” Sammy squeals, but before he can run, Willow cracks an egg over his head. Then she picks up a handful of flour and throws it at me, and it sticks to the egg and covers the floor.

“That’s it,” I cry. “It’s war.” I pick up another egg and pull my arm back to hurl it at her.

Ding dong.

We all freeze on the spot and turn towards the sound of the doorbell. “Who’s that?” I whisper.

Sammy jumps down and runs to the window to look out. “Grandma!”

“What?”

“Grandma’s here.”

“Shit,” Willow cries.

“Oh no.” I bounce on the spot in a panic and the doorbell rings again right before the front door opens. Shit, we left it unlocked.

“Hello?” their grandma calls.

The three of us go into overdrive as we quickly try to wipe up the flour from the floor, but Grandma appears before we can dispose of the evidence.

Her face falls as she walks into the room.

“Why…?” Her voice trails off as she looks around. “What on earth is going on here?”

I look around at the mess. “We’re cooking.” I wince.

She’s a very stylish and attractive woman, in her late fifties or early sixties at the most. She’s wearing a tight black woolen dress, and in low black heels. Her hair is styled in a perfect blonde bob, and she is wearing a coral color lipstick to compliment her outfit.

She has money. It’s blatantly obvious.

The shock on her face is priceless, and I bite my bottom lip nervously. ‘I’m Brielle,’ I tell her with a smile. I put my hand out but realize it’s covered in flour and dough. ‘I would shake your hand, but…’ I show her my palm.

“I’m Frances.” She frowns, and then turns her attention to the children. “Hello, dears. I thought I would come and check on you, what with your father being away.”

The children both smile cheekily.

She looks around and picks a piece of eggshell out of Sammy’s hair.

Oh hell, what must this look like? We all have eggs smashed over our heads and chests, and I am completely white-faced from the flour.

“This is most unexpected,” she mutters, almost to herself.

“We’re cooking,” Willow offers as an excuse. “And….” She pauses as she tries to think of a reason. “The eggs slipped out of our hands.”

“Slippery little suckers,” Sammy adds.

I laugh because that story is just ridiculous. “I’m sorry, but you’ve caught us in the middle of a good old fashioned food fight.”

Frances smiles awkwardly. “So I see.” She looks me up and down. “So, you’re Miss Brielle?”

“Yes.” I smile as I dust some flour from my shirt. “Nice to meet you.”

Her eyes dance with delight. “Julian said you were very different. Now I see why.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Oh, kids, haven’t I had a dreadful first week? I’ve made every mistake possible.”

The kids both nod with enthusiasm.

“She even ran Dad over in a golf cart,” Sammy blurts out.

“Dear, God.” She puts her hand to her chest. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Willow answers. “He sulked all night over it.”

Frances laughs, and I get the feeling that I’m going to like this woman.

“We’re practicing making fresh pasta so that Willow can cook dinner for her father on Sunday night,” I say.

“Really?” She looks between the two of us, impressed.

“You should come over,” I say. “The more the merrier. Willow is a fantastic cook.”

“I haven’t cooked anything yet,” Willow interrupts.

“I know, but you’re going to be a fantastic cook when I finish with you.”

Frances beams. “Thank you for the invitation. I’d be delighted.”

She looks back at the door. “Don’t let me hold up your fun. I’ll get going.”

We all follow her and she turns back. “What time is dinner on Sunday night, Will?”

Willow looks to me for guidance.

“What time, pumpkin?” I whisper. “You pick.”

“About six?” Willow shrugs.

Frances smiles and rubs her arm. “Lovely, see you at six, darling.” She walks out the door and calls over her shoulder. “Have fun. I wouldn’t want to be the one cleaning that floor.”

We all scowl at the thought of having to do it ourselves.

“Let’s just clean up first and we can start again.” I sigh.

With a roll of their eyes, they both follow me back to the battle zone.

This place is trashed.

It’s now 11:00 p.m. and I’m back in bed, reading. The room is dark, lit only by my bedside lamp. I didn’t hear from Mr. Masters today but I know he called the children. I heard him on the phone to Willow earlier. Part of me is a little disappointed he didn’t call me. God knows why. I blow out a deep breath and shuffle around on the bed, annoyed at myself.

I turn the page a little too aggressively and continue reading.

My phone dances across my side table, the name Mr. Masters lighting up the screen.

My heart instantly races.

It’s him.

Act casual, I remind myself.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Bree,” he purrs.

Bree, holy shit!

This is a personal call.

I bite back my smile. “Hi.”

It sounds like he’s in a bar or something; there’s lots of background noise.

“So…I hear you met my mother.”

God, she called him.

“Yes.” I scrunch my eyes shut. “She seems nice.” I wince. Hell.

He stays silent.

“What did she say about me?” I ask.

He hesitates for a moment. “Let’s just say that you have added another member to your ever growing fan club.”

I smile goofily. Another? Does that mean he’s in that club, too? “Is everything all right?” I ask. “Did you call to check on the children?”

He chuckles, and I can tell he’s been drinking. “I called to check on my naughty nanny.”

My stomach flips at the tone of his voice. “Your nanny is well.” I frown. “Although from the tone of your voice I have no idea if you are being facetious or salacious,” I whisper.

He laughs a deep belly laugh and I feel it heat my blood as the sound rolls over me.

I smile.

“Let’s just say it’s a lot of one and a little of the other,” he replies.

Trust him to give me a conundrum for an answer.

“How well?” he asks sexily. “How well is my nanny?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “As well as can be expected when the man of the house is away.”

He inhales sharply, I hear it catching in his throat. What the hell am I doing? This is a dangerous game I’m playing.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“At a bar.”

“Who with?”

“Not you.”

My heart stops. What the actual fuck is going on here?

“Are you flirting with me, Julian?” I smirk.

“Would it bother you if I was?” My heart begins to hammer, and the background noise begins to fade, as if he’s moved somewhere quieter. “No, it wouldn’t.” I pause for a moment. “Just the opposite, actually.”

I can almost see his smile on the other end of the phone. “I wish we didn’t meet under the circumstances we did.”

“Why?” I whisper.”

“Because I’m attracted to you,” he breathes roughly.

My heart is hammering hard, and I scrunch my eyes shut to focus on his breaths. Holy shit, is this happening?

“It’s a two-way street,” I confess.

“I’m not after a relationship,” he whispers through a heavy breath, and my sex clenches to the sound of his deep, commanding voice.

“Neither am I.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Some of that satisfaction you told me about.” I bite my bottom lip and cringe at myself. Did I just say that out loud?

He inhales sharply, neither one of us speaking for a moment or two.

“I can’t mix business and pleasure in my house,” he eventually says.

“If it doesn’t happen in this house, I’m not your employee. I’m just a woman,” I whisper. Okay, where did that come from? Who am I?

He hisses with approval, and I know he liked that answer.

“That’s something to think about,” he whispers.

God, I’m so fucking aroused by this man, it isn’t even funny.

“Are you in bed?”

“Yes.”

“Touch yourself.”

My eyes widen.

What the…?

“Put that pretty little hand in that beautiful cunt and tell me what you feel.”

Holy fuck. Holy, fucking fuck.

He’s dirty.

I slide my hand between my legs and swipe through my flesh. “I’m wet,” I breathe.

“Swollen?” I can hear the arousal in his voice.

“Yes,” I rasp.

“Fuck.”

This is insane, and so damn hot.

A commotion happens in the background and some men begin to talk loudly to him. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he grinds out, clearly annoyed. ‘We will finish this conversation later.’

I nod, damn it. “Okay.”

“Goodnight, my naughty nanny.”

I smile, hang up, and stare blankly at the wall.

Did that just happen?

Sammy and I sit in the car as we wait for Willow to come out from her golf lessons. This seems to be the only activity that she really gets excited about attending. She even wore lip gloss today, and if my suspicions are right, the boy in the office might be in her sights.

I hope he is. He’s so cute.

She walks out with the girl and the boy from the office, and she stands and talks to them for a moment. I can’t help but smile as I watch them.

Willow is twirling her long hair between her fingers. I’m no body language expert, but even I can see that she’s interested.

How sweet. This is what she needs—a high school romance. She waves goodbye and bounds towards the car, slamming the door shut once she’s inside.

She grins over at me and my heart melts.

I put my hand on her thigh. “What a beautiful smile that is.”

She glances out the front windscreen, looking very pleased with herself, and I pull out of the parking lot, unable to stop myself from smiling the whole way home.

Her being happy makes me happy.

It’s 1:00 a.m. and I’m in bed, reading again. I’m wearing my silky black, spaghetti-strap nightgown. I hop up and go into the main house and check the doors again. Mr. Masters comes home tomorrow. I’ve been so busy with the children since he’s been away. I already checked the doors earlier, but because I’m on my own with his children, I always double check the deadlocks so that Sammy can’t escape if he happens to sleepwalk. It’s my worst fear to wake up in the morning and he is gone. He hasn’t had another episode since that first time. Apparently he only does it when there is a change in his home environment. Me arriving set him off. He seems to be settled now, though. I glance over at the stairs. The poor little guy had a bad dream a couple of hours ago. I might just go check on him one more time before I go to bed for the night.

I walk up the stairs in the dimly lit house, treading lightly down the hall. I slowly open the door and check on Willow first. She’s fast asleep, so I close the door behind me. I walk down to Sammy’s room and open the door, grateful to see he’s sleeping like a baby. The sound of his peaceful breathing makes me smile. This child has got me wrapped around his finger so tight, even his breathing makes me melt now. I turn around to go back downstairs when I hear a noise in Mr. Masters’ bedroom. I stop dead in my tracks.

What the hell was that?

Shit. I’m frozen in place as I listen, but I can definitely hear some rustling.

Oh my God, is someone in his room?

Are we being robbed?

My heart begins to beat furiously.

What do I do?

I slowly walk over to his room, peering inside, where I see his bathroom light is on and the door is ajar.

Someone is in the bathroom.

I tiptoe over to his bathroom door and peer inside.

Oh dear God.

Mr. Masters is in there, and he’s naked, with his hard dick in his hand as he strokes himself.

He’s lost in the moment, looking down at himself.

Watching his cock.

Holy fucking wet dream.

My lips part in awe. I can see every muscle in his shoulders and back in the mirror behind him as he strokes hard. His stomach muscles contract with every jerk of his hand.

He gets harder and harder, and his mouth hangs slack as he concentrates.

The man is so fucking hot.

My body instantly starts to hum with arousal, and I feel myself get a rush of moisture below.

He spreads his legs wide and leans back against the side of the basin as he really starts to let himself have it.

His pubic hair is dark and well kept, his cock huge, and I’m in fucking Heaven watching this forbidden show.

I just want to drop to my knees in front of him and take the job off of his hands… literally.

His strokes get harder, faster, and I feel as though I’m going to come, too.

I can feel how aroused he is, feel how good his cock would feel if it was inside me. He lets out a deep moan as he lets his head fall back, and I find myself holding my breath.

What are you doing? Leave! Leave now before he sees you.

His eyes flash up, and he falters as he sees me.

Our eyes lock, but something happens, and as if knowing how much I need to see this, he slowly strokes himself again.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

Fuck, yeah.

I begin to pant.

He starts again with long strokes, and I can hardly keep myself standing up.

This is ridiculous, but I can’t make myself leave.

He gets harder and harder, and my mouth hangs open as I watch his dick with anticipation. His dark eyes are locked on mine when he shudders and comes in a rush up onto his stomach.

The moan he lets out echoes all around me, and I begin to pant as I struggle for air. His semen is thick and white—perfect—and as an added bonus, he watches my reaction as he smears it across his stomach and chest.

I have no words.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

With my chest rising and falling, my eyes meet his again, and I watch as satisfaction crosses his face. “Good evening, Miss Brielle,” he whispers sexily as he continues to rub his semen in, his stomach glistening. I feel my insides clench. “We meet in my bathroom once again.”

My eyes widen. I don’t know what to say. What can possibly explain what I just saw?

What I just did…

What he just did.

So, I turn and I run.