She drops a hip and holds the duster up with a mock-serious expression.
“We prefer ’cleaning personnel,’ thank you very much. Now, unless you’re here to help me, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave and let me finish.”
“Oh… I’d definitely like to help you finish.”With my cock buried inside you. “And finishing doesn’t require any of those supplies you’ve brought, unless you’d like it to.”
She pauses her dusting, staring at the vase and then lifting it, turning it over in her hands as she inspects it closely.
I take a moment to appreciate how pretty she looks today. Black skirt that’s way too short. Tan legs for miles. Her white shirt is unbuttoned at the top more than I think the employees are allowed, and her hazel eyes are sparkling. Her long, dark hair is pulled up into some sort of clip thing that I’ve seen my sister wear with just a few pieces framing her face.
I don’t know what it is about her, red suit in court, birthday suit in my hotel room, white tank top and denim shorts on a dusty, make-shift set, sweater dress on the lawn, maid uniform in my suite, she’s fucking gorgeous to me. But even more than that, she’s captivating.
“I’ve always hated cleaning this thing. It looks like a ball sack and has so many intricate grooves that I have the toughest time getting inside it,” she says.
“I’ve literally never noticed that vase in my life.”
Her brows drop as she studies it closer. “So, you’re saying that I’ve been sweating my ass off, dusting a vase for months that you don’t even care about?”
I shrug one shoulder. “It’s not mine. I’m guessing the last owners left it behind.”
And the next thing I know, she’s spinning around so quickly she looks like a blur of brown hair and wild eyes.
“Think fast!” she shouts as she tosses the vase my way.
I don’t even have time to react to what’s happening. One second, I’m standing there watching her, halfway to hard thinking about fucking her in the middle of my pent house and the way she just said ‘ball sack’ so casually, and the next moment the ornate vase I’ve never looked at twice is shattering across my hands and I’m standing there, in shock as tiny shards of glass cover the floor and my navy blue suit pants.
I look at the mess on the ground and then at the blood before I shout calmly, “What... the… fuck!” My hand drops little beads of red on the freshly mopped marble floor.
“Oh… shit!” Rhiannon’s eyes are wide with fear. “I thought you were going to catch it!”
“Why would you think that?! You threw a fucking glass vase at me and yelledthink fast!”
“Well clearly you tried to catch it. It touched your hand. You just couldn’t hold on!”
I gape at her. “Are you seriously blamingmefor this?”
“Here, shit, here let me see how bad it is.” She rushes towards me, but I yank my hand away aggressively, giving her my back.
“I don’t think so, she-devil.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Fine. Just suffer then.”
She grabs the broom from her cleaning cart and starts sweeping up the mess while I stand rooted in place trying to figure out what the fuck to do now.
I don’t have anything in here to properly clean this and cover it, plus I’m supposed to be across town, meeting with clients in less than an hour. Fuck my life. This is exactly what I didn’t need after my dad’s email. Another distraction.
When the mess is cleaned up, she places one hand on her hip, the other pointing directly at me. For how much my hand hurts, it’s a distracting position that pushes her chest up.
“I’m sorry. Now are you going to let me take a look at that or is your ego too big for help?”
I glance down at the gash—it looks deep, but there’s no sign of glass in it. Still, I’d feel better having a professional take care of it. And truth be told, I’d rather not have Rhiannon touching me unless it involves her sucking my cock in an apology.
“Oh… that looks pretty bad.” She steps closer. “Look, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking and thought you were going to catch it. Let me drive you to the hospital.”
“I can manage.”
She sighs and her shoulders slump. For a second, I feel bad.For a second.Because this woman did just crack a vase over my hand and then find a way to blame me for it.
“Please don’t be stubborn about this. I messed up and I want to make it right.”
