My dream maid come to life. From now on, I know if those dreams aren’t exorcised by making them a reality, she will forever have Juno’s face.
"Beautiful," I taunt. "Now for your first task - you're going to make us dinner."
Confusion flashes across her face. Clearly she was expecting something more... carnal.
I smirk. "I have some work to attend to. After all, I need to keep on top of my businesses if we're going to have as much playtime as I’ve got planned.” Besides, I don’t want to break her on the first day. We have three weeks ahead of us for that.
I savor Juno's bewildered expression as she trots uncertainly behind me as I march to my study and settle into my office chair, pulling up my laptop. "The kitchen is through there," I say, gesturing vaguely. She’ll find it. "I trust you can manage something edible?"
Unless she lied on her application, it shouldn’t be an issue, since it was one of my specifications. I need to limit the number of people visiting my residence during her time here. Wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea. I am an upstanding businessman with a reputation to uphold, after all.
"Yes, Sir." She nods hesitantly, the short skirt swishing as she turns. I allow myself a lingering glance at her retreating form before focusing on my work, but I’m still aware of the clanging of pots and pans drifting from the kitchen, punctuated by occasional frustrated sighs.
I smirk, imagining her fumbling around in that deliciously revealing outfit. The anticipation of what's to come after dinner makes it difficult to concentrate, but I push myself to plow through emails and investment reports.
An hour later, the aroma of something actually quite appetizing wafts into my office. I'm impressed - and a little disappointed. Part of me was hoping she'd struggle more, giving me an excuse to ‘punish’ her inadequate cooking skills. But no matter; I’ll find something else.
I stride into the kitchen to find Juno bent over, removing a dish from the oven. The skirt rides up, revealing a glimpse of her upper thighs, the curve of her ass and a tantalizing peek at her pink pussy lips. Oh yes, did I forget to mention I withheld underwear?
I clear my throat, enjoying how she startles and whirls around, her face flushed.
"Well, well. It seems you can indeed cook," I drawl, approaching to inspect her handiwork. The scent of herbs and roasted chicken fills the air. My stomach growls appreciatively, reminding me I've not eaten all day in anticipation of her arrival.
"Yes, Sir, I can." She's almost haughty in the way she says it. I like the little glimpse of her spirit, which has been missing until now.
I trail my fingers along the counter, noting with approval that she's kept things tidy. "Then we're off to a good start. Now set the table," I order, watching her scurry to obey. The way the dress clings to her body as she moves is mesmerizing.
Once we're seated, I take a bite and nod. "Very good," I concede.
In fact, it’s better than good, it’s delicious. I won’t deny, I was half expecting someone who heated a microwave meal and called it cooking.
Relief flashes across Juno’s face before she remembers herself and lowers her eyes demurely. Good girl.
I eat leisurely, savoring both the meal and the tension radiating from Juno. She picks at her food, clearly on edge, but I let the silence stretch, punctuated only by the clink of silverware.
When I'm done, I set down my fork and fix my gaze on her. She freezes, her eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. I can practically hear her heart racing.
"Now that we've eaten, it's time for dessert."
"Umm..."
I stand up, enjoying how she shrinks back in her chair. With deliberate steps, I circle the table until I'm looming over her. My hand snakes out, gripping her chin and forcing her to look at me.
"And you, my dear, are the sweetest treat of all."
Yanking her to her feet, I crush my lips to hers in a bruising kiss; one I never meant to give. Kisses are intimate in a way I never planned, but the enormity of this moment has me overwhelmed.
She whimpers, her body trembling against mine as I devour her mouth. Again, even after I told myself not to. My hands roam greedily, squeezing and kneading every curve beautifully encased in that sinful outfit.
Breaking the kiss, I mutter, "Clear the table. Now."
I don't wait for her response, and though I intended to leave the chore to her, I’m impatient, so I start stacking our dinner plates and cutlery while she carries the serving dishes and water glasses to the kitchen.
She comes back with cleaning spray and a damp cloth, and I carry my stack to the sink as she wipes down my dark ebony dining table. But when she trots back to the kitchen and starts loading the dishwasher, my patience snaps.
“Enough!” I bark, grabbing her hand and dragging her along as I stride purposefully down the hall. My cock is already rock hard, straining in my slacks like I didn’t come recently.
It's time to claim what's mine once again.
