The minutes tick by agonizingly slow. I pace the length of the room, my eyes darting to my wrist every few seconds. What if she doesn't come back? What if this taste of freedom makes her realize she wants out of our arrangement?
I rub my hands over my face, trying to dispel these unwelcome thoughts. "She'll be back. She has to be, her belongings are still here. Plus, the money alone is enough incentive, isn't it?" Jesus, now I'm talking to myself! But a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers that maybe, just maybe, I want her to come back for reasons beyond our contract.
Nope, not going there.
Twenty-five minutes have passed when I hear the elevator ding, but I play it cool as Juno steps out, arms laden with bags, and her face pink from the crisp air outside. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I'm struck speechless by the radiant smile on her face.
"I'm back," she says, slightly breathless. "I hope I got all the things on the list."
I struggle to maintain my composure as I take in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. She looks... alive in a way I haven't seen before.
"Let's see, shall we?" I say, motioning her to the kitchen. As she unpacks the bags, I scan the items, impressed by her efficiency. She's managed to get everything and even remembered my preferred brands without me specifying.
"Well done," I murmur, almost to myself. Juno beams at the praise, and I feel that unwanted twinge in my chest again. "Now, change back into your uniform."
Her smile falters, but she only nods and heads to the bedroom. I watch her go, those damn conflicting emotions churning inside my gut again. Part of me wants to call her back,to let her keep wearing her own clothes, to see that spark in her eyes a little longer. But I can't. I won't. This isn't about her comfort or happiness. It's about my desires, my fantasies.
Isn't it?
When she emerges in the uniform once again, I feel both satisfaction and disappointment. The submissive maid is back, but something has shifted. There's a new light in her eyes that wasn't there before.
"Thank you for letting me go out," Juno says quietly, her eyes flicking briefly towards me before dropping demurely to the floor. Damn if she’s not a natural.
I nod curtly, unsure how to respond. Part of me wants to bask in her gratitude, to let it feed my ego. But another part feels... uncomfortable. As if I've given away something I can't take back.
"Noted," I say, knowing I sound like a dick, my voice gruffer than I intend. "Now, back to your duties."
She blinks rapidly, and I know I'm probably giving her whiplash, blowing hot and cold like I am, then nods and moves to put away the groceries. For a moment I curse myself for spoiling what she clearly considered a treat, but then I notice the slight spring in her step that wasn't there before. It's subtle, but it's there.
Rubbing at my sternum, I turn away, heading to my office. I need to distance myself, to regain control of the situation - and my thoughts. But as I sit at my desk, staring unseeing at my computer screen, I can't shake the image of her radiant smile when she stepped off the elevator. It haunts me, that look of pure joy on her face. Like I’d given her the world rather than some lousy trip to the corner store.
I try to focus on work, but my mind keeps drifting. The sound of Juno moving around is a constant distraction. I find I'm straining to hear her footsteps, to catch a glimpse of her as she passes by my open office door.
This isn't like me. I'm not some lovesick teenager pining after a crush. I'm a grown man who knows precisely what he wants and how to get it. So why does my chest feel tight every time I think about her smile?
I compel myself to concentrate on my computer screen, diving into spreadsheets and emails with a vengeance, but despite the hours that pass, I hardly accomplish anything. Frustrated, I decide to call it quits for the day.
As I exit my office, I nearly collide with Juno in the hallway. She's carrying a basket of laundry, and the sudden encounter causes her to stumble. Without thinking, I reach out to steady her, my hands grasping her waist. There it is again, that jolt I can’t understand. She sleeps in my bed. I fuck her whenever I like. I use her for my pleasure, however I see fit. So why is this simple, stupid contact affecting me like this?
"Oh gosh! I'm so sorry," she gasps, her eyes wide. We're so close I can feel her breath on my face, count the freckles dusting her nose.
For a moment, I'm frozen, lost in the depths of her gaze. Then reality crashes back in, and I release her abruptly, stepping back. "Watch where you're going," I snap, harsher than I intend.
Juno flinches, dropping her eyes. "Yes, Sir. It won't happen again."
God, I’m a dick.
I want to say something, to soften my words, but I can't find the right phrases. Instead, I watch as she hurries past me, the scent of her shampoo lingering in the air.
"Freaking hell!" Cursing under my breath, I head to the kitchen. I should just punish her for the misdemeanor, although it’s not like I need an excuse. She’s mine to do with as I will; but something about it doesn’t sit right with me anymore.
I plow my fingers through my hair, leaving it on end. It’s just my state of mind. I know better than to play when my head’s notin the game. What I need is a stiff drink. But as I pour myself a generous measure of Macallan 12, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror above the mantle. I look... unsettled. Troubled, even. This isn't me. I'm not the kind of man who gets... flustered over a woman. I'm not the kind of man who questions himself or his motives.
And yet, here I am, downing whiskey like it's water and trying to make sense of the turmoil in my head. I screw my eyes shut, inhaling deeply. The burn of alcohol down my esophagus does little to calm my disturbing thoughts, and I’m a guy who’s used to disturbing thoughts… though usually for completely different reasons.
When I open my eyes again, it's in time to see Juno dusting the bookshelves, her movements graceful and efficient. I study her for a moment, mesmerized by the sway of her hips, the delicate arch of her neck as she reaches up to clean a high shelf., the way her ass cheeks peek out from the hem of her ridiculously short uniform.
I drain my glass, the whiskey no longer providing the numbing effect I crave. I’m going soft. What I need to do is use her the way I always planned and work this stupidity out of my system by taking it out on her delectable body.
