Fake Maid by Cassie Mint

Four

Billie

Abreath hisses between my teeth when he grips my hips, tugging my ass back against him. Coral’s boss is hard as steel, the length of him nestled between my ass cheeks, and triumph surges through me as I straighten and lean back against his chest.

We’re both breathing hard, the sounds harsh in the pool house where the only other noise is the gentle slosh of turquoise water against the pool walls.

I shouldn’t have baited him. Shouldn’t have pushed him to this.

But I can’t pretend to be sorry.

I squirm my hips, trying to feel him better, and let my head drop back onto his shoulder. Mr. Koven—Eli—scrapes his teeth over my bared throat, nipping at the vulnerable skin.

A hook twists in my lower abdomen. A pulse thrums between my legs, ticking like a time-bomb.

“Are you always such a fucking tease, Coral?”

I wilt in his arms. Hearing my sister’s name as he rocks against my ass—yeah, that’s a downer.

“Miss Walsh,” I whisper. I don’t care if it makes me sound like some Victorian dominatrix. I don’t want him calling me by the wrong name.

Eli pauses. My heart begins to sink, but then he winds his uninjured hand through my hair. He grabs a fistful of my waves, tugging my head back with just enough force to make me gasp.

Heat floods my pussy. I whimper, squeezing my thighs together.

“You haven’t answered my question. Are you always such a tease, Miss Walsh?”

It’s ridiculous, but the fact that he’s willing to call me that warms my insides. Makes me go all gooey. Because now I can pretend this is really between us—Eli and Billie. Not Eli and my sister.

“No,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. “I guess you bring out the worst in me.”

His chuckle is dark. Smoky.

“The worst? Oh, I hope so.”

His tongue lathes me from collarbone to earlobe. It’s like he wants to consume me, to swallow me whole, and god help me but I want that too. Shivers race across my skin and I melt back against him, pliant and all his.

“And you? Do you always lick your maids?”

Because I need to know. Is this as special as it feels?

This time, his laugh is short and humorless.

“Hardly.” Then he brightens. “Why? Are you jealous, Miss Walsh?”

Yes.The thought of Eli doing this with another maid, even another woman, makes me want to spit with envy. Makes me want to trash the pool house and set fire to the grounds.

I won’t, obviously. I’m not insane. But I do rock back against him harder.

Eli sucks in a pleased breath. “So you are jealous.”

“No.”

“You are, baby. You’re two seconds from tearing my shirt down the middle and rubbing your scent on my skin.”

“You wish,” I grind out, though the image makes me flush hotter. He’s right, I do want to tear his clothes. To mess up his hair and scratch his chest so hard I draw blood. Partly to wipe that cocky smile off his face, and partly to show everyone else he’s mine.

“Shall I tell you a secret?” He nips at my earlobe, rubbing strands of my hair between his finger and thumb. “I’m jealous too. I want to suck bruises all over your creamy skin just so everyone knows you’re taken.”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

I scoff, but it sounds weak. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

A hand presses at my lower back, arching me away even as he pulls my head harder back. I’m bent in the most shameless position, my ass squirming against his cock as my spine bows and my chest thrusts at the ceiling.

Eli saws his cock between my ass cheeks, up and down, and the size of him makes my mouth water even through our layers of clothes.

“Think about it, darling.” He bites my shoulder, then soothes it with a lick. “If you want this cock, you’ll have to be mine.”

It should be ridiculous. A laughable statement. But right this second, I’d give my left arm to feel his rock-hard length slide inside me. If he’s this domineering, this possessive when our clothes are still on, when we haven’t even kissed yet…

I whimper.

“Leave the mop.” Eli steps away, letting go of me suddenly, and I stagger, my knees like jelly. “I need your services elsewhere.”

I wheel around, cheeks hot. “My services—”

“Your feather duster.” He grins, eyes twinkling. “My office. Now.”

Usually, I hate being bossed around. It’s the worst thing about fashion shoots—grumpy men barking orders.

But when Eli does it, my pussy clenches and my clit throbs. God, what is happening to me?

Who is this girl who whimpers and writhes against a strange man in a pool house? Whose thoughts scatter to the wind every time he murmurs in her ear?

I don’t know, but I want to find out. I stumble forward and follow Eli into the grounds.

* * *

Cleaning should not be a sexy activity.

I know that for sure.

It’s something you do because you have to, to not be a slob, and maybe there’s a flash of satisfaction for a job well done.

Coral likes cleaning. It’s one of the many ways we are completely different, never mind that our faces are identical. She says she finds it therapeutic—the methodical way you work around a room, finding a rhythm, letting your mind drift and your muscles burn.

She likes the quiet, too, and the mansion’s views.

Me, I find the quiet here eerie. Kind of sad, like loneliness echoes through the halls. But the views… I glance over at Eli, leaning back against his desk as he watches me dust with dark eyes.

Yeah. The views are pretty freaking fantastic.

His dark hair is even more rumpled since our messy clasp in the pool house. His eyes shine beneath his lowered brows, and his firm jaw is clenched tight. The hand with the cast rests in his lap, the fingertips still and curled over the plaster, but his other hand grips the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles are white. Like he’s clinging on for dear life to keep from lunging toward me.

A long-sleeved black cotton shirt stretches over his chest and shoulders, hiding all the ridges and planes of muscle that I felt against my back. His gray jeans are soft and faded, clinging to his toned thighs, and god, I want to scratch my fingernails down those jeans. I want to pop the button open with my teeth.

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs, cocking his head as I run my feather duster along his office bookshelves. I keep sneaking glances at him, tiny snatches which make my body thrum. “I can’t tell if you’re angry or so turned on you might snap.”

I choke out a laugh, rocking onto my toes to reach for the top shelf. My tunic rises, brushing against the backs of my thighs, and I suddenly wish I didn’t have leggings on.

“The second one.”

He growls in approval. The low, rumbling noise stiffens my nipples under Coral’s tunic.

“Are you ready for me to fix that for you?”

I chew on my lip, thinking. Eli made it very clear—if I want his cock, first I must agree to be his.

I can’t do that. He thinks I’m Coral. He doesn’t even know my real name.

I shake my head, hair drifting over my shoulders, but my voice is hollow when I speak.

“No. I can’t agree to your terms.”

“Why not?” Eli sounds ready to tear the desk apart with his bare hands, injury be damned. “Is there…” His voice drops. “Is there someone else?”

“No.” I glare at him over my shoulder. “I’m not a cheater. How awful do you think I am?”

I’m pissed off, but even so, my words settle him. He sinks back against the desk, relaxed again.

Eli’s office is like a smaller version of the library, but with a balcony that stretches the whole length of it. He keeps the French doors open, the breeze rolling in off the sea, and all the papers on his desk flutter beneath their paperweights. A few potted plants bring pops of green, their waxy leaves waving in the breeze.

It’s a nice room. Very… him. A mix of modern and classic with the wild edge of nature thrown in. Eli Koven is a man with teeth and claws.

“I have money,” he says mildly. “More money than a person could spend.”

I breathe in hard through my nose and count to ten. When I spin to face him, the feather duster gripped in one hand, I force myself to speak evenly.

“Why do you mention that, Eli?” I hold up a palm when he starts to talk. “Because you should think very carefully about your next words. If you’re about to imply that I can be bought, that I’m some kind of gold digger, then I swear I will stick this feather duster so deep up your ass it will tickle your brain.”

He throws back his head and roars with laughter. My mouth twitches, but I press it into a firm line and wait for his answer.

I don’t care if he’s hot. If his laugh is infectious.

If that’s what he thinks of me, I won’t spend another minute in his presence.

“God. No.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, still chuckling. “That’s not what I meant to imply.”

“Then what did you—”

He shrugs. “I merely wanted to show that if there are other difficulties keeping you away, I could help you with them.”

Jeez. I see now why tech guys are stereotyped as awkward.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

He grins, cheeks dimpling.

“Your eyes flash bright green when you’re mad.”

“You… I…” My mouth opens and shuts. I stand here like an outraged goldfish, staring at this gorgeous, infuriating man. And when he pushes to his feet, strolling across his office, I back up to the bookshelves until they press against my shoulder blades.

“Running away?” His gaze rakes over me. “Tell me to stop, Miss Walsh. Tell me to leave you alone, and I promise I’ll walk out that door.”

I swallow hard… and say nothing. Triumph lights his eyes.

Eli comes closer and closer until his chest is inches from mine. Until I can feel the heat of his body; until his breath stirs the flyaway strands of my hair. He’s so close, so freaking close, that if I arched my back like earlier, my stiff nipples would brush against him through my tunic.

“What shampoo do you use?” he asks suddenly. “What scent?” He ducks his head and breathes me in at the base of my neck. He lifts a red lock of my hair, pressing it to his nose and sniffing it too, then shakes his head, annoyed. “You smell like the swimming pool. I can’t tell.”

Is he really so eager to know?

“Green apple,” I murmur.

“Green apple,” he repeats, muttering to himself. “Yes. That fits.”

I nudge his knee with mine. “You’re kind of weird.”

He steps closer, flattening me against the bookshelves. His palms skate up the sides of my waist—cupping and squeezing on one side, and the steady slide of his cast on the other.

“Not weird. Just infatuated.”

“Already?” I rasp. “You’ve only known me one day.”

He frowns down at me, and I could kick myself. Of course he’s known Coral for more than a day, and I’ve blown it, screwed this up, but then he shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter. I knew the second I saw you.”

“Knew what?” I gasp. His thumb skates over my nipple, and I arch my back, pressing harder into his hand.

Eli hums and sniffs the crown of my head.

“That I had to have you,” he says simply. My head is swimming from his touch, from his words, from his manly scent—like ocean air and pine needles. Maybe that’s why I do it: lose all my good sense. Push away from the bookshelves, nudge him back, and drop to my knees.

“Fuck. Look at you.” Eli crowds back immediately, cradling my cheek in his hand. “Do you want to suck my cock, darling?”

I nod, reaching up with greedy hands. My bruised fingers are clumsy inside the cast, and I curse as I fumble with the button of his jeans.

“Let me help—”

I smack his hand away, rock forward, and tug it open with my teeth.

“Yes,” Eli hisses in approval as I draw his cock free. It’s thick and so hard it must surely be painful, yet the skin is soft and warm under my grip. I give an experimental tug, toes curling beneath me when he groans.

“Say please.” I smirk up at him, and he grins back, eyes feral and dancing. This man is a loose cannon, wild and unpredictable, but I want nothing more than to push him to the edge.

“Please,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Fuck. Coral. Suck me, baby.”

“Miss Walsh.”I squeeze him once, hard, in warning, and he rocks into my grip. But when I glare up at him, he nods and pets my hair.

“Miss Walsh. Suck me down, darling.”

I’m more than happy to obey.

I settle back on my heels and regard the monster in front of me. It’s bigger than I realized back in the pool house, and it made my breath catch then. But it’s not the length that makes my pussy clench—it’s the breadth. When I wrap my hand around him, my fingers and thumb don’t meet.

My first lick is catlike. Teasing, just like him. I taste the salty bead of fluid gathered at the tip, moaning and gazing up at him with wide eyes.

He curses and thrusts his hips, his cock sliding through my grip.

“So impatient,” I murmur.

Eli narrows his eyes.

That’s all the warning I get before he grips my chin and pulls it open, pushing his cock into my mouth. A thrill shudders through me at being used like this—having my mouth invaded for his pleasure. It’s like everything else in the world fades away except for the heavy weight of him on my tongue; the stretch of my lips; the slurping noises that I’d never thought I’d make.

But I make them, and much more, moaning greedily and whimpering, swirling my tongue over his cock as he cradles my head in place and thrusts so deep he hits the back of my throat.

“Fuck. Yeah. Do you like that, baby?”

I moan louder, nodding and squirming on the floor. I wedge one heel under my pussy, grinding down on it and rubbing my clit until the pressure starts to build.

Eli stares down at me, eyes glassy, then they suddenly widen. His expression heats, and he fucks my face harder.

“I can see what you’re doing, baby. Getting yourself off. Humping your own foot because you’re so needy to come.”

His words are fuel tossed on the fire, and the crackling embers in my core burst into twenty-foot flames. I cry out, rocking harder, slurping him deeper, and his fingers tighten on my jaw until they’re just this side of pain.

The thought of bruises—of shadowed fingerprints where anyone could see and guess what we’ve been doing—it stops my breath. I freeze, muscles rigid, a cry tearing from my mouth as waves of pleasure ripple from my core. It scorches through my body, lighting my nerve ends on fire, and when I finally slump back on my heels, my ears are ringing.

Eli draws his cock from my mouth with a pop, cursing and working himself with his own hand, before warm stripes of his come paint my cheeks.

I grin up at him, chest heaving and eyes wet, a flushed, sticky mess.

I’ve never felt so freaking alive.

“Good girl,” he grinds out, his deep voice like gravel, and my pussy throbs in response. He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Good girl.”

I stay kneeling as he crosses to the desk, rummaging in the drawers before he comes back and crouches in front of me. He wipes my face so tenderly, his touch so gentle on my raw lips, that my heart cracks open.

Shit. I wish he really were mine.

And more than that—I want to be his. His lover. His pet. His plaything. It’s such a cruel joke, to have him like this—to know how he tastes, how he feels. The way his eyes twinkle when he helps me up from the floor.

Because I can’t have him. He thinks I’m my twin sister, and if I tell him the truth, he’ll know I’ve lied to him since the first second I saw him.

I can’t bear his rejection. For once in my life, I’ll be a coward instead.

“I’d better go.” He frowns at my hoarse words. “I, um. I have work to do.”

“Cor—Miss Walsh.” He catches himself at the last second, but the reminder is still there. This is my sister’s job, my sister’s boss, and I can’t ruin it for her.

Not more than I already have.

“Goodbye, Eli.” I step around him and leave the office, my chest caving in.