Mr Masters, page 8
“What the hell?” I cry. Her hair is disheveled and her makeup worn off. She has her gold heels in her hand, and to be honest, she looks even better than she did when she left.
She laughs out loud and points at me. “Ha-ha, got you.” She looks down at me and stumbles back as her pointer finger drops to my stomach. “Ohhhh, your abs are out,” she slurs. “This is an added bonus.”
I look at her, deadpan.
She points at my boxer shorts. “I didn’t know you were coming down in your cutie patootie pajamas.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Way too much. I just nearly had a nap in the front garden.” She nods and then does an over exaggerated hiccup. “True story.”
“Come in,” I sigh.
She links her arm through mine and tiptoes beside me.
I smirk at her over familiarity. “How was your night?” I ask.
“Oh God, my night,” she whispers. “You wouldn’t believe what happened.”
“Try me,” I whisper as we walk through the kitchen.
"Oh." His face suddenly gets excited. "We need to drink truth serum for this story."
I raise my eyebrows. “Miss Brielle, I am not drinking scotch with you at 4:00 a.m.” My eyes drop down her hot body. “Not with you in this state.”
“Okay, good. You watch me drink it then. I need a snack anyway.”
She pushes me down onto a stool at the counter. “Sit there and I’ll make us food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She smiles sexily and leans over the bench toward me. My eyes drop to her large breasts that are ready to break free from her tight dress.
“All men say they’re not hungry, but they always eat the house down when it’s offered.”
I don’t know if it’s the fact that she’s wearing next to nothing, or the image I get of me eating every last drop of her, but I inhale sharply as I feel my cock begin to swell.
Cut it out.
“Miss Brielle,” I reply.
“Yes, Julian.”
Something about the way she says my name like that makes me smile, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to stay with her while she eats something. “Make it quick.”
“What do you want to eat?” she asks innocently.
I get an image of myself kissing her inner thigh as she lies back over the kitchen counter, but I snap myself out of the daydream quickly. “I’m really not hungry.”
She begins to open and close doors. “Where is the truth serum?”
I point to the cupboard, and she smiles and leans over to get it. My eyes drop to her behind. That dress leaves nothing to the imagination.
Tanned muscular thighs.
This isn’t a good situation to be in…at all.
Go. To. Bed.
She grabs two thick tumbler glasses, fills them with ice, and then places them on the counter in front of us. She pours the scotch into the first and I put my hand over the top of the second glass. “Not for me,” I mutter.
She lifts the glass and sips it, licking her lips. “I think scotch nanny virgin may be my new favorite thing.
“It’s just called scotch. The nanny virgin thing is irrelevant.”
She grins. “Or is it?”
The air zaps between us, and she holds my gaze, as if daring me to say something.
Don’t get into this with her. Go upstairs and go to sleep.
I can’t help myself. I have to ask. “Why would a nanny virgin be anything but irrelevant?”
She sips her drink and licks her lips again. I feel my cock contract.
Fuck.
Go. To. Bed.
She leans forward, resting on her elbows on the other side of the counter, and my eyes drop to her large, perfect tits. “I like the fact that you haven’t let your other nannies drink scotch with you.” She smiles innocently.
I get a vision of drinking scotch from her navel.
Cut it out.
“I’m going to bed, Miss Brielle.” I stand.
“No. No. No.” She shakes her head and grabs my shoulders, pushing me back onto my stool. “We just need some music. I’ll make us some toast and then I’ll go to bed, I promise.” She looks through the cupboard. “Do you have any Vegemite?”
“I don’t want Vegemite on toast.”
“You’ll get what you’re given.” She smiles cheekily.
Our eyes lock, and I feel electricity zap through the air between us.
Okay, what the fuck? Is she trying to turn me on right now?
Because it’s working.
She’ll get what she’s fucking given in a minute.
She picks up her phone and flicks through to Spotify. She hits play and a dance tune rings out, giving her an excuse to dance. “You like this song?”
“I don’t know it.”
“Sexy Bitch by David Guetta.”
She starts to dance freely, not trying to be cool at all, and her hips move to the rhythm as she turns to look in the fridge. With her back to me, my eyes stay firmly on her ass as it sways to the beat. The words ring out.
Oh, she’s a sexy bitch.
A sexy bitch.
I hold my breath as I watch her.
Fitting song. Sexy bitch should be her anthem. The song continues and she really gets into it, picking up her glass and giggling as she dances. She spills her drink down her forearm, and then she puts her arm up and slowly licks it off.
I clench as I feel it all the way to the tip of my cock.
Jesus Christ. I pick up the scotch and pour myself a glass too quickly. It sloshes over the side. How much seduction can a man take before he fucks his nanny on his kitchen floor?
I sip my drink as my eyes rake her in. She’s laughing freely as she dances.
The warmth of the liquor heats my throat, but its nothing like the fire that’s starting down below.
Stop dancing like that, baby, or you will wake Mr. Masters… and he doesn’t treat naughty girls like you so well.
She looks down and notices my drink. “Oh, you’re drinking now.” She smiles as she bounces to the beat. “Can we play truth or dare?”
I lick my bottom lip. “If you like.” This is dangerous territory, but I can’t make myself go to bed. At least… not alone.
“You go first.” She beams.
I sip my scotch as I think of my first question. “How did your night go with the man you met on the plane?”
She curls her lip. “Started out okay.” She shrugs. “We kissed.”
“How was it?”
Her eyes drop to my lips and she licks her own. My cock clenches in approval.
“The kiss?” she asks.
I nod.
“The kiss was okay, I guess.”
I can’t help myself and I have to ask. “You went home with him?”
This is so inappropriate.
She shakes her head. “No.” She shrugs. “He asked me to have a threesome with him and his friend.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Who on Earth would want to share you?”
Our eyes lock.
She leans over the counter onto her elbows, our faces only inches apart.
Electricity zaps between us.
“Did you come home because you were angry with him for asking you for a threesome?” I ask.
“No. I came home because when I was kissing him I was thinking of somebody else.”
“Who?”
“I think you know.”
Chapter Five
Julian
A trace of a smile crosses my face. “I have no idea who you would be thinking about.”
She sits down on her stool and tips her glass at me. “If you were out on a date tonight...” She rearranges herself and pulls her dress down. “Who would you be thinking about?”
I raise my eyebrows. Where is she going with this? “I would be thinking about the person I was on a date with.”
She narrows her eyes, questioning me. “Really?”
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling. “And why are you surprised that I give my full attention to my dates?”
She rests her hand under her chin and smiles up at me playfully. "I don't know," she breathes dreamily. "I just am." Our eyes linger on each other's just a little too long. She's soft, beautiful and playful, and I know if I stay here I'm going to do something that I'll regret later. Something that entails her being naked and bent over the kitchen counter, while I fuck her hard from behind. I would hitch her right leg up to rest on the counter to give me better access.
I get a vision of her bent over, naked and wet.
Open… wide open.
Her big beautiful tits would be free for me to look at.
She hasn’t had sex for twelve months. Imagine how tight she is.
Cut. It. The. Fuck. Out!
I shake my head and clear my throat, disgusted where my thoughts are going. “Miss Brielle.” I stand abruptly, hoping that she doesn’t see the tent in the front of my shorts. “I’m going to bed.”
She jumps up and grabs my hand. “Come on, let’s dance. The night is young.”
"Go to bed!" I demand.
“Oh… but I’ll fall down the stairs and break my leg.” She pulls a whiney face. “I’m too tired to walk all that way. Can’t I sleep here on this stool?”
“No. You cannot.”
I grab her hand. “In bed, now, please.” I lead her through the house and down the hall to her bedroom. My heart begins to beat faster and faster with every step closer to her door.
“Julian,” she purrs playfully from behind me.
“Mr. Masters to you,” I snap. This is way too familiar for my liking.
Her hand is small and deliciously soft, just how I imagine her body to be.
For fuck’s sake, rein it in.
“Mr. Masters,” she repeats in a gruff voice, mimicking me.
I open her bedroom door and am greeted with her scent. Sweet smelling perfume fills my nostrils, and I start to hear my heartbeat pump in my ears as my arousal begins to take over.
Get out of here.
Get out of here now!
My cock is now at full length and dripping. Her scent is all around me and I just need to fuck her.
I throw her on the bed, and she laughs freely as she falls back onto the mattress. Her eyes hold mine as she giggles playfully, her arms are up above her head and her long dark hair splayed across her pillow.
“So bossy, Mr. Masters,” she whispers.
I clench my hands into fists as I stand over her. “You have no idea,” I whisper. God, she looks fucking edible.
Leave…
My heart is racing.
I hesitate as I take a moment to control my voice. “Goodnight, Miss Brielle.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Masters,” she breathes sexily.
I leave the room and practically run up the stairs. I tear open the bathroom cabinet and take out the baby oil.
A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
Brielle
Pound, pound, pound.
Oh God, my head.
What the fuck happened last night?
I frown as I try to focus around my room, and then down at myself. I’m still in the clothes I wore out last night.
I feel so sick. What the hell was I thinking, drinking all those cocktails?
I can hardly remember anything since I got in the car to come home.
That’s weird. I was fine when I left the club.
I get up, go to the bathroom, and then take a look at myself in the mirror. My hair is wild. My hot, smoky makeup from last night now looks like a half dead racoon. I look like road kill.
Oh, dear God, my breath.
I squeeze toothpaste on my toothbrush and begin to brush my teeth while I feel sorry for myself, staring at my reflection. And now I have to babysit today while Mr. Masters plays golf.
A fleeting image of myself dancing in the kitchen crosses my mind.
Wait, when was that?
Did I?
I close my eyes as I try to remember what happened last night.
Was he already awake? Did I wake him up?
Oh no.
Fuck.
I spit out the toothpaste with force and quickly wash my face. Then I run into the bedroom and start climbing out of my dress.
Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.
What did I do? What did I do?
I nearly rip the dress as I tear it down, throwing my dressing gown over my underwear before I run out into the hall. I race up the stairs into the main house and find Willow sitting at the breakfast table eating her porridge.
“H-hi, Willow,” I stammer.
She looks up and frowns. “What happened to you?’
“Good question,” I mutter as I look around the house in a panic. “Where’s your father?”
“He’s just about to go golfing, I think he’s in the garage.”
I bite my bottom lip. "Okay, thanks. I need to see him about something." I run out and down the back steps to the garage. I find Mr. Masters in there cleaning his golf clubs with a rag and what looks like a bottle of oil. He's looking down and concentrating on the task at hand.
“Good morning.” I smile. Please let this all be a figment of my warped imagination.
His eyes flicker up to me, and then back to his golf clubs.
Shit. He’s pissed.
I twist my fingers together as I watch him, not knowing what to say.
“Is everything okay? I whisper.
His cold eyes rise to meet mine. “No, everything is not alright,” he says coldly.
My eyes widen. “What’s wrong?”
“You can’t be that obtuse, Miss Brielle.”
My heart starts to beat faster.
He goes back to cleaning his golf clubs.
“Did I wake you last night?” I whisper.
His furious eyes rise to meet mine. “Among other things.”
I scratch my head in confusion. “What does that mean?”
“It means your sexual advances are superfluous.” He sneers.
My eyes widen in horror. What the fuck? “S-sexual advances?” I stammer. “Why…what? What do you mean, sir?”
He slams the golf clubs down on the ground with a thud. “You know exactly what I mean.”
I ring my hands together in front of me. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Masters, but I don’t even remember getting home last night. Please tell me what happened.”
He shakes his head in disgust, opens his car, and walks around the side of it. I run after him like a puppy. “What happened? What did I do?” I plead.
Oh God. What did I do?
He throws his clubs into the trunk and slams it shut. "And this incongruous behavior is unacceptable," he growls.
“I don’t understand.”
“This…” He gestures to my dressing gown. “This has got to stop.”
“What has?”
“You walking around my house in a state of undress. Coming home in the middle of the night and dancing half naked in my kitchen, while being all flirty and suggestive.” He steps closer to me and narrows his eyes. “I can assure you, Miss Brielle, that I am not the kind of man who has sexual relations with his staff.”
My face falls.
“What?” I whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about? What happened last night?”
“You arrived home, called me, and when I came downstairs you got all excited when you saw me in my...” He air quotes to accentuate his point. “Cutie patootie pajamas.”
My eyes widen. Oh fuck. I didn’t call his pajamas cutie patootie. Surely not?
They are anything but cutie patootie. They are smoking hot.
“Then you preceded to dry hump my refrigerator, all while wearing next to nothing.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. This just keeps getting worse. Kill me now.
“You practically went down on a glass of scotch before you started licking your arm in some kind of porn display, and then you insisted on talking about me being a nanny virgin.”
My hands go over my mouth in disbelief. “I came onto you?” I whisper.
He gets into his car, slams the door shut, and winds down the window. “Your impropriety is alarming and will not be tolerated in this house under any watch.”
I drop my head in shame. “Yes, sir.”
“Now, if it isn’t too much trouble, Miss Brielle… do your job and go look after my children. If you are uninterested in performing the position you applied for, go find something else, because I can assure you that the position of being a hooker, on your back, in my bed is unavailable.”
My eyes fill with tears.
He starts the car and I step back, out of his way. I quickly swipe a tear from my eye as it tries to escape, but he doesn’t miss it, and he hesitates as he watches me, as if he’s going to say something more.
Finally, without another hurtful word, he chooses to leave.
I stand alone in the garage and look around at the spotless space as I hear his sports car roar down the driveway. My heart is racing, and my face is hot, flushed with embarrassment.
A heavy sense of regret sits in the pit of my stomach. I’m so ashamed.
I’m a prude; I don’t come onto people. I get annoyed and disgusted when people come onto me.
And he’s my boss.
I put my hands on top of my head as the tears burst through the dam and roll down my face. What must he think of me?
Fuck, this is the worst hangover ever.
I’m slumped on my bed half an hour later, completely defeated.
This job is harder than I thought, but I never imagined that my sense of character would be under scrutiny.
Why the hell didn’t I just stay over at Emerson’s last night? None of this would have happened. It’s a complete disaster, and to be honest, one that I don’t think I can work through. That’s if he even wanted me to.
I’m mortified at my behavior and I want to run to him and tell him he’s got it all wrong, but who am I kidding? He saw it with his own eyes, and he wouldn’t just make this stuff up for fun on a Sunday morning.
His disappointed voice echoes in my mind.
You were dry humping my refrigerator.
Oh, the horror.
I pinch the bridge of my nose in disgust. I’m going to leave. He thinks I’m a skanky hoe. Why wouldn’t he? I am. I can’t believe I acted that way. I have no idea what came over me. What in the world would possess me to come home and start dirty dancing in the kitchen?
