Maid for Christmas

Brett began to grope her breasts a little harder, moaning and groaning in her ear as he began thrusting up to meet her downwards bounces. "Oh fuck yes, that's it Thea, take every inch of this big hard dick, come on baby, take this dick, take this dick, take every fucking inch and make it cum inside you. You want my cum?"

"Yes," she moaned, her eyes fluttering, beginning to whimper and murmur under breath. "Yes, please Brett, please cum. Please," she begged in his ear. "Please Brett, oh god, please." She began to ride him harder, impaling herself upon his rigid cock, her pussy tightening and beginning to tremble, her thighs shiver, so close to orgasm that it her vision was beginning to tunnel.

"Let go Thea, let go," he groaned "I'm cumming, fuck, I'm cumming, yes, oh yes, that's it Thea baby, take it all, ohhh fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

She felt it - felt his orgasm, his pounding heart and heated breath, his cock thickening and swelling and bursting inside her, filling her womb with his thick hot white load. And she had been unable to stop her eyes from closing, from screaming out his name as her pussy had clenched and pulsed, her body bucking wildly as her hips shook and her back arched, and she had collapsed against him, practically sobbing in his arms, so violently had the orgasm hit her; how fiercely and desperately she had loved him in that moment; how fiercely and desperately she had believed that he had loved her in return...

*Ugh, why does everything have to go back to him?* She had barely given him any thought for the past week and now it seemed that her mind was making up for it. Helen would probably suggest it was because she felt guilty for taking the job; Thea knew that it wasn't, especially since she had nothing to feel guilty about. She sat down, one leg over the other, letting her shoe dangle from her toes, not entirely sure what to make of the sensation of the soft suede against her bare ass. She took a beautifully decorated chocolate, sniffed at as if to try and determine what type it was, and tentatively bit into it. Mmm, orange truffle. Silky smooth light rich milk chocolate with a zesty citrus truffle with a sprinkling of crisp wafer pieces just like her favourite chocolates from England. Whoever Mr Grey was, he was clearly a man of wealth and taste, and she was beginning to feel tempted with doing a little more than she normally would. She knew part of it was just the desire to feel loved and wanted again... a little was because she wanted to feel something different to the pain and probably more than a little of her wanted to hurt him by sleeping with someone else.

She sighed and took another sip of champagne. She was not sure if it was the unusual circumstances or the quiet, but she felt too restless to simply sit there. Given that she had free reign to explore and act as she wished, she decided she would satisfy her curiosity. She stood up, wavering slightly in the stilettos, and walked over to examine the flowers. Her fingers lightly brushed over the cool, soft, velvet-like petals of peach-coloured roses and admired the stunning shades of orange and red in the sunflowers. She knew it was stupid and nosey, but she could not help but look for a card amidst the stunning floral arrangements. She found it on the second bouquet, nestled against the leaves of several red roses.

- My Angel, I'm sorry. Please forgive me x -

*Really might have to rethink that whole no sex policy,* Thea thought with a wistful laugh; it was somewhat refreshing and attractive to see a man make an effort. And admit that he had been wrong. Of course, he should probably be trying to make it up to the person he had wronged, instead of hiring a call girl - even if he did not plan on fucking said call girl - but Thea still found herself rooting a little for the mysterious Mr Grey.

She carefully set the card back where she had found it and spent a few minutes just looking out of the window, watching the twinkling Christmas lights and shadows. She placed one hand with its well-manicured, short, red nails against the glass, flinching slightly at its coolness, remembering in the summer how Brett had taken her against his office window...

It had been intense and unexpected. She had only gone into check that they were still going to spend the afternoon at the museum. She had been dressed in a blouse and tight black skirt and heels, stockings and black lingerie, just as she had worn countless other times for work... just as he had seen several times before, whilst he had been in another impeccable suit and tie.

He had stood up to greet her, to kiss her, and the next thing she knew, she was pulling at his tie and running her nails across his chest as he groped her ass and mauled her breasts. Moaning and groaning, they had pulled at one another, until he had pushed her up against the window, pressing her throbbing nipples to the glass as he had taken her from behind, tearing off her panties and thrusting into her hard and deep. Each breath knocked from her body as he had frantically fucked her. There had been something so delicious about it all, half-dressed, hard and dirty, the rush of being seen or being walked in on (as unlikely as that was with the tenacious Eleanor Wrigley sat at the desk outside), the pure lust and need in that moment, as if neither of them could breathe if they didn't have the other right then and there, biting into his tie as she screamed out her release as he had bit and groaned into her shoulder as he had cum... and then, once they had caught their respective breaths, he had cancelled yet another afternoon excursion.

She took a deep breath, banishing the memory and the effects it was having upon her body, thankfully distracted as something glimmered on the carpet and she got down on hands and knees to pick it up.

***

Mr Grey watched her on the main monitor of his small workstation. He had three monitors, all displaying the images from the various hidden cameras. He could not remember if he had asked to record the girl, so he merely allowed the images to stream. He had two screens up at the moment from cameras positioned in front and behind her, and he moved the cameras up and down, looking over every inch of her tall, curvy frame. He zoomed in and panned down from the top of her little white cap, following the glossy waves of her dark, brown hair that reached to the middle of her back. It was at that moment that she chose to remove her panties and he had raised his dark blonde eyebrows, having not been entirely sure if she would comply or not. He let out an appreciative moan as she so slowly and teasingly rolled them off her body, giving him a wonderfully clear view of her chubby, round ass and that tight, little puckered secret, the skin ever so slightly paler than on her thighs and he followed her motions, imagining that his hands were against hers, feeling that silky smooth nylon beneath his fingertips, caressing her calves as she lifted each foot.

As she straightened up, he studied her from the front, noting the scepticism on her shimmering, dusky pink lips and in the brown eyes behind thick glass set in purple frames. He panned down along her long neck, following the strands of silver that held a pendant that rested somewhere between her breasts, unseen underneath the short black dress with white cuffs, collar and apron that rested just below the tops of her stockings. There was the briefest of glimpses at her trimmed, dark curls as she crossed her legs, and a quick view down at her cleavage as she bent forward to pick up a piece of chocolate. She was a beautiful woman and probably did not think so, judging by the way she kept tugging and smoothing out bits of material that did not need altering.

"Mmm," he murmured, as he looked at her long, stockinged legs, the enticing garter straps and those delectable heels. She was far more irresistible than he had imagined and he reminded himself that he had a plan to follow.

***

Thea crawled along the floor on her hands and knees for a bit, looking for other silver charms. It was hard to tell whether they had been placed or if a bracelet had been broken, but she had found two of them so far - a sunflower set with a deep-burnt orange crystal and a cat with emerald-coloured eyes. She had decided she was going to check the rug and then that was it; she had spent enough time down on her knees for now. Her hands sank into the soft, deep, faux-fur pile and she stretched out into it, laying down on her front.

She bent her legs up, swinging her feet in the air. This was proving to be a strange evening. She had not needed to help Helen out often in a business sense, but on the previous occasions where she had, she had at least met the gentleman or woman in question. Usually it was for dinner, occasionally a function, once at an apartment for take-out and a movie - none of the men or women had asked or tried for anything more than a hug or peck on the cheek, and several had asked for her company on other occasions - but she had never been in a situation of trying to play the part of a maid with nothing to tidy up, all whilst being watched by carefully placed cameras.

In fact, it had been whilst playing the girlfriend at some fundraiser that she had first encountered Brett Sorenson. Once again, she was there as a favour for Helen, hanging patiently upon the arm of a man that she would not normally give a second look to, trying to keep her eyes alive as her mind wandered, tired of listening to the same few stories about hunting or corporate takeovers. It was not that Calvin Sullivan was not handsome, wealthy and reasonably intelligent - because he was those things - so much as he was loud, obnoxious, misogynistic, arrogant and rude.

"Excuse me," she said, kissing Calvin's cheek to look convincing, before slipping into the ladies room. She sat down in the stall and looked at her phone. She knew she probably should not, but she decided to play a couple of rounds of a game, just needing a moment to gather her thoughts, composure and sense of duty. All she really wanted to do was go home, run a bath and soak in the tub with a large glass of wine and half-decent book, but instead, she was made-up like a trophy model wife, trying to make her breasts look larger with a padded bra, hobbling about in heels that were two inches too tall, in a dress that was designed with a shorter woman in mind. She put the phone away, finished up and washed her hands. Her appearance seemed to be okay, although a far cry from how she wished to look, and she dried her hands beneath the hot air of the dryer.

She looked around the room, seeing that Calvin's back was turned and judging by the angle of his head, thoroughly enjoying the view of the two women on the arms of the gentlemen he was in conversation with. She decided it would not be too harmful to get a proper drink at the bar before a return to work.

"Johnnie Walker Blue, neat," she said. She felt a presence behind her but she did not turn around.

"How much is he paying you?" he asked quietly in a voice that conjured up cigars and warm, expensive whiskey.

"You think I'm an escort?" she retorted, turning to look at the owner of such a voice, her heart skipping a beat as her brown eyes had met that steel blue gaze. Tall, handsome, chiselled features, impeccably tailored tux, perfect posture, commanding presence and charming demeanour. But that voice and those eyes were what truly captured her. Of course, the money did not hurt, but as the man she was being paid to accompany had proven, it certainly was not enough on its own.

"I think you lack the confidence to be an escort, but at the same time, Calvin Sullivan couldn't get a woman like you unless a contract was involved," said the handsome man with a smirk.

"I guess I should take that as a compliment," Thea said.

"You should," he said. He took her hand and kissed it, but he did not let it go. "Brett Sorenson."

"I'm aware," Thea said, with a mysterious smile.

"And you are...?"

"Theodora James," she said.

"Does he know that?"

"He does not," Thea admitted.

"Good. I'm not in the habit of sharing."

"You are not in a position to be worried about that," said Thea, bemused, her hand still in his.

"Not yet maybe. But I hope to. Have dinner with me, tomorrow," said the magnetic Mr Sorenson.

"Are you sure you can afford my services?" she teased.

"Absolutely. And I'm sure you would be worth every penny, but I'm asking you out on a date.... I suppose I could pay for your services if that's what it takes to get you to have dinner with me."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Thea, sipping her drink.

"Alternatively, I could just keep a hold of your hand until you agree."

"Don't you have a wife or girlfriend or supermodel to get back to?" said Thea.

"I do not."

"Really?" said Thea, skeptically. She rather doubted that he had to resort to paying for the company of attractive women, and events like this certainly led their attendees to project certain images. Virile, wealthy, eligible bachelor playboy was usually synonymous with Brett Sorenson's name in the proverbial society pages.

"Why do you look surprised?"

"You seem like a wealthy, intelligent, handsome man. There's usually someone."

"There were a couple of models for the entrance. And then there wasn't."

"Wasn't?"

"Well, obviously, there's you now," he said, keeping his eyes on hers. "Do you have to spend the rest of the evening with him?"

"Yes," said Thea, bemused.

"Why?"

"Because I'm helping out a friend and she needs me to continue playing nice for the duration of this event." She tried to keep her tone level, but she was sure an element of frustration had crept through, given the amused look gracing his lips.

"So you're not an escort?"

"I am a temporary companion when my friend needs me to be. No sex, no kissing, no extended hours fun. I play a part and nothing more."

"How many times have you done this?"

"More than I would like," Thea said dryly, before her expression softened. "But it's not so bad. I usually just sit and listen, occasionally give people a hug. Once or twice it's been a little more sexualised, but I have never slept with anyone for money."

"Do you think you would?"

"Never say never," said Thea, with a mischievous smile. "I don't know. I mean technically, even if I slept with one of Helen's clients, I would not be being paid for sex, but you know, some people don't see a distinction," said Thea, wishing she would stop thinking about kissing his perfect lips. "Still want to take me to dinner?"

"Absolutely. Does that mean you're saying yes?"

"Yes," said Thea, suddenly feeling her cheeks flushing red.

"I will see you at Zeas', tomorrow at 8," he said, kissing her hand again and finally letting it go. He gave her a sympathetic smile. "Well, given that I must accept defeat this evening, I shall bid you a good night. I hope you can find some way to enjoy yourself."

"I'm sure I'll manage, Mr Sorenson," said Thea.

"I don't doubt it, Miss James." * Zeas was the latest Michelin star restaurant to open in the city. It had rave reviews praising everything from the salt shakers to the art on the wall, as well as the food. From what Thea had heard, there was a four-month waiting list to get a table. Even Helen, with all of her connections and wealthy clientele, had yet to step foot within the latest trendy hotspot, but apparently Brett Sorenson had enough sway to get the best table in the house. She gave a shy smile as his eyes caught hers, blushing beneath the almost predatory, appraising gaze of the handsome man dressed casually in a designer suit and tie. He stood up as she approached, his smile widening.

"I apologise if I'm late," said Thea, murmuring her thanks as the waiter held out her chair.

"You're not. I just like to be early. A beautiful woman should never have to wait on a man," Brett said, sitting back down. "And you look stunning."

"Thank you," said Thea. "I'm not too over- or under-dressed I hope." She looked down at the red dress she was wearing with its Bardot-bodice and slightly flared skirt, and simple red pumps.

"You worry too much," Brett said with a smile. "I'm sure you'd look stunning in a potato sack. I hope you don't mind that I ordered the set menu with the recommended wine pairings? Do you have any allergies I should be aware of?"

"No food allergies or intolerances that I know of," said Thea. She felt exposed within his gaze, as if the weight of it was heavy enough to pull the clothes from her heated flesh. "I'm allergic to lilies and stupid people though."

He had laughed at that. "I certainly find them hard to tolerate myself," he said. "Along with insufferable bores, unearned arrogance and dishonesty."

"Then I am sure we will get along just fine," said Thea, nervously toying with the low-hanging gold pendant around her neck.

"As am I, Miss James."

"Please, call me Thea."

It had seemed as though the array of plates was endless. Even though each was barely a mouthful or two, bar the entrées at around course eight, it seemed that there was always a fresh plate in front of them, and a waitress or waiter or chef was at the table explaining and describing the course to them. By the time the final dessert had been eaten, the once tall candles had become wax stubs, and Thea could feel the wine buzzing warmly in her head. It had made conversation a little awkward, but it still felt like one of the better dates she had been on. There was just something about it him. It seemed like he felt it too, because although neither of them had spoken much, their eyes had barely left one another's.

"Are you okay, Thea?" he asked, holding her arm.

"I think I drank one bottle too many," said Thea. She wanted to rub her eyes, but remembered not to, not wanting to smudge her carefully applied make-up or lose another contact lens. "Would you mind excusing me for one moment?" she asked.

"Not at all, take all the time you need."

Thea smiled and thanked him, and wandered back into the suitably chic restroom with its huge, back lit mirrors. She put the plug into the sink, thankful that there were proper individual basins with working plugs as she leaned over and popped out the lenses, placing them into the cleaning solution and case and putting on her thick spectacles.

"Well, this is a new look," Brett said, smiling at her.

"I apologise - I know it's usually depicted as the other way around. Dates usually don't get dowdier as the night progresses."

He had laughed at that too - pure mirth, without malice. "I like them. They make those beautiful eyes even bigger and that is no bad thing. If your contacts tend to bother you, please just wear your glasses in future. I think they suit you beautifully."

"In future?"

"Unless you have no desire to see me again," he said, letting his hand trail up from her elbow to her cheek.

"There's definitely desire," she murmured under her breath, not entirely sure if he had heard her or not.

"Where do I drive you to?" he asked as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"Oh, no, it's fine. I can walk and get the subway home," she said, resolutely.

"Absolutely not," he said at once.

"I can take care of myself," she had retorted, squinting into the night air, at least feeling somewhat refreshed by the chill breeze.

"I did not mean to suggest otherwise," said Brett, smirking a little. "But I would feel far better if I got to see you home safely."

"It's too stuffy to go home," she muttered. She could feel the words and thoughts in her head jumping about more than usual and she was not sure if she was picking out the ones she meant to.

"And where would you go instead?"

"I don't know. Just walk, until I wanted the subway and then go home," said Thea, with a shrug. She had to admit, his presence was not making her ability to think any easier. She was not sure what to make of the fact that it seemed like he did not want to spend the night with her.