Seduction and Surrender Ch. 01

Introduction

It was the first Monday of September, and, as I sat on the damp freezing stairs of an old house in London, my luggage on the floor next to me, 6 months' worth of clothes packed into the 2 suitcases I had predicted I would be able to carry, I could feel the first drops of rain starting to fall. "I can't believe I didn't bring an umbrella...". To be fair, just two weeks before I was living in Portugal, sunny lovely Portugal, with no plans of moving whatsoever - sometimes, a badly-timed breakup along with the wrong words from your boss are enough to change the course of your life. This was one of those times.

I checked my watch for the time: I had agreed to meet the owners of the house at 4 O'clock, and there were still 27 minutes to go, but the rain was falling harder now, and my light coat was no match for it. I texted the owners, asking if it was okay if I got there a little earlier, and George answered almost immediately: "No worries! Elizabeth won't be home for a while, but I can open the door for you". I've always hated not being punctual, but as the rain soaked my hair and ran down my back I could see I didn't really have any other options. I rang the doorbell carefully, hoping to come across as confident, and used my phone to check my makeup: just some light blush and a bit of eyeliner. My hair was absolutely destroyed, but my white shirt was thankfully still opaque. The door opened with a creak, and a man waved from the seemingly dry and so inviting entrance.

"You must be Maria!" he said. "Come in, come in, I'll get your bags."

I took what I could with me up the stairs while he went to get the rest. He was in his 40's, tall, blue eyes, good chin, great nose. I watched as he brought my other suitcase up the stairs - seemed strong, too. "Focus, Maria," I thought, "not the time nor place".

He joined me in the hall, closing the door behind me.

"Well," he looked around, his perfectly cleaned floor now wet and muddy, "welcome to Britain".

I held my hand out. "Thank you so much for having me, and I'm sorry about the mess. Wasn't counting on rain on my first day".

He shook my hand, a firm handshake. I felt a slight shiver going up my arm. It had been so long since I had any physical contact with another person... "You better start counting on it every day. Winter here is ruthless," he said. "We'll get you an umbrella for tomorrow and a better jacket. Elizabeth is already on her way, 20 minutes, give or take. Why don't I show you to your room and you can change into some more comfortable clothes?"

The house was big but clearly lived in. The hall opened into the living and dining room, from which you could see an open kitchen. There was a door to one of the bathrooms and another one to the children's room - George explained to me how they moved them from the upstairs room after they got smart enough to open the child lock that was supposed to stop them from going down the stairs, and yet not smart enough to be able to go down the stairs without slipping. On the second floor, there were only three doors. The main room, that George explained was a suite, right next to the guest room, where I would be staying, and a bathroom. "Well, here it is. I hope it's enough," George said, as he opened my door. The room seemed comfortable: next to the door there was a desk and a chair; the bed sat against the opposite wall, underneath the window, on top of a thick rug; to the right, some built-in closets, and to the left some bookshelves, empty for now. "New beginnings..."

"It is absolutely lovely, George. Thank you." He gave me my set of keys with a smile and left me to it.

I had found them, him and his wife, almost by mistake. Just two weeks before I was sitting in my best friend's flat, a glass of wine in one hand, a cigarette in the other - nasty habit, and a sure sign something awful was going on with my life. "I couldn't do it!" I'd said to her, more angry than sad. "I just couldn't. I got there 2 minutes late - 2 minutes! - after having the worst morning of my life. I could barely drive because my car was filled to the brim with all of my stuff! And the first thing she tells me is that she is not paying me for that first hour since I didn't work all of it. Can you imagine it? Well, I turned around and left. What was I supposed to do?".

"You could've stayed, worked your shift, kept your job. And then you wouldn't be homeless AND jobless," my friend said, while refilling my glass. "What is your plan now?"

"My first plan is to kill you and take your home. My second plan is to move half a world away and pretend the last two years never happened."

"Maybe you can actually do both - well, not the killing me, but the getting a house for free. I got an ad for one of those au pair programs earlier today. House, food, a normal salary on top of that, and you even get to move away for a bit... and it's childcare! - that's basically in your line of work."

"I took care of pets, Joana, it is not the same." I flicked my cigarette against the ashtray, wondering if it was a good idea to even entertain her suggestion. "Send one of those ads my way, I might check them out. But I doubt it's going to lead anywhere."

How wrong I had been. Sitting in my new room, in my new house (George and Elizabeth's house, to be fair), about to start my 6-month contract, I could feel I had made the right decision. I only had 3 online meetings with them before signing the contract and booking the plane, but I had no doubt they were good, honest people. And they needed me - I had missed being needed more than anything. I changed into fresh, dry clothes quickly, and tried to make sense of my hair. Downstairs, the door creaked. "Hi honey!" said a melodic, female voice. "She's just changing, she'll be down in a second," George answered. I got ready to go down. From the top of the stairs, I could see them in the living room. Elizabeth was tall, though not as tall as George, and her blonde hair was pinned in an elegant hairdo. She walked across the living room to meet him, soft long steps, and when she got closer he grabbed her by the waist and kissed her deeply, hungrily.

"Good day at work?" he asked, his arms still around her figure.

"Good day. You could always make it better..." she said, before noticing me. "Oh, Maria! Welcome, welcome!" She greeted me like we were old friends. Though George had explained some of the aspects of the house, she carried the bulk of that conversation. My main job was to get the kids from school and take care of them until dinner time - most au pairs take mornings too, but George and Elizabeth wanted to keep those moments to themselves. I was responsible for making breakfast and some of the dinners, and had most of the days and Saturdays free. "Mostly, we want someone to be there for the kids during those hours we're not home. Someone who is a friend and a teacher. Oh, I just know you're going to love them..." Elizabeth showed me their room, pink bunkbeds and stuffed animals everywhere. She showed me how to work the washing machine, my spot in the fridge ("Though you can always use our things if you want to!"), how the recycling system works. The house was immaculate, and she had a system for everything. She gave me the children's schedule, a list of all the telephone numbers I might need, and an already-charged transport card. "I hope I'm not forgetting anything... George, am I forgetting anything? Oh, the keys!"

"I've given her the keys, honey. And I'm sure that if she has any questions she can just ask."

"I am all good for now," I said. "Thank you again for having me."

"Oh, no, it's no bother. I'm sure it will be a pleasure having you with us. Too much time with the kids... We missed having someone else around". George's voice was pleasantly raspy as he talked. "The kids are staying with the grandparents today. We thought it was best you had this first day for yourself, to rest from your trip. If you want, you can join us for dinner. Make yourself at home."

"Thank you. I will!"

I will never forget those first few days, when I was still tiptoeing around the house, afraid to make a noise, afraid to be a nuisance. Before the first look that told me there was something else there, before the first moan I heard through those paper-thin walls, before the first touch that we made with second intentions... It was the beginning of the rest of my life. It felt like I could do anything - and that's exactly what I did.

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Chapter I

Only 4 days had passed before I started to refer to that house as my home. I had changed countries, friends, and languages, but at the end of the day a bed is a bed, and a warm meal is a warm meal. I adapted to my new routine easily as the Graham family adapted to me in return. I would wake up around 7 a.m. during the week and cook breakfast in my pajamas while Elizabeth and George got the kids ready. We would eat together, sharing our plans for the day, before Elizabeth kissed George goodbye and got the kids in the car to take them to school. George would leave a bit later on his bike, and I would tidy up before getting ready for my day. I was determined to use my time wisely, and so every day I would catch the bus to the local library, and work on my thesis - I had suspended my master's degree education when some money problems arose, and this was the perfect chance to finish it. I would leave around 4 p.m. to get the kids, and then spend a few hours with them before their parents got home: helping with homework or drawing, baking, painting, or dancing. Sometimes we would throw these elaborate tea parties and as their parents got home they would join us, pretending to drink the concoctions Amy and Grace had made, asking them about their fake-cookies recipes like they meant it. The kids would go to bed around 9 p.m., and then it was just me, George, and Elizabeth, sitting around in the living room, him working on his laptop, me cuddled in a blanket with a book in my hands, his wife watching the latest episode of a medical drama. Sometimes we would join her, and she would carefully explain the lore of long-gone episodes to us, who was mad at who, who was fucking who, as George and I tried to guess the mysterious diseases of those fictional patients. It was the softest of times, the most lovely of carefully planned routines. Saturday they would usually leave the house with the kids so I had some time to myself, but soon enough I started to join them on those little escapades, planning picnics and treasure hunts, and then Sunday we would lounge around the house, the kids entertaining themselves with some little game, Elizabeth and George enjoying each others company, and me resting on their little world, melting into it.

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I had been there for around 5 weeks when something changed. Maybe things had been changing for a while, slowly, unnoticed by me - maybe if I had paid attention I would have noticed that some stares I interpreted as thankful had a harder edge underneath, a glint of curiosity, a drop of hunger. Elizabeth had left for a girl's night, and the kids were at some sleepover party. I had planned on having dinner in my room but George wouldn't have it - he had bought some fine steaks and was eager to show me his special recipe.

"You see, you really have to make sure it's room temperature, or it messes with the timing." He was wearing an apron that the kids had made for him, "Best dad in the world" scribbled in big letters across the chest, and he moved around expertly. He got some dry herbs from the pantry, started making an herb brush, and kept talking as I set the table, explaining each step in great detail. "I think I'll choose the wine this time," he said, half mockingly - to his and Elizabeth's despair, I only liked light white wines, and insisted on drinking them even when we were having red meat. There was something in the atmosphere that night, something in his precise movements, his well-placed confidence, the almost childish apron covering his well-fitted suit. I didn't complain about his wine choice - he clearly knew what he was doing. The lights were all on but still the space seemed dimly lit, intimate.

Nothing happened that night. He asked me about my day, and I asked about his. No limits were crossed, no too-personal questions were raised. But the energy was different - serious, low, sizzling. He looked at me like he had so many times before, but this time I could feel his eyes on my body, following the soft curve of my neck, focusing on my mouth as I talked. It was like being undressed. The wine was heavy on my lips and mind, and I felt myself relax into it, a comfortable warmth growing inside of me. At a certain point, he asked me if I missed home.

"No. Not at all." I smiled and he smiled back. Those days seemed so far away. I told him some stories of my previous life, the unending hours at a mind-killing job, the little constant spats with the boyfriend I once thought I would marry. He told me of his girlfriend before Elizabeth, how he thought she was the love of his life before he even knew anything about love. I found myself giggling at his jokes, the buttery steak melting in my mouth. I reached for the bottle, to get some more wine, and he stopped me, his hand briefly touching mine. Burning.

"I think that might be enough." There was no judgment in his voice, and I complied. He checked his watch. "I should probably tidy up."

"I'll do it! You cooked, I clean. Is only fair." I got up and felt the effects of the wine hit me in full force.

"Don't even think about it. You had a tough week with the kids," Amy had been sick, and I had spent a couple of days home with her, "we owe you one. Go on, go sleep. I can take care of this."

"Thanks, George."

He touched my shoulder. "Don't even worry about it, kid."

I don't know what happened during that dinner but as I went up the stairs I could feel the electricity running through my body. His soft touch on my shoulder radiating through my whole being, awakening nerves I had forgotten were there. I went to my room and laid on the bed, replaying the dinner in my mind. His eyes following my every move, his lips as he talked. His short precise movements as he cut garlic for the steak, the muscles in his forearms as he held the heavy iron pan. I got up to close the door and started to get ready for bed, but even though it was the beginning of October, my room seemed too warm, the heat mixing with my dizziness and those pushy, delicious thoughts, burrowing in, making me restless. "Just silly little thoughts... They don't mean anything". I removed my earrings, and the image of George biting into his steak flashed into my mind. "He's your boss, and he's much older, and you have to focus anyway". I unbottened my pants, and pictured his hands peeling the garlic. "It's just the wine talking." I took my pants off and laid in bed again, but there he was, haunting my mind, flashes of his eyes pondering me with purpose. I let my hands rest on my breasts, above my shirt, and cupped them gently. "Don't do it. Don't open that door". My nipples were already hard, begging to be played with. I could feel all the warmth in the room concentrating in my belly, going down, slowly, draining in between my thighs. I started tracing slow circles around my nipples, getting closer and closer to the center of them, that little pin of pleasure just waiting to be awoken.

The three hard knocks on the door washed the pleasure away in an instant and sobered me up immediately after.

"Maria? Are you up?"

"Just a second!" I ran to get my bathrobe and opened the door as quickly as I could.

"You forgot your phone downstairs." He looked at me, intrigued. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, just getting ready for bed. Thanks. Thank you, I mean, for the phone". My heart was racing, and I'm sure my breathing couldn't have been completely regular.

"No problem. Sleep tight."

"Yeah, you too. Night night". As he walked away, I could feel the accumulated fatigue from a day's work building up in my bones. My mind tried to trick me into letting those daring, tempting images back in, but I wasn't going to fall for the same trick twice - I went to bed, closed my eyes, and did my best to focus on anything other than that sudden realization that I wanted George to fuck me, desperately.

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I woke up the next day with the alarm roaring inside my brain. I had a throbbing headache and my mouth was absolutely dry, but I took that as a good sign - I deserved way worse punishment for my behavior. I had been drunk, not drunk enough to forget everything that had happened, but just enough to almost be able to convince myself that alcohol had been the real agent behind my actions. As I took a cold shower, washing away the thin layer of sweat and hormones that had accumulated during my sleep, I tried telling myself that the previous night had been nothing more than the product of my overactive imagination.

I left the shower and reached for the towel, checking myself out in the mirror. My short brown hair stood in a million spikes, defying gravity - it was still too short to stand down on its own, barely reaching my earlobe. I don't see myself as hot, most of the time - spending the majority of your days taking care of kids and writing in a dusty library will do that to you - but that doesn't mean I don't understand the appeal: something about the contrast between my innocent face and voluptuous body seems to attract men and women alike. "Youth is wasted on the young..." I thought. "Twenty-one years old, my whole life in front of me, and I haven't had sex in almost ten months. No wonder I was about to jump George yesterday". There was a little voice inside my head telling me that wasn't the reason I had wanted him, that wasn't the reason at all, but I muted it. I turned slowly, admiring my soft curves, round hips, slender waist. It had been too long since anyone else had touched me, and I didn't even get to bring any toys with me to Britain - too scared of airport security. No, something had to be done. I was going to go shopping.

I did the morning routine as always, though the kids were not there, and George acted completely normal, as he usually did. "Why wouldn't he..." I thought, "It was all in your head. Dummy". He kissed his wife good morning, asked her about her night, told her about ours. I thought I'd seen a little glimmer in his eye as he told his wife about how he had to take my phone upstairs - "She wouldn't be here if I didn't, she was so tired I thought she might just sleep right here on her chair" - but surely it was my mind playing tricks on me again. Since Elizabeth didn't have to drive the kids to school, they left together in her car, leaving me home all alone. Usually, I would go straight for the library, but today was not a usual day - I googled the address I needed and went on my way.

The sex shop was in a basement, which did not inspire any significant amount of trust, and it was trying to pass unnoticed and attract clientele at the same time, which was not doing it any favors in terms of branding. A bell announced my arrival as I went in, but the staff was nowhere to be seen. Despite that, I could tell it was a good sex shop: clean, tidy, with a nice array of options. I looked around, ignored the bachelor party section, skipped the anal one too (not that it was something I would completely write off, but just not what I was looking for at the moment), and went straight for the rabbits.

"We have a new one in," said a female voice, from the desk. I turned to see a woman in her thirties looking back at me. "Like one of those shampoos for men".