Earning Her Keep (Price of Love)

She my own personal fucking wet dream. All innocence and little girl sweetness and at the same time, like sex incarnate.

She smooths the fabric nervously as she walks in, oblivious to her power. “Hi,” she waves, her voice a whisper.

“You’re late.”

She blinks up at me, rocking forward on her tiptoes. “I’m in heels. And there are lots of steps.”

I can’t help but smile down at her. “Three minutes I can forgive.”

“But not five?” she plays with a smirk then smiles again. Her dimple puckers her cheek.

“Not five. I’d send the cavalry.” I clear my throat. “No, I’d be the cavalry.”

“Hmmm.” She sweeps her hair to the side. Lifts an eyebrow. “So does that mean I get punished if I’m five minutes late?”

“Yeah.”

“’Mmmm-kay then! Be back in two minutes,” she chirps, and turns to go on a little skip-hop, teetering off balance on the heels like she’s going to run away.

Cute as fuck.

My deep belly laugh takes me by complete surprise. But she’s not surprised; she doesn’t know how fucking rare it is. And her giggle dances with my laugh, filling this big dining room with the sounds of happiness for the first time in as long as I’ve lived here.

I grab her by the forearm and spin her back into my arms. I press my nose to the part of her hair, savoring her sweetness.

I offer her my hand and lead her to her place at the table. I pull out the chair and she sits down.

I watch her as she takes in the room. At the yellow lilies on the table, also her favorite. At the music playing. Max Richter remixing Vivaldi.

“I like the way you do things. The new and the old.”

I know she’s talking about our surroundings, or the music, but she could also be talking about the two of us. I’m not that old, but I’m a fuckload older than her sweet pure eighteen years. More than twice her age. “Seems to work out.”

She takes her napkin and places it carefully on her lap. “Can I ask you questions now? Is that allowed?”

“Not yet. Tell me about the reading first.”

She inhales, surprised, off-guard. “Do I have to?” Her cheeks ripen to pink, the wash of embarrassment flowing down and blooming on her chest.

I don’t even justify that with an answer.

She sighs. “Well. It’s bad. I never had a chance to really go to school. Not like most kids. I was home-schooled, and not very well. Just the bare minimum. And it wasn’t enough.”

I fucking understand where she’s coming from. I know what it’s like to feel trapped in your own mind. Trapped by what seems so easy for everyone else. “Let me do some research. Let me see what we can do.”

She nods. Her eyes shimmer with warmth. “I don’t want to be a burden, though. I don’t want your pity.”

I shake my head. “Never, baby. I promise.”

“Good.” She stands straight, head up. Her confidence makes me proud. “Now my turn. I’m so curious about you. Can I ask about you? Please?” She leans in, hand on my lapel, making my cock jump and weep, then she adds on a soft whisper. “Please, Daddy.”

Jesus, she knows how to hit below the belt.

The earnestness of her question, her genuine desire to know the rules, only hardens me more and cinches my chest. I was half-hard as soon as I saw her but now, I’m nine inches of forged steel in my pants.

“You can ask. But I might not answer.”

She nods. “Alright. What I really want to know is what you do for a living. How do you have all this?” Her eyes sweep the room. “How do you have Ethel and Morty, and those cars, and this estate? You hardly leave the house.”

“With an office like mine, I don’t have to.”

She tilts her head in curiosity. “That’s true. I haven’t seen your office, have I?”

I sip my whiskey. “Nobody has. Not even Ethel.”

“Well, well,” she bobs her eyebrows, now tasting the freshly-squeezed ginger mint lemonade I have on the table for her. She gives a little moan of pleasure as she tries it. “This is amazing. I said I liked lemonade but I’ve never tasted it like this.” She holds the glass in front of her, turning it back and forth on a nod, then finishes, “And seeing your office is my newest challenge.”

She licks her lips. My mind spins with images of fucking her on my glass desk. The squeak of her ass cheeks on the tabletop. The puddle of her wetness on my office chair. Stuffing my cock down her throat until she gags. Until she’s nothing but tears and sweat and my seed.

Fuck.

Ethel comes into the room, snapping me out of my filthy thoughts. She serves the salads, explaining to Emily what everything is on the plate. “Oh, I love candied walnuts. And goat cheese! Even though I’ve never had them, I can just tell. So fancy.”