And with that, I lowered my head to her sweet pout, taking the little girl’s lips. Because these were the words that I needed to hear, a balm over my sore heart. This woman would be with me through thick and thin, even if I rejected the highest office in the land. She didn’t care about keeping up with the Joneses, or about the trappings of success. She wanted to be with me because true love is the way to happiness, and we were destined to walk the path together.
So yes, despite our unconventional beginnings, the starlet and the President found their way together. It was crazy, our first meeting taking place in a seedy joint called the Pink Flamingo. But you know what? It’s no crazier than on-line dating or using a matchmaker. And what’s important is that my true love is in my arms … for better or worse, richer or poorer, until death do us part.
THE END
His Princess
~The Billionaire’s Maid~
© 2018
By Gemma Wolf
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CHAPTER 1
HOWIE
My cock is rock hard and throbbing against the zipper of my tailored pants. If I stare at her too long, I’m going to have to take these Italian slacks back to the dry cleaners. I’ve never seen the maid by the couch in my penthouse before. I would have noticed a girl like that. She’s on her hands and knees by the white leather sofa, right in front of my penthouse window. She wipes the marble floor like it needs cleaning, but actually, this whole place is pristine.
I set my briefcase down on the kitchen counter while she work on the other side of the apartment. I keep her in my eye as I ask Edwin, my butler, about the new girl.
“Edwin, who is that?”
“Who, the maid?”
“Yes, the maid.” Her head perks up like she’s heard us talking. But no, the girl’s noticed a stain on the couch and sits upright and starts to wipe again. Her blonde hair is bound in a tight ponytail that reaches down her back. I can see her breathing. Her chest moves up and down. She’s on her knees on my floor. Her sweet cunt hovers over my Persian rug.
Edwin frowns while staring her way.
“We hired her while you were vacationing in Florence. Is there a problem with her services?”
“No problem at all, Edwin. Just asking.”
My butler nods and bows before scuttling off. Suddenly, it’s just the two of us together in the living room. The blonde’s kneeling now, stroking at a stain that doesn’t really exist. My cock twitches under my belt. I have to adjust my pants to hide my erection, but at that moment, she raises her face and I catch a glimpse of a perfect profile. Wow. Since when did Miss America clean house for others?
I know what you’re thinking. He’s just some rich asshole with no heart for others. He doesn’t care about the help, much less some poor girl who works for pennies. But you’re wrong. I’ve served my time, literally. I was in Afghanistan during 2007, where I almost lost my leg and my arm. I’ve known the grunts, and I’ve known the guys in charge too. But somehow, this girl changes the equation. All the memories of war rush away when I see her ponytail bobbing up and down on the other side of the white couch, intersecting with the tip of the Empire State Building looming in the penthouse window.
I clear my throat. I’ve got to say something. If I don’t, my cock is going to scream something rude and crass. In fact, there’s a little bulb of moisture coming out of the tip. And all this from seeing her ponytail, for god’s sake. I clear my throat again. This time the maid’s face turns, and the breath whooshes out of my chest.
Because she’s gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. Blue eyes as clear as the sky and lips like rose petals, ripe and velvety. She’s looking straight at me.
“Mr. Bates,” interrupts a voice to my left. It’s Albie, the elderly woman who is the head housekeeper of my New York property. “Mr. Bates, you’ve got a phone call.”
I try to bring my erection down. I try to think about Albie or someone else who’s old and decrepit. But it’s useless because I’ve seen that face now and my body’s on fire. Her chin hovers above lush, swaying breasts. Those tits scream out for me under the buttons.
Oh shit. I need her. My very own Cinderella.
But the phone call can’t be ignored, so I grunt something inarticulate and turn away, striding to my mahogany-paneled office. Seizing the receiver, I speak.
“Yes, go ahead and transfer the six hundred million. The offshore accounts are going to be fine. Look, next time you need my permission, go through my accountants, okay? You’ve interrupted a perfectly lovely afternoon.”
Because this business stuff is fucking boring. I’m thinking about how soft her lips are going to feel on my cock. I’m thinking about tonguing that pussy. Fuck, I’m thinking about tonguing that asshole even. I just want my mouth on that delectable maid.
The voice on the line burbles something that sounds like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon.
“No apology necessary,” is my grunt. “I’ll talk to you later.”