The Billionaire's Valentine Vixen

Linnie is a frozen statue. I see her evaluating things and I know better than to try to rush her. Which is fine, because I’d stay here watching Alice for as long as she’s willing to stay.

Alice pulls off the crazy hat and her hair frames her stunning face in soft waves. Her beauty rivals anything in the paintings and sculptures that fill the house and looking at her has my balls ready to release what feels like a truckload of cum into my boxers. There’s an ache down low in my gut that’s more than just unfamiliar, it’s new. A tension, twisting like a tight spring, ready to unleash itself upon the unsuspecting babysitter that’s already changing my life.

Under her coat, her clothes swallow her. A man’s shirt, which bothers me the most because if she’s going to be wearing any man’s shirt it better be mine. It’s buttoned all the way to the top and falls to the tops of her thighs, which are covered with khaki pants three sizes too big and I wonder if her clothes are protecting her from something. If she’s intentionally hiding her body because of some violation she’s endured, and that quick thought has red fire blazing through me.

If anyone’s hurt her, I don’t care how far back it happened, I’ll find them. I’ll scorch the earth until I rend them into their own utter destruction.

My irrational blind fury is broken when I watch Linnie screw up her face into a tight knot and my stomach does the same because I know what’s coming.

“Linnie…” I start but Alice shoots me a look and smiles, holding her index finger to her pink, puffy lips and blowing a soft shhhhh through them... and I want to explode. She’s a mixture of vixen and valentine in a package wrapped with horrible clothes, but somehow her beauty overpowers it all.

I’m struggling for my next breath as I watch Linnie’s little hands move in a fury and I’m sure Alice is going to walk right back out the front door. I can tell Linnie’s probably cursing and I open my mouth to try to explain and apologize, but before I can, the little bit of oxygen left in my lungs expels. It feels like a fist has lodged in my gut and an odd, dreamlike feeling takes over as I see Alice raise her hands in front of her and she starts to sign back at Linnie.

She knows sign language? What the hell is happening here?

“What is she saying?” I ask as Linnie’s hands start to move again as Alice watches.

“I apologized that I didn’t realize she was hearing impaired.”

“She’s not…”

Alice smiles up at Linnie, who descends two steps then sits staring at Alice.

“Yes,” Alice answers, “she just told me that.”

“What else did she say?”

“Well, she knows some interesting words. And, she said you think I’m pretty.” I hear Linnie giggle and I give her a look and she shrugs, her plump little cheeks cracking the plaster of flour and egg as she leans her chin on her hands, elbows on her knees, her brown eyes stuck on Alice.

“Well, you are pretty.”

“That’s genetics. Nothing to be proud of.” Her shoulders square, her voice taking on a brave edge and that flicker of fire ignites again inside me, thinking she’s been hurt and it has something to do with her beauty. “Inherited things or genes are not of our own making and therefore not a source of self-esteem. At least, they shouldn’t be.”

She glances around the opulent space on a little shrug.

“Touche,” I answer with the realization that she’s right, and although I’ve never boasted about my own sort of inheritance, right now I feel a twinge of guilt. “I inherited this estate. I built my own house before my sister and her husband were killed. My place is nothing like this, but this was Linnie’s home, so, here we are.”

“It’s fine. It’s just my opinion, not gospel.” She looks back at Linnie who smiles and spells out something else with her hands and Alice answers back.

“What did she say and what did you say?”

“She wanted to know how I knew sign language. I told her my Grandmother was deaf from a bomb explosion during the war where she was a nurse. So, she could speak but also had learned sign language. She taught me.”

Alice shrugs, looking a bit unsure as she runs her hands down the front of her shirt then folding her hand in her lap.

A goddess like her has surely had to handle her share of unwanted attention. I can already tell she’s aware of her attributes, but something tells me there’s an innocence there too, as well as a strong sense of self and a practical nature. It’s an intoxicating combination that has me spinning and trying to keep a grip on reality.