Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Getting up, I looked at my tub, suddenly acutely aware of every one of my aching muscles that came from scrubbing every inch of this house, from doing laundry and pulling weeds and cooking and, yeah, all the walking. Sure, shopping had been involved. But there was still a lot of walking since I didn’t feel right using more of his money than was absolutely necessary to pay for cabs.
“You’re just not going to cut it today,” I said to the tub. Deeper than mine but too shallow to really relax in.
It was, technically, my lunch break.
I had every right to take a soak.
And Emilio had invited me to use his tub.
I went ahead and didn’t let myself think it through.
I just grabbed a change of clothes, some soap, and rushed down the hall and into his room.
The funny thing about his room was that no matter how fresh his linens were, and how much I’d cleaned the space, it always smelled like him. That kind of woodsy, intoxicating smell that clung to him, his clothes, his bed, everything.
I both loved and hated it.
Loved because, well, it smelled like fucking sin.
And hated because… it smelled like sin and I wanted to stick my face in his neck to get a good whiff. Preferably while his hands sank into my ass and his cock slid inside of me.
So… yeah.
That was where I was at.
Greedy to screw the man I was starting to really like and was, by my very presence in his home, betraying.
I was hit by that scent, though, as I made my way into his room.
Did I stop and take a deep breath? You bet your ass I did.
And as insane as this is, I felt a freaking spark of desire just from his scent as I walked through his room and into the bathroom.
The previous owner had remodeled all of the bathrooms, but the primary one was the most impressive. With it’s all-glass walk in shower that was big enough to comfortably fit five, with each person getting their own shower head, plus one rainfall spray in the center for good measure.
They’d gone with classic elements to respect the bones of the house. So the walls were a subway tile with a darker grout. The floor was those itty bitty round tiles that I didn’t know the name of, but was super charmed by.
An old clawfoot tub would probably be the most appropriate for the space and the house, but I could tell there had been a woman who lived here previously, and that she appreciated a good soak as well. Because she’d chosen this huge, double slipper, copper soaking tub that made me want to cry every time I saw it.
I walked over, turning on the water, letting it run until it was the right kind of hot. So, you know, a little too. Then I poured in some of the soap, and started to strip out of my clothes.
I did this kind of slowly. As I moved around the room. Feeling a little, I don’t know, rebellious about it. Even though I had permission, it felt somewhat scandalous to be getting naked in your boss’s bathroom. Especially surrounded by his scent.
You’d think that working for a man in a way that included cleaning his bathroom would make you, you know, fall out of lust with them real fast.
Maybe that was true for other men.
But Emilio Costa was surprisingly tidy.
No beard hairs in the sink. He always cleaned up after himself and got them in the trash. No toothpaste gunk. No splatter on the mirror. No other grossness that I would need to deal with.
If anything, the man’s ability not to be a complete disgusting slob in his own bathroom only made me like him even more.
Taking a deep breath, I climbed in the tub, turning off the tap, and sinking in deep, feeling the heat sear into me in that comforting way I liked.
Suddenly, it was like the call with Renzo had never taken place.
Every muscle eased.
The world fell away.
It was just me and my love affair with this tub. And, of course, the scent of Emilio all around.
I mean… I’d already crossed this line. What was one more, right?
At least that was what I figured as my hand moved down my body, making a beeline for the source of that deep ache I’d been pretending to ignore since almost the first moment I’d met the man.
It didn’t help that my second meeting with him involved no shirt and open slacks in the front, all but begging me to reach inside, to feel the length and hardness of him.
And that was exactly what I was thinking about as my fingers started to move over my clit, then slid inside, flattening my palm to my cleft to keep it engaged as I imagined him coming home from work, finding me in the kitchen, then walking up behind me, running his hands over my breasts, down my stomach, into my pants.