The floors are wide-plank hardwood; the kitchen is sleek and modern but still warm and neutral. The furniture is perfectly worn leather, and the wool rugs that cover the floor are amazing and high quality. The large windows overlook the surrounding woods. The thick trees surrounding the house are nearly claustrophobic, but in the most amazing and comforting way. There is no view but the thick trunks of trees, branches, leaves, and the forest floor as far as the eye can see. Off the back of the house is a well-maintained pond, manmade, with perfect landscaping and stone work surrounding a good portion of it. The large deck off the back expands the width of the house. It has no rails and simply ends as it overhangs the closest edge of the pond. I have no idea how they’ve melded the water with the house without losing the foundational integrity of the house, but it is stunning. You could literally lie at the edge of the deck and stare straight down to the pond beneath. For that matter, the water is so close I could reach out and touch it a mere foot below.

As Derek shows me around, I fall more and more in love with the place. I could stay here forever with him. Trimbles fades to the background of my mind, and I’m suddenly and completely at ease. I know we’ll only be here for one night, but I have every intention of forgetting the rest of my life until we leave this place tomorrow. I want this break from that life; it is a much-needed respite.

Derek walks me down a long hallway to the master bedroom. One entire wall is made up of windows that open to the same long deck and pond beyond. The bed is large and inviting, and as I eye it longingly, I imagine Derek making love to me here. I want him to make love to me more than ever before. I thought that giving myself to another man would somehow dash that desire for him, but on the contrary, I can’t wait for him to “reclaim” my body, as he spoke of the night before. It is more than a want, and far more like a desperate need pulsing within my body. I do belong to him, and I need him to take me back from that disgusting man and all his romantastic bullshit. Derek catches me looking longingly at the bed and whispers, “later,” as he pulls me from the room.

Once back in the living room, Derek looks to me, waiting for me to speak. And I do. “Derek … sorry, Mr. Pennington, it’s beautiful. Whose is it?”

He walks to me slowly, palming his keys in his hand as he approaches, and he leans toward my ear. “I like Derek. And it’s mine. I have more talents than just managing escorts.” He winks as he brushes past my shoulder toward the door.

“You mean you built it?” My question trails after him.

When he reaches the door, he looks back with a smirk gently pulling his mouth. “I designed it. I was an architect before I sold my soul to the devil … or Mr. Grayson more precisely.” He pulls the door open, still eying me with his beautiful smirk, and gives me his parting words. “Stay put. I’m running to town for some groceries.” And he’s out the door as I stare slack-jawed after him. Architect! I’m starting to think he belongs at Trimbles even less than I do.

While he’s left my mind reeling with his words, they’re certainly not enough to stop me from spending this time exploring his home some more.

I end up lying on my stomach at the edge of the deck, trailing my hand through the water below. It is cool and clear, and I’m suddenly overcome with a fairly childish desire to jump in naked and swim. I learned to swim early in life, and I’m as comfortable in water as I am on land. I love the feeling of being completely surrounded by water, and the weightless relaxation of floating around in a pool for hours. As I peel myself out of my clothes, leaving them heaped on the deck, I only pause for a brief moment to wonder if Derek will be upset with me before I jump in.

I swim, diving deep to the sandy bottom. The water is so incredibly clear. I float on my back endlessly, spacing off into comfort, and I think about Derek and all his mystery. I know nothing about him at all. He comes from a political family, he doesn’t talk to them, he designs houses … what else don’t I know about this man? I’m guessing far more than I’ve figured out thus far. I drift aimlessly around in the clear water that is speckled only with leaves that have fallen from the lush trees, with Derek’s beautiful lips and exceptional features in my mind. I have no idea how long I’ve been swimming, floating, daydreaming, but as I reinvigorate, I dive back down below the surface, not yet ready to give it up. When I return to the surface though, I look toward the deck. He’s back, and at this distance, I can’t tell if he’s upset to see me swimming alone in the pond or not.

He’s leaning against one of the pillars that support the overhanging roof of the pergola-style deck. I continue to watch him as I start to slowly, hesitantly swim back toward the deck. When I reach the deck, I see by the smirk on his face that he isn’t upset in the least, or at least he’s not going to say he is. He reaches a hand down to me and pulls me easily to the deck. He stands in front of me, letting his gaze travel every dripping inch of my body as I inhale deep and needy breaths, waiting and hoping for him to make a move. He does, and moments later, I’m in his arms and he’s carrying me away to the very inviting bed in the master bedroom.

He lays me gently down on the quilt that covers the bed and hastily pushes my legs apart as he covers my body with his. He’s still clothed, but every time I reach for the waist of his jeans, he stops my hands. When at long last I give up trying to undress him, he moves to my mouth. Pulling my chin down, he invades my mouth forcefully. He wants my mouth, which is such a complete flip from two weeks prior, when the very act of kissing me seemed to chill his body. He’ll hear no complaints from me. I need his kisses; this intimacy is healing in a way that nothing else can even touch, but as he slowly pulls from my mouth and looks in my eyes, I still in nervousness at his next words.

“I want you to let me taste your pussy.” His smirk is downright lascivious, as he well knows.

This man has pushed every last limit I’ve ever had and ever imagined I would have, but this is more than what my self-conscious, often self-loathing, overly naïve, and let’s face it, chicken-shit mind can handle. There is no way this man can want to be so up close and personal with my vagina. If he’s trying to convince me that I don’t repel him after the events of the night before, sex will do just fine, thank you. I just don’t have the nerve to let this man, whom I happen to be obsessed with, “taste” my most intimate girl bits.

But as usual, he is unrelenting. He watches my eyes, not the least bit phased by my fear. His swollen cock, still restrained by his pants, brushes enticingly across my sex, and I realize this is exactly what he wants, really and truly wants. But we don’t do this. If kissing is taboo for a house manager and one of his girls, this is downright illegal. As always, though, his desire has my body tingling. I know the feel of his mouth on that most private part of my body would, without a doubt, be incredible, but there is far more to this act than simple physical pleasure. Submitting in such an intimate way, with nowhere to run and hide, with every last inch of my body exposed and tasted, is terrifying. This is beyond being vulnerable to him, and my self-conscious fear has me frozen. This beautiful man can’t possibly want to see me and experience me in such a way. And yet, even as my fear rises, so, too, do the goose bumps on my skin that betray my nervousness and undeniable lust for this.

“We aren’t allowed to do that, are we?”

“I’m allowed to do whatever I want to you, and quite frankly, what we choose to do together when we’re alone is no one’s business but ours.” I watch him warily. I love his words, but I’m terrified of where he’s going with this.

I can’t do this. What will he think of me? Then I have to remind myself that I asked the same question of him the night before, and it is quite obvious his opinion of me hasn’t suffered in the least. His face is pained in need for my body. He’s clothed, and his body is straining against the zipped fly of his jeans. He wants me so desperately, and nothing of what he’s seen so far has affected that. What makes me think this would?

He’s tiring of my hesitation, and in his effort to set my mind at ease, he continues. “I want to know your taste, just like you know mine. Why should that be surprising? I’ve wanted to taste your sweetness since the first moment I saw you trembling and naked in that damn interview chair.”

“And here I thought you hated my guts when you met me…” Oops. The brain-mouth filter is just broken today for some reason, and watching his already hooded and desperate eyes, I realize this is just one such time that I perhaps should have kept my mouth shut.

“I’m practically drooling on you, and you want to discuss this right now?” I stare slack-jawed at his face. He’s not upset; he’s just so damn desperate for me, and I’m desperate for him too. Why couldn’t I have just kept my damn mouth shut! But as he watches me while I’m stunned into silence, he speaks again. “I’ve never hated you … not ever. But I’m sure it felt that way…” His voice and eyes trail away at this admission.

He’s right. It did feel that way, and I don’t want to do this right now. It’s too much, too heavy, and too real. Suddenly, his mouth on my pussy seems like a far easier prospect than having this conversation.

His eyes return to mine, but before he can speak another word or offer some explanation or delve too deeply into those early days, I decide to kiss him. Swiftly, I take his mouth, and when our mouths part, I whisper, “Okay, but, I’m really nervous.”

“Aren’t you always?” The smirk has returned.

He doesn’t wait for my answer before his mouth moves to my neck, where he gently nibbles and kisses his way along my collarbone. Intimate is an understatement. His deep breathing as he works his way around my neck is all the evidence I need of his want for me. When he moves farther down to my breasts, my breath starts to shudder, and my muscles start to twitch. He kisses trails across my breasts, avoiding my nipples, and at long last, when he finally pulls one nipple harshly and deeply into his mouth, I gasp and groan at the sudden intense sensation that radiates down to my groin. My other nipple is equally eager for his attention, and he leaves them both glistening from his mouth before moving farther down.

At my stomach, his fingers start to gently caress their way across my body, so feather light that the tickle has my stomach muscles clenching and quivering. He’s watching my eyes, his incredible, dark eyes taking in every reaction I have. I feel beautiful, held strongly in his gaze. He’s giving me every last ounce of reassurance I haven’t been sullied and destroyed by my choices. The realization that my self-hatred and loathing will never come from him, but only from me, is sobering. He’s not my enemy, and I have nothing to fear from this man. I continue to look into his eyes, and I give myself over completely to his wishes.

He seems to see this shift in me instantly, as he whispers, “Okay?” and waits for my final approval. I nod, never taking my eyes from his. At the first touch of his lips on my lower abdomen, right above my pubic hairline, I still, not breathing, not moving a muscle. He inhales deeply with his nose to my sex, and I wait in desperation for more touch. He gives it. His fingers gently part the lips of my vagina, and he looks intently and closely at my body. He reaches another finger to the slick, wet folds, and strokes gently, still studying every last contour of my body. With one final look to my eyes, he lowers his mouth to me, and when his lips seal against my pussy, I gasp. His tongue starts to move over my skin, tasting my wetness. When his tongue finds my tight nub, he focuses all of his attention on that one place.

My hips are writhing beneath his mouth, but he holds tight to me, never separating his mouth from my body. My climax is building, and my body is coming unglued as his mouth and tongue continue to work on my body. The sensation is more incredible than I could have imagined. It is the combination of warmth and an itch that begs to be satisfied. My orgasm will relieve the mounting tension, but as it continues to build with every touch to the most sensitive bundle of nerves in my body, he pulls away, leaving me gasping and desperate. I want to pull his mouth back to my body, and I realize that my fear was easily set aside for the amazing pleasure of this act.