Chapter Six

I’ve been to Donovan’s place many times. And his parents as well. It’s not my first time experiencing the world of the richy rich.

But the Sebastians are a whole other level of rich, and if I wasn’t aware of it before I exited the elevator into Steele’s spacious penthouse apartment overlooking Riverside Drive, I am now being educated. The floor beneath my feet is black marble, the ceiling is brass plated, and the single piece of furniture in the foyer is a walnut console with what appears to be a solid gold base.

Most notably, though, is that I’m greeted by a prim but gorgeous woman with her hair up in a black pantsuit. Another personal assistant? A butler? A house manager? What kinds of employees does a bachelor billionaire with no children need?

The woman introduces herself as Mindy then leads me to a living/dining/kitchen area with luxury appliances, sleek modern furnishings, and floor to ceiling windows. “Mr. Sebastian will be with you shortly,” she says. “I’ll be back in a moment with what you are to wear.”

What I’m to wear ?

Is Steele one of those bossy dominant types who controls the women he dates and tells them how to dress and who to talk to and when to come? I’m sure that’s supposed to be a red flag, but the idea makes my thighs vibrate like a hummingbird.

The asshole better have good taste, and he better know I’m never leaving Donovan.

I decide I should let him know that sooner rather than later, and plot how I can introduce that to our relationship as I stare out at the greenery across the street.

“The view can be distracting.”

I turn to find Steele dressed in designer slacks, sans tie and jacket, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up.

No man has a right to look that good disheveled. Talk about distracting. “I’m not quitting my job for you,” I blurt out, before I can stop myself.

He only looks mildly thrown by the comment. “Right. You took a personal day.”

“Yes. So, I’m not usually available on a Thursday morning like this.”

“Okay.” He waits a beat for me to—I don’t know—clarify my earlier remark. When I don’t, he goes on. “Anyway. Kitchen’s here,” he says, pointing out the obvious. “My study is down this hall on the right. Bathroom on the left. Mindy should be getting you your outfit.”

I’m starting to have a feeling that I’ve missed something. “About that…Is what I’m wearing not appropriate?”

He scans my terracotta-colored puff sleeve dress—low cut and high leg, though not so short that my missing panties are an issue—then returns his gaze to mine. “I prefer my staff to wear less colorful outfits. Keeps things more orderly. Or did you mean just in general? In general, the dress is fine enough.”

I’ve definitely missed something because:

1. This dress is premium date-wear. It’s not, in any universe, just “fine enough”.

2. “Keeps things more orderly” ...for whom? I’m sensing he was one of those boys in school who would blame a bad grade on the “distracting” spaghetti straps worn by the girl seated next to him. In which case, I’m about to puke.

3. Did he just refer to me as staff ?

Much as I hate to admit I’m not anything but on the ball, I take a step toward him. “Um, just why exactly do you think I’m here?”

He points at me with a way-too-satisfied grin. “You’re here because you lost.”

“I lost, and that meant I owed you a…” I quickly play back the conversation from yesterday, and realize he never actually said this was a date. He had me list reasons I shouldn’t date him, which led to my assumption that this was a date, but he never actually said that.

That whole stupid quip about assuming making you an ass never felt more accurate.

God, I’m stupid. But I think I can salvage this if I just don’t let him know.

“Oh. Did you assume something else was going on here?”

…And he already knows.

Already knows because it was likely what he wanted me to assume. His triumphant expression makes me feral. That fucker is good, I’ll give him that. And quick. Laying that trap on the fly.

Either I hate him more than anyone I’ve ever hated before, or I’m starting to fall for the guy. Hard to tell.

“Fine.” It’s as close as I’ll get to admitting anything. “I’m here. What fucked up chore are you planning to dump on me?”

“Come on. What kind of a guy do you think I am?” The down and dirty type. That’s what kind. “You’re an experienced personal assistant, which is exactly what I intend to use you for since my usual personal assistant is out.”

“Claudette?”

“Claudette’s my PA at the office. Lola is my PA at home.”

For fuck’s sake. How many assistants does this guy have? “Mindy isn’t your home PA?”

“She’s my house manager. Totally separate tasks. Anyway, point being, Lola is out getting a boob job, so my home office has gotten out of hand. I thought you could help get it all cleaned up.”

Any time a man shows respect for my organizational skills, they’ve won my devotion. Seriously, it’s a wonder that I don’t get on my knees right now. Though, with all the attractive women around, Steele might get that sort of appreciation on the regular.

I try to pretend that it doesn't make me jealous. “At least it’s good to know you pay your employees enough to afford cosmetic work.”

He laughs. “Lola’s boob job? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m paying for it.”

Yeah, he definitely has an interesting relationship with his staff.

Before I can ask more questions that I probably don’t want to know the answer to, Mindy arrives with my “outfit”. She hands it over in a sealed plastic bag, and sure enough, it’s black and boring. Probably another pantsuit. Hopefully, it fits. I’m an average weight, but five foot ten puts me on the tall side.

“Thank you, Mindy,” Steele says before turning to me. “We’ll be working in the office, if you want to change in the bathroom I mentioned earlier…”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do that.”

I venture down the hall and find the powder room just where he said it would be. Once the door’s shut, I stare at myself in the mirror and try to properly assess the situation. Up until now, I thought we’d been playing some kinky filthy back and forth thing, but if Steele wants me to do some real work for him—well. I don’t know how to feel about that.

On the one hand, I really do love a good organizational task.

On the other, I’d rather have my pussy licked.

I suppose the best of worlds would include both.

With a sigh, I open the package and shake out the outfit, and burst into laughter when I discover it’s not a pantsuit at all, but a maid’s uniform. The French maid type. Complete with a white apron. Short and sexy, and yeah. This is definitely still a kinky filthy game.

Does Mindy know?

Does he play this game with her as well? And Claudette? And Lola? It would explain why he’s paying for her implants. He’s probably the one who encouraged her to get them.

But seriously, what do I expect? He’s a billionaire. He can mix business with pleasure all he wants. It’s not like I’m looking for anything but fun myself, so do I really care what he’s doing with his employees?

If I do care, I’ll never admit it. Not even to myself.

And that means that a few minutes later, I’m dressed in the outfit and ready to “work”. With no panties, my ass cheeks are on display, so I scurry out of the bathroom and to the office before Mindy sees me. Even if she’s aware of what I’m really here for, I prefer my sexcapades happen in private.

I find Steele seated, not behind his desk, but in an armchair with a digital tablet in hand. He doesn’t look up when I enter.

I pull the door shut behind me and pose myself in a sexy-lean-against-the-wall pose.

“Keep it open, please.” He still doesn’t look at me.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving the door open when I’m dressed like this.”

“Lola doesn’t mind.”

“Lola wears this same outfit?”

Finally, he looks up, and stoic as he’s pretending to be, he can’t hide his hooded gaze. “Not exactly that outfit, I suppose. Longer, maybe. The service has their own uniforms, and I don’t usually pay attention.”

Then maybe he isn’t fucking Lola, but now I’m getting a different interpretation of what’s going on here. “Wait a minute…is Lola your housekeeper?”

“Housekeeper. Personal assistant. Same thing, right? I know some of you are sensitive about the actual label.”

Rage boils through my body. “You think the job I do is equivalent to a housekeeper?” Not to knock housekeepers. They deserve the utmost respect, and if it were my job, I would hate it when anyone conflated that work with something that it wasn’t, and I would hate it as much as I am right now. “I am not a goddamned housekeeper, Steele. I’m an exceptionally skilled personal office assistant.”

“And we’re in an office. So…” He waggles his fingers like he’s shooing me to work. “The bookcases are gathering a layer of dust. And don’t forget the trash bin.”

He goes back to his tablet, swiping his screen as though he’s reading a book.

Reading a book while he expects me to clean his motherfucking office.

I’m seventy-five percent sure that the asshole has to be pulling my leg. Has to be. Right? But the twenty-five percent part of me that’s uncertain is mad enough to take over my whole personality. He wants me to dust his office? He wants me to empty his trash?

Fine.

On my terms.

I scan the room and find a decorative doily under one of his plants. (Admittedly, the fact that he has real live plants in his bachelor pad, makes me hate him a smidge less.) I move the plant off the ornamental lace, and study it long enough to realize it’s delicate, most likely antique, and definitely not something that should be used for cleaning tasks, but Steele should have thought of that before he put me to work for the day.

Ignoring the bookshelves closest to me, I cross to the ones right behind him and start my dusting there. One shelf in, and the doily is already filthy. It’s as if the shelves haven’t been cleaned in weeks. I’m pretty sure a boob job doesn’t take a woman out for more than a couple. Either Lola has been gone longer, or she’s not a very good housekeeper.

As tempting as it is to prove I can do a better job, that’s not my goal right now. With the first shelf done, I bend to clean the one below it, and do I stick my naked butt in Steele’s face when I bend?

You bet my sweet ass I do.

I stick it in his face, and wiggle it around. Bent over like this, he has a view of my pussy as well. I wait a beat for him to make a move.

Then another beat.

Finally, I peer over my shoulder to see what he’s doing, and the fucker isn’t even looking. Frustration doesn’t begin to describe how I’m feeling, until I notice that there is a very definitive bulge in that billionaire’s lap.

Pretending he didn’t peek when obviously he did.

Or maybe he just gets off on the whole scenario in general.

Either way, he’s on my hook, whether he likes it or not, which means I need to deliver more of the same. This time, I attack the higher shelves. I get all of the ones I can reach easily, then kick off my Prada black pumps.

Then, with the doily in hand, I grab onto Steele’s shoulder and start to hoist myself onto the arm of his chair.

“What the hell are you doing?” Despite his irritation, his hand wraps around my calves, steadying me.

“I can’t reach,” I explain, as if he’s an idiot. When I let go of his shoulder, there’s dirt on his white shirt, and I have to literally bite my lip to keep from smiling as I stretch to reach the higher shelves.

He continues to hold my legs as I dust, the warmth of his fingers sending a jolt through my nervous system.

I’m not the only one affected.

When I glance down, his bulge has grown, and Steele isn’t even trying to hide that his eyes are focused like a laser up my skirt.

I’m pleased, but I’m not done.

After finishing another shelf, I pull my foot out of his grasp and place it on his (dirty) shoulder, so I can reach the highest shelf.

Or so I can pretend I’m reaching for the highest shelf.

Really it just spreads my legs so he can have a better view. And when he’s fully distracted, I put weight on that foot—weight he isn’t prepared to take—and surprise, surprise, I topple into his lap.

If I wasn’t sure he was hard before, I’m definitely sure now. It’s jabbing into my lower back like it’s a gun at a stick-up, and I’m more than ready to be robbed.

“Whoops.” I throw my arms around his neck and smile innocently.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Steele’s voice is a rasp as his hands settle on me. Not-so-innocently settle, I might add. One grazing the side of my breast, the other wrapped around the curve of my bare ass.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re in my lap.”

“You’re fondling my ass.”

It might be my imagination, but his mouth seems to move an inch closer to mine. “It’s a very nice ass.”

“It’s a very nice lap.” I wiggle my butt and grin when his cock twitches. “I’m starting to have a feeling this is where you wanted me all along. Was that your plan?”

He shakes his head, but his eyes disagree, and his mouth closes in more. “I don’t think I’m capable of planning where you’re concerned. You make me crazy, and I just react, and next thing you know, I’m canceling my schedule so I can work from home and ordering a sexy maid costume to arrive overnight.”

My grin widens. “That does sound crazy.”

His lips brush mine. “You’re a dirty distraction in my life that I do not need.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.” This time when his lips brush mine, I tilt my neck so my mouth meets his.

That’s all the invitation he needs.

The hand on my ass comes up to hold my chin in place and then he kisses me like he’s been dying to kiss me since we’ve met. Like he’s only been barely holding back. Like he might never stop kissing me.

Ten seconds in, and I’ve already ranked it on my top five kisses of all time.

There’s a very good chance it could end up ranked higher, except just as it’s really starting to get good, Steele stands up with me in his arms.

Yes! Show me your bedroom please, sir.

Instead, he sets me on my feet and bends me over his desk.

“Fuck, Simone. The dirty, filthy things I want to do to you…”

“Whatever those things are, please tell me they include putting your cock so far inside me I feel it for days.”

He moans. “I'm adding that to the list.”

“There's a list?” I didn't think I could be any wetter.

“You better believe there's a list.” He flips my skirt up and slaps one ass cheek. “That's for being so goddamned sexy I can't think straight.” He slaps the other cheek. “That's because you love that you do that to me.”

“How do you know me so well?” I'm not sure if I should be frightened or planning our China patterns.

Let's be honest, though—I plan China patterns just for fun.

“Because you speak to my soul.” He drops to his knees and laps my pussy from behind. “I've been craving this taste for the last twenty four hours. It was driving me insane.”

I will never belittle the madness of a deep craving, but I'm dealing with a madness of my own. “Back to that list…how long before your dick makes an appearance?”

He laps the length of my slit all the way to my asshole, and I suddenly have no idea why I'm complaining because this is working out for me just fine.

“I want to hear your list, baby.”

I have always detested generic endearments, so obviously I have to hate myself now because his use of baby makes my legs jelly.

His tongue on my cunt might also contribute to the weakness.

“How about you tell me seven ways you want me to fuck you before the day is over, and I'll let you come?” He sticks his tongue inside me, and I'm so out of my mind, I almost agree.

“No, I don't trust you.”

“You don't trust I'll make you come?”

“I don't trust I'll get your cock. And I really, really want your cock.”

He practically growls, the sound vibrating across my sensitive bits, and all my blood rushes to my clit. “I promise, I'll give you my cock. But first, seven ways you want me to fuck you.” He returns to his assault.

“Um, okay. Standing up.”

“More specific.”

I groan at the interruption of his tongue. Then melt when it returns. Desperate to not have to endure its absence again, I quickly imagine a scenario, and hope it's what he wants. “Me on this desk, you standing, my legs wrapped around your waist.”

“One,” he says, and I celebrate internally when he barely breaks to say the word.

Okay, okay. I got this.

“In your bed, with you hovering above my face while I suck you off. That's two.”

I swear he starts tracing the number two against my clit.

“In the main room, me naked against your windows while you choke me from behind. That's three.”

Oh yeah, that one's good. God, I might come sooner than number seven.

“Don't you dare come before the list is done.”

It's like he can read my thoughts.

And his mouth is gone again, but I'm not too mad because he stands, and I hear the sound of his zipper. “Keep going, Simone.”

“Four, on the sofa, me riding your lap. My tits bouncing.”

“My palms squeezing them tight.” He reaches around me to palm one of my breasts through my dress, a demonstration of sorts.

“Yes. Harder. Tweak my nipple.”

He doesn't do as I ask, because he's a fucker, but even better, a hard, velvet ridge slides across my soaked pussy.

I start to turn to try to get a glance at the glorious cock rubbing against my goodies, but he pushes me back down. “The list. Number five.”

He sounds as eager as I feel. “Number five—on your kitchen table. Reverse cowgirl. While I fondle your balls.”

The sound he makes as he smacks my pussy with his cock almost undoes me. “Two more, and I'll get a condom.”

“Against the wall, one of my legs stretched up on your shoulder.”

“Are you that flexible?”

“Don’t you want to find out?”

He circles my rim with his tip. “You are—”

But I don't get to hear the end of that sentiment because voices drift in from outside the office door (the one I never opened when told).

“He’s in his office, but he’s busy at the moment,” Mindy says.

“I don’t care if he’s busy. He’s on my clock right now.”

I’ve only heard it a few times, but Steele’s brother has a distinct voice that I would recognize anywhere.

“Fuck.” Steele backs up. I turn to see him quickly tucking himself away. “Fuck. You have to hide," he says, buckling his belt.

I’m not keen on being caught in this outfit myself, especially not with my cunt crying all over the place, but as far as I can see there are no closets so I’m not sure where to go.

Steele is quicker than I am. “Under there.” He pulls me with him toward his desk pushing me to my knees just as Holt bursts through the door.

Quickly, I crawl underneath. Steele drops into his chair and rolls closer, practically sealing off my hiding place. “Jesus, don’t you knock?”

I feel the tension.

Of course I do.

But really, we’re only in this position because of Steele and his antics.

And sure, he’s a great kisser, and solid gold with good tongue, but he’s also conniving, and truth is, he makes me crazy too. Besides, he promised me his cock.

So even though this might be the worst idea ever, the thing I’m about to do next?

Totally his own fault.