Chapter 2

Mason

At first, when I heard someone singing, I thought my bluetooth speakers had somehow turned on. Then I remembered the cleaning service was scheduled for today, and assumed they’d realize I was in the shower and would leave cleaning the master bathroom for last.

Apparently not.

Can’t say I’m mad about it.

This woman’s about five-foot nine, with long dirty blonde hair, big doe eyes the color of cognac, and a lush mouth. She’s fucking stunning. Seeing her barge into my bathroom singing into her mop just before dry humping the damn thing is a sight I’ll never forget, either.

Fucking adorable.

The whiskers on her face are a little confusing, though.

And can we talk about her swing? My hand still stings from catching the mop before she could decapitate me with it. This woman’s strong with fast reflexes. Good thing mine are faster, which is the only reason she didn’t fall into the vanity when she tripped on my rug.

And now here we are. Her in whiskers. Me in my birthday suit. Awkward as fuck.

Can’t say I’m thrilled about this, but the way she’s gawking at my dick inflates my ego substantially.

Between the dancing, singing, and the sight of her ass in those little booty shorts, I’m turned on enough to lose my mind. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good hard fuck, and my dick is in a constant state of “pay attention to me”.

Too bad she’s off limits.

“Sorry.” I snatch the towel off the floor to cover myself up with. “I dropped the towel trying to make sure you didn’t take my head off with that mop.”

She looks furious. “You should have locked your door!”

Is she trying to put the blame on me here? “I don’t lock doors inside my own home. Especially since I’m the only one living here. Maybe you should have knocked before you came in.”

Her brow furrows, as if she’s trying to find an argument for that. “I didn’t think you were home. You’re never home.”

Isn’t that the truth. “Well, I am today.”

“And I would have known if you at least used a light!”

Is she for real? “There’s enough sun streaming in from the windows to not warrant a light on.”

She snaps her fingers. “Steam.” The woman has the nerve to step in closer to me. “There should have been steam from your hot shower and there wasn’t. How could I have known you were in the shower when there’s no steam?”

“I don’t take hot showers.”

Her eyes widen. “Only psychopaths take cold ones.”

Or sexually frustrated businessmen . “I’m not a psychopath.”

“I bet that’s what all psychopaths say.” Her eyes are smiling while she says this and I have no idea how she managed to defuse a very awkward situation, but I’m feeling less and less frustrated by it now.

“Well.” Keeping the towel over my junk to cover it, I flash her a disarming grin. “I’ll leave you to it in here.” Walking backwards, I enter my bedroom and shut the door.

Fuck me running! What am I going to do now? My mind’s already going into damage control. I can’t help it. I’m hard-wired to think of every angle something can backfire and taint my name.

Is she going to report me to her company for sexual harassment? How’s that going to look when it gets out? I can see the headlines now: “Big Tech Mason Finch Exposes Himself to Innocent House Cleaner.”

My family will have a collective coronary and that’s a headache I’m not in the mood to get right now.

Except she doesn’t strike me as someone who would run to tell her superiors about this incident. In fact, the way she handled this was far better than what I would have been able to do if the tables were turned.

It was just an unfortunate timing issue. A big, weird, embarrassing accident.

But hard-ons don’t happen by mistake. I was turned on looking at her. And I wanted her to see it . Holding her in my arms when I caught her only made it worse.

Swiping a hand over my mouth, I stare at my carefully laid out suit on the bed. I feel bad being here, startling her the way I did. Wait a minute. Why do I feel like I’m trespassing on her territory when it’s my goddamn condo?

Fuck it. It doesn’t matter. What happened, happened, and now it’s done. I just have to focus on getting out of here before I do something stupid like ask for her number.

God, my dick won’t deflate. I blame the twerking. I’m a sucker for woman with confidence and the one in my bathroom right now has it in spades. Palming my hard-on, I know if I don’t blow off some steam, I’m going to choke at the meeting I have at eleven o’clock and that can’t happen. I’m so close to getting all I want, and this little diversion can’t slow me down.

Glancing back at the door separating me and that sexpot, I debate on locking it. But my naughty side wants to play and, honestly, I doubt she’ll barge in on me again.

No matter how much I want her to watch.

Spitting in my palm, I slide my hand over the hard length of my cock and close my eyes. The only image that appears is of that cleaning woman. Her ass. Her hips. The way she dances.

I latch onto the fact that she had whiskers and fill in the gaps of what she’d look like, dressed as a cat with ears and a long-tailed butt plug. My strokes speed up. What would she look like cleaning my house naked? The image of her on all fours, scrubbing my kitchen floors, her tits swaying, ass up in the air with her bare feet tucked under her, makes me groan.

I’d approach from behind, squat down and eat her pussy in that position. I’d eat her ass too. Fuck, I’d devour every bit of her sweet body I could get my tongue on and then drive my cock inside her swollen cunt. Make her take every inch of me until her pussy stretches around my girth. Then I’d have her beg me to move my hips and fuck her like an animal.

My orgasm builds, and builds, and builds until I can’t hold it back anymore. The noises I make when I come aren’t loud. But they aren’t quiet either. Can she hear me? I watch myself in the mirror, still jerking off until my dick is spent, and ignore the hollowness in my chest because pleasuring myself alone all the time is getting old.

Dragging my towel across the carpet to wipe up the mess I just made, I clean up and get dressed in dead silence.

Before I set out, I lean against the bathroom door and listen. Water’s running, so I assume she’s working on my sinks. Knocking once, I open it, prepared to say something ordinary and aloof, so I can read her mood before I worry about what she’ll say about all this later. “Hey, I just wanted to—”

“Please don’t report me,” she says with bright yellow gloves on. Holding the toilet brush over the bowl, she looks at me with flushed cheeks. “I don’t want to lose this house.”

What ? “You didn’t do anything wrong. Why would I report you?” The fumes from bleach and lemon-scented cleaners make my eyes water the closer I get to her. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m so sorry I barged in on you earlier. I honestly didn’t know you were here.”

Guilt ripples down my chest. “If anyone should apologize, it’s me. I should have rescheduled you. Or at least let you know I was here beforehand. I forgot you were coming. I’ve got a lot going on and hadn’t realized what day it was.”

Not that it would have mattered, because I don’t schedule my cleaning service. My secretary does that shit for me.

“You’re not mad?” She looks up at me with her big, beautiful eyes and pouty mouth, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from cupping her cheek and kissing her.

Okay. Whoa. I need to back the fuck off immediately. I didn’t release enough tension in my bedroom if my first instinct is to kiss this woman instead of getting out of here and doing my job. “What’s your name?”

“Leah.”

I feel like a jerk because shouldn’t I at least know the name of the woman who cleans my toilets once a month?

“Nice to meet you, Leah.” I hold out my hand, and she rips her glove off to shake it. What would that grip feel like wrapped around my d— “I gotta go. Lock up once you’re done.”

“Yes, sir.”

Oh. My. God. She’s killing me and doesn’t even know it. “Mason,” I say. “Just call me Mason.”

“Okay.”

I nearly smack my head on the doorjamb, trying to get the hell out of my bathroom and away from her after that. Jumping out of the window wouldn’t get me out of this building fast enough.

Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me?

“Mr. Finch.” The doorman in the lobby opens the glass entrance for me. “Nice to see you again.”

I wave without even looking at him and rush outside. Only then do I suck in fresh, warm air and actually breathe . Car, car, where’s my—

Dropping into the driver’s seat, I tug on my tie. It’s too tight. Everything’s hot and tight and—

“Yes, sir.” Leah’s voice assails me even when she isn’t around. My dick’s hard again and pinned down in my pants.

Glaring at the clock, my heart pounds because I’ve got twenty minutes to get to my meeting. That’s not enough time to run back up there and ask her to dinner. It’s definitely not enough time to convince her to let me fuck her. And I can’t jack off again because I’ll make a mess all over my suit.

Drive, Mason. You’re not here for a good time. You’re here to get your life in order .

I’ve got twenty minutes to get it together.

But first, I’m going to schedule Leah to come back and clean again as soon as possible.