7. Dec

Chapter seven

Dec

(Since when is my dick voice-activated?)

A fter a month of getting used to how the household runs, I feel like I've settled in. Every day is different, and the eight family members who live here are rarely here together. I've figured out that they leave the house in a specific order. I'm not sure why they do this, but if Ethan leaves, the next one out is Thoren, then Greeley, Faulkes, Reeves, Walker, and Hawthorn in that order. Then the pattern repeats. Sometimes there are days between them going out, sometimes it's mere hours. Last week all seven of Maxime's nephews were gone for several days. I watched them all walk out one after another over the course of a few hours.

It makes me wonder what they do. The only Staiano here all the time is Maxime, and when he's not in the areas of the compound that I do not have access to, he's usually in his train room—so far, he hasn't given me his permission to even peek at the inside of that room.

"I really don't think a person can be a divine butler," Maxime complains from the bed when I enter his room to help him with his morning routine. The book on his lap tells me that he hasn't slept since he went to bed last night. He often fails to regulate his sleeping pattern when he gets into a book, but I'm still more surprised to find him in bed rather than in his train room.

I give him a deferential nod. "I'm certain that is true for most people, but this suit is the truest reflection of my inner self I could find."

It's not really reflecting my inner butler, but there's no reason to tell him that my divine self hates waste and would rather wear my clothes until they fall apart than buy new ones. I'm sure he would understand—well, maybe. I don't know. Maxime understands a lot about a lot of things, but there are some things that he's just blind about.

For example, someone keeps moving the grotesques on top of the house. They are never in the same place when I look at them, and they often aren't even the same statuary from one day to the next. When I brought it up, Maxime brushed it off as my imagination. My imagination? What does he think I daydream about? It's certainly not moving statuary.

"It's just so boring," Maxime complains. "Are you sure you don't want to have my clothier make you something more..." He trails off, waving his hand to indicate I should finish that sentence for him.

People do that when they don't want to insult a person, but they're ok with the person insulting themselves. I'm not going to play that game with him. "I don't have a need for your clothier to assist me, but I will let you know if I ever do."

He gives me another sour look. "Fine. I think I'm going to spend the day in bed. Could you just bring my breakfast to me? I've decided to take the day off."

"Of course, sir," I agree with a slight bow. "Shall I open the windows for you? Perhaps a bit of sun and a breeze will set the mood for you."

"Oh yes, do that," he agrees eagerly, scooting down in his bed and settling in.

I keep my smile internalized as I open the floor to ceiling curtains and crank the windows open to allow the cool breeze into the room. As soon as I'm done, I gather the empty glass from his nightstand and head down to the kitchen using the servant's staircase. Just past the utility room, I bend over to pick up a tarot card that someone (Thoren) dropped, and behind me, I hear the click of his tongue against his teeth.

He's been throwing things on the floor since day one, asking me to pick them up for him. At first, I thought he was just clumsy, but now I think he's punishing me because I refuse to tell him my name. It's gotten out of hand, but it's too late to fix the precedent I've set, and there's this other thing that I barely acknowledge is happening.

Straightening, I turn, finding Thoren standing in the doorway of the utility room and staring at my ass. Well, now he's looking at my crotch, but it's clear what he was looking at. It's where his eyes always fixate when he throws his things on the floor. I ignore both the tingle of awareness that pulls my balls a little tighter to my body and all the reasons I should fix this situation and stop picking up his cards.

Today he's wearing another pair of beaded leather pants. This time the beads surround his exceptional dick print as if to emphasize the size of his... ego. His open front shirt shows off that he's changed his nipple jewelry since yesterday: today his rings have some fancy Celtic-knot type dangles from them. They don't match, but that just makes me look twice.

My cheeks burn when my eyes finally make it to his face to meet his glaring eyes, like how dare I look at what's on display. I'm not sure if he genuinely hates me or if he's got a case of resting bitch face. It could be either or both. I don't know. Sometimes he almost smiles, but I can't tell if he does that because he thinks I'm amusing or because he's teasing me. It could be either or both.

I said that already. It's because Thoren is a complete mystery to me. We have breakfast together five times a week, and every time one of his cards somehow flies out of his little pouch all by itself and lands somewhere behind me so I have to bend over to get it.

I know I could just squat to grab, but the tingle that makes my dick perk up also makes my brain make stupid decisions. I've spent literal hours talking to him, but even with what I know about him, he's still so enigmatic. Either I'm a bit thick and I keep missing the obvious, or he's the most mysterious person I've ever met.

I don't have a lot of conversations with the family besides Maxime and Thoren, but the rest of them are fairly easy to get along with. Every time I talk to them, it's easy and flows naturally. With Thoren, things are far more complicated. He's likable, of course, but that's probably as much of a problem as... other things are.

"Hello, Thoren," I greet him, dipping my head and shoulders in a shallow bow to hide the fact that my cheeks are turning pink again.

"‘Morning, Dec. What's your name short for?" he asks in that ridiculous baritone of his.

"Straight to it then?"

We've been through this every day, and for some unfathomable reason I keep playing along. I've actually had to look up words with the letters D-E-C in that order in them. Fortunately, scrabble word finders exist and are helpful.

"Oh you know, my mother just loved the holiday season and snow. December was the highlight of her year." I snort at my own comment and shake my head. The best Christmas gift she ever gave me was signing away her parental rights.

Thoren, unsurprisingly, doesn't believe me, and he arches a brow, looking past me at the floor behind me. "You missed something."

His stupidly deep voice does eye-rolling things to me, and I'm not sure if it's because I think my reaction is over the top or because my reaction is nearly orgasmic every damn time he speaks. I had no idea my penis was voice activated until I started working here. In fact, there's more than a few kinks I've randomly unlocked since my arrival.

I spin around to hide my reaction and find another card on the floor just behind me. I could refuse, but my stupid brain listens to my tingly dick and I bend over, subtly arching my back to present my assets in the most attractive form.

"Hmm," I hum, unsurprised to see The Fool again.

I think Thoren throws it because I showed him the one I keep in my jacket. As I straighten up, I touch the card in my pocket. I keep it with me as a reminder of the incredible circumstances that brought me to this point.

Turning, I offer Thoren the card again, catching him staring at my ass again. My cheeks burn, of course, but my dick goes from interested to keen, and I realize I might have a problem happening in my pants.

He steps way too close to peer at the cards in my hand, flustering me further—I've struggled with this attraction from a distance, but this close? Holy smokes! I need to get away from—oh god, he smells like a fucking orange grove. Why would a person ever choose to smell like that? It reminds me of summers spent running through my uncle's orange grove, and the first time I kissed a boy: the best memory I have about my sexuality, and this guy smells like summer kisses under trees full of small green oranges; like excitement and joy; like first love and shared orgasms.

I might not have many good memories related to my love life, but the first ones are all covered in a haze of nostalgic joy, and smelling that on Thoren is as potent as love potion number nine, and I lean in closer to him, catching myself from doing something completely foolish when he comments, "The Fool and the Two of Cups. Bad luck."

"B-bad luck?" I stutter as he takes the cards, and I tell myself to back my horny ass up.

His deep voice rumbling through me as he answers keeps me frozen in place. "The optimist and adventurer and a change in your romantic relationship status. Might be you're about to have a break up."

Too close. Way, way too close. I take a couple of steps backward, finding my way to the door of the broom closet that we use for storing paper products. "I—I don't have a boyfriend."

"Then you're about to have one," he responds, stepping with me.

Oh my god. I want to kiss him so much. No, Dec. Bad! Bad Dec!

What am I? A dog?

We are not unlocking puppy play kink today.

"I, uh—" I swallow, forgetting what we were talking about for a moment.

I immediately remember when the next hit of orange grove reminds me of boyfriends, happiness, and love. I don't have a single prospect in this house. No, I am not going to even think about Thoren like that, and I'm unlikely to find someone safe to date on my next day off since I don't leave the house unless it's absolutely necessary. The drive up the mountain is a really good deterrent against leaving. The only person in the house I'm even remotely attracted to is the one crowding my personal space right now, but again, no .

"Um. I've got to just..." I trail off, grabbing the knob of the broom closet. I need to not be in the same space as him asap! He's turning my brain to mush, and I didn't have much to spare to begin with.

Quickly, to save my sanity and decorum, I open the closet door and fall in, shutting it behind me before I even flick the switch for the light. As soon as the door is closed, I take a deep breath, telling my racing heart to stop.

Damn. That was intense. I thought it was just attraction, but the butterflies racing around in my stomach, the heart rate through the roof, and the scent of summer?

I'm going to have to avoid him. This is becoming an actual crush, and I can't let that happen. Fuck. "No, absolutely not, Dec. No one is worth losing this job over." I love being here, and letting this crush on Thoren grow is a recipe for disaster.

I genuinely, sincerely, earnestly love being a butler in this house. I'm not going to risk it just because Thoren shows me a couple of tarot cards, smells like the best summer of my life, and turns my brains to mush with his voice.

Taking a deep breath, I give myself to the count of ten before slipping out of the broom closet, thankful that Thoren decided to step away. As soon as I see he's gone, I make a dash for the kitchen, only slowing as I turn through the doorway into the divine-smelling kitchen.

Jax's cheeks are rosy from the heat of her kitchen as she turns her big brown eyes on me. She wears a traditional chef's coat and hat because she loves her uniform, but today she's sporting green fairy wings and a matching fairy skirt.

She scowls at me, pointing to the corner of the kitchen where Mr. Simms sits with what looks like a smile on his face. She doesn't really like having him in the kitchen, but this is where he's used to eating, and I haven't decided if we really need to feed him elsewhere since the entire family eats at the kitchen table for most of their meals.

As soon as Mr. Simms sees me, he gets up, tail wagging excitedly. I stride to him, pulling a treat from my pocket as I talk to Jax. "Maxime is taking his breakfast in bed, and I think he'll want a light, refreshing lunch. Is that ok?"

So far, Jax has been very flexible about the family's tendencies to change the food plan for the day. They eat at different times and only ever have a meal together occasionally. They usually eat in bursts of twos and threes, and only twice this month have they requested a meal in the family dining room. If one of them is craving something, they request it, and if Jax has the ingredients, she makes it. The only time she told any of the family no in the last month was Reeves, and the reason was because of a recall on one of the key ingredients. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he gave up before the words even passed his lips.

"I got it. I'll prep some fresh salads that he enjoys." Her brusque tone is completely ruined by the fact that her speaking voice is nearly as high pitched as Minnie Mouse's.

"Thank you," I say, reaching into my pocket when my phone buzzes.

I pull it out and check the doorbell camera. Someone is standing on the stoop with their back to the camera, so I excuse myself and head to the door with Mr. Simms on my heels. I pull open the front door, and an extremely short man of some mixed Asian heritage spins to look up at me. He's decked out like a goth god with black ripped jeans and a fishnet shirt paired with fingerless leather motorcycle gloves. He wears a black utility belt with bulging pouches and an abundance of silver chains around his neck. His eyes are lined with kohl in carefully drawn wings that look like they were done by a professional, and his blue- highlighted black hair is made up like he's the emo member of a K-pop boy band in a rom-com yaoi anime.

"Hello, welcome to Chez Gargouille. How can I help you?" No one told me that they were expecting a visitor, but based on how this man is dressed, I suspect that Maxime hired another person and forgot to tell me.

"Well, aren't you cuter than a freckled cock."

Holy smokes. What is up with this day? The man's voice is deeper than Thoren's, but he speaks with an accent that sounds a bit southern, but maybe less Georgia and more Arkansas? I really do need to get laid, because even his crass compliment does things to me. That or I'm still in full raging libido mode after my encounter with Thoren.

Without giving me a chance to respond, the deep bass of his voice continues to pummel my sex drive. "You're definitely fuckable, and if you're interested in a little fun, I'm available after my meeting with Maxime."

"I see. Please come in." I latch onto my professional skill and ignore the offer, focusing on the meeting with Maxime. Stepping out of the doorway, I allow the man to enter, closing the door behind him. "Who should I say is calling?" I ask politely.

The man smirks at me, and it's full of promise. "I'm Darcy Hellspinner. And you?"

Damn. That confidence is sexy . "Dec," I reply, gesturing for him to follow.

As I lead him to the sitting room, Darcy whistles. "This might be the best view I've had since I turned in the bounty on a bunny down in Louisiana. Purdy from the front and sexy from the back, ain'tcha?"

I'm so glad my flaming face is turned away from him. Unfortunately, I don't manage to keep the whispered, "Fuck," from making it past my lips.

He laughs, deep and wicked. "That is what's on offer, sweetcheeks."

I take a deep breath, pull my professional demeanor as tightly around me as possible, and open the door to the sitting room. "Please wait here while I inform Maxime of your arrival."

Darcy shoots me a hot wink, making himself comfortable in an armchair that dwarfs him, yet he manages to take the whole thing up with his ego. I shake my head at myself as I shut the door to the sitting room, trotting back to the kitchen with Mr. Simms to prepare Maxime's breakfast, refreshments for Darcy, and to cool my ridiculous libido.

It's flattering he thinks I'm fuckable, but there's no way I'm going there. He's not exactly on my bingo card for this year.

Although my dick seems to think that maybe sex with a certain Staiano should be added since we're playing anyway.

I've really got to get Thoren out of my head.