“So you’re a widow,” I say in a smooth tone.
“Yes,” she answers quickly, her face pale and lips pressed into a thin line.“Ned was the love of my life, but he was killed in a horrific accident on the interstate.Fortunately, we didn’t have children, but it was a difficult time nonetheless.”
Here’s where shit gets rancid because I don’t give a fuck about Ned, her family, her ex’s family, or anyone else who might have grieved over this man’s death.Instead, all I care about is the fact that Angela White is likely single.How long does it take to bed a dead man’s wife?How long is a widow’s mourning period?It’s relevant because I’m that obscene motherfucker that everyone hates.I want this woman in my bed with her legs spread, gasping as she feels my dick slide deep into her feminine space.Then, I want her on her hands and knees, big breasts swaying, as she’s fucked savagely from behind.I want her panting, writhing, and creaming all over my cock because she’s the kind of woman who could use a deep, hard fuck ...in every hole available.
That’s when I know that the interview’s done.There’s no need to ask more questions, nor to find out more about her background.I know what I want, and Angela White is it.
“Thank you for coming in,” I say in a formal tone before standing.“Your qualifications are perfect.When can you start?”
The young woman looks flummoxed as she rises gracefully to her feet, clutching her portfolio in one hand.
“I got the job?”
“Yes,” I say in a deep voice.“Welcome to the team, Miss White.You’ll be a welcome addition, and I look forward to working together.Now, if you’ll let Timothy know when you can start—”
“Oh, I can start immediately,” she murmurs as we walk to the door.Then, I hold out one hand to shake.
“Wonderful,” I rumble in a smooth tone.“Let’s make it Monday morning, shall we?”
She slips her hand into mine, and that’s when the world tilts.I had images of this woman nude in my bed, screaming my name as she creams on my dick, but the small palm inside my own gives me different images.I see Angela White plump and curvy, smiling up at me with a white veil on her golden ringlets.Her blue eyes are trusting, and as she clasps my hand in her own, I slip a ring onto her finger.Not only that, but her belly’s big and swollen ...with my child inside.
What the fuck?What the hell is happening?This time, it’s me who begins to stammer.
“Gr-great,” I stutter like an awkward schoolboy.“See you Monday.”
With one last sweet smile over her shoulder, Angie departs and the door swings shut.Then, my knees give out and I have to lean against the massive wooden slab before I lose my balance because this woman has completely undermined my equilibrium...and we just got started.
3
Angie
Six months later.
“Hold on, Carmen.I’ll get it for you.”
The young woman throws me a grateful glance because she’s pregnant and doesn’t want to overdo things.She clambers down from the small step-stool, and I get on instead, reaching up high to grab a bottle of cleaning fluid.
“Here you go,” I say with a smile.“There’s no need to climb ladders while you’re expecting.If you need something, just ask for me or Orlando to grab it for you.”
She nods.
“Si, señora.Gracias.”
Then, Carmen scurries off in her maid’s outfit, the cleaning fluid in one hand.I let out a sigh because I can’t believe I just saw that!Pregnant ladies need to be pampered and cared for, but Carmen’s still working a full forty hours each week.She says she needs the money because her husband is a substitute teacher, and doesn’t have a steady paycheck.I understand, and I admire her resilience and determination to provide for her growing family.But I also want her to be safe, and it can be tricky sometimes.I wish labor conditions in the United States were different, but running a household has always been challenging I suppose.
Then again, my job has been a good challenge for the most part.There’s ten of us on staff, including me, Orlando the butler, Mrs.Goodyear in the kitchen, as well as a full complement of cleaners, gardeners, and other assorted staff.That’s not including Mr.Masters’s personal trainer, nor the masseuse who comes in twice a week to massage our billionaire boss.Dominic Masters has everything a man could want, and lives a life that most can only dream about.
As I pause in the doorway of the main kitchen, one of the maids approaches me with a troubled expression.
“What is it, Lucy?”
She fishes out something from her apron pocket and holds it out with two fingers.OMG, it’s a lacy g-string that looks half-torn!
“What should I do with this?”she whispers, her cheeks blushing a fetching pink.“I found it under Mr.Masters’s bed and I’m not sure where to put it.”
I think for a moment.It must belong to that red-headed woman who was here three weeks ago.What was her name?Eliza?Elise?Lizzy?Whatever it is, I know what to do immediately.I pluck it out of her fingers, and then stride to the trash can and drop it in before letting the metal cover shut with a resounding clang.
“She won’t be needing it,” I say with a smile.“Don’t worry about a thing.”
