Page 72 of The Gambler's Prize
I give him a twirl, exposing my bare ass. The apron flies up to give him a momentary peek at my cock.
His gaze darkens. “You little minx. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? You wouldn’t even let a man wake up.”
“Oh, I think you’re awake now.” I glance down at his erection making itself known through his trousers.
“Come here.” He crosses the room and grabs me around the waist with one arm. Locks me tight to his torso. There’s a rough edge of want to his voice. Wild eyes drink me in. My plan has worked beyond my wildest expectations. He can barely control himself. But he’ll have to.
“Hey, let go,” I pout. “I didn’t spend all this time cooking bacon for you not to eat it.”
“You’re not serious?” he growls.
I fold my arms. “Dead serious.”
Grumbling loudly, he sits at the table and takes a couple of bites, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s restless and twitchy, too turned on to focus. He can’t take his eyes off me.
“Hold up. Aren’tyousupposed to be the servant?” he says, pointing a fork at me.
I look at my apron and lacy cuffs. “Clearly.”
“Then put this food away until later and get over here.”
Oh. He’s going to be likethat. My apron starts to tent as my cock responds to his authority.
“Do I have to?” I whine.
“Yes, Florian. Do as your boss says.”
My hands tremble as I hurry, covering the bacon with a bowl, moving so fast I almost drop everything. My body floods with desire.
“Good,” he says. “Now get down on your knees and crawl to me.”
Fuck, yeah. I drop to the kitchen floor, palms flats, ass in the air. Erection breaking free of the flimsy apron. My boss’s arrogant gaze lingers on it.
“Slowly,” he says. “Take your time. I want to watch you.”
I start to make my way across the floor on hands and knees, body burning up as I think what I must look like in my apron and lacy cuffs, crawling for him.
“Eye contact,” he says.
I raise my gaze to his. He backs away into the very corner of the room, prolonging my journey.
“That’s my good servant,” he says.
I think I’m going to burst into flames. How is he so good at reading my desires? I finally reach him. He looks down at me, his kneeling servant. I lean over and kiss his bare feet, one at a time. His whole body tenses as I remain bowing before him, like he’s afraid to break the spell.
“Florian,” he says, like a prayer. “Remember when you joked about the maid’s outfit?”
He remembers that? He seemed so angry at the time.
“Yes?” I say.
“I haven’t been able to get the image out of my head since.”
“Does the reality live up to your imagination?”
He tilts my chin up, gripping hard, his casual strength making me gasp.
“It surpasses it,” he says.
