MAID TO OBEY: CHAPTER 1
IVY WATCHED HIM from her hands and knees as she cleaned his marble kitchen floor. Her dark eyes drifted hungrily across his broad back, taught with lean muscles and sheathed in a perfectly tailored black suit.
Fuck, Damien even made the mundane act of pouring coffee decadently sexy.
Ivy pushed a few strands of wavy hair out of her eyes. She should ask him. What was there to lose? She had been working as his housekeeper for six months and always left the place immaculate. She was a rockstar at her job—so asking for a favor shouldn’t be that scary.
“Mr. White?” Ivy asked, more timidly than she would have liked.
Damien turned, his face flustered—blue eyes piercing. “Not now, Ivy. I’m already late for my meeting and I can’t find my fucking keys.” He shouted.
“Well,” Ivy blurted, just trying to get her request heard. “My birthday is this weekend and I was wondering if maybe I could use your pool?” Damien stopped dead in his tracks.
“Have you heard a word I’ve been saying?” He hissed. “Keys!” He demanded.
“I think I saw them on the foyer table.” She stammered. Damien brushed past her briskly, his Italian leather shoes marring her pristine floor with ugly black marks. Snatching his keys from the table he glanced over his shoulder.
“My pool is for guests only—not the help.” With the slam of the heavy oak door, a stunned Ivy was suddenly alone. The roar of Damien’s Camaro assaulted her ears, now burning with rage. His squealing tires ignited a fury inside her.
The help? What the fuck century was this? Maybe housekeepers were treated like that back in Lithuania, but this was the fucking United States of America. “Screw him.” She whispered to an empty house.
Ivy tore off her rubber gloves, chucked the sponge in the bucket of soapy water, and rocketed to her feet. A devilish grin tugged at her pouting lips. Time to fuck some shit up.
She started in the master bedroom, languidly dragging her fingertips over the cool Egyptian cotton sheets of his California King. So many times she had day dreamed about what it might feel like to share that big beautiful bed with Damien. How his hands felt, drifting over every curve of her body--sending her nerves scattering in a thousand different directions.
On more than one occasion, she had unearthed lingering lingerie lost in the rumpled sheets while doing laundry. One morning, she had arrived to find handcuffs still attached to the stainless steel four poster frame.
He had to be irresistible in the sack if half of Miami’s elites were parading through his bedroom letting him tie them up. What would it be like giving up control like that--to be at his mercy and a slave to his addicting touch? She had heard the rumors he liked his women gasping and begging for release before he would let them cum.
Edging was always a favorite of Ivy's and although she'd done it many times herself, she had never had a partner deny her orgasm. Her eyes fluttered shut imaging herself tied to Damien's bed, his tongue exploring every part of her wanton body before finally landing on her clit. Her breath quickened as she could practically feel his warm mouth driving her toward ecstasy.
Ivy snapped herself out of her daydream. This man didn’t even have the decency to clean up after his sexual escapades and instead expected her to do it without quarry or complaint.
Her knuckles grew white as she clenched the opulent fabric between her fingers, stripping the mattress bare. She plunged the kitchen knife deeply into the cushy mattress, gutting it down the center. She slashed the soft down pillows wildly. Feathery fluff erupted around her and she giggled.
Ivy knew she was behaving completely irrationally but at this point she didn’t give a flying fuck. She was already burning this bridge with Damien to the ground so why not continue her rampage?
Catching her breath, the glistening infinite pool taunted her from the window. Storming down the stairs she made a bee-line for the backyard, revenge fueling her every step.
Damien would regret ever disrespecting Ivy Foster, she would make damn sure of that.
HE SHOULDN’T HAVE treated Ivy so poorly. Damien sighed as he approached the office. She was a sweet girl and didn’t deserve his misplaced wrath. It wasn’t her fault he was late. It wasn’t her fault he had been up all night preparing for the biggest meeting of his life.
The client reviewing his building plans for this luxury hotel could make or break his career. His drafts would surely land him the job. He smiled, glancing at the car seat next to him. Empty.
Fuck. Damien slammed on the breaks and made a harsh U-turn. He’d been so distracted he had walked out the door without his blueprints. His face grew hot with embarrassment at how he’d left Ivy that morning. His strong fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly as guilt kicked in. He had class shamed her and now he was the one who felt like a class-A dickhead.
Ivy was a great house keeper—better than all the previous ones—and professional too. One morning he had forgotten to remove the handcuffs from the bed before her arrival and she had said nothing. The other housekeepers usually quit or made each subsequent visit insanely awkward for him, trying to pry more into his sexual proclivities and private life. Ivy had done none of that.
He was determined to make it up to her. Damien would let her use the pool and even take her out for a special birthday dinner.
He pulled into his driveway wondering what Ivy would look like all dressed up. He only saw her in sneakers, shorts, and a tank top—her beachy brunette waves bouncing around her pretty little face. She had such a sunny disposition, a smile to die for, and legs that could bring a man to his knees.
Come to think of it, her ass was pretty sexy too. He pictured how she looked on all fours scrubbing his floors that morning, and his cock leapt to attention--hard as the marble Ivy had polished.
Damien imagined the sensation of shoving her flushed cheek to that cool marble, forcing her gorgeous ass higher in the air as his hand pinned her delicate neck to the floor. His dick stiffened even more at that carnal image of readying Ivy for a sultry spanking.
Damn! He didn’t have time for this. He just needed to grab his drafts, apologize quickly, and get the hell back to the office.
“Ivy,” He called out, stepping into the house. “I want to apologize about what I said to you earlier.” He was greeted by silence. Damien strode purposefully through the foyer eyeing the bucket of dirty water in the kitchen. Maybe she had moved upstairs.
Shrugging it off, he opened the door to his office and swiped the building plans from his desk. He grabbed a sheet of stationary to leave her a note and was just about to leave when he caught site of her through the window.
IVY KICKED THE last of the large hibiscus plants into the pool. It made a satisfying splash as it crashed through the water’s surface. Soil flooded out, creating a dark muddy bloom—the ceramic pot sinking to the bottom. A gritty, floating film now covered the entire pool. She was quite pleased with herself until a voice sliced through her silent celebration.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” A chill shot up Ivy’s spine. She froze. Shit. What the hell was Damien doing home? He wasn’t supposed to be back until that evening. She was caught off guard and terrified but she couldn’t let him see that.
“Giving you what you deserve.” She retorted, her eyes narrowing. A furious Damien charged through the backyard, not stopping until he stood squarely in front of her. He towered over Ivy, eyes ablaze. His heated breath fell on her lips. Fuck. Why was she kind of turned on by this? The air between them was electric. He grabbed her chin roughly between his fingers, yanking her towards him, just a kiss away.
“And what do you think I deserve, Ivy?” His voice was dangerously soft, his body ridged against hers.
“To be punished.” She whispered fiercely.
"That's funny," Damien taunted. "That's what I'm thinking you deserve right now."