The Maid's Daughter - S01 E10

Story 3 years ago

The Maid's Daughter - S01 E10

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 10

Gillian realized several things simultaneously. Devlyn’s

hand was under her sweater. She hadn’t put on a bra when

she’d changed clothes. And his fingers were tracing her ribs

one at a time, higher and higher.

“I thought you were talking to your dad.” The words came

out on an embarrassing squeak.

His chest rose and fell on a sigh. “I was. We’re done.”

“He doesn’t want me here, does he?”

“No. But not for the reasons you think.”

Her stomach curled in embarrassment. “I’ll go in the morning.”

“No, you won’t. We have work to do.”

“The house belongs to your father and uncle. You’re only

visiting. It’s not really your place to invite me to move in.”

“It’s my home, too. And besides, Dad’s reservations would

still exist even if you were staying at your mother’s house.”

“So he doesn’t think I’m qualified to help with the new

school, is that it?” She’d suspected the job seemed too good

to be true. And maybe it was. She didn’t want to be beholden

to the Wolffs. If her services weren’t needed, she should go.

When she tried to sit up, Devlyn stopped her by the simple

expedient of holding his large hand, fingers splayed, against

her belly. “My dad trusts me to hire competent people.”

“But?”

“He’s worried that I’ll seduce you and break your heart.”

Vincent Wolff was astute. Even now, Gillian’s emotions

were dangerously involved. She looked into Devlyn’s eyes

and saw past the sophisticated man to the faint remnants

of a vulnerable boy. Everything inside her strained toward

him, ached to assuage his hurt and his guilt. Despite recognizing

the risks, Gillian acknowledged in that one fraught

moment that she wanted to become Devlyn’s lover, for as

long as it lasted.

Did that make her a bad person? Or even worse, hopelessly

naive? “What did you tell him?”

“I said it was between us.”

Devlyn had worn dress slacks to the meeting with Horatio.

Unlike Gillian, he’d not taken the time to change. Beside

her cheek, beneath the thin fabric, his sex was swollen, hard.

If Gillian turned her head, her lips would be able to caress

the length of him.

She had come to the moment of truth. A turning point that

would require an odd combination of pragmatism and confidence.

It was no decision at all. She took his hand and deliberately

moved it upward to cover her breast. The connection of

his palm to her sensitive flesh was electric. Devlyn groaned,

his fingers tightening momentarily. Gillian experienced a

rush of heat and desperate hunger that left her breathless.

Their eyes met. She reached up to touch his cheek. “It’s

okay,” she said. “I know this is what it is. I want you anyway.”

His expression was troubled, but his fingertips teased her

n----e as if they had a mind of their own. “I’ll never lie to

you, Gillian.”

“I know.” It wasn’t him she worried about. He had been

very clear about his motives, his plans for the future. Gillian

would have to be the one to step back if she found herself in

deep water. She wouldn’t allow her heart to be broken. She

was smarter than that.

“I love your skin,” he muttered. “You’re soft, so soft.”

Now both of his hands made mischief. She cried out when

he pinched the tips of her aching breasts simultaneously and

tugged. Fire shot from the point of contact to a place deep in

her womb and below.

Her thighs clenched. “We need to move. To your bedroom.”

She was barely able to construct a coherent thought.

“Everyone’s asleep. I’ll lock the door.” He slid from beneath

her, and she felt his loss like a physical pain.

He was gone fleeting seconds. When he returned, she was

standing up. She launched herself into his arms, delighting in

the easy strength he displayed. She was neither tall nor short,

but he pulled her to his chest and lifted her off her feet long

enough to destroy her with a kiss that communicated yearning,

masculine intent and heart-melting, disarming gentleness.

“Take off your shirt,” she said. “I want to see you.”

He chuckled at her urgency. “Bossy, bossy, bossy.” But he

obeyed, unbuttoning the top few buttons with maddening deliberation

and then dragging the garment over his head and

tossing it aside.

Her legs felt funny, like the time she had downed a glass

of Long Island Iced Tea, not knowing what it was. But tonight

she was stone-cold sober. And Devlyn Wolff was responsible

for her sexual inebriation.

She put her hands on his wide shoulders, testing the resiliency

of his skin, absorbing the warmth and power of muscle

and sinew over bone. He stood rigid, his hands at his sides.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said, moving her hands across

his broad chest. The light covering of hair made him look

more primitive than the man she knew as a brilliant businessman.

Half-naked, he exuded a force of will that thrilled

even as it terrified.

She tasted one flat, copper-colored n----e. His whole body

trembled. And still he didn’t touch her. Her hands went to

his belt. “May I?”

“Knock yourself out.” It was a weak attempt at humor. The

skin on his face stretched tightly over his cheekbones, his

eyes squeezed shut as if he couldn’t bear to watch her learning

the planes of his body.

Clumsily, almost paralyzed by shyness, she unfastened

his belt and drew it slowly through the belt loops. Her fingers

settled on the tab of his zipper and stopped. His erection

flexed against her touch, almost as if it were begging

for her attention.

Devlyn grabbed her wrist. “No more. Not yet. I can’t take

it.”

He went from passive to domineering so quickly, she was

stunned. He grabbed handfuls of her sweater and dragged it

over her head. Then he stopped, staring at her chest. “Sweet

heaven. You’re beautiful, Gillian. So damned beautiful.”

He walked her backward until he could sit down, urging

her forward to straddle his lap. She settled on top of him,

leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t

we have too many clothes on?”

“There you go again.” He nuzzled his face in the valley

between her breasts as if to reinforce the fact that he was teasing

her. “Relax, honey. I’m in charge here.”

She could have pressed the point. Sex was a two-way

street. But in truth, she had no reason to doubt his ability to

take over. When his mouth covered one aching n----e, brush-

ing it repeatedly with his tongue and teeth, the rational part

of her brain shut down. Dear God.

All that remained were the pleasure receptors. And they

were in danger of overload. In her imagination, she had pictured

Devlyn taking her hard and fast, demonstrating the

same dominating force he wielded in the boardroom.

But she hadn’t even been close. He treated her body as if it

were a rare discovery, mapping it one sector at a time. Time

was irrelevant. Devlyn feasted on her with the relish of a man

coming off months of deprivation.

From her waist to her breasts, to the tender skin beneath

and behind her ear, he kissed, he licked, he nipped, he stroked.

Her breaths came in sharp pants, need building to the point

of pain. “Please,” she croaked. “I want more.”

Unfastening the button at the top of her zipper, he slid both

hands down inside her jeans beneath her panties and stroked

her ass. “I think we’re done with these,” he said, his words

guttural and harsh.

Pushing her to her feet, he dragged the denim down her

legs, taking care to leave her lacy bikini in place. She wrapped

her arms around her breasts, stricken by a return of shyness.

She had been in relationships before. But never had she felt

so exposed, so vulnerable.

Devlyn scooted to the edge of the sofa, cupping his hand

over her m---d. Slowly, making her want to scream in frustration,

he began to finger her, sliding his thumb back and

forth over the damp crotch of her underwear. She pressed

her aching sex into his palm, begging wordlessly for release.

But he had a plan. One from which he would not stray.

Curling his fist around the thin side of the bikini underpants,

he stretched them so that he could drag the fabric back and

forth across her most sensitive spot. The shock of it made heat

pool in the place between her legs that ached so terribly. She

writhed, moving closer. “Devlyn…”

Now he entered her with two fingers, not moving or thrusting.

Merely letting her experience the mimicry of what was

to come. She was wild with need, panting in her desperation.

His thumb brushed the tiny nerve center that throbbed and

burned, and she cried out, slammed by a c----x that left her

with no place to hide, no modesty, no maidenly dissimulation.

His arms were around her, supporting her as she rode out

the last vestiges of pleasure. Limp and helpless, she barely

had enough stamina to remain standing.

And then he started all over again.

Her panties disappeared in a flash. His arms encircled her

hips, positioning his mouth at her center. “Again,” he muttered.

“I want you to come again.”

Feeling him taste her so intimately was like nothing she

had ever experienced. The rough pressure of his tongue, combined

with the swollen remains of her last o----m, brought her

to the peak in record time. She tangled her hands in his hair,

holding on as the insistent tide threatened to drag her under.

Shuddering and speechless, she clung to his shoulders. He

stood and lifted her, stretching her out on the sofa. With jerky

movements, he ripped off his pants and boxers and kicked

them off with his shoes and socks. Foggy with the aftermath

of what he had done to her, for her, she gazed up at him. He

was primed and ready, his erection eager, bold.

“I want to touch you,” she said.

He came down beside her, wedging his hips between her

thighs. Leaning on one arm, he smiled. “I’m all yours.”

She curled her fingers around his s---t, noting the way he

winced as she did so. “Too hard?”

He grimaced. “Not hard enough.” He nudged her legs apart

even more, preparing to enter her, and then he cursed long

and low.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“No condom,” he growled, his expression fierce.

She wanted him so desperately she couldn’t think of anything

but feeling him inside her. “It’s the wrong time of the

month. I should be fine,” she pleaded, not prepared to wait

another second.

“No,” he said bluntly.

There was no question in her mind that he wanted her…

badly. But as her head cleared, she realized that Devlyn was

not prepared to take even the slightest chance of fathering

a child.

It made sense. It was the responsible, moral thing to consider.

But what sobered Gillian was that moments ago she

was beyond coherent reasoning. Devlyn had been able to

step back.

Which meant she was in more trouble than she realized.

Devlyn shuddered, waves of heat raking his body painfully.

The lack of a condom had stopped him from making a

terrible mistake. He didn’t deserve Gillian’s generosity, her

sweet, seductive body. Not when he knew his terrible sentence,

the inescapable truth of what his past had made him.

His s---t nestled against Gillian’s moist folds. The head

pulsed and throbbed, desperate to push inward toward bliss.

He could almost feel the tight squeeze of her slick passage.

His brain told him to get up, but the rest of him said a big

hell no! He was right where he wanted to be…or at least close.

Beneath him Gillian was soft, so soft. His entire weight rested

on her. He smelled the warm fragrance of her skin, the unmistakable

nuance of arousal, his and hers.

The dimly lit room was still and silent but for the sound

of his harsh breathing and the ticktock of the antique mantel

clock. He felt its measured cadence in his chest. He couldn’t

look at her, didn’t want to see her confusion, possibly her hurt.

If he had ever wanted a woman more, he couldn’t remem-

ber. But then again, it was not his style to get so carried away

that he reached this impossible impasse.

Gillian lay beneath him, mute…unmoving.

Exerting an almost superhuman amount of will, he forced

himself up and away from her, every group of nerves and

muscles screaming in protest. By the time he made it to his

feet, he was sweating.

She watched him dress. Which did nothing at all for his

erection, even though he had moved some distance away. He

felt her gaze like a caress.

Though he half expected her to follow his lead, she still lay

naked on the sensuous fabric of the sofa. She had flipped to

her stomach, and the vision of her long, narrow back curving

out into her smooth, rounded ass made him ache with lust.

Licking her lips, she whispered an innocent question. “Do

you want me to come to your bedroom?”

He turned away from her, his head crammed with images

from the past, his and hers. What right did he have to take

her, knowing that the relationship would have more to do

with expedience than permanence? Gillian represented all

that was good and decent about women. He had deep scars,

wounds that compromised his ability to love a woman, any

woman. Would his selfishness bring her pain, despite her

protestations to the contrary?

Clearing his throat, he walked to the nearest shelf, blindly

removing a volume. “Get dressed. Please.”

After a moment of what seemed like stunned silence, he

heard the rustling that indicated her compliance.

Her voice startled him when she spoke. “What now? Look

at me, Devlyn. What now?”

He faced her across a distance of several feet. Her hair

was tumbled, her eyes shadowed with uncertainty and regret.

As he glanced down at the book in his hands, he felt an

insane urge to laugh. The volume he had picked at random

was Dostoyevsky’s The Idiot. Was fate trying to tell him

something? Sadly though, if he remembered his high-school

lessons correctly, the hero in that story was a good but naive

man unable to navigate a not-so-admirable world.

Devlyn was neither naive, nor particularly good. But for

Gillian, he would try. He dropped the book on the desk. “I

promised not to push you, and I broke that promise. Perhaps

it would be wise to take a step backward. Our involvement

could complicate things.”

Even in the dim light he saw her pale. Her expression was

hard to read. But the dark eyes that gazed at him so solemnly

judged him and found him wanting. “I can make decisions

for myself,” she said. “I don’t need you to protect me, Devlyn…

not even from yourself.”

Her dignity in the face of his unforgivable about-face

shamed him. “It’s not you,” he said.

Fury shot from her eyes. “Oh, please. Surely you can do

better than that? I understand that you don’t want to take a

chance without birth control. I get that. What I can’t fathom

is why you’re shutting me out.”

Even now he wanted her so badly he was close to begging.

For forgiveness, for comfort, for sexual release. But he didn’t

deserve her. Not by a long shot. So how could he justify playing

fast and loose with her emotional well-being?

His timing s----d. He should have realized from the beginning

that he was headed down a dead-end road.

For one agonizing moment he had a vision of Gillian with

a chubby, dark-eyed baby at her breast. The image pained

him so deeply his eyes grew damp. Yearning constricted his

chest. All he had to do was treat her decently, and she might

fall in love with him. He could be the man to give her babies.

But even as the temptation faced him, he shoved it away.

He couldn’t give her children. He wouldn’t. Of all the women

he’d ever wanted, Gillian was the one he knew, beyond any

doubt, who would love with a mother’s pure heart, the one

who would cherish her babies and stand by them as they grew.

One day soon a man would walk into her life, a man who

could give her what she wanted…what she needed. That man

was not Devlyn.

Moving with the painful limbs of an old man, he walked

slowly past her to the door. “Good night.”

She didn’t answer. And she didn’t follow.

And that was when he truly understood what he was giving

up.