The skirt was too short. I knew it. I wore it anyway.
He always stared when I vacuumed the rug especially when I bent down to plug it in.
And today, I didn’t bother with underwear.
The house was too quiet.
His car was still outside, but he hadn’t said a word since I came in.
I wiped the kitchen counter slowly, deliberately, my ass swaying as I moved. I heard him before I saw him his shoes on the polished marble floor, the subtle clink of a whiskey glass.
"You like teasing me, don't you?"
I froze, cloth in hand. I turned slowly.
He was leaning against the wall, shirt undone just enough to expose that hard chest I’d imagined way too many times. His eyes? Low. Fixed between my thighs.
"I asked you something," he said, walking forward.
I bit my lip. “I’m just cleaning, sir.”
He stop
