Maid

I swear he’s better built than the statue I’m polishing in his foyer right now, and from the look of the bulge in those thin wool slacks, certainly more well endowed. Despite being a world-class businessman, where you’d think he’d be chained to a desk all day, he looks like a world-class athlete and moves like one too…his glutes firing, making his movements look effortless, as he glides through the entryway to his mansion.

Despite the smell of about half a bottle of Lemon Pledge having been sprayed in the last fifteen minutes, I inhale the scent of something that resembles a campfire, or a rugged man in a barn stamping out horseshoes. It’s rugged, masculine, and suits the five o’clock shadow that he’s sporting despite the oversized IWC wall clock, with a diameter that’s wider than I am tall, displaying the time to be exactly nine in the morning.

I close my eyes as the scent engulfs me, abruptly jerking them back open, when a deep voice with notes that sound like leather tipped it ste