Free Maid for You (Regular Sex Issue 5) by Kitty French Page B

shouts 'Offside!' waving the bottle towards
the TV, shaking his head.
    I stand still,
uncertain, and then I bottle it and back out into the kitchen to regroup.
    Okay. This isn't
really his fault, because he doesn't have a clue what's going on in my head.
I'll just try again.
    'Nacho's?’ I call
out.
    'Now you're
talking,' he shouts, and I can hear the relaxed enjoyment threaded through his
voice. Football, beer and nachos. Happy Birthday, Don.
    Ten minutes later
I pile the cheese loaded nacho's into a warmed bowl, re-adjust my cleavage and
take a deep breath as I head back into the snug.
    'Nacho's?' I say,
returning to my spot beside his chair.
    The ref blows his
whistle to signal half time, and Don slumps back and rubs his hands over his
face.
    'Bunch of
jokers,' he laughs. 'My Sunday team could give 'em a run for their money if
they keep playing like this.'
    He clears his
throat and then, at last, he looks at me, his hand already outstretched for the
bowl of nachos.
    It's almost
comical. He freezes, and a picture book of expressions flick over his handsome
face. He starts out relaxed, and then a bolt of shock flashes over his features
as his gaze moves from my face down to my body. His jaw goes a little bit slack,
dropping open like a cartoon character, and then he snatches his arm back in
and pulls himself bolt upright in his chair.
    'Fucking hell,
Cheryl!' he splutters.
    I want to laugh,
but that isn't very seductive is it, so I lowered my eyes to the nachos and
then back up to Don.
    'You asked for
Nacho's, sir,' I say, breathily. 'I've tried to make them just how you like
them.'
    He takes the bowl
from me slowly, still staring at me.
    'Is there
anything else you'd like?'
    He doesn't reply
right away. I don't think he's able, actually.
    'I think I'll just
draw the blinds to keep the glare off the screen for you,' I say, partly to set
the mood, but equally as much because Vanu and his wife can probably see in
here from their sunroom and the last thing I need is a witness today.
    I can feel Don's
eyes burning into my back as I cross the room, and I know he's taking in my outfit.
Seamed black stockings and patent skyscraper stilettos. Bum skimming black
satin dress with a frilled white edge. I've gone for a messy up-do; I was aiming
for sexy, but I'm unsure if it's more dragged through hedge backwards.
    I take my time
over the blinds, giving him a chance to get his eyeful and decide how he wants
to play this. I've had days to think about it, he's only had three minutes. Maybe
that makes him the lucky one though, because all of that thinking time has only
served to fill me with self-doubt and trepidation.
    When I turn back
around, he takes me by surprise. He's put the nachos on the side table and
crossed the room to stand right behind me, so close we're almost nose to nose.
    I'm breathless
all of a sudden, all the more so when he traces his finger around the deep
scoop of my dress.
    'You're dressed
as a French maid,' he says, and his dark brown eyes gleam with surprised
approval.
    'For your
birthday.' My fingers play with the tiny frilled while apron over my flippy
little skirt.
    He nods, and then
smooths his hands lightly down my bare arms.
    'I've never had
my own maid before,' he says. 'What do I do with you?'
    His chink of
uncertainty emboldens me. 'I'm yours for the day.' I lick my lips. 'Anything
you want, just ask.'
    'Anything?' he
whispers, and his hands move to my waist and sway me against him.
    I nod, and then
close my eyes because his mouth is on mine, and I've missed him kissing me like
this more than I'd ever let myself acknowledge. Even when we have sex, we don't
kiss like this anymore. I feel like that girl on Lyme Regis beach again, and he
feels like my sexy undergraduate boyfriend. Except he's all man now and I'm a
thirty-eight year old secretary, and he's just backed me against the newly
closed blinds to kiss me more thoroughly.
    'Don.' I whisper
his name when he comes up for air, threading my fingers through