Sleeping With the Help (Toyboy Lover)

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Authors: Ava Rush
Tags: Romance, Contemporary Romance, Love Story, Erotic Romance, Romantic Erotica, toyboy, toy boy, with sex, the help, toy boy lovers
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One of his hands clutched my butt firmly.
    I knew I didn't look elegant or lady-like bent over the back of my couch like a hooker, but he felt so good inside me that I didn't care how I looked. My perfume should have been called Desperate!
    As he neared his climax, his plunges sped up, and my whole body jerked as he took his final stab. He exploded, and collapsed on my back, his breath heavy on my flesh.
    “I should get into trouble more often, so you can keep saving me,” he said breathlessly, moments later.
    I laughed. “You do that. Your trouble keeps me in expensive suits.”
    Someone tapped the living room door. And then, “Miss Victoria, sorry to bother you. I'm leaving now.” A woman's voice, timid, apologetic and heavily accented.
    “Okay, Lupita. See you tomorrow,” I called back, my voice heavy with post-sex breathlessness.
    “Your maid?” Rod asked, finally pulling out of me and helping me up.
    “Yep. I don't know what I'd do without her. She goes above and beyond.”
    “Next time tell her to join us. I don't think I've boned a maid before.” He thought about it, then continued, 'Women who've dressed as maids, but not a real one.”
    “Well, I don't sleep with the help, so that's not going to happen,” I said adamantly. That had always been my motto, and I wasn't about to deviate from it.  
     
    With both hands fastening my platinum and jade studded earrings, I bent down in front of the coffee table in the living room, peering into the darkness to find the right foot of my Louis Vuitton heels. This seemed to be the way I started every morning court appearance, rushing about searching for discarded items of clothing and trying to do a million things at once. Other people's lateness pissed me off to no end – I'd fired a couple of people over it – but I'd never managed to curb my own. The ultimate hypocrite!
    My cell phone buzzed on the table.
    “Talk fast – I'm going to be late for my court appearance. Judge Rickards is already on my ass for last week; I don't want to give him something else to penalize me for.”
    “Just calling to remind you to bring the Montana v Winchester Homes case file.” The voice of Jake – my assistant – as on edge as I was, traveled down the line. 'Though you probably didn't need reminding.' He chuckled nervously, boyishly, sounding every bit the pimply, nerdy Ivy-Leaguer that he was.
    “No, I didn't need reminding,” I said quickly, slipping on my newly located shoe, phone held to my ear with my shoulder. I made a mental note to run into the study and retrieve the file... which I had forgotten.
    I heard the front door close, then Lupita popped her head around the corner, a huge bunch of white lilies occupying both hands. I noticed immediately that her normal honey colored complexion had turned a shade similar to the flowers she had in her hands. She looked sickly, though she continued to smile as she handed me the bunch.
    “I've also been told to remind you that there's a partners meeting at three this afternoon,” my assistant continued. “They don't want you to miss it like you usually do.”
    I took the flowers from the maid and read the card, not paying much attention to the conversation.
    The only things as beautiful as you. Paul x.
    I groaned and rolled my eyes, shocked by how cheesy the note was. I felt like sending him a fossil with the note, The only thing as old as you. Victoria. But although I was known as the Steel Woman in the industry, I didn't go around insulting people, especially people as powerful as Paul. He'd been trying to poach me for two years, trying to get me to join his law firm. If he hadn't been so sleazy I might have really considered it. But he was approaching seventy and in his old age he'd apparently forgotten how to be respectful.  
    “You want me to put them in a vase, Miss Victoria?” Lupita asked, little droplets of sweat dripping down her forehead. It couldn't have been any more than 50 degrees – she must have been

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