Erotica
Screw the Working Class
a blue collar woman is pleasured by her rich boss
Tammy tapped on the beige door. Her tool bag twisted in her hand. There was no way out of this pain in the ass.
“Service call. Maintenance.” She knocked louder with a sigh.
“It’s open,” came a reply from within.
She opened the door and stepped inside the apartment of the most beautiful man in the world. He hated her, and the feeling was entirely mutual after months of bullshit. But the maintenance job at Avery Towers paid better than anything else..
“Mr. Von Clarke, what’s the problem?”
Every week something was less than perfect in his place, and despite his utter disdain for her, he also insisted she be the one to address each issue. Problems never repeated, so it was not her workmanship.
“Faucet in my master bathroom.” Emphasis on the word master. Yeah, Trenton Von Clarke considered himself king of the world.
“I trust there is no one in your bedroom this time.” She once entered to find a naked blonde in his bed. More than she wanted to know about his extracurriculars.
“Just you in a minute.” Her head snapped up, and she met his dark glare. Heat flooded her, chased by a shiver.
“I know the way.” Tammy tried to chase him off, but he followed, crowding her while she adjusted the offending faucet.
He didn’t hover. He stood by the door as if she might steal his fluffy towels or fancy soap. Though she’d die before admitting the smell of his hygiene choices was intoxicating.
When she finished, she stood and turned around. “That should — ” Her body pressed against his chest, he’d moved so close to her. “What the hell?” She clamped her lips together. Fuck, language like that could get her reported.
He grabbed her elbows. “I — I.” A storm raged in his eyes.
“Sorry, I’ll get out. The faucet should work.” Tammy dipped her head.
“Don’t…” his throat bobbed. “Don’t play demure. I see the fire in your eyes.”
She flashed up to him, pulling from his grip. “Fine. What’s your problem with me? Is it that I’m working class? Or that I’m a woman doing a man’s job? Or what?” Tammy grabbed her bag, cursing her short temper and big mouth. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He twisted the bag from her, tossed it aside, and grabbed her chin. “The problem, my problem, is I am wildly attracted to you. And I could not figure out…”
“What?”
He sighed, moved in close to her mouth, and whispered. “Better if I show you?”
His sharp gasp stole her breath, so she nodded. He brushed his lips over hers, then pushed in, licking the inside of her mouth. “Mr…” Tammy trailed off as his eyes searched hers.
“Trenton. Call me Trenton,” he muttered, sweeping her into another kiss while walking her backwards. Because his room was so large it took forever until her thighs hit his mattress. She expected to tumble backward, but he caught her and lowered her, unbuttoning her uniform.
He kissed above her lace bra, her fingers pulling the cups down to reveal her peaks that he kissed too.
Trenton Von Clarke yanked her pants to her knees and buried his face in the dewy curls, licking her clit. She arched up to meet his tongue as it darted and dipped, lapping her desire.
Tammy moaned, wanting to squirm, but his grip held her hips, trapping her in a whirlwind of surprise ecstasy. The vortex grew larger, sucking her higher and faster. Until she spiralled out of control, and the top came off, and her ecstasy spilled out like debris from a tornado. She crashed hard on his pillow top mattress, face to face with her enemy, who suddenly possessed her body.
“I need…” He rose over her, unbuckling his belt. “I need…” He couldn’t catch his breath to ask, and she kicked off her pants, wanting what he wanted.
“I know.” She reached for Trenton Von Clarke, whose family owned large factories or oil refineries in desert countries or something that made her life miniscule in comparison. Tammy opened her legs and let him into her world.
He bucked against her, letting their increasing desire move him faster and faster until they spun out together, mouths fused to muffle their moans. He arched and rose and fell, pulling her down with him, quivering around him.
He withdrew from inside her, painting on the bed next to her, one golden arm over her waist. She didn’t want to move, but she knew she had to return to work. To leave his apartment. To find a new job.
“What time are you done work?”
“Six.” She didn’t think just answered his inquiry.
“Is seven enough time?”
She turned her head to look at his ear. “Enough time for what?”
“To get ready for dinner.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I’m too tired and I just grab take out.”
He sighed and kissed her, eyes flashing again. “I’m asking you out.”
“Oh.” She closed her eyes as the words sank in, jumping up. “What?”
“Don’t think too much about it. Just tell me, can you be ready by seven?”
“Uh.” She calculated the ride home, getting ready, then back. “Uh, I don’t think I can get back here in time.”
“I’m picking you up.”
“Oh, then I guess. Seven thirty would probably be better.” She took his advice, not to think too much.
He kissed her and tossed her pants. “I don’t want to be the reason you get fired either, so I’ll see you tonight.”
She dressed, then wrote her number and address on a business card, still dazed from how quickly this all happened. Then she picked up her tool bag and went back to work.
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