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CHAPTER 7
ADRIAN
I wake up to a completely normal day. The smell of coffee is already permeating my bedroom and I think nothing of it, assuming Russell is already here. So it’s no big deal when I walk out of the room, no shirt and only a low-slung set of sweatpants riding my hips.
What I completely forget about is the fact that my new maid will be taking over soon. My maid who will be my wife. And she’s in my kitchen. I have no right to look at Amelia the way I do, but what she is wearing and the fact that she is even in my house knocks me for a loop.
I pause at the edge of the kitchen island. She’s wearing what I gave her last night for sleep. Except she isn’t wearing the bottoms. Just a cotton t-shirt covers her top and drops to just below her mid-thigh. I swallow, I’ve never been this thrown off my game in front of a woman. It’s not like I haven’t fucked my fair share, but my cock twitches, reminding me how long it’s been. It guides my eyes to the smoothness of her calves and that peek of skin just below her ass as she stretches to grab a mug from the cabinet.
I swallow and make my presence known by clearing my throat. “Where’s the sweats?”
She squeaks and nearly falls, only stopped by my quick action of grabbing her shoulders as she spins on the kitchen tiles. I hold her steady, but her arms are pressing against my naked chest and I’m so stupidly aware of how she smells like my cologne but also like lavender.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, gently pressing away from me.
I shake my head, finally able to breathe, before reaching up to grab us both a coffee mug.
“The bottoms didn’t fit. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you are much taller than me,” she says with a cockeyed smile.
I look down at her as I place the cups down and reach for the coffee, “I assume you started this?”
She nods, “Yes, though I didn’t expect you to wake up at 6 a.m. as well.”
“This is actually somewhat late for me,” I tell her. “But I didn’t have anything waiting for me this morning. So I guess you could say I slept in due to last night’s excitement.” My eyes dart to her again as I lean back against the counter, sipping at the bitter black liquid in my mug.
“Thanks,” she motions to the cup in front of her as she pours her own coffee, and I’m surprised she hasn’t scurried back to her room to change.
Amelia, however, seems completely comfortable rooting around in my kitchen looking for sugar without even asking, bending down to flash me a pair of plum-colored panties that stretch tightly across her perfect ass. I sigh and grab an unlabeled container from the island and slide it towards her. I will be in no state to work if she continues searching.
She sends me an awkward smile but still doesn’t do anything about changing her appearance. I decide now is as good a time as any to take out the dogs and escape her.
“You don’t have to go to work today, I already let Russell know what’s going on. But I am sending movers to your apartment so if you wish to oversee that…” my voice trails off as I take the last few finishing gulps of my coffee.
She shakes her head, “No, I trust you’re hiring competent people. I… I don’t think I could go back anyway.”
Her admittance makes me frown. I don’t pity her; I don’t think I know how to pity people. But I do feel bad that she is scared of what used to be her home. Though it is supposedly just an apartment, someplace she moved into because she could afford it. I look around at the bare walls of my living room across the open floor plan. What does it feel like to lose a home?
Once I moved into this place, I always stayed. I got my first dog because I had never felt welcome here. Like an outsider in my own space. But I didn’t think it was a big deal since I never felt welcome at home either. Someone suggested a dog to me. Apparently, there is something behind that saying that having someone or something to come home to makes it yours.
I’ve only been without a dog once in my adult life since I brought my first one into it. But that month where I grieved the loss of Spruce was also the loneliest I think I have ever been. Not feeling like I belong anywhere has always been a problem. I don’t belong in any one place, but as long as my dogs are with me, then I’m home.
Just as I’m about to go find them, I hear the scrabble of paws on the hardwood floor. I smile, pausing in my movements to go back to the bedroom because seconds later Charity and Jewel barrel down the hall in a blast of fur and wagging tails. They briefly say good morning to me, but Amelia is who they’re really interested in. I guess it’s because I never have anyone stay over. They only know Russell.
They rush my guest with a whine and full-body wiggles, and she laughs, surprising me once again. I shouldn’t be shocked, not with the way she seems to connect with them so easily, and not with the way Charity was with her last night. But Jewel is large and right up in her face with open pointy jaws waiting to lick her cheek. Most people who meet Jewel are instantly on guard, unable to read the dog’s need for affection.
“They like you,” I comment.
“That’s good, if I’m going to be living here I would rather they did. How am I supposed to avoid petting them? If they didn’t like me, I would have to ignore them and that’s so hard,” she coos lovingly, mostly talking to the two canines at her feet.
I notice Amelia doesn’t seem uncomfortable around anything in my house. She has made herself right at home, operating my high-end coffee machine with ease, whereas it took Russell several days to figure out. The obvious price tag on so many of my appliances and furniture puts most average people off. I won’t deny I’m surprised by her blasé attitude. The most uncomfortable she seems to be is with my presence. She still has her guard up, but maybe she is still in shock.
I start to walk down the hall to retrieve a shirt before remembering that generally I should tell my ‘guest’ where I’m going.
“I’m taking the girls out,” I say over my shoulder. “They need their morning walk before my first meeting of the day.”
“That’s fine! Do you eat breakfast by the way?” She asks, looking in the refrigerator.
“Normally yes, but often I just order something from the bistro in the hotel. I rarely have time to make anything when I get back,” I answer as I walk down the hall.
