Dwelling in Desire Ch. 11

Shoot. I should have asked him to take the items out and put them in bins or something. I couldn't just go through his drawers.

Just get it done Beth.

It was a sound argument, but I still felt uncomfortable invading his privacy.

You didn't feel uncomfortable opening his trunk of depravity, did you? Get it done.

Expelling a deep breath, I proceeded.

I started with the nightstands. Nothing super surprising. Socks. Belts. Random crap. Condoms. K-Y...blush, blush...Empty Ziploc bag. I guess I can trash that.

Don't trash anything unless you are positive it's trash Beth.

I lifted the bag to the light streaming through the windows, just to be sure I wasn't missing anything, like a Tylenol or spare shirt button.

A hair.

That's odd. Wait...

The hair was long. And blonde. And suddenly it dawned on me that it looked disturbingly like my own.

I frowned. It didn't make any sense. How would Curt be in a position to have one of my hairs?

It could be anyone's Beth. He's probably had any number of women with long blonde hair in this room. Just do your job and focus.

>Ding, Dong<

Alek.

Abandoning my task for the moment, I emerged from the master bedroom.

"Hang on, I'll be right there!" came a muffled voice.

What the?

The voice sounded like it was coming from down the hall.

Oh...ssshhhiit.

The hall bath door opened.

And Curt appeared. In a towel.

Sweet lord...

"Bethany," he gushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

"No, no! I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were home still. I'm sorry..." I stuttered, before turning and running down the stairs to meet Alek.

Well, really to avoid turning beet red in front of Curt. He'd been naked from the waist up. Nothing but a thin, wet layer of terry cloth concealing his manhood from my mortified gaze.

I felt so...stupid. So dizzy. So embarrassed. And so fucking hot.

>Ding, Dong<

"Coming Alek!" I called, though I knew he probably couldn't hear me.

When I answered the door finally, I was panting, and not from exertion.

"Good morning Alek! Sorry that took so long. Big house!" I smiled, struggling yet again to gather my wits.

"Good morning Miss Beth! No problum, no problum. So we hev a big day!"

"Yes, big day," I breathed. "Shall we start downstairs?"

"Yes, of course, I'll just get started unloading. Can we keep the door open while I bring things in?"

"Absolutely Alek. Just holler when you're ready!"

"Yes, no problum..."

I turned and ran to the powder room to give myself a once over.

Whew! The circles under my eyes were mostly gone, and my complexion was more rosy than beety. Thank heaven. So now what?

The kitchen. I'd wait in the kitchen.

I needed to calm down and try to stop shaking. Maybe I could try some meditation.

What had that yoga instructor said?

Focus on one thing. One, dull, simple, bland thing. Not work. Not stress.

I stared down at the countertop. Countertop. The countertop was bland.

I gazed at it, observed the color. The various tones of beige in the granite, the tiny flecks of black and gray. The sheen. The reflection. My reflection.

A man's reflection.

"Good morning Bethany."

So much for relaxing.

"Morning," I barely whispered.

I could feel his breath on the back of my neck for the briefest moment before he rounded the kitchen island.

I knew I was blushing again, especially since he looked just as hot fully dressed as he did in a towel.

The dark slacks and crisp white shirt complimented his ruggedly masculine features. His black leather belt was simple yet sophisticated, subtly highlighting what impressive shape he was in. He was freshly shaven, and I could smell his cologne—the rich musky aroma invading my senses, and making me thank God that I still had those backup panties in my bag.

This man, looked like sin. He smelled like sin. And he made me yearn for it.

"I'm so sorry Curt. I knocked, and rang the bell..."

"And I was in the shower. Don't worry about it," he smirked as he finished fastening his cuff links. He was relishing my embarrassment.

"Can I get you some coffee?" he offered in a jovial tone that made my head spin.

"Umm, yeah, sure," was my brilliant response.

"I slept soundly last night, thanks to the fantastic job you did on that guest room. I'm truly impressed Beth. Can't wait to see what you have in store for me tonight."

His tone was light, but also dripping with sensuality.

Or maybe it's just your increasingly sick perverse mind Beth. Jeez.

"I'm glad you slept well Curt. I do my best."

"I can certainly see that Beth."

Beth. Beth. Why was he calling me Beth?

Why shouldn't he call you Beth? Everyone calls you Beth.

But you like it when he calls you Bethany, don't you? You even told him. But you didn't tell him that it makes you tingle all over. That it makes you wet...

I didn't know if I liked him calling me Beth or not. I liked that it was familiar. And I appreciated that it seemed less...sexual. It was probably for the best that he called me Beth.

"Yeah, so, are you off to work? I bet you have a busy day!" I clumsily attempted a change in topic.

"Somewhat busy, yes," he smirked knowingly.

I couldn't bear to look at his cocky sexy face anymore, so I focused on the mug of coffee he had given me, taking a few tiny sips, trying not to burn my tongue off and embarrass myself further.

Curt casually finished his coffee before rinsing out his mug and grabbing his coat and keys.

"Well, have a good day Beth. Take care of my house!" he winked at me before immediately exiting to the garage.

He was so fucking confident. And I was a mess. He'd done nothing wrong. Said nothing wrong. And I was still a mess.

"Okay Miss Beth..." I heard Alek call from the living room.

I happily abandoned the black coffee that was far too earthy for my taste, and ran to help Alek get started on the drapes.

---

Okay...drapes, check. Cabinets, check. Rugs, check.

The furniture delivery truck I'd expected today had broken down and would be delayed until tomorrow. Which meant that the master bedroom would not be completed today.

It sucked, but was also a blessing in disguise because the downstairs was still looking incomplete. The drapes and rugs had helped immensely, as had the paint, but I'd underestimated how much space there was yet to fill. The walls looked sparse. The corners looked blank. The china cabinet had no china. The space looked unfinished. At least by my standards.

I needed to go shopping again. I'd run out of time and energy yesterday and hadn't been able to complete a second round of shopping. And it showed.

Checking my phone, I saw that it was a quarter to three. If I left now, I could probably be back by four. Four thirty latest.

What if Curt came home though?

So what if he does Beth? You have a fucking job to do! Get yourself together and get it done!

With that stern inner monologue out of the way, I locked up and headed out to continue shopping.

---

Delays like broken down trucks always happened for a reason. There was always something to get done. Loose ends to tie up. And today, shopping for random crap to fill that gargantuan house was it.

The master bedroom furniture would come tomorrow, I'd finish it tomorrow, and everything would be done. I just needed to keep going.

But I could already feel my body starting to protest. My throat was dry, my stomach rumbled, and my head hurt.

I kept forgetting things. I would get in line at the store, realize I forgot something, and have to get out of line, go find what I needed, and then get back in line. And of course, the line was always three times as long when I came back.

I needed water so badly. I had to stop for some as soon as possible.

After miraculously cramming the last items into my car, I noticed a small deli across the parking lot.

That would do. Just some water, and maybe some chips, and I could get back to the house.

---

I was disappointed to see that I'd missed her. I'd tried to get home early enough to catch Bethany before she departed, but it seemed she was on to me after yesterday.

The downstairs was noticeably more presentable, and I was eager to see the progress on the master bedroom. In particular, that four-poster bed. To see it in the flesh, and fully appreciate its potential.

Alas when I entered my room, it was still the dark cave I'd found yesterday. With the exception of the drapes, which were nice, but far from enough to impress.

I frowned. Something was off.

I went back down to the kitchen. Perhaps she'd left a note and I'd missed it.

No note.

I shrugged and was just about to pull a Hungry Man from the freezer when I heard the classic key in the lock sound.

I heard her soft cursing, which made me grin inadvertently as she shuffled through the door with two huge shopping bags.

"Hey Beth," I greeted softly, after clearing my throat to avoid scaring her. "Can I give you a hand?"

"Oh! Hi Curt," she greeted, clearly flustered. "I umm, I was just bringing in some extra stuff. You can help if you like, but I'm fine, really..."

"I'll help," I declared firmly.

As I approached her car, I gaped at the tiny vehicle positively stuffed to the brim with shopping bags. It couldn't have been safe to drive like that. She clearly needed a more substantial vehicle.

"Good God Beth, that is a lot of shit," I muttered before I could catch myself.

But she laughed.

"Well hopefully it isn't all shit. It is intended to go in your home after all," she teased.

"I'm sorry, I just meant it's a lot of stuff."

"True!" she laughed, though her eyes looked tired.

I observed her more closely as she began to empty her trunk of bags. She looked exhausted. Pale. Sweaty. Stressed.

It was more than I could tolerate.

"Beth, when was the last time you ate?"

"About twenty minutes ago actually," she said dismissively.

"And what did you eat?" I pressed.

"Chips," she answered honestly, but with a hint of sass that at the moment served only to upset me.

"Chips," I repeated dryly.

"Mmhmm."

"That can't have been sufficient for a woman who's been working all day."

"Curt, please, I'm fine. Now here, if you want to help, take these bags inside and set them in the foyer," she ordered, avoiding eye contact.

I indulged her for the moment as the task needed doing, and the sooner I had her inside the better.

I was a worker ant for the next forty-five minutes getting things unloaded and sorted out in their different areas, as per her instructions. It was clear that Beth was only accepting my help because she was running on fumes. She was coming up on a twelve-hour day, and I didn't like it at all.

When the bags had been sorted to her satisfaction, Bethany managed to shoo me away so she could get things set up. I was angry that she was refusing to call it quits for the day when she was so clearly exhausted, but I let her continue. As long as she was within earshot, I would allow it.

Two hours later, she found me in the family room, on my brand new leather sofa, watching the news.

"I'm loving the new sofa Beth, it's so fucking comfy!" I grinned. "And see, no shoes on the table!" I pointed out proudly.

"Good boy!" she giggled. "Well, I'm gonna head home now. Be back tomorrow first thing. Furniture for the bedroom was rescheduled for tomorrow, and I'm expecting Rick as well for some touch ups and other tasks."

"Beth," I rose from the sinfully comfortable sofa and approached her. "I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I'd feel much better if you just crashed here tonight. It's obvious that you're tired."

"No, it's fine. I'm just a half hour away. And traffic is dying down a bit," she insisted.

"No Beth. It's not fine. You shouldn't be on the road. You can bunk in the guest suite downstairs. It's fully equipped, I assure you," I smiled, trying to lighten the mood a bit and convince her with reason, rather than force.

"No, I can't," she shook her head, a flustered look on her face. "I don't have a change of clothes, and I just...I can't. I'll be fine!"

She turned and all but ran from the room.

I followed.

I struggled to harness my anger as she grabbed her bag from the table. She said nothing to me as she gripped the door handle to make her departure.

"Stay," I growled, as darkly as I dared.

She froze. She stayed.

I approached her from behind, and gently turned her to face me.

"Bethany, stay."

She trembled in my grasp, and finally whispered, "Okay."

"Good girl," I smiled, squeezing her arms gently before releasing her. "Now come sit. I'll order us some pizza, and you will relax. Understand?"

She nodded, still not making eye contact. But she was respecting my wishes, and that was enough. For now.

I sat her down on my new cozy couch, and went to the kitchen to dial my regular pizza parlor.

The pizza guy quoted me thirty minutes, and when I rejoined her in the family room, she finally looked at me.

"Curt, I, thanks for inviting me to stay. I really appreciate it. But again, I don't have a change of clothes. I'm dirty from today, and need clean clothes."

"You can wash the clothes you have, here."

"But..."

"I believe," I interjected, "that my designer very conveniently provided some bathrobes in the guest suite closet. Would one of the robes not be sufficient while you wash your clothes?"

I don't know if she blushed at my recognition of her thorough attention to detail, or at the idea of wearing nothing but a robe in front of me, but I suspected it was the latter.

"That would be...inappropriate to say the least Curt."

"Hey, you saw me in a far more compromising ensemble just this morning, need I remind you?" I teased. "A robe is quite innocent by comparison."

"I'm sorry about that Curt," her eyes diverted to the soft supple leather of the couch.

Lifting her chin, I whispered huskily, "I'm not. Your blush is exquisite. Now, go take a nice hot shower, and then you can take your clothes upstairs to wash. The pizza should arrive shortly after."

The thought of a hot shower must have won her over, because she nodded. Her resistance was waning, and her submission to me had my pants tightening more with every passing minute.

As soon as I heard the water kick on, I ran upstairs to change. She would likely be more comfortable wearing a robe around me if I was dressed in more casual attire. I threw on some flannel pants and an old cotton t-shirt from my Alma Mater.

I hurried back downstairs and grabbed us some waters before mindlessly channel surfing. My brain was more focused on the sound of the water rushing through the pipes. I could see her, in the shower, her mouth open in quiet relief as the hot water massaged her tired aching muscles, matting her hair, running over her soft creamy...

Fuck! Stop it right now you horny bastard! This is why she nearly refused to stay. Get yourself under control right now, or she will run like a scared little bunny, and it will be all your doing.

Returning my attention to the TV, I found Braveheart playing on Bravo and figured what the hell. I'd let her pick what she wanted when she got out of the shower. The movie had just started, so I paused it and waited, cracking my knuckles and fucking around with my phone.

The water turned off. Silence. And then the creak of the door opening.

I couldn't see her from the family room where I was, but I heard her padding quietly down the hall, tip-toeing up the stairs, and loading her stuff into the washer.

Minutes later she emerged, flushed, with a flannel robe wrapped as tightly around her as possible. Her cute dainty bare feet the only visual clue as to what treasures lay beneath.

I couldn't contain a grin, and quickly re-directed my gaze back to the TV.

"Pizza should be here momentarily," I mused. "You ever seen Braveheart? With Mel Gibson? Or would you prefer something else?"

She nodded, "Sure, Braveheart's fine."

This was the tradeoff with submissive women. The passivity. The "Sure, whatever you want." It was really hard to determine at times whether they truly agreed, truly didn't care, or were poisoning your oatmeal the next morning.

But for now, we'd keep it light. No over-analyzing.

The pizza came. We ate. She finished her laundry, and we watched our movie.

It was only halfway through when she fell asleep.

I smiled down at her affectionately, enjoying her slow deep breathing, and the seductive rise and fall of her breasts beneath the robe.

I couldn't bring myself to wake her, but she definitely wouldn't be sleeping on the couch. Praying she didn't wake suddenly and object, I lifted her gently into my arms, and carried her to the guest suite.

I shook my head in disbelief. For the second time, I was carrying her to her room with zero intention of sharing her bed. I couldn't decide whether to find it hilarious or depressing.

She stirred, and her eyes fluttered a bit, but she snuggled closer to me as I held her. God, she was so perfect. So perfect that she had me throbbing with an insane mix of unquenchable desire and fatherly protectiveness.

Tonight, the latter would prevail, but I knew in my heart it wouldn't be long before I lost control.

I laid her as gently as possible on the bed before tucking her in.

"Sleep well baby," I whispered.

---

Friday

A tone-deaf, yet still merry whistling alerted me to the fact that I was not in my own bed. I was at Curt's. That must be him whistling.

I hesitantly emerged from the guest suite, which I had to give myself kudos for. I'd slept like a baby, and that shower had been divine. All the amenities were there, just as I'd planned.

Squinting from the early morning sun blazing through the windows, I entered the kitchen to acknowledge my host. My client.

"Morning," I greeted shyly.

"Morning beautiful," he grinned, making me roll my eyes. "Eggs?"

"I couldn't impose..."

"Eggs!" Curt insisted, obviously aware that I was about to decline. He would have none of it.

I couldn't help but smile at his hilarious caveman-like brand of dominance. It was totally endearing, and made me loathe the fact that I was his employee. If only he could make me eat eggs every morning. Make me eat eggs, and then make me do other things...

Get it out of the gutter Beth.

I was shaken from my thoughts by a huge plate of scrambled eggs before me. Curt then grabbed his own plate and sat across from me, smirking in smug satisfaction.

"Eat," he ordered.

I sighed, and obeyed, frustrated that I really wanted nothing more than to do so. To obey him.

"Oh my God, Curt," I moaned.

"Yep. I'm that good," he grinned.

"Yes you are. These eggs, they're amazing!"

"Well enjoy, because they're the only damn thing I know how to make," he laughed.

"I find that hard to believe," I raised my eyebrows in challenge.

"Well granted, I can make almost any version of egg. But still, it's a pretty pathetic resume of dishes."

"Well to please a woman, believe me this is more than sufficient," I teased. "Expensive steak dinner in the evenings, and breakfast in bed the next morning."

"Damn, I missed the mark on that didn't I?" Curt laughed. "I'd assumed breakfast in bed today would be too forward."

"You assumed correctly," I smirked. "I was referring to any potential lady guests you may have in the future."

I was unprepared for the icy look that crossed his features just then. As if I'd insulted him. But before I could apologize, he quickly masked it and consumed every last speck of egg on his plate.