His Young Maid: A Forbidden Boss Age Gap Romance by Daisy Jane (romantic love story reading txt) 📕

he rolls his hips underneath me, I know that nothing else could ever fill me up the way he does. It feels so right. I lean down and kiss his neck, taste his salty skin as he pins my power half with his palm, holding me still while he pumps his eager cock up into me, faster and faster. There isn’t a cinematic quality to what we’re doing, there is only raw hunger made more virile by the physical break we took, and we tear into each other now, my bra flying across the room as he rolls me on my back.

He slows his movements, rolling his hips tightly to mine, pushing and pulling himself out of me like he was playing a fine string instrument. His nose drags against mine as he impales me, moving me higher up the bed.

Though I’ve just come, I feel close already, Brooks’ arms caging me to the bed, his cock flattening me to the mattress. He’s so handsome, the way his body ripples and flexes over mine, how his neck straining tightly as he drives inside me, holding back from his own release.

“I’m sorry,” I pant, throwing a sweaty palm over my face.

He holds his body up on one arm long enough to tug my hand from my face.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he leans down and kisses me and it’s the last bit of contact needed to send me to the place of no return.

“I wanted to come with you,” I rasp, clinging to him, arms everywhere on his torso as my pussy nearly strangles him, squeezing hard, gripping him. “Oh god, Brooks,” I nibble the bottom of his earlobe, the faint scent of his amber cologne making my heart nearly trip up mid-orgasm. “Oh my god, I love you,” I tell him, my orgasm rolling through me with the subtlety of fireworks. I wrap my legs around him, dig my heels into the soft flesh of his ass and drive him deeper inside me as my ride comes to an end. The roar now just a soft lulling of water against melting sands. Finally, I can breathe.

When I open my eyes and find his in the darkness, he drives into me one more time, quick and hard, our gaze still held. Then he stills inside of me and he throbs, pulse after pulse and I feel it in my veins. He fills the condom, unmoving over me, our eyes still tangled in a nonverbal conversation.

“I love you, too,” he pants, pulling himself from me. As he slips away to dispose of the condom, I touch myself where he just was and think of how good it felt to have him inside me, coming inside me, giving me the most intimate part of himself.

He settles into the bed next to me and kisses my bare, raspberry nipple, then my neck, and grabs my chin and kisses me firmly on the lips. On his back next to me he takes my hand, like he did that first night, and weaves our fingers together, resting them on his chest.

“I remember my first vacation. I remember my first heartbreak. I remember my first drink. I don’t remember my first kiss. I remember everything,” his hand squeezes mine against his heart as I recite his words, his poem, the thing that piqued my interest in Brooks from the start. “It’s beautiful, you should write more,” I tell him, wondering if we would have ever met had I not read that note on the floor.

“Everything I wrote before was drab,” he explained, “but now that I have a muse, maybe I will. I don’t know.”

A muse. I smiled to myself, my cheek against his chest, my eyes growing heavy with post-orgasm bliss.

“It’s a shame you’ll have to forget that poem,” he exhales, tracing his fingertips down the length of my arm now, leaving my hands empty.

“What? No!” I protest, and I think though I’ve never explicitly stated it, he knows how much that poem had grown to mean to me.

“It’s just not true anymore. I had my first kiss. Today, at your apartment. I’ll never forget it,” his voice is low and though he’s swathed his admission in a gentle teasing, I know he’s being vulnerable and real.

“Me too,” I catch his fingers on my arm and bring them to my lips, kissing the tip of each one slowly, methodically. “Some actual firsts too,” I let my tongue wrap around one of his fingers and he groans, loud and low. “I’d never gone down on a man before, I’ve never given road head,” I trail off, enjoying teasing him this way. “There’s other things I’ve never done either.”

He rolls to his side where his dick stands against his belly, hard and ready. I eye it, and try to tell myself to get used to seeing him this way, since we’re together now. Still, though, it’s so hard to believe. Brooks is so handsome; I am so lucky.

“I’ll get you all caught up, baby,” he smiles and it makes sunshine inside me, warm and happy.

“Good,” I kiss his chest and let my fingers travel down to his hard heat that waits just for me. “I can’t wait to remember everything.”

Epilogue / Brooks

One Year Later

Even a year later we could barely stand being away from each other. When I’d hired a professional baker to train Britta privately from home, she said she fell in love with being home. I’d been working from home, too, and we got to spend so much time together. The bedroom door had never been closed this much. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. I was nearing fifty years old and having the fucking best sex of my life.

She wanders into the kitchen, her tangled hair a symptom of her wild yet peaceful sleep. I can’t believe that when I met Britta, she hadn’t slept in a bed in years. My t-shirt droops off one of her shoulders, leaving a patch of