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

her cheek on the counter top. Reaching forward, I filled my hand with her hair and tugged her back, holding her like that as I came, her body working my cock for more. Her pussy squeezed me so tight when she came and as she wiggled that bare ass into me, I felt the last surge of my orgasm tear through me. My thighs burned as I pumped the last bit of spend into her, filling her totally, my orgasm dripping down her thighs when I pulled out.

“Oh,” she whimpered, “I wanted you to stay in me like that a bit longer.” She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout as I reached for a paper towel, and started to clean up her legs.

“We need to get going soon,” I said, dragging the towel through her folds, enjoying the view that came with it. She scooped her panties from the floor and watched me tuck my cock back into my jeans, something she loved doing. I’d learned right away that Britta loved watching me touch myself and we’d had a few wonderful nights of watching one another indulge in self-love. She’d opened my eyes to a whole world of sex and discovery that neither of us knew was there.

“Bring my notebook down from the office, will you, love?” I poured us more coffee and pulled my baseball cap, sliding my glasses on too.

“Of course. Give me fifteen? Just a quick shower?” she nods eagerly and pads through the house, her panties balled up in her hand. I watched her go up the stairs and thought, for the millionth time, my heart may actually fucking explode because I loved her so much.

I had something in there for her and I’d been saving it for this drive. It wasn’t another poem, but something more important.

Now that she was going to see the properties and choose which she liked the best, that meant we’d probably move soon. I knew how much she loved the house on the hill. She’d grown an emotional attachment to it, for sure. But it didn’t make sense to drive to Connecticut every day once she’d started her business, so we had to move. I teased the idea of having a bakery here in New York but because Melody had loved it in Connecticut so much, she seemed to like the idea of being there better. But she’d never say it. Britta, the thoughtful and sweet woman that she was, she’d never tell me she didn’t want to stay in the city. She’d make herself happy anywhere she was and while I knew she loved the house on the hill, I knew Connecticut with her own bakery is where she was meant to be.

I’d just have to build another house on the hill. In Connecticut. And about six months ago, I’d found the perfect place to do that. And after we saw the properties today, I’d show her the land.

When she came back downstairs, my heart nearly stopped. She wasn’t wearing anything I hadn’t seen before nor was her outfit tight or revealing. But god she was so beautiful. So perfect. Long, honey hair flowing freely over her shoulders, green eyes intensified with black mascara, a real smile on her lips.

“Is this okay?” she opened her arms to her body, looking down at her outfit. Jeans, a white t-shirt and sneakers. She wiggled her hips and tapped a toe on the floor, modeling her outfit like she usually did before we went anywhere. She could be wearing a bedsheet and she’d be a fucking knockout.

“Baby, you could never look bad,” I say, honestly. Her cheeks go flush and she smiles, sweeping her hair over one shoulder, pacing to me.

She wraps her arms around my waist and rises to her toes for a long, passionate kiss that tastes like coffee and cake and it makes me hard, again.

“Later,” she says, cupping my cock through my jeans. “But now, Connecticut! Our bakery awaits!”

She says ‘our’ because I’ve funded it but it’s all hers. I’ve promised her it belongs to her no matter what. As soon as she selects the place. I can’t wait to get to a place where she’s comfortable accepting that what is mine is hers, utterly and completely.

She holds the notebook in her lap as we drive, my hand on her thigh because I cannot be in a space of any size with her and not touch her. It’s impossible. I magnetize to her.

When we arrive in Bridgeport, the GPS tells us we’re just five minutes shy of our destination.

“Will you tell them that you own the whole strip?” she braids her hair while I navigate the downtown scene.

“No. When you decide which shop you prefer, I’ll have my lawyer let them know their lease will expire in a year. Then we’ll spend the next year figuring everything out,” I lift my hand from her lap and park the car, leaving us about half of a mile to walk. I love walking with her, her small hand tight inside of mine, the sun on the tip of her nose. We get stares, some people whisper, but if it bugs Britta, I’d never noticed. I didn’t care that I was nearing fifty and she wasn’t even twenty-two—we were soul mates and I knew it.

“Let’s walk the last bit,” I tell her, getting out of the car.

We walk, hand in hand, down the sidewalk, which snakes through the center of town. She’s quiet for a few minutes and I look down at her. She’s gnawing the side of her lip and her brow is furrowed, like she’s unhappy or in deep thought.

“What’s the matter, baby?” I shake our hands, interlocked, and disrupt her from her thought.

“It’s just, where will the business go? You know, the one who’s shop we want?”

Always thinking of others. Warmth spreads up my neck into my face and I shake my head and give her a small smile.

“I love you; do