CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

WOOD POV

I couldn’t believe the depth of my own insanity. One afternoon of reading the girl’s dirty fantasies had me acting like a crazy man, concocting some irrational story of my own just to get her into my house for the holidays.

    God wept. Or laughed. Probably the latter.

      I’d left the office earlier than usual, my to-do list suddenly a damn sight longer now I had this ridiculous scheme to pull off.

      I hadn’t bothered decorating this year. No tree, no fairy lights, no Christmas snacks in the pantry.

      And, most significantly of all, no fucking cat.

      I groaned to myself as I headed down the pet food aisle of my local supermarket. I’d never had a pet. No dog, no budgerigar, not even a token goldfish when I was a boy. And certainly no bastard cat.

      It had been a moment of absolute madness. Her silly girlish smirk had poked a nerve, making me feel like a hypochondriac imbecile who couldn’t bear to leave his precious house unattended.

      I should have rolled with it, not least because I don’t like liars and certainly don’t like being the one doing the lying. Even if it was a preposterous little mistruth driven by nothing other than the need for a believable house sitting requirement.

      I guessed I should have seen this coming. If it hadn’t been the dirty laptop slip up, it would have been something else.

      I’d been stalking her mother’s social media for twelve months straight, just to keep sight of the sweet little beauty who’d captured both my dick and my imagination. I could barely be bothered to keep up to date with my genuine associates’ social media accounts, yet for Mae Chase I’d found my thumb wandering up and down my timeline at least three times daily.

      More often than not, I’d found it wandering up and down my cock every night afterward too.

      I’d known the time was coming that she’d be looking for a training placement after university. I’d made sure Sylvia Chase had the online icon illuminated when I’d posted the job description a few months previous. When she’d liked the status, and Mae’s CV had arrived in the HR email account the very next day, I’d known she’d be the one taking root in the office next door to mine.

      We were bound for trouble from day one, professional standards or not.

      And now here I was buying kitty treats for an imaginary cat the night before Christmas Eve.

      Life really does have a sense of humour.

      Along with salmon gourmet kitty food for the pampered feline my shopping trolley was filled with chocolate and Christmas pudding and enough roast dinner supplies to feed a family of four. I tossed in a couple of tinsel snowmen for good measure, and was just about ready to check out when I found myself standing next to a rack of electronics special offers.

      And then it dawned on me.

  For sweet little MaeMae to risk so much in order to save dirty documents onto her company hard drive, she must be lacking a machine of her own. Call it instinct, but I suspected there were plenty of personal possessions Mae was short of after scraping by on a student budget for three years straight.

 Putting the cute pink laptop in my shopping trolley, along with a roll of wrapping paper, made the cat lie look almost rational, and yet still I rocked on up to the checkout and cashed out without even a hint of remorse.

      A Merry Christmas it would be indeed for the dirty little sweetheart.

      Job done, I whipped back home for phase two. I dragged the old tree down from the loft and set it up in my living room. I ran tinsel garlands along the curtain rails, and set up some garish flashing fairy lights in the porch window.

      I even stuck those stupid tinsel snowmen next to the front door.

      The turkey crown and dinner supplies filled a decent portion of the fridge, and the rest of it stacked up nicely with treats and snacks. More than enough to keep a slip of a thing like Mae gorged full for a few days.

 And then I wrapped the laptop, even though I cursed myself all the way through the process. I gritted my teeth as I stuck a silly red bow on the top, and shook my head as I placed it under the Christmas tree, counting on the fact that I’d come to my senses long before she discovered it there.

      As it turns out, I didn’t.

I woke up the next morning with an equal unwillingness to return the thing to the store and replace it with a token box of chocolates. I got ready for work with a tingle in my gut I was unfamiliar with.

      Excitement.

      It was most definitely ‘excitement’.

      Not the thrill of closing a big filtration deal, or scoring full marks on our quarterly client surveys. Not the thrill of presenting new filter technology at an industry seminar with everyone nodding their appreciation.

      Not even the thrill of jerking one off into my palm over a dirty girl’s first time anal fantasy.

      This was different. Soft and sickly and borderline irritating.

      I hated how tight I clung onto that feeling all the way to the office, and hated the way it kicked up a notch when I spotted little Mae with her overnight bag all packed at her desk ready to go.

      “I’m all set, Mr Douglas,” she informed me sweetly as we crossed paths in the kitchen before lunch.

      I managed a nod. A grunt. Barely even a smile to match her happy grin.

      It didn’t seem to deter her enthusiasm.

      I watched her all the way through Secret Santa while Lydia from reception dished out all the stupid novelty presents.

  My stupid gift was a pair of light-up-dick space boppers on a headband. I didn’t even crack a smile as the rest of them roared with hysterics.

  I hated Secret Santa, but my dislike was tempered more than a touch when it came Mae’s turn to tear open her wrapping.

      Her cheeks went up in her trademark crimson as a Naughty Mrs Claus lingerie set came into view.

      Again, the gathered participants roared — but my interest in that little gift box was anything but humorous. How my dick fucking twitched at the thought of that perky little ass in a red satin thong.

      I could practically feel the twang of it under my thumb as I’d part those sweet cheeks nice and wide for me.

      I made sure I was standing perfectly upright when I told her we were done with work for the day,  lest she cop a sight of my dick at full blown hardness in my suit trousers, rather than the swing to the right she’d so graciously described in her literature.

      “We’re leaving early?” she quizzed, as though the idea was absurd.

      I checked my watch, even though I knew perfectly well what the time was.

      “I have a long journey ahead,” I told her and she nodded eagerly.   

 “Of course, I’m sorry, sir.”

      Sorry, sorry, sorry. Always so fucking sorry.

      I wondered if she’d be so keen to apologise with my dick ramming up her sweet ass. I’d also love to know how her voice would tremble when I was balls deep and breaking her in two.

      My gaze didn’t waver for a moment as I watched her tidy her desk in readiness to go. Her jittery fingers, the flush on her cheeks, the way she spun in her seat so gracefully.

      It was still light outside when we set off from the office.

      I could barely keep my attention on the road ahead as she fiddled in the passenger seat.

      She was nervous. Hesitant. Smiling with a paper smile that I’d love to fuck right off her face.

      I wondered if she really was a virgin like her stories suggested, and whether she really would like to try my cum as a creamer in her morning coffee.

      The urge to stay around and find out was almost more than I could bear.

      I made her unlock my front door, to ensure she knew the technicalities of the security alarm. I showed her through the pantry and the wine cellar. I invited her to peruse the supplies in my freshly stocked refrigerator and enforced sternly that she should treat the place like home for the duration of her stay.

      And then I showed her to her bedroom.

      The guest room.

      Freshly made up with crisp white bedding and enough clean towels for three.

      “It’s a lovely house,” she said as we headed back downstairs.

      I took my suitcase from the hallway and handed over my business card with my personal mobile number listed.

      “Call if you need anything,” I instructed and she curled an eyebrow.

      “I hope I manage to keep the place standing until you get home.”

      I curled an eyebrow right back at her. “You’d best had, young lady, or there may be a disciplinary.”

      I loved her intake of breath too much to dawdle a second longer.

      I was loading my case onto my backseat when she appeared in the front doorway, waving me down like I’d forgotten my underpants.

      But no.

      “Your cat,” she called. “What’s its name?”

      Oh fuck, the fucking cat.

I closed the distance right back up again to buy me time to think, and by the time my cobbled together answer came out it sounded thoroughly half-cocked.

      “It’s more of a stray,” I told her. “Just leave some food on the porch and don’t worry too much if you don’t see him. He never comes inside. Too skittish.”

      “Skittish,” she repeated. “Right.”

      I turned my back to her, but she wasn’t done.

      “His name,” she said. “You didn’t tell me his name.”

      “Dick… I mean Dickson,” I blustered and she laughed out loud.

      “You want me to stand on your doorstep and call for Dick at night?”

      It was all I could do to bundle myself into my car and get the hell out of there before I had her on her knees begging for mine.