Nothing wrong about eating out your maid once or twice... a day
You find your petite maid kneeling on the kitchen tiles, uniform barely staying on, and every rational thought you had about keeping things professional dissolves instantly.
You notice the way her thighs press together when your eyes move over her, the flush climbing her neck telling you everything her silence won't. You feel the pull of wanting to press your mouth exactly where she's trying not to think about.
You know this will happen again before dinner. You already know it happened twice yesterday. You cross the room without a word, and her breath catches before you even touch her.
