Page 109 of Dominion
Cody unlockedthe front door and pushed it open. And then stopped dead. Melissa was scrubbing his kitchen floor on her hands and knees wearing…holy shit.
He swallowed, his body temperature rising five degrees just looking at her. Melissa wore a pair of black and pink panties, which tragically covered most of her ass, but the backs of her thighs flashed bare above the long black and white socks he’d bought.
She turned and stood up on her knees, looking over her shoulder like a pinup star. On top she wore thePrincesstank top with no bra, the peaked tips of her nipples plain through the thin fabric. She’d pulled her hair into pigtails—pigtails, dammit—and she rocked the Harley QuinnSuicide Squadthing to a tee.
He groaned, readjusting his cock in his jeans to ease the ache.
She twirled one pigtail and affected an innocent voice. “Were these the clothes you wanted to see me in, Cody?”
His mouth went dry. He backed against the door, not trusting himself to get anywhere near her. “I warned you what would happen if you played this game, didn’t I?” His voice rasped scratchy and low, hands tightened into fists at his sides, fingernails dug into his palms.
“It’s clearly your game. You dressed me.”
“You’re going to get yourself fucked so hard you’ll forget your own name.”
She stood up, lifting her chest, the perky tips of her breasts pointed directly at him. “You bought the clothes.”
Well, she was right about that. Except he’d bought them as a joke. Never in a million years had he imagined she would turn them into a sex kitten getup that would keep him perma-hard.
Do not move from this door.He willed his body to stay in place.
“You have three seconds to run for the bedroom and lock the door. Don’t come out until you’ve changed into…” he cleared his throat, “something I can handle seeing you in.”
She didn’t move, her blue eyes wide.
“Stay here and I’ll have you bent over the arm of that sofa with my cock buried between those fucking gorgeous thighs in less than five.Go.”
She edged sideways, keeping her eye on his face. When she reached the bedroom, she threw herself inside and slammed the door. Not until the rattle of the handle told him she’d locked the door did he breathe.
He stabbed his fingers through his hair.Fucking hell.
“Don’t come back out,” he yelled at the door.Not for a week, at least.He didn’t know how he’d get rid of his raging hard-on. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to erase the image of her scrubbing the floor in that outfit, which had been permanently burned on his retinas. He wanted her so badly.
He stared at the bucket and scrub brush on the floor for a long time before he realized she had actually been cleaning. That hadn’t just been for show. A quick glance around his place revealed vacuumed carpets, dusted surfaces, papers straightened into neat piles. Even the furniture had been vacuumed.
Well, I’ll be damned.
He wasn’t sure how to reconcile the hard-working housecleaner with the stuck-up snob who sneered at clothes from Walmart.
She’d busted her ass to clean his house, which he appreciated. He had to admit he didn’t do a good job around his own place. If he lived with other people, he would pull his own weight, but since it was just him, it hardly mattered. He spent all day fixing up houses for other people, making them perfect. He didn’t feel that inspired about doing it for himself. But now, seeing his place through her eyes, he cringed. It had been pretty bad. Certainly not the place you’d bring a girl to impress her.
But he’d done absolutely nothing to impress this girl, had he?
He headed out the back door to fire up the grill. He’d bought a couple of steaks and the idea of cooking for her after she’d cleaned his place suddenly seemed important.
“You can come out now,” he called out when he returned, pulling the steaks out of the refrigerator and slapping them on a plate to douse with seasoning and Worcestershire sauce. “Ifyou’ve put something else on,” he added hastily.
She emerged, dressed in a pair of jeans and a bold, hot pink t-shirt. He winced. “I see.”
She folded her arms across her chest. She had a bra on this time, saving him from the pain of staring at her nipples. “What do you see?”
“I should have let you pick out your own clothes.” She still looked hot—because clothes didn’t make or break a female like her—but the outfit didn’t fit her right; the jeans were too big and the shirt too small.
She laughed softly, a gorgeous smile lighting up her face.
“Come here, Melissa.” He crooked a finger, half expecting her to tell him to fuck off.
She didn’t, though, and the swing of her hips as she sauntered over undid all the effort he’d put into calming his raging libido.