Glass Houses Read online

  “I won’t last,” he choked.

  “That’s okay.” I had left my Domme hat behind some minutes ago. I was in control, though, and we both knew it, even if my remit had narrowed considerably. All I wanted now was to return the favor. I aligned us with a slightly shaking fist and tried to relax. I hadn’t done this in some time and I’d always been a little on the tight side, but I was counting on my earlier orgasm to make it easier.

  I wasn’t wrong. There was some small discomfort as Elliot pressed into me, but not enough for a wince, let alone pulling off. I dropped down slowly, savoring every inch of him until he was completely sheathed inside me.

  “Oh fuck, you feel so—” he started, just as I was gushing about how good he felt inside me. Our winded laughter overlapped as I tilted forward, giving him room to move if he needed to.

  Elliot caught on quickly. He pumped his hips up once, twice, seeking my heat, then a third time, thrusting hard enough that even I gasped with the rough burn. He’d been right to warn me—he didn’t last.

  He was more restrained in his orgasm than he’d been at the height of his agony at the club—so quiet that I might have missed it if I wasn’t so captivated by the grimace screwing his pretty eyes shut. I settled over him gently, taking his cock all the way in, as deep as I could.

  “Wow. That was good, wasn’t it? I think that was good,” I murmured into the sharp slant of his collarbone. I wanted to suggest we do it again, right now, but we were both too tired to attempt it.

  I rubbed Elliot’s wrists to chase away any stinging once I’d undone the cuffs and let Elliot tug me down to him to kiss my lips, my chin, whatever part of me he could reach.

  “When can I see you again?” he breathed, lashing my nipples with his talented tongue. “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” I breathed. “Or maybe the day after?”

  It took me a moment to realize that the day after tomorrow was my day off and I might actually be able to make it. I would’ve agreed to anything right then and there—I was still running high on post-coital bliss. My heart swelled. My thoughts skidded off the path, tire tracks in the dark. Was I too excited to see him again? Was that safe?

  He’s leaving soon, I reminded myself as I watched Elliot slip from the bed to dispose of the condom and grab a shower. So he was. I couldn’t keep him here. I didn’t want to—I didn’t. I stretched out my hands over the bed sheets, determined to find some way to chase my paranoia back into its usual cage, and my fingers brushed something cool and curvy—one of Elliot’s new acquisitions. It served, as distractions go.

  Elliot grinned when he came out of the shower in nothing but a towel and saw me sitting naked on the edge of the bed. “I was hoping you’d join me,” he said. It was an invitation I’d heard before. I tried not to think about how much I had wanted to honor it.

  “I was thinking, since the day after tomorrow is my day off…” I held up the cock cage, let the rest be understood.

  “You want me to wear that?”

  I nodded. It wasn’t compact. There was space between the curling bars so he could answer the call of nature. “You’ll have to deal without relieving one particular urge, but—” I hooked a finger around the key dangling neatly from its chain. “I’ll end your misery soon. Promise.”

  Elliot arched an eyebrow. “When you say it like that, I worry.” But that didn’t stop him prying his towel away and opening his hands in mock surrender.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’d never do something silly like lose the key…”

  The carpet was soft under my feet as I knelt before him to fit the cage in place. The corresponding ring fit snugly behind his testicles, attaching to the cage without pinching the sensitive skin. I turned the key in the lock and pulled it out. His erection twitched, but not enough to shake the cage. “How’s that?” I asked, glancing up at him.

  “Counterintuitive,” Elliot laughed shallowly. “All I can think about is your mouth on my dick.” His hands were flexed into fists at his sides, toes curled into the carpet. How could I say no to that kind of effort?

  I pressed my lips to his cock through the stainless steel toy and felt Elliot huff out a breath. “You’re a cruel woman.”

  And you love it. “So,” I quipped, standing. “Want me to come over tomorrow night or do you think you can wait until the day after?”

  Elliot’s glare only made me grin all the wider as I tipped forward into his arms and kissed him soundly.

  Chapter Eight

  Sometime in the night, I stretched out my hand over the sheets and became aware that Elliot was no longer beside me. The bed was still warm, though, and I could hear Elliot’s voice in the other room. A sliver of light shone under the door that separated bedroom and parlor, occasionally interspersed with moving shadows. I imagined Elliot pacing on the other side and figured he might be on the phone. My nanny instincts willed me out of bed to check that he was all right, but I bit back the urge. Elliot was a grown-up and he could burn the midnight oil if he wanted to. It was none of my business.

  I rolled over, determined to wait instead of chasing after him like some nagging girlfriend, and let my eyes droop shut.

  The next time I blinked awake, Elliot had his arm draped heavily around my waist, his fingers warm against my belly button. His warm breaths gusted against my nape in a gentle caress. I could feel his semi-hard, steel-encased dick against my backside, too, which served to dispel any lingering somnolence.

  It was a nice way to wake up, I thought, and wriggled none too subtly into Elliot’s lap to show my appreciation. I wasn’t averse to some morning play if we could be quick about it.

  To my disappointment, Elliot took my squirming for a sign to roll onto his back and release his hold. The chill of the room crept in, goosebumps blooming over my naked skin. I shivered as I turned and stopped in my tracks.

  Elliot wasn’t playing hard to get. He was still asleep, his features relaxed and his lips lightly parted. He was breathing heavily, too, and despite the tent in his boxers, I realized he was very much dreaming. A flood of tenderness coursed through me unbidden. I found myself wondering what had woken him during the night and if he’d been up for a long time.

  It wasn’t like I could bring up the subject over breakfast. I reminded myself that we didn’t have that kind of relationship—and besides, I was supposed to be out of here by six-thirty.

  The TV clock read 06.02. I had to get a move on and quickly.

  I found my clothes on the vanity, though I was pretty sure we hadn’t taken pains to fold them last night. I tried to imagine Elliot gathering them up after he had finished his call and some uncomfortable, foreign pressure swelled in my chest. I’d never been comfortable with people touching my things, but the thought of a man caring enough to make my life easier was strangely pleasant.

  I tried not to dwell too much on Elliot’s consideration as I padded into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It was what it was—an adorable quirk of character, nothing more. I was sure he wasn’t doing it for me so much as to satisfy his OCD.

  There was nothing to be done about my tangled hair, so I pinned it up as best I could and hoped I could find the time to grab another shower once I got home. It wasn’t my schedule I was worried about, but Mrs. Hamilton’s scrutiny.

  I pushed the thought away. The sight of Elliot hugging my pillow in his sleep greeted me as I emerged from the bathroom. He moved a lot in bed, I’d noticed, and he liked to cling. It was bizarrely endearing.

  I didn’t have the heart to wake him, not even to say goodbye, so I fished out a hotel notepad and hand-scrawled a quick message to say I’d had to leave for work but that he snored like an elephant. I folded the note in half and arranged it on his bedside table next to the phone. There was no way he could miss it. Task complete and conscience becalmed, I padded barefoot out of the room and gingerly drew the bedroom door shut behind me so as not to wake him.

  I must have been halfway to the front door when I realized that there was someone o
n the couch.

  And that she was awake.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Terry said gravely. “I’ve done the walk of shame before myself. You’ll live it down.” She levered herself up with one hand on the back of the couch, yawning profusely. Her blonde hair was a tangled crown around her head, lending her a Medusa-esque quality at odds with her cigarette-thick slur. I wondered if meeting her gaze would turn me to stone, then did it anyway. “You’re—Maria, right?”

  “Miriam,” I corrected. Not an auspicious start, I’ve found, when someone can’t even remember my name.

  Terry snapped her fingers. “Right. That was going to be my second guess.” She raked fingers through her hair, making an even worse mess of that untamed jungle. I tried to find some trace of the statuesque beauty I’d met at the Hamiltons’ dinner party in the wan, visibly exhausted woman sitting in front of me.

  “Are you…all right?” It was a stupid question, but none other came to mind. Terry’s version of the hungover nouveau riche was spot on.

  Was this what had pulled Elliot from his bed last night? It dawned on me that Elliot hadn’t been on the phone at all, but rather making nice with a very drunk French sculptor.

  Theresa was at once amused and disbelieving. “As right as rain, is that the expression? What the fuck is right about rain, anyway? I’ve lived in Seattle. Rain is a pain.” It took her a second to realize the rhyme, but then she repeated it again, laughing mirthlessly.

  I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t Elliot’s girlfriend and I wasn’t supposed to be known to his friends. Bad enough that Terry was perfectly aware that I worked for the Hamiltons—that she remembered me at all from our last encounter. I had a vague idea of how people in her position reacted when pushed into a corner. I had seen Mrs. Hamilton in action before.

  My deer in the headlights expression eventually caught Terry’s attention. She stopped laughing. “I look terrible, don’t I?”

  “No,” I answered quickly, cringing as my voice cracked.

  “You don’t have to lie. I haven’t showered in two days.” She reached for the peanuts on the table, plucking a handful into her clawed, thin fingers. Better that than the miniature whiskey bottles, I found myself thinking as Terry regained her verve and added, “This, my dear, is what agony does to artists.”

  The haughty declaration was just slightly at odds with the smudged makeup and the general dishevelment. From the height of my twenty-five uncultured years, it looked like standard, pedestrian heartbreak. I recognized its signs even if I hadn’t been on the receiving end for some time.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I answered and fought to keep my commiserations to the minimum. It was none of my business and I really didn’t want to have to pretend otherwise. “I, um, I hear the breakfast here is very good.”

  I might not have had much experience mending a broken heart of late but I had sat with Penny through enough breakups to know that carbs went a long way toward fixing what hard liquor could not. And Terry had clearly tried the latter.

  She flicked a glance at me, her lips curving into a shark-like smile. “Is that why you’re running away like a burglar in the night? Because the breakfast spread is so good?”

  “Leave her be,” said a voice in the bedroom doorway. I turned to find Elliot standing there, striped pajama pants low around his hips. It surprised me to discover that he owned any, but I was glad he’d worn them, even though the cock cage would’ve made for an interesting conversation distraction. Our eyes met across the ten feet or so of distance. I didn’t know whether to smile apologetically or glare at him for failing to mention that he was abetting one of Mrs. Hamilton’s gal pals.

  “I meant no offense,” Terry sighed, resolving my dilemma. “You Americans and your fragile egos…”

  Elliot rolled his eyes and bent to retrieve the trash can under the rosewood desk that I couldn’t imagine anyone ever sat at. People didn’t come to the Clift to do office work. “Who’s crying on whose couch, again?”

  As I looked on from my awkward, aborted escape, Elliot started scooping all the miniature bottles off the coffee table and into the plastic bin, regardless of whether or not there was anything left inside. I forced myself not to think of the wasted money or the fact that the cleaning lady would have to bring him another trash bin because this one would forever smell like a tavern.

  It was easier to concentrate on little things like that than it was to question whether Elliot resented my leaving him in bed with only a note of goodbye. I had done it before.

  “If you were in my shoes, you’d be crying, too,” said Terry. She hiccoughed. “We’ve been together four years and she throws me out like—like I’m an old shoe. Four years!”

  I didn’t need details to understand that there was trouble in the paradise I had witnessed a couple of weeks ago at the Hamiltons’. Pretty, porcelain-pale Jana wasn’t so easy-going after all.

  “Couples fight,” Elliot scoffed. “They make up. It’s not the end of the world.” He was being very cavalier about Terry’s heartbreak. It shocked me. I had come to expect more empathy from him, perhaps because when he was with me, he was so gentle and patient. Our only argument dated back to that time I more or less freaked out about us sleeping together—again. I could recognize it for what it was, even if it made me feel embarrassed to be so neurotic.

  It occurred to me that I was holding our non-relationship up to his standard for a four year romance. Not only was it an unfair comparison, it was plainly absurd. We weren’t dating. We’d agreed from the beginning that neither of us was in the market for anything serious.

  “Why don’t you grab a shower?” Elliot suggested to Theresa. “It’ll make you feel better. And we can have breakfast at your favorite café afterwards.”

  “If I don’t break my neck in the bathroom, you mean.”

  “If you don’t.”

  Theresa lurched slowly to her feet, all her swan-like grace vanished with the dregs of the miniature liquor bottles. She seemed to have aged ten years in the space of a week. Maybe there was some truth to all those poems about love and loss.

  “She looks…rough,” I said quietly once she was out of earshot. I could feel Elliot’s gaze on me.

  “Yeah, I think I’m going to spend some time with her, make sure she’s okay.”

  It was an admirable thing to do for a friend in need, but all I could think of was Great, now I’m not going to see you. My selfishness was a thing to behold.

  “That’s good. She probably shouldn’t be alone.” I had heard more convincing arguments about the earth being flat and all space imagery being just a big old conspiracy. “So… We should probably cool it for a bit, right?”

  Elliot’s expression morphed from discomfort to disbelief. “What? Why?”

  “Well, you’ll be busy with Terry and I, uh… We shouldn’t be seen together. It might be best if she thinks this was just a one-night stand. That way she won’t be so tempted to tell Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton.” I knew I was probably being unfair to Terry and her ability to be discreet, but Elliot’s livelihood wasn’t hanging in the balance. Mine was.

  “What exactly do you think would happen if they found out?” Elliot asked me suddenly, pinning his hands at his hips.

  It wasn’t a question for which I’d readied an answer, so I said the first thing that came to mind— ”I’m pretty sure they’ll fire me.” I had no proof of this. One-night affairs notwithstanding, I hadn’t dated since I started working for the Hamiltons and there was nothing in my contract about a vow of chastity.

  Mostly, I had just extrapolated from what I heard other nannies talk about in the park or what Mrs. Hamilton had to say about her friends’ staff and their romantic escapades.

  I didn’t want to be an amusing anecdote at one of her parties.

  Either way, the whole thing was a non-issue. I had told Elliot from the start that I didn’t want what we had to become public knowledge. I thought we were on the same page. It scared me to think that I might have been
a tad naïve in giving my trust so easily to a man I barely knew.

  Elliot scoffed. “You live in California, Miriam. Not Victorian England. Give them a little credit.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I gaped at him, my tone rising. “You’re asking me to trust that they’re—what? Enlightened enough that the thought of their nanny screwing her college professor won’t lead to immediate termination? Because Mrs. Hamilton totally wouldn’t assume I’m encouraging her daughter to be promiscuous, right?” I’d heard her talk of eating disorders like they were viral epidemics. I couldn’t take any chances. “I don’t want to argue about this. I told you where I stood from the beginning. If you can’t keep this under wraps, then I think we shouldn’t—”

  “No, it’s fine,” Elliot interjected. I could practically see him backtracking. “I didn’t mean to imply that your concerns weren’t, you know, valid. It’s fine,” he repeated, raking his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. “And Terry won’t say a word, okay? I’ll talk to her.” He stepped toward me slowly, as though afraid I might react violently if he moved too fast. He wasn’t wrong to fear. I had a bellicose streak.

  I let myself be mollified. “Give me a call when you’re free.” I didn’t want to say when Terry is out of the picture, but I was thinking it. Jealousy I could’ve rationalized away much more easily, but Elliot was dismissing my concerns about the job I had with the Hamiltons and that scared me.

  I left the hotel feeling like I’d swallowed a mouthful of salt. My stomach was in knots and my temper left to be desired. I gave the stink eye to anyone who looked at me a beat too long. Yes, I was dressed like a street walker and yes, my hair was a mess. They were welcome to take their censure and choke on it.

  Trepidation found me again in the time it took me to recover the car from Cat Oh Nine and drive back to the Hamiltons’ pseudo-modernist home on Clay Street. It was still early and I was counting on Paolo not being in yet as I slotted my key in the door and twisted the handle as gingerly as I could. The door creaked open. I quickly disabled the alarm and had almost been about to breathe easy when I saw Mr. Hamilton coming down the stairs in pajamas and bathrobe. I cursed my luck. There was no way I could escape being seen.