Desirable Lies

Let Me Love You

R rated content

~Katy~

After our erotic shower encounter, my relationship with John takes on a new meaning, changing in a subtle, but noticeable way. He texts me during the day while he's at work and calls once he's on his way home.

I've been working several days a week with Kylie, driving myself to her home in one of John's cars. It's nice to feel like I'm making a contribution to something, and now that John and I are actually clicking, I feel a lot better about my situation.

He called at lunchtime today, sounding upset, which is completely out of character for him. I'd pressed him about what was wrong and he just said that it was a tough day and that he was looking forward to coming home.

At six, the house staff has been gone for hours and I'm anxiously awaiting his call to tell me he's on his way home. I can't wait to surprise him.

Finally my cell phone rings and I run across the kitchen to retrieve it from the island. "Hello?"

"I'm on my way," he says, his voice flat and emotionless.

"Okay," I squeak. It will be my mission to cheer him up once he arrives.

When John arrives home thirty minutes later, I'm ready for him. I took special care getting ready too, taking an extra long bath and shaving nearly every square inch of my body, and then prepared a special meal for him. It was the only thing I could think to do when I learned he was having a bad day....it's the same thing my mom used to make me when I needed comforting, not to mention it was about the only thing I could even make.

I meet him by the back door. When his gaze lifts to mine, his face softens, but I can see something is weighing on him and the need to help bubbles up inside of me.

"Did something happen at work?" I ask, helping him out of his jacket.

"Sort of," he says without meeting my eyes.

"I'm a good listener. You can tell me things, you know? You can trust me," I assure him.

"I know. But when I get home, talking about my day is usually the last thing I want to do."

I nod. I know the feeling well. When Angela was sick, friends would encourage me to talk about it, and even though I appreciated the gesture, I knew talking about it would only bring all my worries and fears to the surface. Best to keep them locked away. So while I understood him, it made me even more curious about what could be troubling him.

"I made you dinner," I say.

"You cooked?" he asks, his voice lifting in uncertainty.

I nod my head, feeling insecure for some strange reason. It could be the curious way he's looking at me.

"What about Beth?"

"I sent her home." I have no authority to release his staff, but John doesn't say anything else, he just follows me into the kitchen, tugging at his tie to loosen it.

Now that he's here in the kitchen with me, I'm fidgety. I bring the food I've made to the kitchen island and set it down in front of him.

He looks down at it curiously before meeting my eyes. "You made me mac-n-cheese?" He grins unevenly.

I instantly feel like a fool. This man has an entire staff of servants and a personal chef. He dines on things you would think came from a 5 star restaurant. And I just made him macaroni smothered in american cheese. His amused expression makes me want to crawl into a hole and die.