Good Girl(48)

"A house-hunting happily-ever-after?"

"Yes. It's a very rewarding viewing experience. You know they're going to pick one of the three houses because they always pick one of the three houses. You are virtually guaranteed at the end of each episode one house will be living its best life with a new family."

"What about the two houses that didn't get picked?"

"I don't like to think about them."

"Of course not."

"I'm sure they got picked," I add, after a minute, because it is a bothersome detail. "Off screen. Just because it didn't happen during the episode doesn't mean it never happened for those homes."

"Maybe the other homes were too damaged to deserve a family. Maybe they were filled with mold and needed to be leveled." He's playing with my hair again as he talks.

"Nope. Mold can be remediated. They just needed the right buyer to see their potential."

A new episode starts and Rhys doesn't make any move to get up from the couch. This time it's an episode of Beach Hunters, in which prospective homeowners are searching for their dream homes with beach access.

I've never been much of a beach girl.

"Do you have more work left to do tonight?" I ask, glancing up at him under my lashes. I'm not sure how much time I have with him or how to go about asking for what I want.

"Did you want me to get back to work?"

"No." I shake my head against his chest, the fabric from his t-shirt soft against my chin.

"I'm done working for the night."

"That's great."

"Why is that?"

I smooth my open palm against his chest and wonder how I make the sex happen again. "Maybe we can work on our AST," I offer.

"AST?"

"Average sex time. Remember we need to work on our efficiencies because you're so busy."

His eyes close for a moment and a small groan emits from his lips. I can't decipher the groan though. Is it interest? Exasperation? Arousal? I'm not at all sure. I eye the clock, wondering what time he's planning on starting work in the morning. Maybe it's time for him to go to bed, I have no idea.

"We could be quick, to bring the average down," I add in case he's considering skipping half an hour of sleep to have sex. "Or I could give you a blow job. I don't think that would count towards the AST average though. But I think I read something about blow jobs helping with sleep so it would still be a very efficient use of your time, don't you think?"

He expels a breath and his eyes open, looking at me with a sense of bewilderment.

"Have you ever given a blow job, Lydia?"

"No." I shake my head. "I gave an ex-boyfriend a few hand jobs but he came pretty fast without me really doing much. That's why I thought that seven to thirteen minutes was a reasonable goal because it only took that guy like two minutes to come."

Rhys stops playing with my hair and uses that hand to rub at the lines on his forehead so I fear I might be losing his interest.

"I know how to though," I add quickly. "I watched a few videos to get the gist and I'm a quick learner." I've always been proud of my ability to catch on quickly. "I haven't forgotten that you want me to choke on your dick, but you'll have to teach me that part because none of the videos I saw explained if the women were simply born without a gag reflex, or if not, how they were able to overcome it. Also some of them just swallowed the penis without a sound and some of them were very noisy about it and I wasn't sure which you were looking for."

"Lydia." He grits the response between his teeth.

"Yes?"

"Please stop talking."

Oh, snap.

I bite my lip to hide my disappointment. Both over missing out on the sex tonight and wondering where I lost his interest. I run the conversation back through my mind trying to pinpoint exactly where I lost him so I can remove it from my wheelhouse of seduction techniques.

But wait.

He is interested. I know he's interested because I can feel his interest growing against my stomach and it's new interest, it wasn't there during the last ten minutes of the home renovation when I was lying on top of him and the quartz countertops were being revealed. So maybe ‘please stop talking’ meant ‘get to work?’ I am here on a job after all. When I was a Girl Trooper our leader Mrs. Barnes used to tell us 'less talking, more working' when we were sorting our cookie orders but I guess that's not really the same thing at all.

Still.

It could be a similar thing.

I move my eyes to his and slide my hand from his chest to his growing interest and apply a bit of pressure. When he doesn't stop me I slide off the couch and settle on my knees between his spread ones and move to unzip him, but he stops me again.

"Lydia, stop. Stand up."





Twenty-Three





RHYS



"Did I do something wrong? I didn't even start yet." Lydia looks confused, and possibly disappointed. She's disappointed about being denied encouragement to give me a blow job? Fuck my fucking life. She doesn't stand as I've told her, instead she sits back on her heels and looks up at me, a twinge of hurt in her eyes.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong." I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. Jesus. She's so fucking eager. Eager to please me, and I don't deserve it. I don't deserve her. Even if I did pay for her to be here, pay for her to please me.