Anything He wants

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

My eyes flutter open to stare up at the ceiling in my dorm room. The threads of my steamy dream feather away into nothing as reality sets in. My ears are bombarded with the egregious beep of my alarm clock. I hoist myself onto my side and flail my arm out to whack the off button. Ah, blessed silence. I rub my eyes and look at the clock blearily.

My heart skips a beat.

“No,” I murmur. “Oh no. Not again.”

It’s nine o’clock. Which means I slept through my eight o’clock alarm, and it’s been going off for an hour. So clearly I did not get up and go to my eight-thirty algebra class. That’s another absence. Another strike against me, in a time when I’m supposed to be improving my academic standing. I grab my phone and wince at the screen. More bad news: multiple missed calls from my parents.

“Uh-oh,” I groan.

On top of everything, my head is pounding. I’m hungover, dehydrated, and exhausted, but I need to take care of business. I drag myself into a sitting position and call my mom back. It rings a few times while I chug from the water bottle on my nightstand, and then my mom picks up. I can tell from the very first syllable that she is not pleased.

“Taylor Marie Snow, where in the world have you been?” she greets me.

“Do you mean, like, this morning? Or just in general?” I ask.

“Both,” says my father, chiming in over her shoulder as he does.

“Uh, well, this morning I was here, in my dorm, asleep,” I explain. “As for–”

“Don’t you have a class right now?” Mom interjects.

I grimace. Here we go. “Yeah. I overslept,” I answer meekly.

“Unbelievable,” she hisses. “Taylor, we were calling to talk to you about this letter we got from the college. Something about you being on academic probation?”

I wince so hard I might just curl in on myself.

“Shit. I mean, damn it. Sorry,” I sigh. “I was hoping I could get my grades back up before you all had to know about that.”

“And you think sleeping through your math class is the way to do it?” Dad cuts in.

“Well, I didn’t do it on purpose,” I reply.

“But I bet you didn’t go to bed at a reasonable hour,” says Mom.

True.

“Probably because you were partying with your friends,” says Dad.

Also true.

“Taylor, we sent you to college to get a degree, not to waste time,” Mom lectures. “And money. Our money.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try harder,” I assert.

“You’ve already had lots of chances to do that,” Dad says. “But you don’t seem to take your education very seriously.” Again, true, but I definitely won’t say that.

Mom concludes, “If you want to party your way through life, you’re going to have to find somebody else to pay for it.” My stomach drops.

“Hold on. What?” I splutter.

“That’s right,” Dad says. “We’re sorry, sweetheart, but until you start showing us some real improvement, you’re on your own.”

“But what about my credit card?” I ask. “And my phone bill? What about tuition?”

“Taylor, if you don’t go to class, why would we pay tuition?” Mom points out gently.

I’m stunned. “I can’t believe this,” I mutter.

“It’s for your own good,” Dad insists.

“You’ll have to stand on your own two feet,” adds Mom.

“You’ll figure it out, honey,” says Dad.

Mom says, “We have to go. Call us after you’ve had a good think about this.”

Click. The phone drops from my hand as I stare into space. My head aches like crazy. My stomach is churning. I feel betrayed. Where the hell am I going to get the money for food? For classes? How can I get a degree if I can’t pay my tuition? I wrack my brain for solutions. I could get a job, I suppose. I told myself I was going to focus on school instead, but I couldn’t get that right either. It’s just that… I don’t really like school. I don’t like being on my own. I want someone to take care of me, make sure I’m safe and loved. I want to be somebody’s true love.

But right now, I’ll settle for being somebody’s employee.

I have never been job-hunting before, but I remember some professor mentioning that there’s a bulletin board in the commons with local job listings pinned. So I hoist my hungover ass out of bed, get dressed, and make the short trek across campus to the student commons. I squint over the hundreds of listings, scanning for anything that sounds reasonable. I don’t have a lot of qualifications to work with, but I do find a tiny, simple ad that draws my attention.

Wealthy gentleman in search of a housekeeper. High pay. Audition required. Text number below. Attach current photo with your message. Thank you – CW.Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

The word ‘audition’ seems odd for a housekeeping job. Wouldn’t it be an interview? And what does he need a photo for? But on the other hand, the words ‘high pay’ intrigue me. I may not be good at math, but I know how to clean. I’ve been doing household chores since I was a kid. Should be easy money. At this point, I’m in no position to turn down an opportunity.

So I take the leap: I text the number a short message along with a selfie from my camera roll. Within minutes, I get a response. My heart is racing as I open it.

You’re perfect. Audition for me tonight at the address below. 7 PM.

“Yes!” I exclaim, doing a little fist pump as I grin down at my phone.

I did it! Now, if this isn’t proof of my motivation, what is? But I won’t call my parents to fill them in until I know it’s a sure thing. Which, I guess, will be tonight. It does seem slightly odd that we’re doing the interviewslash-audition tonight instead of tomorrow during the day, but maybe he knows I’m a student and I have class to attend. Oh, and sooner the better, right?

Either way, I return to my dorm with a spring in my step. I go to the rest of my classes, counting down the seconds until I’m free. I rush to get ready, chatting with my roommate while I get dressed for the evening. I put on a simple, professional-looking black dress and nude heels, brush my long brown hair, and put on a little shine of makeup. I book a cab and give the driver the address. I sit back and watch out the window as we roll across town.

We leave campus and the student-dense part of the city, out past the bustling streets and the suburbs. I watch the countryside fly by and admire the golden, red, and orange leaves on the tree branches. Every now and then, we pass a big, old-fashioned house. The neighborhood is somewhat rural, but expensive. The houses only get grander as we drive, until finally we pull up to the address. I step out in complete awe of the massive, beautiful old house looming over me. It’s situated right on a picturesque lake, with the lovely forest stretching out around it. I can’t imagine what a place like this costs. This ‘wealthy gentleman’ must be loaded.

I’m impressed as I stand in front of the stately front door. I give it a solid knock and wait, my heart beating a mile a minute. Soon, the door clicks open and parts to reveal a man who looks just like the man of my dreams. The literal man from my dream last night– the one with the hypnotic eyes and the magic hands!

He smiles warmly. “You must be Taylor.”

“Yes, sir,” I answer. I sound breathless, because I am.

A flicker of something like lust clouds his eyes for a split second, and then he beckons me into the house. I follow him in and he locks the door behind me.

“Welcome to my home. I’m Cliff Wilcox. It’s wonderful to meet you in person. I’ll give you a brief tour before the audition,” he offers.

“Okay, sure!” I chirp back, still stunned at how insanely hot he is.

My body is yearning to get closer to him, to break the professional boundary we haven’t even fully gotten to establish yet. But I force myself to remain calm while we explore the giant house. My eyes are wide as I look around the elegant interior. Everywhere I look, there are signs of wealth. The mid-century modern sofa, the gilded lamps, the stained-glass feature in the cabinets. Every item looks to be either modern designer or stylish vintage. There’s art on the walls that probably cost more than my entire tuition. Opened white French doors separate the foyer from the cozy living room. I’m so impressed by my surroundings. Yet, his home is warm and inviting despite the upper-crust furnishings. There’s a crackling fireplace with beautiful photographs and paintings on the mantle above it. I see signs of actual living– a book dogeared in a chair, a coffee mug in the sink, a stack of paperwork on the dining table. He’s ridiculously rich, but he’s a normal guy otherwise. I feel more and more comfortable here with him by the minute. He’s just so damn gorgeous and so charming, too.

He takes his time showing me around, and then he brings me into a guest bedroom. It’s simply but beautifully decorated.

“It’s time to prepare for the audition process,” Cliff says. “In the closet to your right, you will find your uniform on a hanger. There’s an en suite bathroom through that door if you need it. I’ll wait in the hall for you to get changed.”

“Right,” I reply.

He slips out and I immediately rush to the closet, curious to see what’s inside. I expect to find some miserably uncomfortable, unflattering cleaning scrubs. To my surprise, it’s actually a black lingerie set with flimsy white apron and red heels. I put on each piece of the ensemble and look in the bathroom mirror.

“Oh my god,” I mumble.

This is not a typical housekeeping uniform. This is lingerie with an apron thrown in for good measure. There’s something else going on here, something more to this innocent-sounding ad for a housekeeper. Why would he mention being ‘wealthy’ in the ad? Why did he need a photo with my text? It dawns on me.

I’m not just here to take care of his big, beautiful house. I’m here to take care of his big, beautiful cock. But I’m just a virgin! I don’t know what I’m doing! I swallow hard as I walk up to open the bedroom door and show him my outfit. I’m nervous that he won’t like what he sees, or that he’ll be disappointed to learn how inexperienced I am.

But when the door falls open and Cliff turns around to look at me, all my fears fly out the shiny bay window. He looks me up and down voraciously and shakes his head, letting out a low whistle of awe.

“You look absolutely divine,” he compliments me. “The uniform suits you.”

“It’s not quite what I expected, but I’m eager to work,” I insist.

Cliff walks up and hands me a feather duster. “There. Dust something.”