Page 1 of Good Girls Like it Dirty
Chapter One
Zaine Cavanaugh pulled his Mercedes AMG-GT into the luxurious garage of his Hollywood Hills home. His cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why the hell did Doug think he needed nursing after the separation? With a sigh, he tapped on the green button. “Hello.”
“Hey, man. Wife asked if you wanted to join us for dinner tonight,” his friend said. “Just a few people,” he added in a low voice.
Zaine didn’t answer right away. If it was going to be a couples’ night, he didn’t want to go. Doug knew damn well he didn’t have a plus-one, not since his wife left him.
“Not just couples,” Doug said after clearing his throat.
What part of not feeling like socializing didn’t people get? Most likely this was a pity invite to get him out of the house. Zaine shut the door of his car with one hand while holding his phone with the other. He glanced around, as he’d done for the past four weeks, mentally counting the three cars in his four-car garage. The one missing belonged to Ashley, who had made it clear she wasn’t coming back, something Doug already knew.
“Zaine?” Doug called on the other end of the line. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Zaine said, closing the garage door with a click. “Sure. I’ll be there. Text me the details. Gotta go,” he said, and slid his phone back in his jacket.
He’d told Doug he wasn’t a neglected child after a tumultuous divorce who needed extra attention or shiny new toys. At least his buddy Nico invited him for drinks and didn’t insist on talking about his failed marriage. She’d left him. It was over.
Zaine drew in a breath. At thirty-six years old, he’d acquired all the toys he could ever want. The only thing he’d missed had been turning his house into a cozy home, because Ashley had been more career obsessed than he, and after four years of marriage, their differences finally pulled them apart. He’d always wanted to start a family, and after losing his twin brother Zachary a couple of years prior, he’d begun to question his own mortality, and the desire had only increased.
Ashley didn’t even want to talk about having children, let alone act on it. The last time they’d had sex, days before she’d left him, had been tepid at best.
Zaine opened the door, tossed his keys on the console table, then undid his tie and loosened his collar. He’d change into sports clothes and go for a hike. Exercise always gave him a new perspective on things.
Approaching the hallway leading to his bedroom, he heard a couple of moans. He frowned. Had Ashley returned? No way those moans were coming from her. Maybe I left some porn on my home laptop. For the past few weeks, he’d made do by himself. He’d counted on the sinful pleasures of the internet to watch soft porn videos and punish his meat. He’d been too busy with work and perfecting the bid for the Lara Annick account he hoped to nail to go out and meet women.
The closer his footfalls veered toward the bedroom, the louder the moans echoed in his ears. His cock strained against his pants, and he curled his fists. No, Ashley’s moans weren’t anything like the wild sounds echoing out of his domain. These whimpers were hella sexy, raw.
He walked into his room, and the first thing he saw was a luscious blonde woman occupying his large bed. Zaine took a step back and swallowed.
Monique, the French maid Ashley had hired a few months ago, squirmed on his bed with her eyes closed. She lay between the pillows, her plain black trousers curled below her knees. She’d hiked up her shirt, which revealed her large tits and engorged nipples. His fingers tingled to touch the pink peaks, squeeze them.
He blinked, wondering if this was one of those crazy, realistic dreams. Then he blinked again, but the surroundings didn’t change. Sweat slicked his forehead, and his heart drummed like ancient African music.
She shoved two fingers into her shaved pussy. God. He licked his lips, wondering how sweet she’d taste. Arousal moved through him, expanding and searing his insides.
He’d only seen her a couple of times, since she usually cleaned their house while he and Ashley were at work. Of course he’d noticed her beauty, but as a married man—albeit an unhappy one—he’d never dwelled on her looks for too long. After all, she had to be at least a decade younger than him.
“Monsieur Zaine,” she whispered.
He expected her to reach for him, but she kept flicking her clit madly, bucking her round hips into her hand. She hadn’t seen him.
Shit. She’s fucking herself in my bed and calling my name. Zaine’s throat thickened, and his cock grew painfully hard. What would she do if he joined her? He should leave, but like some horny and dirty pervert, he loitered, unable to yank his gaze away.
Monique murmured things in French, and he mentally slapped himself for not mastering the language in college. He’d been too focused on making money and working his ass off. He’d learned Spanish, for the benefit of dealing with foremen and construction workers when needed. And now she spoke in the sexiest accent ever as she fingered her pussy so hard he heard the sound from her fingers slamming into her wet juicy cunt.
Desire pounded in his temples, blurring his vision. He stood several feet from a hot semi-naked woman, and he’d give anything to taste her, then flip her on her stomach and screw her from behind. He’d take her with powerful thrusts while holding her hips in place. She’d moan and call his name without the mister title—though the formality made it even hotter. She could monsieur him all she wanted.
She cupped her full breast with one hand, her finger circling the pink nipple. Blood rushed to his dick so fast that he felt dizzy for a moment. His cock was so engorged, it strained for release. If he didn’t do anything, he’d come in his pants like some desperate teenager.
Ping.The text message alert managed to burst the hazy bubble. He was about to speak when her eyes flew open and she turned her head in his direction. Gasping, she immediately sat up straight. A lovely shade of red spread across her cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling down her shirt and swinging one leg over the other as she slid out of the bed.
His heart raced, and he felt like a sixteen-year-old caught looking at dirty magazines. Still, he kept his cool. “I could ask you the same thing, though it’s obvious,” he said, trying hard not to sound creepy. She’d masturbated in his bedroom, in his bed while on the clock. Why did he owe her any explanations?
“Incroyable. How rude. You watched me while I pleasured myself,” she said, her green eyes widening.
A pang of annoyance laced her voice, like he’d somehow intruded on her and had no right to do so. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t come home early because I thought I’d find my maid fucking herself on my bed.”
