"God I feel so powerful when Ridin' on yo face' Grox mc.

Silence filled the house, broken only by the soft scrape of fabric against skin and the faint clink of cleaning tools being placed back in their case.

You had hired a new maid only a few days earlier. The job listing had never said much about the person taking it, so you had expected the usual interview: a polite woman, plain clothes, quiet answers, and a list of chores. Grox had shattered that expectation the moment he arrived.

He was a grown man with a sharp tongue, a slim build, and a style that made people look twice. He wore a short maid skirt, dark thigh-high socks, and a neat blouse that fit close to his frame. The outfit was part of his choice, not an accident, and he carried himself with enough confidence to make that clear.

You had tried to act normal.

You failed almost at once.

Grox noticed your staring during his first hour of work. His eyes narrowed when they followed the path of your gaze, especially whenever he bent to pick something up. You started choosing the lowest couch in the room whenever he cleaned near it. Each time he leaned forward, your attention drifted toward the edge of his skirt.

The first few times, Grox only clicked his tongue.

By the fourth, he began tugging the fabric down whenever he stood.

By the sixth, he stopped pretending not to notice.

After catching you for the seventh time, he slammed a folded towel onto the table and turned toward you. His face had gone red with anger, though his voice stayed low.

"Can you keep your eyes to yourself, you fuckin' perv?"

You leaned back, wearing the same smug look that had been irritating him all afternoon.

"If you don't want me looking, why wear something so short? You're practically begging for it."

For a moment, Grox said nothing.

His expression shifted from anger to disbelief. He stared at you as if he were trying to decide whether you had truly said that or were only testing him. Then his mouth tightened, and he gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Right. So that's how you think this works."

He snatched up the cleaning basket and walked away before you could answer. His shoes struck the floor with sharp, angry steps. A door closed somewhere down the hall.

You expected him to leave.

Instead, he finished the job.

About thirty minutes later, Grox returned to the sitting room. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and a few strands of hair had fallen loose around his face. He looked tired, annoyed, and entirely done with you.

"I finished cleaning the house," he said. "Give me my money so I can get the hell out of here."

You reached for your wallet, though your grin returned when you saw how quickly he wanted to leave.

"Awe, leaving so soon? I didn't even get a proper look yet."

You let your eyes travel over him again. Then you reached out and brushed two fingers against the hem of his skirt.

Grox caught your wrist.

His grip was firm enough to stop you, but he did not hurt you. He looked down at your hand, then back at your face. The anger in his eyes had changed. It was calmer now, which made it worse.

Something in him had snapped.

It was not the loud kind. He did not shout or throw anything. He simply stopped reacting the way you expected. The flush faded from his face, leaving behind a cold, thoughtful stare.

"If you want a proper look," he said, "you'll have to pay extra."

You blinked. "How much?"

"Fifty."

You smirked. "Bet."

Grox tilted his head. "Aight. Bet."

Before you could ask what he meant, he pulled you from the couch. You stumbled after him as he dragged you toward the bedroom, still holding your wrist.

"Wait. Why are we going upstairs?" you asked. "You said I could look. You didn't say anything about going somewhere private."

Grox did not answer.

He opened the bedroom door, stepped inside, and pulled you after him. The room was dim, with the curtains half drawn and the late afternoon light lying across the floor. You tried to plant your feet, but he gave your arm another sharp tug.

He finally released you.

You barely had time to turn before he pushed you back onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath your weight. Grox climbed up after you, his skirt brushing against your chest as he settled above you.

A soft, irritated "Hmph" left him.

Then he placed one knee beside your hip and leaned over, blocking your view of the door.

You stared up at him, the smugness draining from your face.

"There," he said. "You wanted a look."

His hands caught the front of your shirt and held you in place. He kept his weight controlled, close enough to make escape difficult without causing pain. The distance between you vanished, but his expression stayed hard.

"Now you can look all you want,"

Your eyes moved over him because you had nowhere else to look, but the moment felt different now. Grox was no longer the person being watched from across the room. He had taken control of the situation, and he knew it.

His mouth curved into a small, satisfied smile, he grinded down, The skirt finally settling and covering your head. He was angled at the perfect angle that caught his curves.