by Jess Bentley
Her eyes narrow, her lips part. She strokes me through the fabric a few times, tickling me with her fingernails. My balls tremble.
“I mean…” she continues in a sultry purr. “Do you really think we could be trusted? Alone together? After everything that happened last night?”
“That’s totally up to you!” Chance blurts out.
Sometimes I could just punch that guy right in the face.
Chelsea glances over at him, smirking. Her fingers drift away from me and I fight the urge to grab her hand and stuff it down my shorts.
“Seriously, Chelsea,” he continues, deliberately avoiding my gaze. “You set the rules. It’s totally up to you. We don’t ever have to do anything ever again. But you would make a really fabulous nanny. We would be lucky to have you.”
She smiles, softly at first, then it turns into a genuine grin. “You guys are pretty okay, you know that?”
“Does that mean yes?” I ask.
She squinches her nose, wrinkling up the freckles in a subtle accordion fold.
“I kind of already have a job,” she cringes. “I am completely flattered. Really, honored? And totally tempted! Really!”
I make a mental note to punch Chance right in the face at my earliest opportunity.
Sighing, she lets her shoulders droop.
“And really? I should probably be getting back there. I probably should. But this has been so great.”
My stomach knots up. What the hell just happened here?
“I thought you were staying the whole weekend? It’s only Saturday?” I blurt out like a teenager.
“You can take the car,” Chance smiles gallantly. “You can keep it for the whole weekend if you want to. Live a little. And come back anytime!”
“You’re so sweet!” She sighs wistfully.
Her bare feet make small noises as she slides across the room and leans forward to kiss Chance on the cheek. He glances at me over her shoulder, apologetic and somewhat shell-shocked.
“Yeah, sure,” I mumble as I try to recompose myself. “Come back anytime.”
“I guess I better shower, then,” she smiles prettily. “Thanks so much, you guys, I mean it.”
As she leaves the room, I don’t even know what to say. That is not at all how I saw that going. Chance offers me an apologetic shrug before leaving, but I don’t feel like saying anything at all.
Chapter 10
Chelsea
The car ride back to Evanston is peaceful and relaxing, but I just can’t seem to focus. I’m buzzing like I am high or drunk. Everything is sizzling. I can feel my whole body, from my toes to my hairline.
And my thoughts are swirling. Should I have left so early? Yes. I had to. There was no way I was getting through today and tomorrow without fully jumping their bones. I know myself. This is a whole new level of crazy horny. This is totally unlike me.
If I had stayed in that house with them, we would be doing unspeakable things by now. But I have a job, and a life, and a… boyfriend.
Guilt surges in the pit of my stomach. Ronnie. Oh, shit. What am I going to say to him?
I don’t know. Do we even talk anymore? Not really. I’m practically no more intimate with him than he is with Janet or any other employee. I pretty quickly realized that I thought we were business partners, but he just figured me for another employee. Nothing serious.
In fact, were we ever serious? That’s a good question. If we were, I can’t really remember it.
I am positive I never sat around with my thighs jammed together trying not to feel how wet my pussy was. That never happened with Ronnie.
That is what is happening to me now.
I want to feel guilty… I know I should feel guilty… But thoughts of Jack and Chance keep crowding out anything else that wants to occupy my mind. Chance’s hands on my hips, guiding me, grinding me against his hips. Jack’s soft yet firm lips, prying my lips apart. The sweet taste of his mouth. Isn’t that crazy? I could drink him.
The surge of wetness between my legs is shocking, abundant. It comes with a pang of something almost like pain. Tentatively I reach down and brush my fingers against the outside of my jeans, shocked to find I have practically soaked through. Shocked still to find that just that brush sends tremors of pleasure through my body.
I’m not going to be able to ignore this. I know it. I’m on fire. Those men did something to me, flipped some switch. Turned me on, and now I have to wonder how I will ever get turned off again.
Squinting toward the driver, I take a look at the rearview mirror to see if he is glancing back at me, but he isn’t. The Mercedes is luxuriously large. In fact if I slide way over to one side, he would have to deliberately turn around to really see what’s going on.
He doesn’t even seem to notice when I shift way over, pulling a blanket out of the seat pocket in front of me. Nice touch. Somebody has thought of everything.
The car rocks subtly from side to side, the V-12 engine sending a sturdy vibration through the seat. As soon as the blanket covers me, I flip open the button on my jeans, opening the zipper and sliding them down slightly.
Normally I like to be on my belly, riding my fingers with my hand pinned underneath me, but I don’t see how that is possible here. Yet as soon as I begin to touch myself, my body thrums in anticipation. I can feel the climax opening like a blossom, spiraling in front of me, just waiting to be plucked from the air.
I’m sticky and so wet, my fingers slide easily between my lips, and the sensations urge me to do more. More pressure. More sensation.
Closing my eyes, I’m transported back to last night when I had Jack and Chance, one in each hand. Those velvety, hard cocks pumping smoothly against my palms. The fervent desire in their eyes. I can just imagine what it would be like to have one of those sweet rods slipping between my lips, brushing against my clit, nosing against my hole. It would be so hard to take one of them. Just too big. Much bigger than I have ever attempted before.
But I want to. Oh, how I want to.
A groan almost escapes my lips and I remember that I have to be quiet. I bite my lips closed and breathe through my nose as evenly as possible as my fingertips tap and rub my clit urgently, rolling it in circles, letting my mind fill in the rest of the details. What if there was a fat cock inside me? What if there was another fat cock behind me, probing, exploring, simultaneously slipping into crevices I’ve never had filled before?
Oh, it’s just too much!
I have to hold my breath to keep from crying out as the orgasm shatters through me, blasting my muscles into clenching, exploding in a gush of juices. It turns my insides all honey and bright, sweet and shuddering, desperate with longing.
My breath comes back to me, fast and whimpery. It’s never been like this. I am in pieces. I’m such a mess.
But I just let the sensations course through me, pretending to be asleep while we cross the Illinois border. After a little while I can slowly pull my jeans back up under the blanket, and I am fairly certain that I have not been discovered.
Was it enough? Not hardly. What am I supposed to do with this? I’m still as horny as fuck. I still can’t stop thinking about them.
Oh my God. I am going to have to get a grip.
Come to think about it, what was Jack even talking about? A job? How insane is that?
I can just see it: the three of us going out with Ned and Matthew, holding hands? Sneaking a kiss? And when people say hello, what are we supposed to say? “Oh, hello? This is my nanny/girlfriend/stepsister?”
Sure. Let’s do that.
That’s crazy.
No, I was right to leave. My life is in Evanston. With Ronnie…
Or without Ronnie? Because if I am being honest? This is a real wake-up call. Ronnie is barely a boyfriend. He is barely a guy I know. He is just where I keep all my stuff and kind of a shitty boss, too. If I were working with him and not sleeping next to him, I would quit.
He doesn’t show up. He doesn’t do his work, just pawns it all
off on me. He’s terrible at ordering. He’s terrible at doing the schedule. He definitely can’t make coffee. In fact, this place was much better off being the small Italian restaurant that his parents owned before he decided on a whim that a coffee shop made a lot more sense. I mean, there is a 900 ft.² kitchen in there.
Who does that?
Kind of a nitwit. And definitely not open to suggestions.
Come to think of it, what have I been doing with my life? This isn’t where I wanted to be. I’m glad I got my degree, but am I doing anything with it? Even a nanny gig would be an improvement over trying to draw lotus flowers in cappuccino foam.
Of course, I’m actually pretty good at that.
So, yeah… I need to change. I definitely need a change. This feels good. Feels like a new day is breaking. I am renewed. Reborn! I feel like I should get a haircut or a tattoo or something. Something to mark the moment.
“Excuse me, sir?” I call out.
The driver’s eyes flicker up into the rearview mirror. He doesn’t seem to be giving me any kind of acknowledgment that he caught the show I was putting on back here.
“Yes, miss?”
“Can we swing by my apartment? I’d like to pick up a sweater before work. I didn’t bring any warmer clothes.”
“Are you sure, miss? We can go anywhere you like.”
“Really!” I chuckle, briefly contemplating taking the Mercedes for a spin around the Great Lakes. “Well… That’s a really tempting offer. But just the apartment, and then work, I think. That’s probably for the best.”
“Yes, miss.”
It’s kind of a bummer, but maybe I will be able to go back up and visit them at some point and get the same offer? Or now that I’ve met my nephews, I’d love to do some kind of vacation with them. Wisconsin Dells is always a delight. I bet they would enjoy going on the amphibious vehicles, splashing over rocks into the water. That’s always fun.
Finally we pull into an empty spot in front of the apartment. I slide over on the seat to open the door.
“I won’t be very long,” I shrug. “It’s just a sweater.”
“Take your time,” he smiles politely. “I’ll wait for you here.”
I’m sad to leave the car, but this is still the right thing to do, I remind myself. I head up the stairs to our door, visualizing where I put my green sweater. Back of the bedroom door? I’m pretty sure that’s right. Sometimes the air-conditioning is just ridiculously cold.
I key open the door and it swings inward, revealing the living room and kitchen combination, filled with midmorning light. It’s like a movie set.
For a few seconds, I’m not sure what I am looking at. The figures are silhouetted by bright sun, and it’s almost cartoonish. Their outlines throb and vibrate violently. Their voices saturate the air like beads of sweat.
I just stand in the foyer until details fill in. That’s Ronnie. Pajamas around his ankles. No shirt. His hips pumping like a cartoon character.
And that’s… Janet. Fucking Janet.
Ronnie is fucking Janet.
On my kitchen counter!
I walk forward, stomping the heels of my sneakers as loud as I can. In slow motion they pause, mid-thrust and mid-groan, their heads swiveling toward me in unison. Eyes wide, mouths open and red with kisses. Brows greasy with sweat.
Fucking Ronnie. Fucking Janet!
I stand there long enough for all of us to get this scene good and imprinted on our forebrains before turning on my heel and stomping off toward the bedroom. I snatch the green sweater off the back of the door and stomp back out, taking the long way around so I get dangerously close to the both of them. Close enough that if I had a frying pan I could reach out and swing it and hit them both square in the head. Close enough that if I had the cattle prod I could zap him right in the nut sack. Close enough that I can count the shiny red zits on his flappy butt cheeks.
“You found your sweater, miss?” the driver asks me, smiling, as I fling open the door and dive into the back seat. “To the coffee shop, then?”
“Change of plans!” I announce.
“I’m glad to hear it!” He grins in the rearview mirror as he slowly pulls the Mercedes into the sparse traffic of our residential street. “Where will it be, then?”
I think about it for just a second. Just a moment or two to ask myself, do I mean it? Do I really mean it?
“You know what? Let’s head on back to Lake Geneva,” I say, finding my voice a little stronger than I thought it was going to be. “I have a job offer to accept.”
Chapter 11
Chance
I remember Saturday mornings as a kid. Jack and I could watch cartoons for hours and hours. Trade the Game Boy back and forth between turns. Play ball in the yard or a game that we used to call “rugby” that turned out to not really be a whole lot more like real rugby than soccer meets professional wrestling.
Before our father married Chelsea’s mother, it was just the two of us, stretching back as far as memory went. During the week, we had school. On the weekends, we had a pattern. Sugary cereal and cartoons. Bored roughhousing. Our dad hustling business on the phone.
I don’t remember our birth mother very well, I have to confess. She died when we were quite young. I suppose it left a void, but I don’t remember a void. I remember Dad, and then I remember our new family. The transition was seamless. We didn’t really suffer.
But maybe that’s because we always had each other. Jack and I are a team. An inseparable team.
I do remember that it was a little weird to suddenly have a younger sister. Well, stepsister. I can’t say that I remember our first meeting, precisely, but I do remember a general sense of awkwardness. Unease. Caution around this small, curious, delicate person. Our parents proclaimed us all “family” and we accepted that, but it was still strange.
I guess we sort of thought of her as a doll. Something to be protected, maybe something we should put on a trophy shelf and keep dusted and clean. Sheltered from harm. But we knew we couldn’t play too rough with her, or she would break like one of those Hummel figurines.
So we were kind of an awkward trio, but not hostile. Not resentful. Just cautious to the point of mild discomfort.
I understand why she had to go. Jack may not forgive me immediately, but he understands too, deep down. She has a boyfriend? Or something like that? The way she says it, I don’t think it’s actually a boyfriend situation, but she may not be ready to admit that to herself. And she does have a job. And she may not want to be anywhere around us. That feels bizarre to me, but maybe that’s just the way it is. Maybe we spent the last few years apart on purpose.
That means Jack and I are going to have to figure out what comes next. It’s so strange that Maddie just up and quit. I had gotten accustomed to our routine. Accustomed to having somebody pick up the slack, if I’m being honest. A woman in the house just feels… natural.
But she had a point too. We were definitely not the life that she wanted. I should’ve realized that Maddie was angling for something permanent. Something official. Deep down, I knew it. I just didn’t want to deal with it.
But we will be okay, I am sure. At least, I can keep telling myself that. Jack and I… Ned and Matthew… We are all made from the same cloth. We’ll figure it out.
Besides, I don’t truly miss the awkwardness of having Maddie around. It never felt totally natural. There was a polite stiffness. An unease. We were strangers.
Like when Chelsea came, we were strangers too. But that was different. We were eager to—eventually—accept her. Maddie was just the opposite. We were determined to keep her at arm’s length. With Chelsea, we knew in the back of our minds we had to make room for her in our hearts, no matter how hard it was.
Then again, maybe the closeness between Jack and me made any potential family blending inevitably awkward. Even if our new stepmother had a boy. Or two boys. Or even twin boys. Probably it would’ve felt weird.
But I couldn’t imagine it another way.
Jack and I are like two sides of the same coin. Two halves of the same seed. Two peanuts in a peanut shell.
I’m sure you get the picture.
And Ned and Matthew are shaping up kind of the same way. Sometimes I wonder if they have a bit of a secret language, even. Watching them now, fully focused on yet another city made of wooden blocks and Matchbox cars and figurines, I swear I hear them talking to each other. Or maybe not even talking. Sometimes it seems like one of them will look up knowingly when the other one hasn’t said anything at all.
I guess that wouldn’t be weird, would it? Jack and I do the same thing.
This is one of my favorite times. Saturday morning with our sons, just hanging out. The cartoons are still on in the background. I give them sugary cereals for breakfast as a treat, though Jack claims he’s more of a fresh fruit and yogurt kind of guy when it comes to the kids. Not sure that’s really true. I’ve seen him go for the Frosted Flakes more than once, no matter what he says.
But after Ned and Matthew finished their Cocoa Puffs, I did slice up an apple for extra bonus points. That way, if Jack says anything, I am all about the fresh fruit.
Cartoons are different these days, though. Yet, they barely pay attention. Once in a while Ned will glance up, his expression serious and focused. That only lasts for about eight seconds before he’s drawn back into the construction project.
I love watching their little hands build things. I don’t know why it’s funny, but it is funny. Tiny little paws, roly-poly fingers, pudgy palms. Every day it seems like they are more dexterous, but it still just floors me how adorable it is. All that concentration to balance a yellow block on top of the blue one. You’d think it was the most serious job in the world.
Matthew looks around, surveying the towers and meandering paths of the blocks, the traffic backup of Matchbox cars. Then suddenly he leans back, resting his weight on his palms and pistons one leg to knock over a full quarter of the building. For a second he grins in sadistic delight, until Ned bellows in outrage.
