by Kira Blakely
I imagine him, burly and roaring, not a werewolf but a pure alpha male. The chains clatter as he surges against them, clawing for me, as hard as a rock for me. I imagine the snap of metal, and he comes galloping into me. His touch and his mouth rage over me like wildfire, and I’m too dazed and wet to fight.
My nipples pucker against the silk and my hands drift down between my legs, playing with my own button until I’m worked into a froth and spill over. I clamp my lips together to keep from moaning aloud, and I come within what feels like thirty seconds. Damn, I need to get some.
But not from Lucas. Never from Lucas.
My fingers leave my warm pussy lips behind, and my stomach grumbles plaintively. My body was reawakened by that orgasm.
Shit.
I kick my legs over the side of the bed and stride to the door. I don’t think about the negligee. I don’t think about my duster either. I honestly forget my deal with Lucas until I open the refrigerator door and scan for that pot of leftover soup. It’s probably thickened up nicely by now and—Then my nipples draw together against the cold billowing through the door, and the wetness between my thighs gets clammy. I remember that I’m wearing the new nightgown, which looks every inch of bad and bougie.
Oh, well. I’d better hurry.
I pull myself out a bowl and a ladle, filling the bowl with a single scoop of thick soup.
Look at that. The full moon outside glares through the window above the kitchen sink.
I place the pot of chicken soup back into the fridge and I’m on the verge of closing the door when a husky, manly voice, thick with restraint, says, “What the hell are you doing?”
I turn, leaving the fridge open behind me, silhouetting my curves in the darkness. Lucas stands in the kitchen doorway. The only thing bright on him are his eyes.
“I, I’m sorry,” I choke, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. I cannot lose this job. I have nowhere to go, no car, and a couple hundred in cash! How could I have been so stupid to break the rule he just told me?
Lucas strides across the kitchen tile. As his shadow approaches, he sharpens into view and my mouth waters. He’s not wearing a shirt. Even in the pale moonlight from the sink window behind me, I can discern the rigid outline of his abdominal muscles, sharp and strong.
“After everything I said to you?” Lucas asks, sounding almost betrayed.
“I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t thinking. I was half-asleep.” My eyelashes tilt up and down, and I note the way his chest rises and falls. His fingers are tensed as if he’s already touching me, even though he’s not. As if he’s fighting every muscle in his body to not plunge his hands into my long, sheer silk nightie.
His fingers ball into fists and force themselves down to his sides.
“Just get out of here and don’t let it happen again,” he says. My eyes adjust in the darkness and the ridge of his cock, hard as iron, presses against his red tartan pajama bottoms. My nipples are still hard, and I’m still wet from my silent orgasm upstairs. And it’s been so long and what if just once?
I take a deep breath, and I do it.
“Whatever you want,” I promise him, drifting only a few inches closer. But it’s close enough to smell him, to feel his heat radiating into me. I say it once more, measured and clear. “Whatever you want.”
I drag a deep breath into my lungs, and my taut nipples brush against his chest. My nipples are too sensitive against the smoothness of my silk and the roughness of his hard chest. Tendrils of electricity spiral through my breasts, and I wince, silently begging him to grab me.
“Goddamnit, Maggie,” Lucas growls, gripping both my elbows tightly and slamming me back against the sink.
His mouth descends on mine, opening me up with explosions reverberating in my core. My arms wrap around his broad shoulders and fingers slice up into his hair, fisting and clinging.
His tongue breaks my lips apart and tangles with mine. We tongue each other with the intensity of wrestlers.
Lucas’s hands stroke over the crossroads where my thighs meet, pinned and trapped together between his hips and the sink. He palms my thighs through the silk, slowly balling it into a wad of fabric as he rubs upward again and again, subtly peeling the fabric up and away.
Shit, he wants me. He wants my pussy. He’s going for my pussy, and I’m not wearing panties.
The negligee’s hem brushes over my bush and exposes me to his touch. He moans into my mouth.
“Shh,” I whisper. “The kids.”
“Not now,” he commands me.
One finger slides readily between my pussy lips, still pressed together between the sink and his hips, and that rough, thick finger rolls over my clit.
I let my head fall back and open my mouth, but thankfully, no sound comes out. The calloused pad of his fingertip grinds on my button, finding it even without seeing it, and never losing it once he’s got it. My knees tremble and knock together. I press myself against his finger, willing the sensation to coalesce. I have to come in his hand.
Lucas’s free hand clutches a fist of my loose hair and then twists me around, slamming me against the sink again, but this time from the front. He rakes the back of my nightgown all the way over my hips. His erection presses against me and his lips brush my earlobe when he whispers, “Tell me to stop,” like he’s begging for me to be the one with strength of will and common sense. “Come on, Maggie,” he whispers, even as his left hand creeps around to my front, slithering between my thighs and toggling over my clit. I whimper. It’s so good. I want him inside me.
The hot, smooth skin of his bare cock brushes over the back of my thighs. He uncaged the animal. He’s letting it attack. And I want to be mauled.
“Just one time couldn’t hurt,” I breathe, hair in my face and heart pounding out of control. I’m fucking dizzy. “Come on, Daddy. You know we need it. We deserve it.”
“Fuck yeah, we do,” he rasps, and the tip of his dick pries at my tight, wet hole.
My walls give in to him, and his broad shaft slides into me, completely. My eyes bulge. My body seizes with heat and power, and I almost can’t take it. He fills me to the brim and then pulls himself all the way out. He plunges himself all the way in again. The stroke is slow.
“Oh, god,” I whisper, trembling. I grip the sink for balance and stare up into the full moon, shocked that this is happening.
“Quiet,” Lucas says, and his palm covers my mouth.
He continues his pace, the slow, steady, complete thrust, which keeps his cock unbearably rigid, and my pussy pops and gushes. I let out a muffled scream of pleasure against his hand, and he enters as deeply as he can go. A growl rumbles in the back of his throat, and my walls twist and squeeze his length hard, which only makes him harder.
I gasp for breath and cling to the side of the sink, my orgasm tiding away, leaving me drenched and disoriented. His hips are still flush against me, and his dick pulses hungrily inside me. It isn’t over.
He’s got to come, too. I don’t want him to stop. I want to do this again tomorrow night.
Oh, god. Against the kitchen sink at eleven o’clock, like a couple of animals. What are we doing to each other?
Chapter 8
Lucas
The moonlit kitchen rockets around me, like I’m on some psychedelic drug I can’t shake. Maggie Marshall’s taut pussy clamps and trembles on me, and my head threatens to explode, so I stop moving and let her gush. Her body quivers and I plant my hands, one on her shoulder and one on her waist, steadying her.
When she’s finally done convulsing on me, I gently draw my massive dick from inside of her. Instantly, I’m clear-headed and reality crashes down around me.
She’s not “Maggie.” She’s the new nanny. Fuck.
Maggie twists and stares back at me with those piercing gray eyes. Her hair is everywhere, wild and curly like something Tina Turner would wear, and her lips are swollen from our earlier kissing.
I want to stop. We should.
But there’s no way that
I can.
“Get on the kitchen table,” I command Maggie in a rough whisper. The fabric of her negligee billows and rolls around her ass, tugging from side to side, from thigh to thigh. I stroke my cock and ogle her ass as she climbs on hands and knees on the table, then rolls onto her side and then her back.
Her head raises, and she nips at her lower lip when she sees what I’m doing.
“How do you want me?”
“Just like that.”
I dive down between her thighs and find her slit. My tongue flicks out and divides her folds, scooping at the nub on top.
“Lucas,” she calls to me, her voice a desperate whisper, and I tear away from her cunt, scowling.
“Don’t speak,” I remind her in a hiss. “Be absolutely silent.”
I pry her thighs farther apart and get back to work on polishing her pearl. I’m single-minded in my task and feel her pussy quiver and unleash again within a matter of seconds. I rub at my drenched chin and sit up, almost angry at her for coming so damn fast.
“That was less than thirty seconds,” I say. I forget about being quiet.
“I know.” Maggie pouts up at me like a fucking angel. “I come really fast when I think about you. I don’t know why.”
I pause, wondering how many times she’s played with herself that she could possibly know that, and wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. But I can’t stop. I know that much already. It’s over. It’s been decided. I have to fuck Maggie senseless tonight.
Reaching out, I grasp one strap of her negligee and tear it down the curve of her shoulder, exposing her large, dark pink nipple. I lean and take the plump tit into my mouth, sucking hard, making her buck her luscious hips against me. I pin her down from between her thighs and keep sucking, then tear the other strap down and suck on that one. I can’t get enough of her. I haven’t even grabbed her ass yet.
I drag one nipple between my teeth and she whimpers for me. “Please,” she blubbers, and I oblige her poor, hungry pussy. I fill her again and pump with a deep hunch in my back, still huddled down around her bouncing breasts. I bite at them and suck at them and plunge into her again and again, mindless, lost.
Intense pressure pounds at the base of my dick, and my fists tighten on the straps of Maggie’s negligee.
A soft ripping sound fills the air as the negligee splits and tears away from Maggie’s body, completely revealing her naked flesh to me. My mind percolates and overflows with the visual. She’s so perfect and beautiful. I rear back and hold her hips so that I can stand up and look down at her, watching her breasts bounce, smoothing my hands over her muscular hips, her toned tummy.
It’s too much. I have to let go. She’s too much for me. What a woman…
Cum spills from me in hard, hot lashes, filling her. I hadn’t meant to come inside her, but it happened so quickly, seeing her totally naked, ripping the silk, it all caught me off-guard, and now here I am, pulsing my load deep into her. Fuck. Fuuuck, it feels good, though, and I seethe into her snatch several times, then I finally pull out. Everything tingles and sparkles and there’s only the sound of my panting breath.
The kitchen is otherwise unbearably quiet.
Maggie clears her throat and draws her ruined nightgown around her nude body again.
My dripping cock is released from her pussy, and I quickly stuff my bedraggled soldier into the red tartan pajama pants I still haven’t taken off.
Maggie sits up and clamps her lips together, eyes shining up at me uncertainly.
The right words are easy enough to know. “I’m sorry,” I tell her with a mild wince. Not really, though. “I lost control.”
“Me, too,” Maggie murmurs, sliding off the kitchen table. “I should wipe this down.”
“No, no, no,” I tell her, reaching out to touch her shoulder and then recoiling. Maybe we had better stop with the touching before someone gets pregnant. “I’ll clean it. Please. This is my fault.”
“I should have been wearing more,” Maggie disagrees, shaking her airy golden curls around her shoulders.
“No. I’m the man,” I say. “I should have been in control. Please, Maggie. Go to bed. It’s after midnight, and we both have long days tomorrow. I’ll clean this up.”
She hesitates, then nods and scurries away. I watch her go, shameless. Her butt bounces girlishly under that peach silk.
“Maggie?” I call to her.
She freezes and glances over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Are you on the pill or anything?”
There’s two beats of silence, and then a quiet but firm, “No. I’m not.” With that, she pivots and is gone.
I stay behind to clean up the kitchen. I find her bowl of cold chicken soup on the counter and cringe as I dump it all back into the pot in the fridge. The poor little thing came down here for some soup, and I practically tackled her. I twisted her up against the sink and took her from behind, then ate her pussy on the kitchen table and came inside her like a caveman.
But that will have to stay preserved in my spank bank forever.
Because Astrid would drag me feet-first back into court if she knew I was fucking the nanny.
I want to call her Maggie, the sweetheart, the orphan, the child psych major, but she’s not Maggie. She’s the nanny. I need to remember that. Keep it light. Impersonal.
Because Graytech can’t have my mind balls-deep in a nanny.
And the kids can’t deal with the psychological burden of me fucking a nanny.
We have to stop. We need to stop. She said it herself, right before I slid myself in between those tight, perfect pussy lips. Just one time. We both need this. We deserve it.
I sweep disinfectant over the kitchen table, vividly conjuring her naked body jostling against my thrusts, her whimpers and her thick thighs, her pussy clamping and gushing. Those hard nipples in my mouth. That juicy clit.
I’m already hard again, but I shake it off and put the cleaning supplies away, heading back upstairs.
We can’t do that again.
Astrid has been doing well lately, but an upset like that might send her back over the edge. And anyway, I have to focus my attention on tomorrow, on product pitches and budget reports.
I can never fuck Maggie again.
Just once. Because we both needed it.
Chapter 9
Sofia
The following day, Lucas is like a ghost. He’s not home when my alarm blares at six. I take the kids to school. Charlie cries in the car before getting out for school, and only because I give him another twenty, which is really cutting into the two hundred I have left. I do laundry, I clean the living room, I sweep and mop the entire downstairs and the stairwell. I work myself into a lather, so I never have a spare second to think about him, about last night.
But the occasional twinge of pain in my sore pussy is a reminder I can’t shake.
I fold all my new clothes and jam them into a pillowcase in case I get fired when my background check comes back. I gave him Maggie’s information as best as I could, but it’s still no guarantee—the joys of having a twin sister. He might ask me some simple question about the background check, like when I got my last parking violation, and I would completely flub it.
Agent Callahan is still circling, that shark. There is no way I’m not doomed.
The kids come home from school, Madison elated because they have a new class pet, Myrtle the Safety Turtle, and Charlie morose. He trudges upstairs and stays glommed to his laptop for hours.
We eat dinner. I do the dishes. The kids go to bed.
I don’t hear the front door creak open until late at night. I’m already snuggled in bed, but my eyes bulge open. I wonder where he’s been, then strike that thought from my mind. It’s none of my business where he’s been. Avoiding me, that’s where.
On my third day of work at the Gray cabin, though, Lucas enters the den with a beaming grin and some paperwork, like nothing ever happened between us.
My heart aches at the sight of
him. He’s so gorgeous. His hair is unruly, but styled. He wears a black coat, a light sweater in navy, and faded, powder blue jeans with sneakers. His dimples stand out, and even though it’s winter, his skin looks warm and bright. He looks like a damn L.L. Bean model and I want to curl against him and inhale him, positive that he’ll smell like dead leaves and fresh apple pie.
“Why do you look like that?” Lucas asks. “Are you sick or something?”
I blink and shake my head, schooling my expression into one a little less sickly. “Sorry, no,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Just a brain fart.” I wince. Such an idiot. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got good news,” Lucas announces, stepping closer and lightly whacking me on the shoulder with his roll of paperwork. “Your background check looks great, and I’m ready to sign an annual contract with you, Miss Marshall.”
I glance over all the terms and find them to be agreeable, so I look for the place where I can scrawl Maggie’s name down on the dotted line.
“Wait one second,” Lucas says, laying his palm flat on the paper before I can sign. “I need to talk to you about Astrid before you agree to this.”
“Right, Astrid,” I say, acting as if I forgot. “Of course.” I lay the pen down and settle back to listen.
“Astrid is my ex-wife of one year, and she suffers from bipolar disorder, which I figured out during our first year of marriage. I was so naïve. Just twenty-five years old. So, she got treatment, but whether she would take the medicine became… her own decision, over time, and I couldn’t stay anymore. She was too unbalanced to parent children, especially as a stay-at-home mom, and we got divorced. After a lot of trying.”
I nod. “I understand.” A slightly dangerous ex-wife. Hey, who doesn’t have one of those?
“She has supervised visitation with the kids right now,” Lucas goes on, “and you’ll probably meet her for the first time sometime next week.”
I nod again. “OK. I think that will be fine.” I don’t mention that I won’t let our one-night stand interfere with my ability to manage a pleasant friendship with his ex-wife. That can be implied, since we’re never going to speak of that night again.
