by Sierra Hill
Hangover or not, just the memory of her taste and the sexy sounds she made when we kissed fills my cock with blood, as it thickens with lust. I grab the bar of soap and lather up, avoiding my groin area for now with the hope that my hard on will simmer down.
No such luck. It strains and bobs between my legs, as I glare down at my offending erection that has a tendency of getting me in trouble.
The same dick that nearly got me into a hell of a mess last night.
Had Brooklyn not spoken the words she said, I would’ve had her naked in ten seconds flat and fucked her hard against that wall. No question about it.
Her body was eager and hot, and her supple mouth sent me into another world. That kiss vaporized every worry and frustration I’d ever had. Colored my dark thoughts with a bright, cheerful hue. Her kisses consumed me. And their decadence started a blaze I almost couldn’t contain.
I’d been sitting there in a dark, bitter place before she got home, fuming over every bad thing in my life. My anger had hit a tipping point through all the drama leading up to her return. From Caleb’s seizure, the hours of wait time in the Children’s ER, the unreturned texts and calls from Brooklyn. It was the perfect storm leading me to a frenzied state of irritation. I felt ignored by her lack of response and insignificant to Brooklyn, who was on my mind constantly.
The moment she came home, I lost all control and could barely see straight through the cloudy haze of bourbon and lust.
I’d already lost one woman I cared about deeply. Not hearing from Brooklyn led me to the edge of insanity and I did a piss poor job of handling emotions when she finally entered the kitchen.
It wasn’t Brooklyn who I was irritated with, per se. It was the entire night’s circumstances culminating in a ball of anxious fear that drove me to a point of no return, and I pounced. My body knew, even if my brain didn’t, that I needed a release only she could give, and I almost let that happen.
Let me make you feel good.
It was those words – the same words that Penelope used the night I fucked her and subsequently impregnated her – that threw a proverbial bucket of cold water in my face and tossed me back into reality.
Usually, when said by a beautiful woman to a man, it’s the perfect aphrodisiac and come on. But not for me. When she murmured those words, they spun me up and shook free the memories of a night and time in my life I’d much rather forget.
Hot water scalds my back as I press my hands to the wet shower tile, my head bent in agony. I know I need to grow a pair and go out to apologize to Brooklyn for my behavior and promise her it’ll never happen again.
Instead, I’m hiding out in my room while she has probably already fed and taken care of Caleb without so much as a word of complaint. It’s also a Saturday, technically her day off, yet I’m exploiting her graciousness by sleeping in.
Christ, I’m such a bosshole.
I finish my shower and get dressed, taking a handful of Advil while draining my water glass. It’s quiet in the house as I head out to the kitchen, as I search around the house to find them not inside as expected. It’s fairly quiet, just the low hum of the dishwasher running and the sound of the sprinkler system on its automated time cycle out in the backyard.
And that’s when I hear the gleeful howl of Caleb and my eyes dart to the kitchen window overlooking our backyard.
Brooklyn is in a bikini, holding my son in her arms as she jumps up and down in the shallow end of the pool, spinning and dancing him around in pirouetting twirls.
Lord help me. She’s wearing a bikini.
Slipping my flip-flops on, I head out the sliding door and without a second thought, head out to meet them.
Brooklyn’s mid-twirl when her smiling eyes land on me and when they do, she drops them demurely.
“Sorry, did we wake you?” she asks, brushing away strands of wet hair that are stuck to her temple.
I move toward them, shaking my head and shifting my gaze to Caleb, who is wearing his floaties and a life vest, like I advised Brooklyn. I keep my focus on him and away from the tops of her breasts that appear above the water line as I answer her.
“Not at all. I’m so sorry I overslept because it looks like I’m missing out on all the fun out here.”
I remove my slip-ons and take a step into the pool, the warm water lapping at my ankles from the waves they’ve been making. Pulling the neck of my T-shirt over my head, I sling it over to the side of the pool and then submerge under the water.
I pop back up over the waterline and throw my hands in the air, like a sea creature breaching, and growl like a monster as Caleb giggles and screams, splashing water everywhere.
I reach for Caleb, pulling him out of Brooklyn’s arms, the touch of her skin against mine, even for that second, sends promises of unfulfilled pleasure skittering down my spine.
Kissing his neck, I soak in the scent of his wet toddler flesh and then blow a raspberry against his cheek, his laughter floating through the air.
It took a long time for that laughter to return to our household. Kids are resilient, but even Caleb experienced the grief of losing the only mother he ever knew.
Brooklyn pauses in front of me, sweeping her arms out over the water, making rippling waves appear between us. The sun has tinted her skin a golden-brown, and I can’t help but admire her flawless curves and full breasts in the bright orange bikini top.
My mouth goes dry for wanting to touch.
“Thanks for letting me sleep in. I’m sorry about that.”
“No worries. I was up early anyhow. Couldn’t sleep.” Her comment is laced with the underlying meaning as her lashes flutter, the silver in her eyes shining like a silver coin.
Then she moves to swim around us toward the stairs, taking each one with fluid ease, grabbing for a towel hanging over the edge of one of the lawn chairs.
As she turns her back to dry off, it gives me the excruciating sight of her ass in that bikini. Lord help me, I’m done for. Her body is tight and lean, sculpted in all the right places with curves for days.
Her back is to me when she speaks. “I need to go shower and then have some errands to run today.”
Brooklyn’s confidence seems to have wavered, avoiding eye contact with me altogether. I’m to blame for that. Goddammit. I’m not used to women’s emotions that I steamroll over them.
“Brooklyn, wait,” I beg, wishing I could reach out and touch her. To prove my sincerity. To connect like we did last night. “I’m really sorry about…well, I was a wreck and probably still in shock. I was inappropriate and out of line. I’m very sorry for my behavior.”
She holds the towel around her waist in a tight grip, as if protecting herself from me. The shiny tint in her eyes making way to a darker flash something else. Regret, maybe.
“It’s fine. It was totally my fault for coming on so strong. It’s a bit of a personality flaw. I’m known to be a little impulsive at times.” She laughs at her self-deprecating remark, waving a hand in the air before turning inside.
Opening the slider, she peers back over her shoulder at Caleb and me, still standing in the water with a soaking wet son, who is now squirming for me to let him swim.
“I’m going to stop at Target, so leave me a list of grocery items you want for the week and I’ll get them today.”
“Thanks, will do.”
Jesus, dude. Say something else, you idiot.
“Oh, Brooklyn, that reminds me. I’m going out tonight with a friend. Do you mind watching Caleb, or should I call a sitter?”
Her face blanches a bit, the tanned color giving way to a paler hue. But then her gaze lands on my boy in my arms and her smile returns warm and receptive.
“Sure thing, I’ll be here. Caleb and I have some PAW Patrol shows to catch up on tonight, don’t we, C?”
He shakes his head emphatically and tries to work his mouth to get out his words. I look down at his sweet face for only a moment, and then back to where Brooklyn was, but she’s now disappeared in the house. A
nd I fear I’ve fucked up this situation beyond all repair.
14
Brooklyn
It’s just after ten p.m. and Caleb has long been asleep in bed. Although he took his usual afternoon nap, I think the swim time earlier this morning, on top of the “studying” we did this evening, really tuckered him out and he zonked quick after bath time and a bedtime story.
He and I have been working on practicing his speech and enunciation, as well as using the new speech app I downloaded on his iPad that I asked Garrett to buy for Caleb. His speech therapist had recommended it to help Caleb in learning how to communicate wordlessly. Although I know he tries so hard and has the intellectual capacity, the brain trauma he experienced really impairs his speech function.
In the evenings, we’ve been using cuddle time on my lap to learn how to use the app, identifying pictures with words and then forming sentences from the images. He clicks the images in sequence and then it “speaks” for him.
Along with that, we’re working on pronouncing his “words.” The poor kid puts so much effort into sounding out words when we read together and gets easily frustrated when they just won’t come out right. In fact, the other night, he had a full-on meltdown, which thankfully only lasted an hour. But during that time, he kicked and screamed and threw a bloody tantrum and nothing I could do or say was going to make a difference.
I can’t say I blame him. After what happened last night between me and Garrett and our awkward discussion this morning, I’d love to have a pity party and a little tantrum, myself.
Instead, I plop down on the couch, queue up my latest Audiobook, and open up the pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream that I bought for myself this afternoon.
Taking the first bite, I nearly orgasm over the creamy cold deliciousness and dig in for more goodness when Garrett’s home phone rings. After my complete failure to respond to his messages, I waste no time, dropping my spoon back into the tub and jumping off the couch, nearly tripping over my feet in haste to grab the phone off the charger. As I pick up the receiver, I drop it on my foot.
“Shit.”
I’m a little out of breath, though, when I finally answer it. “Hello, Parker residence.”
There’s a beat of silence and I repeat my greeting.
“Hello, this is the Parker residence. Can I help you?”
A female voice sounds on the line, a smoky-tint to her words.
“Is Garrett home?”
My intuition is on high-alert as if to announce that this voice brings danger. Stupid, really, but I’ve become very protective of my employer and his son.
For more than one reason.
“Um, who may I ask is calling?”
She sighs heavily, expressing the ridiculousness of my request through her snide tone.
“This is Penelope.”
My brow creases, as I try to figure out why that name sounds familiar. I know it’s not Garrett’s mother, because her name is Corinne and I’ve spoken to her already a few times on the phone.
To my knowledge, he has no other family member or sisters that might call, and it’s not the neighbor, Marilyn, who I met a few weeks ago at her garage sale. My only logical conclusion is that this is a woman Garrett’s dating, even though I haven’t seen him go out on a date in the month and a half I’ve lived here.
“Penelope? Do you have a last name?” I ask politely. Professionally.
She practically snarls at me like a rabid dog. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. It’s Penelope Slattery. Caleb’s mom.”
The few spoonfuls of ice cream I swallowed before answering the phone threaten to curdle and come right back up the way they came. His mother? I thought his mom was Becca and she’s dead. My confusion has stopped me short and I plunk down heavily on the kitchen stool, mouth dropping wide open.
“I, um, I’m sorry, Caleb’s mother?”
“Are you an idiot savant? Who are you and why are you acting so dumb? Please just get Garrett on the line. This is urgent.”
I may not be dumb, but I am dumbfounded, as I shuffle around to the junk drawer and pull out a pen and paper. Again, my gut intuition says something isn’t right about this situation. Not once has the name Penelope been uttered in this house by Garrett. Meaning one of two things.
She’s either lying and is some sort of stalker fan.
Or, she is Caleb’s mother but there’s a reason why she’s not in the picture.
“I’m sorry, Penelope. But Garrett is not home at the moment. I can take down your name and number to have him call you back. That’s the best I can do.”
“You still haven’t explained to me who you are and what business you have watching my son while his father is obviously too busy partying on a Saturday night to be home with our son, leaving Caleb to someone with half a brain.”
Oh, lady. You’re messing with the wrong nanny.
She has no clue just how devoted a father Garrett is to his son. This woman has absolutely no right to call him out for enjoying some well-deserved downtime. No right, whatsoever.
“Excuse me, Penelope, but I happen to know Caleb’s mom passed away several years ago. And this half-brained nanny has never heard of you, Penelope. I don’t need to explain the reasons why Mr. Parker has entrusted me with his son’s care for the evening so he can have a much-needed break from being a single father. I can assure you that I will take down your name and number, but what Garrett chooses to do with it is his business.”
I think I’ve stunned her with my straight-up, no-nonsense retort and the idea fixes a victory smile across my face.
She stammers slightly before relaying her number to me, which I write down in neat, punctuated penmanship, doodling a little devil-face next to her name. What can I say? She’s the devil’s spawn if you ask me.
When she finally spits out a goodbye and hangs up, I reread her name several times and then decide I need to investigate this woman to see just who the hell she thinks she is.
Google is my best friend. But I don’t forget the ice cream.
15
Garrett
Damn, I needed that.
Spending time with Lucas tonight was something I didn’t realize I missed until we got to talking and all my cares and my problems just seemed to melt away.
I’m not saying it was better than sex, but it came a close second in terms of diffusing my pent-up frustrations. Life has become so complicated in the last year, and even more so with all the changes recently in my household.
On top of which, the most recent doctor appointment with Caleb’s specialist wasn’t as hopeful as I’d wanted. While he’s tracking better with his motor skills, his cognitive development is far more slow-moving and delayed. The doctor was still cautiously optimistic about his prognosis and progression, but Caleb still struggles with so much.
All I want is for him to be able to walk, run and talk like other kids and not have to face a life full of difficulties and challenges. I’d give everything I had just to make that happen for him.
As usual, during our three hours together, Lucas was able to cheer me up as he regaled stories of our college years together. He’s a good friend. But was evasive, as always, when I asked him how things were in the dating department.
He’d been dating an airline attendant for the past two years and had just come off a messy break-up with the one he thought he was going to marry.
“I’m done, man. I’m going the celibate monk route for the next fifty years,” he laments, raising his hand in the form of a Stop. “It’s just not worth it, ya know?”
And boy, did I.
I’d given my heart and my life and watched it crumble in a stolen moment. I decided after Becca died, I was done. I didn’t ever want to fall in love again or have to care about someone so much that it shattered me to lose them.
Granted, losing Becca the way I did was a pretty tragic event. A death I’m to blame for. Although I wasn’t even in the same state the night the collision happened, it was my phone call to Becca and the s
ubsequent argument that distracted her. They say she was going too fast around a curve and veered into the other lane when she was hit by the oncoming truck.
My fault.
“I’ll drink to that, bro.” I lift the beer glass to toast to his martini, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
He scans my face skeptically, tilting his head as if assessing who I am.
“Something happened with your nanny, didn’t it?”
I’m shocked by his spot-on analysis. Jesus, I knew he was smart, but not a mindreader, too.
“How the fuck did you come to that conclusion? I haven’t even said a word about her all night.”
Lucas tips his head forward and gives me a pointed look.
“Exactly. It’s because you haven’t mentioned her that I know you’re hiding something. Spill it, bro.”
“What are we, like twelve-year-old’s telling each other our secrets?”
He lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “Nope. Just thirty-year-olds who go way back. Now tell me what’s going on.”
After ordering another round of beer for me and his cocktail, I tell him the story of what happened the night before in my kitchen and our awkward interaction this morning and the brief goodbye when I left to go out tonight.
He considers my plight thoughtfully, assessing the potential havoc it could create in my household and the problems it might cause with Caleb if Brooklyn left us.
“But on the other hand,” Lucas ruminates, scrubbing a hand over his chin. “It could work out great. She’s a genuinely nice person. Seems to care a lot about your son. And she kissed you back and asked you to fuck her. Why not pursue that? You’re both consenting adults and there’s no contractual obligation for you to keep your hands off your nanny. I don’t see a true downside.”
“I see. So, if the roles were reversed and you had a student that you were attracted to and vice versa, you’d be okay with that relationship?”
His eyes narrow on me and then he laughs. “Totally different scenarios. I have to consider my reputation and my position of authority as a professor of a public university, as well as the potential for a conflict of interest. Plus, young twenty-year-old chicks don’t do it for me.”
