by Emily Bishop
“I liked the trips but I hated the parties. I’d sneak out of them and just play in my room or watch TV.”
“I’d do the same.”
“I still don’t like parties that much but I have to go to one every now and then. It’s part of my job.”
“Going to parties as part of your job.” I nod. “It can’t be that hard.”
He snorts. “That’s because you’ve never been to these parties.”
“I thought all parties were the same. You talk. You drink. You dance. Not necessarily in that order. And you try to find out some drunk person’s secrets.”
“You left out the making out.”
For some reason, I blush, imagining Randall making out with someone at a party, just like those couples at Vince’s party. Of course, he probably does that. He’s single, after all. A lot of women must go after him. There’s no question about that.
The question is: Why am I jealous?
“Have you gone to a lot of parties?” Randall asks.
“Not really. The music is usually bad.”
“So, you like music?”
Shit. I’ve said too much again.
“A bit,” I say.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Uh-oh. “You’re already asking me one.”
“I’d like to ask another, something I should have asked before you started working.”
Now, I’m curious. “What?”
“Why did you decide to become a nanny?”
Oh, that. And here I thought he was going to ask if I had a boyfriend or if I was a virgin.
Still, the question isn’t so simple nor can I give a simple answer, mainly because I didn’t decide to become a nanny. What do I say?
“Well, I’ve been trying a bunch of stuff, and I thought I’d give this a try.”
“Oh. So it’s an experiment?”
Not really, but… “That’s one way of looking at it.”
“And what other jobs have you had before? I’m only asking because they weren’t listed in your file.”
He was looking at my file?
“Oh. Carol probably didn’t list them down because they’re only odd jobs that last like only a few weeks long and some were just like once a month.”
Randall nods. “I see. So, that’s why.”
What did he think?
“Anyway, do you want to play just one more game?” I ask in hopes of distracting him from asking more questions, stretching my arms. “I have to keep at this if I want to beat David.”
He glances at his watch. “Okay. We still have time.”
“Cool.” I go through the games on the floor. “Why don’t we play a different game? How about… a racing game?”
I lift the cartridge.
“Sure there’s no weightlifting game?” Randall asks.
“Very funny. Well, maybe you should have one made.”
“Maybe I will.”
“So, racing game?”
“Okay.”
I put the cartridge in and hand him his controller.
He goes down to the floor. “So, if I win, do I get a kiss?”
I freeze.
Randall laughs. “Just kidding. I thought it would be more interesting if we put something at stake, since you are all about playing for stakes. How about if I win, you’ll go to the gym with me again. Just cardio. If you win, you can ask for whatever you want.”
Oh, good. He was just kidding about the kiss. Still, whatever I want?
“Fine.” I reach for my own controller. “Let’s do this.”
Taking a deep breath, I start the game, both Randall and I going through the tutorial before heading to our first racing battle.
“Ready?” I ask him.
“Ready.”
At first, I struggle with the controls, always slipping off the tracks but eventually, I get the hang of it.
Come on. Come on.
At the end of three minutes, I win.
“Yes!” I cheer, giving Randall a hug.
Wait. What?
As I feel his chest against mine, my heart starts pounding. I can feel his heart doing the same, too, and I quickly pull away, blushing.
“Sorry,” I say.
“For what?” He puts down his controller. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I put a strand of hair behind my ear.
“So, what do you want? You won, so you can ask me anything.”
Right. I can’t seem to think of anything, though.
Think, Sabrina.
“Surely, there must be something you want,” Randall says.
I look at him, my gaze wandering over his arms. I want to see his bare arms again, to be wrapped up in them, to be scooped in them and…
No. I mustn’t want him.
“Maybe just a new lipstick,” I say the first thing that comes to mind. “My old is almost out.”
“Sure. I’ll ask Tess to get you one. Anything else?”
I blink. I thought I was only allowed one.
He looks into my eyes. “You know, if there’s anything you want to tell me or anything you need help with, anything at all, feel free to tell me, okay?”
“You mean about David?”
“Or about you?”
About me. Anything I need help with.
I have to say it’s tempting to ask him to punch Vince for me but no. That’s my problem. I can’t get Randall involved.
I shrug. “I can’t think of anything, but if there is, I’ll let you know.”
He smiles. “Great.”
I look away from that smile, stilling my beating heart as I get on my feet. Once again, it seems to have been a bad idea to be in a room alone with Randall.
You should be more careful, Sabrina.
Yes, I should be, which is why I’m leaving now.
“I better go,” I tell Randall as I glance at the clock. “David will be home soon.”
“Sure. I need to get back to work, too, or Tess might get mad at me.”
“We wouldn’t want that.” I look at Zombie, who’s in the corner. “Come on, Zombie, let’s go wait for your master, okay? I bet he can’t wait to play with you when he gets home.”
***
David, however, doesn’t seem happy when he gets home. He looks sad, in fact, and frustrated. He changes his clothes without a word then he goes to his drums, banging on them.
“Hey.” I go to his side. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer, banging his drums louder.
“You can tell me, you know.”
Still nothing.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Everyone has bad days at school. Even I did. Some days, I got a bad test score or got yelled at by the teacher. Some days, someone was mean to me and made me cry. Some days, I just couldn’t understand the lessons. That’s all part of school.”
He still doesn’t answer, so I leave his side, sitting on a chair near him.
“I can see you’re using the music to express your anger. That isn’t bad. I used to do the same.”
“You played drums?” he asks, looking at me.
“I played guitar,” I confess. “I know someone who was very good with drums.”
“Josh thinks he’s the best at drums,” David says, stopping. “But I’m going to show him at the school recital.”
“Wow. You’re going to be at the school recital?”
He nods.
“Who’s Josh?”
“I thought he was my friend but then he beat me in the spelling contest at school today, and now he’s saying he’s the best at everything.”
“Well…” I go back to his side and put my hand on his shoulder. “Everyone is good at something. You don’t have to be the best at everything, you know, because you can’t.”
“But I am the best at playing drums,” David says.
“I believe you, and during your recital, everyone else will, too.” I touch the tip of his nose. “Including Josh. Then you can be friends again, if you still want to be. I thi
nk friends should be people who stand by your side no matter what, but it’s also good to give people a second chance.”
David nods. “I think I want Josh to be my friend again.”
“Then I’m sure he will be.”
He looks at me. “Are you a teacher? Because you sounded like a teacher just now.”
I chuckle. “No, but there are things I can teach you if you let me.”
“Like what?”
“Like how to put some gel in your hair and how to climb trees.”
His eyes grow wide. “Climb trees?”
“And how to make different animal sounds and how to…”
Desire
Randall
Listening outside David’s bedroom to David and Sabrina laughing, I smile.
It seems like those two are already getting along, even though Sabrina has yet to pull off the third challenge, which I’m sure she will based on how she played today. It just goes to show how amazing Sabrina is.
Indeed, I wasn’t kidding when I told Gil she’s the best nanny so far. Some of the previous ones were good, yes. Some were really bad, obviously only after living in a mansion or getting into bed with me. Still, Sabrina is the only one who’s really made an effort to reach out to David and understand him, to be his friend.
As a father, I feel really relieved. Finally, David has someone here at home that he can really be comfortable with and count on, someone like a mother.
As a man, I feel slightly jealous of the progress David and Sabrina have made. What about us? Have we made some progress? David has already won her head over heels. What about me?
Looking back, I’ve had a few moments I could have seized. There were times that I could have just grabbed her by the waist and kissed her, like yesterday at the gym and earlier in the den.
Still, I held back, not wanting to rush things and scare her or maybe I was the one who was afraid she would push me away. Like I said, I’ve never gone after a woman before so I don’t know.
Me, afraid? Funny. I’ve never been scared of anything before.
Or maybe I just want her to make the first move, to want me as much as I want her.
Yes. That’s probably it.
Still, I wonder what would have happened if I had just gone ahead and kissed her…
***
We’re back in the weight room now, and she’s bending low in a squat. I’m spotting her. My hands brace her slim hips as she straightens and her ass is plush and firm against my swollen manhood. She descends again and I go with her, my pulsing length nestled against her, her thighs inside mine. I love how she opens up for me when she goes into a full squat, and I imagine how it would feel to reach between her legs from this vantage point.
I know that I can’t—I shouldn’t even be imagining this, she’s David’s nanny—but no one can see this. There’s no one here but me and her. One little touch won’t kill us, will it?
My fingers slide from her hip to her mons, then down, treasuring every warm ridge beneath my hand. Her compression pants leave nothing to the imagination. I feel every curve of her spread labia through the thick spandex, can even feel the nub of her clitoris, and Sabrina’s mouth opens in a silent gasp of surprise.
“What are you doing, Randall?” she whispers.
“Just a little massage,” I promise against her ear, begging her to let me continue. “Relax, Sabrina . . .” My thumb strokes firmly down the center seam of her crotch. “Relax.”
She lets her neck loosen and her arms slide up and over my shoulders from behind.. She coos like a fucking dove and my flawless self-control wobbles and crashes onto its side.
I kiss her hard, opening her lips with my tongue, taking her mouth with mine. Finally. I sink into her mouth and exhale hard through my nose. Even her saliva is sweet. Dear God, don’t let me accidentally pulverize this innocent woman.
I tangle my hand in her hairband and rip it loose, burying fingers in Sabrina’s dark copper hair. Something about her is so mysterious, so fragile and sweet—I’ve been dying to touch her. I’ve been dying to crush this rare rosebud between my palms and tracing her body with my hands and my lips, finding the fractures, sewing her back together with my kisses.
I grip at the tender nape of Sabrina’s neck and send a shudder through her system. A moan comes trembling out of her mouth.
“Yes, baby,” I encourage her gently. I’m throbbing so hard, her magnificent pussy is all I can think about. If I can’t have her here and now, it might kill me.
We are still braced together in this deep squat, my hand pumping lazily over her pussy through her workout pants, when she whispers, “This is a mistake.” Her eyes are dire, like she has to tell me right now. She pulls to a stand and takes her soft, fragrant hair with her, her sweet mouth with her. “You don’t really know me yet, Randall. I’ve got secrets, Randall. I’ve got . . . scars.”
“Let me see them,” I rumble against her ear, my hands still sliding over her body from behind.
“My scars?” Her eyes gaze up at me uncertainly, dark with worry.
I tug her tank top over her head and take a step back to run my palms over her body. I survey deep brown lashes. I exhale loudly and pull her to me, pressing my mouth to one of her scars.
“Randall.” Her lower lip quivers as it spills from her mouth and my dick threatens to split the seam on my pants. I want her so badly. I want to fix whatever happened to her . . . and maybe she can fix what has happened to me, too. Maybe, if I was deep inside her, we would start to heal a little bit.
“Randall,” she breathes. I love it.
Sabrina seems almost drugged by her own arousal, and heck, that’s how I feel too. I feel crazy. This could never, in a million years, really be happening, but here we are.
“Let me help you cool down,” I tell Sabrina, collecting her and stretching her out on the bench press. I position her heels on my shoulders and slowly press into her hips, driving down on top of her, legs between us. The smell of her sweat and of her skin is overwhelming, and when I get close enough, her cleavage swells against my face. “God damnit, you’re too young for me,” I groan.
“Don’t tell me what I am,” Sabrina told me. Tiny beads of sweat dot her breasts. I forget about helping her cool down at all and I come down as far as I can, tongue fanning between her sweet tits, collecting every drop. Sabrina whimpers and grinds against me. “I’m a grown-ass woman,” she assures me breathlessly. “I get horny just like everyone else, and I’m trapped in this house, Randall—just you and me.” Her voice falls to a whisper and she curls up close to my ear to say, “Fuck me, Randall.”
“I thought I didn’t know you yet,” I remind her, pulling off her legs and coming to a complete stand. I yank my own tank top over my head, the gym lights splashing over every curve and dent in my body. I see the way she tracks me with her eyes. I see the way they move over my entire body. She wants me. She has wanted me since the day she slammed into me, running from absolutely no one. She can’t deny it.
“You don’t,” Sabrina agreed. “But I need you.”
I reach for her and tuck my fingers into the waistband on her compression pants, dragging them off her nubile hips and tossing them overhead. My intentions must be clear now; her pussy is laying in front of me like an entrée.
“I like this position,” I note, nestling down between her legs again. “I like being able to hold you tight as hell. I don’t know why.”
“I like it too,” Sabrina whispers back, and I lock my arms around the tops of her thighs, controlling her ability to buck her hips. I split her wide and slather my tongue along her rosy folds, strengthening into a point as I reached the top and flicked her tip repeatedly. She writhes and whimpers but I ignore her. I’m not going to stop until she’s pushing me off of her. I lean down and flatten my tongue, sending it from the bottom to the top. She tastes so good, like milk and honey. I think I’m falling in love.
“Randall,” Sabrina calls me. “Randall! We can’t do this. It’s against the contrac
t. I’m going to lose my job if anyone finds—” I flick her clit with my tongue as hard as I can. I lick her like I’m slowly eating her, nibbling and sucking. I sink my fingers into her. Common sense eludes me. I have to make her come. There’s no other thought in my head. “If anyone finds out—Randall—Randall—”
She bucks hard against my forearms and I pin her hips to the mattress, but she still grinds on my face. I love it.
“Randall—” Her voice is desperate for me to stop, but she doesn’t want me to stop. Even as she begs, her fingers are in my hair, pressing my face into her pussy. “RANDALL!”
***
I wake up, my eyes flying open and staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving as I gasp for air.
For a while, I lie there, waiting for the cobwebs of sleep to fade from my mind as I catch my breath, then I sit up, which is when I feel the bulge between my legs.
Fuck. I’m hard as a rock.
Usually, it’s a normal reaction, a consequence of waking up, but this time, I know it’s not. It’s the consequence of that dream I had, that dream of Sabrina. We were doing squats together in the gym and she let me see her scars. She said that she would get fired if we did anything, and I buried my mouth against her clit and she let me. She loved it. She needed it.
Just remembering that dream makes me harder, my erection throbbing.
Why? Why did I dream of eating her out?
No. I know the answer to that one. It’s because I fell asleep wanting to. The real question is: Why did I have to wake up before I came?
Even more importantly, what do I do now? Do I go to the bathroom and relieve myself or calm myself down?
The former is tempting, especially with the feeling of having sex with Sabrina still fresh in my mind, but I decide on the latter since I’m suddenly feeling thirsty.
After a few minutes, I get out of my room to head downstairs to the kitchen. On the way, I stop, though, hearing strange sounds from Sabrina’s room.
Are those moans? Is she having a naughty dream, too?
Curious, I press my ear against her bedroom door, only to frown as I realize the sounds aren’t moans. They’re sobs. They’re frightened sobs, which only confirm my theory that she must have gone through something painful before she came here.
