Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)

by C. M. Stunich

  Ew. No. No way. No kids. Not for me. Sorry. I don't care how cute the girl is.

  I take a sudden step back, pretending it's because I can hear screaming from inside. In reality, I've just freaked myself the hell out.

  Brooke looks up at me with those giant doe eyes that she says she doesn't have, breath panting, her hot pink lipstick smeared across her chin. She clutches her jacket tight in front of her and then starts frantically buttoning it up.

  I know I should keep laying it on, encourage her to experiment with me. After all, one night of sex in her whole life? At age twenty-two? She has got to have some built up frustration brewing in that sexy body of hers.

  But I can't. Honestly, I think I just scared the crap out of myself. Damn. A few days with these kids and my bio clock is a-tick-tick-tickin'.

  Brooke doesn't say anything, just squeezes her hands into fists, fingers digging into the shimmery fabric of her trench as she closes her eyes and sucks in several deep breaths. When she opens them again, she takes a step forward and then smooths her hands over the slick texture of her hair, fixing her bouncy ponytail before she wets her lips to speak.

  “I … I'll think about it.”

  She shoulders past me and disappears into the sliding doors as I let out a deep breathe, my anxiety slipping away with it.

  And then I grin. Nice and big.

  Bingo, baby.

  Making chocolate chip cookies is soooo much fucking harder than I thought it would be. We're like halfway done with the damn things and I've already put thirty dollars into the curse jar (and then secretly taken about fifteen of it back when Kinzie's not looking).

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I curse when I pull the first batch from the oven and find them solidified into small black discs of charcoal. “The recipe said eight to ten minutes until done, not until fossilized. My God.”

  “Um,” Bella says as she disappears for a moment and comes back with a stepping stool, pushing the oven door closed and then standing on it. “My grandma said our oven cooks hot. I think you need to turn it down.” She presses the button and adjusts the temperature by about ten degrees. I'm loath to admit it, but the little monster actually kind of looks cute in her apron. If you tell anyone, I will seriously leap out of this book and kill you, buuuuuuut … I'm also wearing an apron. It's pink, sure. And it has … I think they're mice or rats or bunnies or something. Anyway, they're all smiling giddily and they are also all wearing aprons.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  “Do you think we should make the next batch monster chocolate chip cookies?” I ask as I rummage around in the cabinet for some food coloring. I know that shit supposedly gives kids ADD or something, but I ate heaps of it and I turned out fine, didn't I?

  I grab the box and drip several splotches of blue and red into the dough as the kids stare up at me with awed expressions. They're like, seriously so fucking gullible. It's the absolute best part about them.

  “This is monster blood,” I tell them and Kinzie scrunches up her face.

  “Um, no it's not. I saw that Goosebumps episode and it was green.” I pause and lean down, putting my hands on my thighs as I look Kinzie right in the face.

  “There are different breeds of monsters, just like there are dogs.” I stand up and point at the ugly row of rat-dogs sitting at my feet, begging for scraps of cookie. “See. Brooke's dog is gross and hairless, and your dogs are gross and hairy.” I pause. “Well, except for the old one. He's just nasty and partially hairless and all around weird. But anyway, different monsters have different colors of blood. Ask anyone.”

  I stick my tongue out at her and pick up the spoon to stir the dough.

  “My turn!” Grace says, fighting off the evil twins for a spot clinging to my leg. “I want to do it!” I drop the spoon and lift her up, spinning her in a quick circle while she screams with laughter.

  “You go for it, chickie,” I say as I deposit her on the counter and let her slap at the dough with the spoon. “Uncle Zay's going to put on some music.”

  “Is it the same as what we listened to on the way home from school?” Bella kicks her foot and looks shyly up at me from beneath a fall of brunette hair. Aww. So much fucking cuter than my own niece. Why is the one that's blood related to me such a brat? “Because I liked the pretty song.”

  I think for a split second and then snap my fingers.

  “What you want is “Sit Still, Look Pretty” by Daya.” I start the song on my iPod and crank up the volume on the attached speakers. “Actually, the moral of that song is not to sit still and look pretty, just so you know.”

  Bella and Kinzie both stare at me with circles for eyes. It's almost possible to forget they're devils sent specifically from hell to torment me. Almost.

  I hear a crash from behind me and turn to find the cookie dough bowl on the floor, the glass shattered into pieces, dogs gobbling up purple goo from the white linoleum.

  Huh.

  What was I saying about forgetting? You just forget I ever said that.

  Hate kids. Yup. I hate 'em.

  Several hours later, I wake with a start, Sadie lying across my chest as I yawn and struggle into a sitting position, clutching the baby to my chest as I breathe deep and watch Brooke slipping inside the house.

  She locks the door behind her as I rise to my feet and tiptoe the baby over to the crib.

  Shit. Crap. Fuck a duck.

  I was supposed to be waiting all naked and sweaty and hard in Brooke's bed. Instead, my hair is plastered to my head with purple cookie dough and I have baby drool all over my neck. I lay Sadie in the crib as carefully as I can, praying to the God of Love and Sex that she'll stay asleep for me.

  Cha-cha-ching. Somebody's listening to me.

  I look up, across the shadowy living room to where Brooke's standing in her coat, watching me with eyes cloaked in darkness. It's impossible to figure out what she's thinking from over here.

  I move around the crib, pausing less than a foot from Brooke. She rests her hand on the rounded end of the newel post for a moment, eyes still shadowed and hard to read. Her fingers tap out an easy rhythm as I wait, my body already thrumming with anticipation. My cock refuses to forget how tight and hot her pussy was, how her body writhed against me with pleasure.

  I take a step forward and gently put my hand on Brooke's shoulder like I did before, turning her to face me. When she doesn't move away or protest, I reach down and start to undo the buttons on her jacket. Again, nothing from her, but don't think I miss that frantic flutter in her throat. Her pulse is racing and when I push the jacket back and off her shoulders, I can see her chest rising and falling with quick breaths.

  The lace teddy underneath is like a wet dream come to life, see through in all the right places, tantalizing opaque in others. A faint floral pattern traces over Brooke's full, ripe breasts, all the way down to the lacy little skirt that rims the bottom, carefully accenting a pair of ruffled boyshorts.

  When I drop my hands down to cup her firm cheeks in my hand, she moans and lets herself fall into me. A weird, hot, wild jealousy spikes through me as I press my mouth to her neck and kiss hard, sucking harder, nibbling hard.

  Brooke moves her breasts against my chest as she wiggles in my grip, tilts her head away from me and encourages me to mark her. Oh yes. There's something about this girl that's mind-fucking the hell out of me, but I can't seem to put my finger on it. Maybe it's watching all these kids, screwing with my hormones and making me wish I had some of my own? Or maybe it's those giant round eyes of Brooke's, gazing up at me when I pull back, and looking at me with something akin to desperation.

  See. Told you. Seriously damaged.

  Eh, but I kind of like her anyway. She's a cool chick.

  And I am hot as fuck for her.

  My hands drop to Brooke's waist, guiding her back against the wall so she has something to brace herself against when I slant my mouth to hers, tongue slicking and sliding into her groaning lips. Brooke lets me have whatever I want and grasps ont
o my shirt, begging for more. I've always heard virgins were crazy horny, but I've never really had the pleasure of hanging around any. The girls that come into my shop, the ones I usually pick up, they're tatted and pierced and experienced and sexy as hell, but they are definitely not virgins.

  Oddly enough, Brooke's the one that popped my virgin cherry. Hah.

  I cup the sides of Brooke's throat, hold that beautiful neck in my inked up hands and tilt her chin up with my thumbs. Neither one of us speaks, and it's hot as hell. Her breath feathers against my mouth as I hover mine inches from her face, just feeling the warm, frantic breaths that escape her lips. When her hands drop to my jeans and start to undo my belt, I wait there with a sinful smirk slashing across my lips as she lets my cock spring free from my jeans and wraps her hand around it.

  Brooke tries to kiss me, but I hold her still, both hands on her throat, thumbs gently running over her lower lip and down her chin. She makes that frantic little sound that drove me crazy last time and I press my forehead against hers, closing my eyes as I let the pleasure of her hand wash through me.

  “I can't,” Brooke whispers, but I keep my hold on her, firm but gentle.

  “Sure you can,” I whisper back as she strains for my lips and I let her brush against them, just enough to make her pulse jump beneath my hands. Her tongue slicks across my lower lip, but I don't let it go any further, pushing my hips forward so that my cock's trapped between us. Brooke grapples clumsily to get the job done, but hell if I don't like it, if I don't push my pelvis into her touch.

  I keep us there, trapped against the wall until I feel the orgasm creeping up on me. Only then do I let our lips crash together. Brooke groans so loud that the sound echoes around the stairwell. I pray to that same god that kept Sadie asleep that none of the other monsters will wake up.

  My hands squeeze gently against the sides of Brooke's face, my thumbs dipping between our lips. She alternates between kissing and sucking on them, playing with my tongue. The white hot electric shiver that explodes through my body is goddamn deafening. I feel like I can't see or think or even exist without Brooke's hands all over me.

  I slide my cheek against hers and breathe out hard into her hair, coming all over the front of that perfect little teddy. When I finally release her throat, she looks completely stunned, standing there and gaping up at me with her chest rising and falling in short, staccato bursts.

  “You're … not done, right?” I laugh and jerk her against me, not caring that we're getting all messy. If you're afraid to get messy during sex, you won't have any fun.

  “Gimme ten minutes,” I whisper against her ear, reaching down to take her right leg. I slide my fingers up under her thigh and lift it, putting her foot against the step of the bottom landing. I make sure my fingers are clean and dry before I slip them inside her ruffled boyshorts and tease the dripping wetness of her opening. “Holy fuck, Smarty-Pants. Not bad for a virgin.”

  Brooke bites her lip and closes her eyes, leaning her head against the wall as I dip inside that molten slickness and groan at the sensation of her clamping down on my fingers. I don't have to work very hard to slip a second and then a third in there. She wants me so bad her hips are bucking against my hand while hers are tangling in the front of my shirt, pulling our bodies tight.

  I get my fingers nice and sweet and wet, working some of that liquid heat up to her clit before I drop my thumb down, flicking against the hardened nub with a soft touch until I find her spot. Every girl is different; Miss Brooke likes that spot just to the right and above her clit played with. I put a little more pressure into the touch, getting that wild flutter of muscles that I was looking for.

  And just like that, I'm ready again. Told ya I had skills.

  I slip my fingers reluctantly from Brooke's heat and dig into my back pocket for a condom, slipping it carefully down my shaft and making sure I don't get any cum on the outside.

  “Alright, Smarty-Pants.” I reach up and pull that long hair over her shoulder, working that band out and tossing it aside so I have a nice long fall of chocolate to wrap around my hand. “I think you're gonna like this.” I yank her head gently to mine and kiss her hard before I let go, using my left hand to push her right thigh open a little wider. With the wall and the step and the heels, we've got literally the perfect position for this.

  I hook my right hand under Brooke's left thigh and lift up, opening her wide as she gasps and throws her arms around my neck for support. Some careful maneuvering with my left hand and I find her opening with my cock, pushing in deep and slamming her ass against the wall.

  The sound she makes … oh God, the sound. I'll remember that sound for the rest of my life.

  I brace my left hand on the wall behind Brooke's head and dig the fingers of my right into her ass, pulling her pelvis into mine and drinking in the expression on her face. Blissful abandon. That's what it is, what's coloring her features with a hot pink flush, parting her full lips, drawing beads of sweat down the sides of her face.

  I use hard, powerful thrusts, but I make them slow and languorous, thrilling in the pleasure of her clamping down tight, trying to keep me inside with the strength of her muscles. I can see everything from here: the ripe swells of her breasts, the peekaboo lace, the faint glimmer of my seed on the front of her sexy teddy.

  “I'm the only guy that's ever seen this face?”

  Brooke nods as I burrow into the crook of her shoulder, loving the way she claws at my neck as I press her into the wall. Good thing I've spent a lot of time working out my arms because they're already burning like hell. But it's a good feeling, a wild feeling. Sweat drips down my body, trails over my spine, slicks across my belly. I'm not letting go of her until we both come.

  “Good. I like it that way.” I shove hard and Brooke whimpers, the slick warmth between us making me wish I could take this damn condom off. At least I've got the ruffled texture of her panties rubbing against my shaft with each thrust, the thin piece of fabric doing literally nothing to keep me away from Brooke's core. “I like that you're still wearing your panties for me. You can strip down at that club, but that doesn't mean shit. You being naked doesn't mean a goddamn thing.”

  Uh-oh. I'm getting … aggressive. Some of that possessive male urge I usually shake off creeping down my shoulders and into my arms, my fingers curling tight into Brooke's soft flesh as I slam against her with a vigor I can't quite explain.

  I breathe in deep and pull her scent into my lungs, this delicious concoction of fruit and soap and sweat, the faint tease of cigarettes from the club. I hope she can smell me, too, taste the heat of my desire on the back of her tongue with each inhale. And I hope she can feel my piercings, too, feel the warm metal through the condom, brushing down her ridged walls and drumming beats of pleasure into her body.

  I play Brooke Overland like an instrument, use my body to strip her of any control, bring her all the way down, crashing into my arms with tears prickling the corners of her eyes as her head drops back and she gasps, cries, shudders in my arms.

  Brooke struggles a little against the pleasure, fights the orgasm and tries to push me off, but I won't let go, jerking her tight against me as her legs collapse and the entire weight of her body falls into me, her pussy locking down hard and yanking a small growl from my throat.

  I nuzzle hard into Brooke's shoulder and fuck her against the wall until I feel that bright burst of color in my brain, that annihilation of all my thoughts and worries and rules and bullshit. In that split second of clarity I get with each orgasm, I see Brooke in all her wild female glory. I feel like an animal that's just found his mate, seen her standing across a field and just known.

  But holy shit, that is so goddamn stupid! What the fuck am I thinking?

  I come hard, my body sheathed inside of Brooke, fingers grasping tight enough to bruise. The wash of relief afterward comes with a weird sort of panic as I pull back and finally allow my aching arms to release her weight.

  Brooke can't stand up, her back
to the wall, sliding to the floor with her right leg still propped up on the step. It leaves her in this wildly sexy position with her thighs spread, her own liquid heat glistening from either leg, breath panting and lips open, head back.

  I stumble a few steps away, overwhelmed with a thousand strange emotions I don't understand, my heart pounding frantically as Brooke wraps her arms around herself and closes her eyes, fighting for each breath.

  I can't stop staring, my brain a strange tumbled mess as I snap the condom off and jerk my pants back into place. I've had … well, let's just say a lot of sex. But this is … this is … and there's nothing all that special about it, not really. No special positions or toys or weird shit, but—

  I'm not doing this right now, letting myself get into my own head.

  I move back over to Brooke and kneel down next to her, fighting that violent urge to get the fuck out of there. I'm not like some of my friends, freaking the fuck out because some chick spends the night and wants to stay for breakfast. So what? Big deal. Be an adult. Take her to dinner or something and don't be an ass.

  This … I've never been so scared in all my life and I've known this girl for a matter of days. She's as much a stranger as any of those women that come into my shop and yet … she feels like somebody I should know.

  “Hey.” I sweep some of that crazy long hair of hers back from her face with inked up fingers. “You alright there, Smarty-Pants?”

  She makes a sort of strangled half-sob/half-laugh sound that makes me smile.

  “That's what I've been missing out on all these years? I'm a goddamn idiot.”

  I chuckle as I sit down cross legged in front of her and take her hands in my lap, rubbing her knuckles with my thumbs.

  “Naw. Nobody's as good as old Zay is.” I wink at her when she glances up at me from beneath a fall of chocolate hair, her mascara running in two dark lines like it did that first day. I lift a hand up and scrub one of the lines away with my thumb.

  “Don't call yourself old,” she sniffles and then laughs. “It's creepy.”