Babysitter Wanted: A Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Mia Madison

  It's all very well for him to talk. He's not the one being whacked. But I try to go with it, to look forward to the next strike. And somehow accepting it, feeling the whole taboo nature of what we're doing and lying there naked with my bottom raised for his hand makes it ... hot, less painful, something new between us.

  He strokes my skin, soothing it between each sharp spank, and lets his fingers trail between my legs, making me needy, aching for him. And as he continues, the whole thing starts to feel good and I don't want it to stop. It feels hot, kinky, lying naked over his strong bare thighs, trapped there by one hand on my back, keeping me there for his pleasure and mine.

  “You want more?” he asks. “We can stop anytime you want.”

  “Yes, more ... please. Don't stop,” I manage to say.

  “You haven't been spanked enough?”

  “No,” I squeak.

  “Good,” he says. “I'm going to spank you until you beg me to fuck you.” I gasp at his words.

  He lands another three on my bottom in quick succession and I yelp. The sting is going deep now, a frisson of desire pooling between my legs. But I'm not giving in. Not yet.

  He spanks me until the peppery sting becomes a burn. My skin is on fire and I can't help wriggling and twisting around, trying to escape his hand.

  I'm incredibly, disturbingly wet letting him do this to me, even encouraging him, enjoying something so wickedly taboo like this. Who knew? A minute of hard crisp firm spanks and I'm literally begging for him, shouting out for him to fuck me.

  He's rock hard against me. He flips me over on my back, my raw behind against the bed, and condom on, he takes me right there, hard and unrelenting, and I love it. So raw. So rough. I come so hard I see stars. I thought that was just words when people wrote that. But now I know it’s not. And as I recover, I feel him tense up and clutch me tightly as he gets closer and closer and releases deep inside me with a growl.

  After recovering his breath, he looks down at me. “Are you okay? I wasn't too hard on you?”

  “No, I loved it.”

  “I thought you did. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  And then we snuggle again. A whole lot more. And he smooths his hands over me, soothing my sore skin. I feel alive. Almost reborn. It's weird but good. It feels so warm, so safe here in Andrew's arms, odd given what he just did to me, how he extends my boundaries into places where anything might happen. It just feels I'm where I belong. “I think you should turn this into a proper room for Lucy,” I say.

  “That will be interesting when the new nanny arrives.”

  “You're not going to cancel that idea?”

  “No, I'm not going to cancel it. You're not giving up your future to be a babysitter for Lucy. I can't let you do that. You were going to be an account manager for some big shot client in L.A. Instead I'd make you master of feeding bottles in Beech Hill. And besides, even if you don't want that, you have a trip to go on, an adventure to have.”

  “Do you think I care about any of that now? I never wanted to be an account manager in Dad's company.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to be here with you and Lucy.”

  “What about your trip?”

  “I can do that anytime. The more I think about it, the more I don't want to go around all those places by myself. I'd rather wait and go with you.”

  “Taking a baby to Paris—it's not the same as going by yourself, being free to wander around.”

  “I don't care. Paris is for lovers. I love you. Both of you.”

  “You're crazy, you know that.” He kisses my nose. “You have the world at your feet, you're free to do it all and you want this.” He points around the room. It's tiny, the room, the house.

  He's right. But never mind, it's going to be fine.

  “Freedom is nothing if it's not doing what you want. And this is what I want. You're not going to change my mind.”

  “Then I'll take you both to Paris,” he says. “This summer, and we'll see all the sights. And if you ever want to do something for yourself, by yourself, just say the word. You don't have to get a job or anything if you don't want to, but if you do, I'll organize help so you can. I never want to hold you back.”

  “This is for me. But I have a few ideas of things I'd like to do.”

  “More things? Are they dirty?”

  “No.” I slap his arm and he laughs. “Things I can do and look after Lucy as well.”

  “It never ceases to amaze me how you can do two things at once, but tell me.”

  “I've been thinking about it a lot. I was just daydreaming to start with, but when I made the card for Beatrice, I showed it to Jasmine, and she asked me if I could make some to sell at the store in the village. I was thinking I could sell my cards to other places, too. And maybe I could make cakes too. I don't know. You always like them.”

  “Your cakes, your buns,” he says grinning and kisses me. “And everything about you.”

  I tap his arm. “I'm being serious. Anyway, I thought if I did something like that, I could work around Lucy. It won't be a big thing at first but it will be something I can do, something so you don't think my brain has gone to mush.”

  “I'll never think that. You're the smartest girl I know.”

  He kisses me and I feel him harden against me.

  “You're insatiable,” I tell him, reaching down to touch him.

  “Only with you,” he says. “Seriously, if you really want to do this, I could take your cakes to the fire station. They'd go like ... well ... hotcakes. I didn't know you made Beatrice's card. I didn't think there was any kind of art supply shop around here.”

  “There was a craft fair in Greendale. I was just going to buy a card then I saw a stall with card-making supplies. I was like a kid in a candy store. I always loved doing stuff like that, but I didn't think about selling the cards I made until I was thinking of what I could do. I can buy supplies online if I'm going to make a lot.”

  “That's the first I've seen you happy planning your future. I love that it's with me and Lucy. But you're not just pretending it's what you want to make me feel better about letting you give up your job with your dad? I hope you're not.”

  “No, not pretending. I've never wanted anything more.”

  “Right then,” he says. “It's a deal. But if you change your mind, tell me. No secrets, remember.”

  “No secrets.”

  And then we seal the deal in the best possible way. That tiny bed doesn't stand a chance with the enthusiasm we put into demonstrating our agreement. The bed cracks. There's no way a nanny is sleeping in it now.

  EPILOGUE

  Melissa

  We get rid of the broken bed and turn the small room into a beautiful pink bedroom fit for a princess. It's funny to see Andrew in his coveralls, wielding a tiny brush, painting a row of stenciled hearts on the white walls. I make pink curtains and a canopy to match the hearts. We have so much love to give one special little girl, and she gives it right back. All the toys and baby things fit in the new room and finally, order is restored in the bathroom. We can take a bath or a shower without moving a ton of paraphernalia out of the tub.

  I make almost all the cards for the coffee shop now. Jasmine has become my bestie here in England and I see her every day when I take Lucy along for a walk and to deliver my cards to her or to send them on to other places. At first, I just sold them to stores in the local towns, but after I started labeling each one with my contact details I got orders from other places. Making cakes turned out a bit more complicated. I had to register with the local authority and do their one-day food hygiene course. After that, someone came and inspected the kitchen, and finally, I was able to sell my baking. When I made Lucy's first birthday cake in the shape of Cinderella's castle, Jasmine posted a picture in her shop without telling me she was going to, and now orders are rolling in for special cakes as well as the cake or two I make every week for the store. “Beech Hill Cards and Cakes” is
in business. It's a struggle sometimes to create my cakes in the small kitchen at the cottage, and I have to be careful to keep my card supplies out of Lucy's hands, but I've never been happier.

  But my happiness is not all about making cards and baking cakes—Andrew and Lucy make me happy. I love the times we are together and we're one happy family of three and the times Lucy is in her bed, fast asleep, and it is just Andrew and me in his big bed, now ours.

  He keeps his word, and we go to Paris in the summer a couple of months after Lucy's birthday. We see everything I always wanted to see: the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur, the Louvre. But I like wandering the streets taking in the atmosphere, the cafes, sitting in the park watching Lucy play with small kids, drinking coffee, eating the bread that tastes nothing like French bread at home. Best of all, it's the whole Paris experience with the ones I love.

  “Any regrets?” Andrew asks me as we sit on the terrace of one cafe, as the world passes by, traffic buzzing, sirens in the distance. It's nearly dusk but it's still warm just like back home in L.A. We will wander back to our hotel soon, with a bottle of wine to enjoy on our balcony.

  “None at all. You know, I've never been happier.” I smile at him, my gorgeous, wonderful firefighter.

  “I thought so, but I wanted to be sure you weren't just putting on a brave face for me.” He smiles at me, and I love the way that smile reaches his eyes every time these days.

  “No way. If I was unhappy, I'd tell you. No secrets, remember.”

  “No secrets,” he agrees. “Except for one.”

  I raise my eyebrows. What now?

  “I bought you something,” he says. “Without telling you. Surprises aren't secrets, right?”

  “No, that kind of secret is fine.” What has he got me this time? He surprises me with a lot of gifts, flowers, candy, little things he thinks I'd love. But a few of those gifts I wouldn't want to open on a cafe terrace in Paris, even if it is a city for lovers. Those presents are much better in private at home.

  “Even this kind of gift?”

  Crap! It is one of those! I brace myself for what he's going to give me. I have Lucy on my lap now that we've finished our coffee. She's playing with a teaspoon. Not that she's going to know what's going on. Even so, I worry what Andrew is going to give me.

  But Andrew gets a small square box out of his pocket and goes down on one knee in that busy Paris cafe and so I blush for another reason. Even the bustling waiters in their long white aprons, heavy trays full of glasses and cups balanced perfectly on their fingers, stop to watch. Maybe the world stops. I don't know. “Marry me, Melissa?”

  He takes a ring, a diamond ring, from the box and places it on my finger and I laugh and say yes. He gets off his knees and leans over and kisses me gently, careful not to squash Lucy. The workers having an after-office drink in that cafe, the tourists ambling by and commuters hurrying to get home all stop for a moment and applaud because it's a city for lovers, after all, and that kind of thing is meant to happen here.

  When I arrived in Europe in January, I didn't expect to receive a proposal from a man on one knee in Paris with a baby on my lap by the summer, but somehow it feels totally right. Lucy drops the spoon with a clatter and claps along with the rest of the café, although she won't understand or even remember in the future what she was clapping about. We, on the other hand, will never forget the moment.

  Back in England, I tell Jasmine and she is delighted for me. “Everyone can tell you three are meant to be a family,” she says. “I love it! You'll have to make your wedding cake and take a picture. That could be the start of something big.”

  She's more ambitious for me than I am for myself.

  “I'll make our cake, but I can't see me making wedding cakes for a lot of brides in our tiny kitchen. Even ours will be a stretch.”

  “That's a pity,” Jasmine says. “You could use the kitchen here, but not with Lucy. Health and Safety and all that. Maybe once she goes to school, you can come and keep me company here. Or when Andrew is home, he can babysit.”

  I let Jasmine know I'll think about it, but when I do have a chance to consider working there, it's clear why I didn't jump at the chance to use the store kitchen when Andrew is home. The problem is that when Andrew is around is when I most want to be there with him. Maybe that will change in time, but I can't see that happening anytime soon.

  And in any case, I don't care that much about expanding my business. I'm happy enough making the cards and cakes I do. I don't want the things I love doing to take over my life. They might stop being fun then.

  A couple of months later, wedding plans are well underway. Mom, Dad, my brother Daniel, and the rest of my family are coming over to England, rather than me doing the traditional thing and getting married at home in L.A.

  And I'm excited that Katrina is coming, too. We have so much news to catch up on. Though I call her every week, it's not quite the same. She and Jasmine will be my bridesmaids, and Jasmine will carry little Lucy up the aisle. She will be so cute in her little white dress with a pink sash. The florist will make a band of pink flowers and ribbon for her hair, and a little basket of pink rosebuds.

  Katrina and Jasmine are excited to meet all Andrew's firemen buddies. But there's no fireman better than mine.

  He's on his way home now, and I have a special meal waiting for him. Lucy has had her dinner and is playing in the living room with her toy rabbit, feeding him fake pizza and plastic carrots.

  “I've been thinking,” he says when he comes through the door and kisses us both as he always does. “I think I should sell my apartment. It's bringing in rent but we could do with a bigger house now that Lucy is growing. What do you think?”

  “It's a good idea, but I love the village and I love this house, even if it is a bit small for us. Where would we go?”

  “I don't know. I was going to suggest house hunting tomorrow. If you don't want to move, we might be able to build out at the back of the house, add to the kitchen, make it bigger and create another bedroom. That was the other option. I'm not sure we could get planning permission for a house this old, but if we're not changing the front of the house, we might get it.”

  “We'll need to do something sooner or later.”

  “I know.”

  “No, you don't know. No secrets, remember?”

  “You have a secret?”

  I nod. I'm nervous about telling him. “We're going to need another bedroom because Lucy is going to have a little brother or sister.”

  “What?” He hugs me, a smile breaking out on his face. He's not upset. I start breathing again.

  “I know we said we'd wait. I've been taking my pills, I swear, but I think that time I was sick, we should have used something else after that.”

  “Who wants to wait? Oh, Mel, that's one of the reasons I wanted a bigger house for us. So we could have a baby when you were ready. I didn't want to rush you. There was no rush, but now that this has happened, I love this secret.”

  He picks me up and twirls me around and then sets me down. “Sorry, I need to be more careful with you.”

  “Not yet. I'm not fragile. In fact, I don't want you treating me any differently at all. Not tonight. Not any night.”

  “It's a pity we did everything on your list already,” he says.

  “Many times over.” I laugh. “And yours.”

  “But there is something I've been meaning to do.”

  “What? I thought we had done it all. We said no secrets!”

  “It won't be a secret for long. Just until tonight. And then a special treat.”

  “For me or you?” I grin at him, already wanting him, whatever it is.

  “For both of us.”

  We have a quick dinner and I bathe and put Lucy to bed while Andrew tidies up. I wonder how it will be when we have two children to get ready for bed, but I'm sure it will be fine. We'll manage. Even when Andrew is working the night shift, I'll manage somehow. People just do.

  When I come out
of Lucy's room, Andrew gathers me in his arms.

  “What have you got in mind?” I ask.

  “I'm going to eat you up,” he says. “For dessert. But first, I'm gonna get you naked and tie you up.”

  I giggle. I like these games. But we've done this a few times.

  As soon as he ties my hands to each of the posts at the top of the bed, I get the familiar feeling of need, my hips moving on the bed.

  “Keep still,” he says. “Feet next.” And once my feet are secure I test the restraints, pulling at them. He could do anything he wants to me, but I know what he usually wants. He licks at me, making me writhe as much as I can within the bounds, my heart pounding, already frustrated because I want to grab him, make him enter me.

  “Patience,” he says. “Here, put this on.” He pops a blindfold over my eyes and licks at me again. The sensation of his hot tongue on me is so much more intense now that's all I have to focus on.

  “Wait a moment,” he says. “Be right back.”

  “Andrew!” I call after him. I'm getting impatient with need. Why is he stopping again?

  I feel him get back on the bed beside me. Good! Then he's working me with his mouth again. Double good!

  But he stops again and I squeal in frustration. “I thought this was supposed to be some kind of special treat.”

  “Treat for me,” he says. “And now treat for you.”

  I yelp. He's dropped something icy cold right between my legs where his hot mouth was and that contrast makes me come right then, my hips arching up as I shudder in my bounds.

  “Ice cream?” I squeal.

  “Yes, vanilla.” And I imagine him grinning at the word vanilla. Sometimes we are on the very edge of that line if not crossing it.

  And then he licks it off slowly and surely, every drop, with his hot mouth and it's too much, I come again, obscenities coming from my mouth I'd never use outside the bedroom.

  “That's it, dirty girl,” he says. “My own ice cream sundae dessert.”

  “I didn't get dessert,” I say, pouting. “I want to lick it from you.” That picture in my mind reminds me of my first day in England when we went for a walk along the promenade to the beach cafe.