The Nanny

I spend the entire night thinking about her.

Sleep has been impossible, and I’m left staring at the flat white ceiling of the Airbnb with a snoring Sophie sprawled out next to me, wishing I’d booked us a place with a double bed room, or maybe even another bedroom for her altogether. I go over all the reasons why it would be a bad idea to sneak off to see Cassie again. Every time I close my eyes, I’m met with the memory of her soft sounds and softer body—the sensation of how it felt to be inside her practically overriding every corner of my brain and making a home there.

I eventually give up on sleep altogether sometime in the early morning, leaving my room while Sophie is still sleeping and closing the door quietly behind me with the intent of making coffee. I lose my train of thought when I spot Cassie in the kitchen, who apparently had the same idea. I haven’t actually considered the morning after yet, how we might act together after last night; maybe I thought it would be awkward with the things we said and the things we did, but seeing her now—wide-eyed with her auburn hair slightly mussed and her lips still red and a bit swollen from my kisses—all I can think about is how much I want to touch her again.

She’s no longer wearing that fucking shirt that drives me crazy, but even in her cotton T-shirt and jean shorts, it’s hard not to think about what her skin feels like against my hands underneath her clothes.

“Good morning,” she says shyly, hiding her smile behind a mug. “I made coffee.”

I return her grin, trying not to think about how I know what her nipples feel like against my tongue or how much I regret the fact that she’s wearing a bra this morning. “Morning.”

“Do you want me to make you a cup?”

“After.”

“After?”

I cross the space between us quickly, taking her by surprise when my hands rest at her jaw, tipping up her face to press my mouth to hers. She sighs softly into it, parting her lips to chase after my tongue, and I can taste the sweetness of the sugar and cream from her coffee there. Before I pull away, I take just enough to get me through the day, unsure of when I will be able to properly touch her again.

“After,” I clarify.

“Well, I’d say this is a better wake-up call than coffee,” she teases.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Not really.”

“Neither did I.”

I reach to tuck one stray tendril of hair behind her ear, letting my thumb linger at her cheek to swipe back and forth. It might be the first time I’ve allowed myself to really drink her in, too afraid before this to let my gaze linger for too long. Everything about her—from the delicate shape of her nose to the fullness of her mouth and the brightness of her eyes—seems meant to draw me in. It’s making me want to kiss her again very badly.

I shake my head. “How am I going to keep from touching you all the time?”

“You’re just going to have to learn some self-control, Mr. Reid.”

My cock doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo that we have to keep things discreet. “I probably shouldn’t like that.”

“I thought it made you feel old?”

“Not when you say it like that, it doesn’t.”

“Hmm.” She transfers her mug to one hand, reaching out with the other to tease her finger back and forth against the bit of skin just under the hem of my T-shirt. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She pushes up on her toes to press another quick kiss to my mouth before giving my stomach a gentle push to put distance between us. “Now go sit down so I can make you a cup.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I murmur.

I settle on a barstool at the counter, letting my chin rest against my fist. It’s easy to watch her work; all I’ve wanted to do for weeks is watch her more openly, and now that I’m allowed to, I think I’ll have a hard time doing anything else. She sets my coffee in front of me from the other side of the counter, leaning over it to take a slow sip from her own mug as she holds my gaze. There’s a tension there that speaks of everything we’ve done and everything I still hope to do—already calculating how I might get her into my bed or insert myself into hers.

She cocks her head at me. “So how does this work?”

“How do you want it to work? You hold all the power here, Cassie.”

Her mouth quirks. “Oh, do I?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well . . . I’m hoping you’ll stop making yourself scarce while Sophie is at school.”

“I think you can guess why I was doing that in the first place.”

Her smile turns coy. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?”

“Maybe you should explain it to me in more detail.”

“Are you teasing me, Cassie?”

“I would never,” she assures me, looking innocent for all of two seconds before she winks at me. “Unless you asked me to.”

I have to stifle a groan as I hear the bedroom door open down the hall, tensing when I hear Sophie’s little footsteps and quiet good morning as she shuffles into the kitchen. “I’m hungry,” she complains.

Cassie has none of the trepidation that I do. “There’s princess Sophie,” she gushes. “Do you feel ten today?”

Sophie makes a face. “Not really.”

“You look ten,” Cassie says seriously. “Did you get taller since yesterday?”

“What?” Sophie reaches to press her hand to the top of her head. “No, I didn’t.”

“I don’t know . . .” Cassie casts me a sly look. “We might have to let you drive us home.”

“I can’t drive!”

I laugh at the pair of them. “I’ll be doing the driving, thank you.”

“Oh, hold on,” Cassie says.

She turns from us both and heads toward her room, disappearing for a moment before she returns with something behind her back. She bends down to Sophie’s level, flashing a brilliant smile as she pulls out a small bouquet that consists of bright sunflowers and daisies and some light blue flower I don’t recognize. Sophie stares at it for a moment with an open mouth, taking several seconds to meet Cassie’s eyes and gingerly take the flowers.

“Happy birthday, Sophie,” Cassie says softly.

Sophie’s little lip quivers slightly, gently laying the bouquet on the counter before she collides with Cassie’s waist, wrapping her arms there for a hug. “Thank you,” she mumbles into Cassie’s shirt.

Cassie squeezes her tight before kissing her hair. “You’re welcome.”

I’m still not entirely sure what’s happening, but seeing the exchange between Cassie and Sophie is making my chest feel tight. Watching them, it almost feels like they’ve been in each other’s lives forever. How does Cassie make everything seem so easy?

“Don’t cry,” Cassie fusses, her voice thick as she reaches to wipe under Sophie’s eyes. “You’ll make me cry. And I’m a super-ugly crier.”

This elicits a watery laugh from my daughter, and Cassie urges her to turn before pushing her toward the bedroom she came out of. “Go wipe your face. We’ll talk about breakfast when you get back.”

Sophie nods heavily before heading back down the hall. I wait until she’s out of sight before I open my mouth, still a little confused. “What was that about?”

“Oh.” Cassie looks sheepish now. “She told me the other day that her mom used to give her flowers on her birthday. I just thought . . .” She rubs her arm. “I had time this morning since I couldn’t sleep, so I googled and found a shop nearby.”

For a moment, I’m too stunned to say anything. Not just because I am reeling over the fact that I didn’t know this about Sophie and Rebecca’s relationship—Sophie has certainly never mentioned it—but also because Cassie does know this about Sophie and Rebecca’s relationship. And not only that, but apparently her first instinct upon learning it was to go out of her way to replicate it just for no other reason than to Sophie happy. I’m having a hard time even pinning down what the emotion is that I’m experiencing over this.

“Thank you,” I say thickly. “That was . . .” My heart is beating so loud. Can she hear it? “That was amazing of you.”

“It’s no big deal,” she mumbles, looking at her shoes.

I want to kiss her so badly, it actually hurts. “It really is,” I assure her. “Trust me.”

Cassie’s lips turn up in a shy smile, and I can do little more than sit at the counter, wrestling with the swirling emotions raging in my chest.

“I’m still hungry,” Sophie announces, choosing that moment to burst back into the kitchen. Apparently she’s gotten over her bout of emotion from earlier. “Can we eat?”

“Okay, okay,” Cassie chuckles. “What are we hungry for?”

“I want pancakes.”

“You always want pancakes.”

“Funny how she used to not like them,” I murmur.

“So I don’t have anything here to make them,” Cassie tells Sophie, “but I bet we could find a place to get you some pancakes.”

Sophie looks skeptical. “With chocolate chips?”

“Of course with chocolate chips,” Cassie tells her. She opens her arms then to beckon Sophie closer, pulling her in to smooth her hair as she gives Sophie a playful smile. “Your hair is as wild as your dad’s when you wake up.”

I watch Cassie fuss over Sophie’s hair as they both laugh, that same constricting sensation in my chest when Cassie pulls her in for a hug and presses another kiss to her hair, just like I often do. Watching them together makes me feel odd, something about the natural way they have come to care about each other throwing me off guard. It makes me feel—for lack of a better phrase—warm and fuzzy inside.

“We have to get on the road soon anyway,” I tell them both. “I do have to go in early tonight since I missed last night. We can find some non-dad pancakes on the way.”

Sophie flashes me that toothy grin that makes my heart hurt, and Cassie pulls her along with a promise to fix her hair. She looks back at me from over her shoulder as she leads Sophie toward the bathroom, sending a wink my way that makes me feel warm in a different kind of way.

I finish my coffee alone, my mind far away and on the two ladies in the other room.

I might be in real trouble.

The trip home takes longer than expected since the pancake place that Sophie picked was thirty minutes out of the way, but the way she hasn’t stopped talking about the chocolate-chip-birthday-cake pancake monstrosity she had there makes it worth it. And she hasn’t. Stopped talking about it. Not even when we’re walking into the house.

“But how did they get the little colors in there? They tasted so good. Like sprinkles! But on the inside!”

Cassie laughs as she sets her bag at the foot of the stairs. “It’s like a Funfetti cake.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t know what a Funfetti cake is?”

Sophie shakes her head, and Cassie gasps theatrically. “Okay. We will be going to the store and buying a box mix of Funfetti cake as soon as your dad goes to work.”

Sophie fist pumps. “Yes.”

“Box mix?” I raise my eyebrow in Cassie’s direction. “Really?”

She shrugs. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to get rid of all the evidence before you come home so it doesn’t offend your delicate chef sensibilities.”

“Can I call Wanda?” Sophie tugs on Cassie’s hand expectantly. “I told her I’d call her and tell her about the trip!”

“Yeah, okay,” Cassie says, digging her phone from her pocket. “Tell her we’ll bring her some cake in a little while.”

Sophie’s eyes light up as she snatches the phone away, already bounding up the stairs toward her room. I wait until she disappears beyond the landing, listening to her footsteps on the stairs for a few moments.

“You know,” Cassie teases while I watch the stairs distractedly. “If you ask nicely, I might save you some cake. But you’re going to have to say something nice about box mi—oh.”

She makes a surprised sound when I suddenly crowd her to the other side of the stairs, backing her into the little alcove beyond the settee and cupping her face to tilt her mouth to mine. It only takes her a second to melt into it, her arms winding around my neck and her fingers teasing through my hair as she kisses me back. I don’t know what it is about Cassie that causes me to devolve into a rutting teenager, but it’s taken every bit of my patience to wait as long as I have to touch her again.

She’s smiling when she finally pulls away, her lips a little redder than they were a moment ago. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I’ve been wanting to do that for hours now.”

“Wow, you must have been suffering. I couldn’t even tell.”

“Just assume going forward that I always want to do that.”

She bites her lip to keep from grinning wider. “Good to know.”

“I’m going to have to figure out a better method of restraining myself,” I sigh.

“Or not,” she says innocently. “I kind of like you unrestrained.”

“You make it very, very hard to be good.”

She presses up on her toes to kiss my cheek. “Maybe you should be bad then.”

I have to close my eyes and think about something else just to keep from getting hard. This is absolutely not the time. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Never.” She untangles herself from me, patting my shoulder playfully. It’s amazing to me that one night could somehow eradicate all the tension between us. If I’d known this was the solution, I might have proposed it sooner. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to be getting ready for work.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Gonna be a great night.”

“Maybe I should give you something to look forward to?”

It’s probably pathetic, the way I visibly perk up. “Oh?”

She comes closer, reaching to let her fingers trace the shape of my bottom lip. “Something to come home to.”

“It’s going to be late . . .”

She smiles sweetly then, reaching again, and I can feel my eyes closing in anticipation of her kiss. “It’s fine.” She presses her lips softly against mine, pulling away after and bringing her hand up to tap my nose. “I’ll just leave your piece of cake on the counter.”

She’s laughing as she skips away, and I’m left dumbfounded for a few seconds before it clicks what she’s said. I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose as I hear her start up the stairs after Sophie.

“She really is going to kill me,” I mutter to no one.

Work is hell, just as expected.

Two of my line cooks were out with a bug that’s apparently going around, and I had to send my sous-chef to the fucking hospital after an incident with a knife that required stitches. It’s like the universe decided to punish me for taking a night off.

I was so ready to leave by the end of the night that I hadn’t even bothered taking off my chef coat, only unbuttoning the top button as I step through the front door of the house and sighing with relief to be home. I hang my keys on the hook as always, stretching as I’m finally able to shake away the stress from tonight’s dinner service.

My eyes find Cassie’s closed bedroom door, a flicker of temptation sparking inside as I check my watch, but it’s nearly midnight.

“Damn,” I mutter.

Not that it would have been acceptable to wake her up just to touch her an hour ago, but still I can’t pretend I’m not thinking about it. I undo another button of my coat as I run my fingers through my hair, pushing the desire away and starting up the stairs as I resign myself to a shower and bed. I tell myself I can restrain myself for one night. I’ve been doing it for weeks, after all.

My decision means that it’s a complete surprise when I feel a tug at the back of my coat that pulls me backward into a now open door. It closes behind me as a smaller, softer body presses me against it, and then I’m met with a tempting smile lit by the nearby lamp.

“Cassie?”

“I told you I wanted to give you something to look forward to.”

Everything I’ve been trying to pack away starts trying to claw itself back to the surface. “What happened to the cake?”

“Oh, it was a huge success,” she assures me. “If that’s what you’d rather have, there’s still some upstairs . . .”

“Hardly.”

“Mm.” Her finger teases at the third button of my coat that’s still done. “Long night?”

“Fucking terrible.”

She pops open the button easily, not looking at me. “Boo. What can I do to help?”

“Are you sure you’re not tired? It’s practically mid—”

She pops open another button, shushing me. “Are you really worried about my sleep right now?”

“I—” Another button, enough fabric gapping so that she can slip her hand inside and press her palm to my chest. “No. Not really.”

I’m rewarded with her smile as she reaches with her other hand to undo the second to last button. “This chef jacket thing is actually kind of hot.”

That’s one I haven’t heard before.

I notice what she’s wearing now, frowning. “I see I’m not the only one wearing buttons.”

“Someone complained about my pajamas last night.”

I press my hand to her hip, letting my thumb flick at one of the large white buttons on her purple pajama shirt. There are cats all over it. “Are you a cat person?”

“Who isn’t a cat person?”

“They’re kind of pretentious.”

“Oh, wow.” Cassie laughs. “Did you know cats have more than a hundred vocal cords?”

“Are you really giving me Snapple facts right now?”

“I’m sorry.” She pulls at the pieces of my coat before she teases her fingers under the hem of the T-shirt I’m wearing underneath. “Are you not turned on by useless trivia?”

I close my eyes as her fingers slide over my abdomen. “This seems one sided.”

“You don’t like my pajamas?”

“I’d like them better on the floor.”

She bites her lip. “You never told me how I could help you feel better.”

“I could think of a few ways,” I murmur, toying with her buttons now. “If you’d take this off.”

There’s a flash of something in her expression then, just a tiny flicker of hesitance before she starts pulling me back toward her bed. She tugs at my coat until I’m forced to crawl over her, her back falling against the comforter as she tugs my mouth down to hers.

I’m still fumbling with her top even as she helps rid me of my coat, and by the time she’s yanking up my shirt to urge it over my head, I’ve managed to undo all of her buttons as her shirt parts so that I can see more.

“Fuck, Cassie,” I breathe, mouth suddenly dry.

Feeling her is one thing, seeing is another. She’s all soft swells and pretty pink nipples—her breasts spilling out of my hand when I cup them as the stiffening peaks beg for my mouth.

“Ah.”

Her soft cry when I wrap my lips around her nipple to let my tongue tease there only worsens the growing situation in my pants, but I tell my cock to back the fuck off and let me enjoy this. I’ve been fantasizing about doing this for as long as I’ve been mentally kicking my own ass for fantasizing about doing this. Her fingers tangle in my hair as I pull at the taut bud with my lips, swirling my tongue there just to elicit more of her sounds.

Because they are addicting.

Cassie doesn’t hide them, doesn’t try to quiet herself, and I am very grateful for the floor between us and Sophie’s room as her quiet mewls blend into sharp gasps that have her back bowing.

“I thought I was supposed to make you feel better,” she says breathily above me.

I flick my tongue across one nipple as I reach to roll the other between my fingers, speaking directly against her skin. “This is making me feel better.”

“Oh.” She squirms when my teeth graze just below her breast, kissing a path over her ribs. “Don’t you want to—”

I reach to pin her hip against the bed. “Be still. This is what I want.”

“O-okay,” she manages airily, and I can feel her relaxing. “I’d hate to get in the way.”

I chuckle against her belly. “I appreciate it.”

I’m holding my breath when I start to roll her soft shorts down her thighs, leaving her in yellow underwear that are covered in Popsicles. “Is everything you own in some sort of print?”

“All of my underwear, at least.”

“Something to look forward to,” I mutter. I peek up at her when I hook my fingers into the elastic band at her hips. “Is this okay?”

“I mean.” Her lips tilt up dreamily in a shy smile. “If that’s what makes you feel better.”

It’s all the invitation I need. I’m not sure where her underwear ends up since I practically toss them over my shoulder, and right now I don’t care. Her thighs are soft and inviting, pressing together prettily as if she’s embarrassed by the way I’m looking at her. I urge them apart with my hands as I brush my palm up the inside of one, swallowing when I can see all of her.

Her neat curls are the same deep red of her hair, a perfect contrast to the slick pink between her legs that makes me feel feral. I slide a knuckle through the wet crease of her, her hips shifting impatiently and her breath catching.

“Aiden . . .”

“You’re so pretty here,” I manage, my voice tight. “Can I use my mouth?”

“What?” She looks concerned. “Oh. I don’t—”

I can’t stop touching her, still teasing her with my fingers. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that, I just . . .” She bites her lip. “I’ve never been able to come that way.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I probably have a busted vagina.”

I snort, and I think she might have been about to laugh, until it breaks off into a choked sound when I tease her entrance. “No. You don’t.”

“I’d just hate for you to waste your time. We could just have sex.”

I frown, watching her look up at me with worried eyes as I think about all the assholes who apparently didn’t take the time with her that they should have. Which only makes me feel strangely furious, knowing some other asshole has touched her. I didn’t even know I was the jealous type until this exact moment.

“I can promise you”—I’m already urging her thighs to part wider as I settle between them—“that this is not a waste of time for me.”

“O-oh, well, if you’re sure you—oh.”

I close my eyes when my tongue first glides through her wet folds to taste her, her flavor on my tongue erotic and heady and almost too much. Her thighs tremble under my hands when I do it again, and I shift against the mattress to seek some release for how hard she’s made me, just from this.

I tease my tongue up her center until I find that hot little bundle that is just a little firmer, circling it slowly as her breath catches. I’m taking my time to work her up to it, wanting to make up for all the times she’s never come this way. Fuck, I think I could spend hours between her legs if she’d let me.

Because Cassie is fucking intoxicating.

It’s the way her breath hitches when I touch the right place, the way she presses against my face when she needs more, the way her thighs cinch against my ears when she thinks she can’t take it. By the time I’ve wrapped my lips around her now-swollen clit, sucking at it to draw out every drop of her pleasure that I can—I’m having to hold her down to keep her from writhing away from me.

“Be still,” I murmur against her. “You’re going to come on my tongue, Cassie.”

“I’m—I think—”

I don’t want to give her time to think, flicking her clit with my tongue before resuming my mission of trying to suck it into my mouth. Her fingers find purchase in my hair, and even with the slight sting, my cock throbs, her hips rolling against my face evidence that she’s lost in it. That she wants me to make her come just as badly as I want to give it to her.

I can tell when she’s close—her hips lift from the bed and her fingers tangle in my hair—every little movement and sound making me that much harder, that much more desperate to fuck her. But I’m determined to hold out until I’ve reduced her to a shaking mess against my tongue. Her stuttered breath has turned to whimpered pleas of more and right there, and I hold her steady as I work her clit with my lips and tongue to push her over the edge.

“Aiden. Aiden. Keep—right there—oh. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t fully let go until I slide two fingers to dip inside her, keeping her full while I devote all my attention to the taut bud between my lips. I’m still thinking about filling her with something else when we’re done here, and that’s enough to have me dizzy when her fingers grasp at my hair. She makes a pretty sound when she comes, a quiet gasp that seems to come from deep inside her, and her entire body trembles and shakes as she falls apart.

It’s fucking beautiful.

I don’t stop until she’s actively pulling me away, whimpering my name over and over as she says she can’t take any more. I lift my head to see her flushed face, feeling out of breath and too warm as she smiles at me with glazed eyes.

“That was . . . something.”

I turn my face to slide against her thigh, wiping my mouth on her skin. “I feel much better.”

“I’m happy to be of service,” she murmurs. “Come back anytime.”

I’m laughing when I crawl over her, running a finger down one side of her open pajama top before dragging it over her chest that still heaves slightly. “I’ve got something else in mind now.”

“Well.” Her arms wind around my neck as she pulls me down closer. “Whatever makes you feel better, Mr. Reid.”