The Nanny

Sophie!” I call up the stairs for the second time. “We’re going to be late!” I pull my cell phone back to my ear and continue my pacing on the first floor. “Sorry. Tell me what happened.”

I hear Marco, my sous-chef, sigh on the other end of the line. “Alex forgot to put the scallops in the fridge last night after prep.”

“What?”

“Yeah. They’re ruined.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Nope.” I can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen back at the restaurant. “And as far as I can tell, that was our entire supply from this week’s delivery.”

“What the fuck.”

“I know. We’re out until they deliver again on Friday.”

“So we have to tell a hundred people that we fucked up, and now we’re out of our most popular appetizer.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Marco says, “I made Alex call Joe and tell him himself.”

I roll my eyes. Joseph Cohen is many things, but a hard-ass is not one of them. He’ll be comforting Alex before that conversation is over. All of the hard-assing at Cohen’s is left to me.

I pull the phone away from my ear, still looking for my daughter. “Sophie!”

“Do you want me to take Sophie to school?”

I startle as I notice Cassie standing near her bedroom door. “Did I wake you up?”

“Oh, no,” she assures me. “I’ve been up.” She eyes my phone in my hand, where Marco is still chattering about something. “But I can totally take her, if something came up.”

“Oh. No, I—” I bring the phone to my ear and murmur to Marco to give me a sec. “I want to take her. We’re having a mild scallop disaster at work that I have to deal with.”

“Oh, okay. If you’re sure.” She grins at me then. “Did you know that a scallop can produce up to two million eggs?”

I make a face. “Snapple?”

“Snapple,” she answers with a nod.

I catch myself smiling despite what’s happening on the other end of my phone. “Good to know.”

“I’ll go see if I can rustle up your daughter,” Cassie says, frowning up at the stairs. “I bet she can’t find her shoes again.”

I can distantly hear Marco calling my name, but I’m ignoring it. “Thanks,” I tell Cassie. “That would be great.”

“Don’t sweat it,” she says, waving me off.

She starts to climb the stairs in search of Sophie, and I catch myself watching her go for a second longer than I mean to. I tear my eyes away when I realize what I’m doing, turning my back to the stairs and giving Marco my full attention again.

“Listen. Call the servers and have them come in early for a staff meeting. We can make them aware, and they’ll have to let the tables know as they seat them. I can go tomorrow morning to the seafood market across town and get enough to last until the truck comes back.”

“Okay. Sure.” Marco scoffs. “I’m going to let Alex call them. Let him get bitched out by the servers.”

This makes me laugh despite my growing headache. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll be in later.”

“We’ll be here.”

“Right. Bye.”

I hang up the phone, stowing it in my pocket as I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. I turn to see Sophie taking the stairs two at a time, Cassie close behind. I throw my hands up in question. “What’s the holdup?”

Sophie frowns. “I couldn’t find my shoe!”

I glance at Cassie, who gives me an “I told you so” look.

“Well, come on,” I urge my daughter. “That teacher with the whistle is going to yell at me again if we’re late.”

Sophie adjusts her backpack. “Okay, okay.”

“Thanks for getting her,” I tell Cassie.

“No problem,” she says. She waves her hands in a shooing motion at us both. “Go on, both of you. Can confirm the whistle lady is scary.”

I take Sophie’s hand to pull her out the front door toward the car, and despite what’s waiting for me at work tonight, I catch myself smiling.

Why isn’t Cassie taking me to school?”

“I had time this morning.” I meet Sophie’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “I thought we didn’t like Cassie?”

Sophie purses her lips, face turning toward the window as she shrugs. “She’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

“She’s kind of weird.”

“Oh, really? How so?”

“She’s always trying to hang out with me,” Sophie huffs. “Doesn’t she have any grown-up friends?”

“Maybe she likes you,” I suggest.

Sophie tries to look casual, but I don’t miss the way her eyes dart to the side to meet mine again in the mirror. “Do you think she does?”

“I doubt she’d keep trying to hang out with you if she didn’t,” I assure her. “Maybe you should be nicer to her.”

“I’m nice to her,” Sophie mutters.

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s not as lame as the last nanny,” Sophie says after we pass another block.

“I’m glad you think so,” I tell her.

I mean it too. After going through four nannies in the last year, I was damn near desperate by the time Cassie’s résumé had reached my inbox.

Bringing Sophie to the restaurant is fine as an intermediary solution, but doing it too regularly had started to wear on us both. So it had felt like an actual miracle when Cassie applied. I had been prepared to offer whatever it took for her to take the job, convinced by her résumé alone that she was the answer we’d been looking for.

But then I met her.

I don’t even know what I expected; I only gave a thought to her credentials in the short period between answering her email and seeing her for the first time, but I can definitively say that Cassie took me by surprise. Even with the slight disaster of our first meeting, it had been hard to pretend that I wasn’t distracted by her.

It’s not appropriate in the slightest for me to have noticed how silky her auburn hair looks, or how pouty her mouth appears. It’s definitely not acceptable that my eyes had drunk in the way her black dress hugged dangerous curves before I forcefully packed those thoughts away—and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since.

I have to remind myself once a day of all the things I shouldn’t be noticing about Cassie. Like how pretty her smile is, or how bright her blue eyes seem to appear when she laughs, for example. Ultimately, I’m one hundred percent sure now that she is the best person for the job, and finding her attractive in any capacity only serves to potentially fuck up the good thing we’ve started to find. Sophie is more important than a few wayward thoughts I can never give voice to.

Even if they are sometimes louder than I’d like them to be.

“What happened at work?”

Sophie’s voice pulls me out of my own head, reminding me of the scallop fiasco. “Someone not paying attention,” I grumble. “We’re going to be out of a popular dish tonight. People are going to complain.”

“What are you out of?”

“Scallops.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Ew. What is that?”

“Kind of like little clams.”

“Gross.”

“Well, I’m glad that you aren’t put out by this,” I laugh.

“Cassie said she’s gonna show me how to make mini pizzas from tortillas for dinner,” Sophie says. She tries to look like she isn’t excited, but I can tell it’s a front. “I bet they’re gross too.”

“Sounds pretty cool to me. I’m sad I’ll miss it.”

Sophie pouts. “I wish you could stay home tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” I frown, feeling like a dick. “I have to deal with the gross scallops.” I eye her in the mirror. “It’s going to get even busier in the next few weeks. We’re adding some things to the menu.”

“Okay,” she answers quietly, trying not to let her disappointment show as guilt pangs in my chest.

Our last year hasn’t been easy. At times it’s been a downright nightmare, and I’ve thought more than once that if I’d known Sophie and I would end up here, I might have chosen a different profession. I love what I do, but I hate not being able to spend more time with her. She pretends that it doesn’t bother her, my frequent late nights, but I know better. There’s just nothing I can do about it right now.

“You’ll have to tell me all about the mini pizzas tomorrow though,” I offer.

Sophie nods. “Okay.”

I notice her school coming into view, signaling with my blinker as I prepare to turn in to the drop-off line. I know in the coming weeks I’ll have far fewer opportunities to drive her like this, and that only increases my guilt. I think that’s why I’m so desperate for Cassie and Sophie to hit it off. If I could imagine Sophie having fun and not holing up in her room, I might be able to not completely hate myself for being absent.

“Tell Cassie it’s my turn to pick a movie tonight,” Sophie tells me before she hops out of the car. “She picked yesterday.”

She’s still trying to look as if she isn’t very interested. It almost makes me laugh. My daughter is a lot of things, but hard to read is not one of them.

I grin at her. “I’ll do that.”

I don’t go home immediately; I take advantage of the extra time this morning to stop by the gym on my way back, if only to cut down on the amount of time I will be alone in the house with Cassie without Sophie as a buffer. I’ve found during this last week that a long run on the treadmill usually helps ensure I am too tired to even think about whatever Cassie is wearing or how she’s fixed her hair. She has a habit of throwing it into a messy bun on top of her head, and while there’s nothing particularly special about the way she does it, it makes her neck look longer, makes it easier to notice. It’s one more thing I shouldn’t be thinking about.

By the time I do get back to the town house, I’m worn out and sweaty and in good need of a shower. Thankfully, it’s nearly lunchtime, which means when I finish up everything else I need to do before work, I can escape to the restaurant and avoid any dangerous moments alone with Sophie’s nanny.

The house is quiet when I step through the front door. I hang my keys on the hook beside it as I notice Cassie’s closed bedroom door off the stairs. I consider stopping to check on her, but deep down I know there’s no real reason to, so I walk past instead to climb the staircase. I mentally go over my list of things to do before I go into work in a little while. I’m still working through my checklist in my head as I step off the landing to head toward the kitchen. Maybe that’s why I don’t notice her at first.

I cross the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door to look inside and noting several things we are getting low on. I guess I need to add a trip to the grocery store to my list. If I can find the time today, that is.

“I can go later, if you want,” I hear Cassie call from the living room, startling me. “I just have a few more assignments to work through.”

I stand there with the fridge door open, distracted momentarily by messy auburn tresses piled high on her head. It’s an actual chore to keep my eyes there and not let them dip lower, focusing on her face instead. Where it’s safe.

“I didn’t see you,” I tell her. “Sorry.”

She shakes her head, shifting in the armchair to move the laptop sitting between her crossed legs. “You’re fine. I had a few lessons I thought I’d get ahead on since you took Sophie. I totally would have taken her, by the way.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I assure her. “I wanted to.”

“Any news on the scallop situation?”

I scoff as I shake my head. “Tonight is pretty much shot. I’m hoping to be able to find some more for tomorrow night, at least. If we have to make it to the end of the week without any, people will lose their minds.”

“Oh, no,” she says with a hint of amusement in her voice. “A clam-tastrophe.”

I groan at her terrible joke, but I can’t help but grin as I cover my eyes. “That was awful.”

“That’s sort of where I live, humor-wise. Somewhere between awful and lame.” Cassie’s lips curl in a smile, and that, too, is distracting. At this point in our living arrangement, I just hope I’m not unconsciously making a weird face when I look at her. “I don’t have a lot left to do here though,” she tells me. “I can run to the grocery store if you want. Save you a trip.”

I glance back in the fridge, remembering my earlier train of thought before I grab a water bottle from the inside. “That would be great, actually. I can leave you with my credit card. Just get whatever you guys need.”

“It makes sense anyway since I’ve been doing most of the cooking,” she points out.

I grimace. “I’m sorry about that.”

“What?” She looks genuinely confused. “Don’t be. It’s my job, right?”

“Yeah,” I answer, unscrewing the cap on the water while I round the counter, leaning against it as I keep a safe distance from the living room. “Right. Sorry.”

Cassie laughs quietly. “You have a habit of apologizing when you don’t have to.”

“Sorr—” I frown. “I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time.” I notice her gaze flick down to my T-shirt that is still pretty drenched with sweat, and I give her an apologetic look. “I need a shower.”

“Kind of,” she chuckles. “I don’t know where you find the energy to work out with the late nights you’ve been pulling.”

I shrug. “You get used to it. Just have to steal time where you can.”

“Couldn’t be me.”

I nod toward her laptop. “What are you working on?”

“Nothing fun,” she sighs. “But I have to get it done before my on-campus labs this weekend, and I promised Sophie we’d make mini pizzas tonight and watch a movie.”

“She told me.” I smile. “She also told me to tell you that it’s her turn to pick.”

Cassie snorts. “She would say that. She totally tricked me into picking the one she wanted last time. This will have to be our third time watching Encanto at this point.”

“Encanto?”

She looks at me like the question is an offensive one. “Really? ‘We Don’t Talk About Bruno’?”

“Why don’t we talk about Bruno?”

“How have you missed this? I feel like Sophie has sung this song at least eight dozen times in the last week.”

“Wait. Is this the one about a wedding?”

“It’s catchy as hell is what it is. I haven’t been able to shower without that damned soundtrack making an appearance.”

Don’t think about her in the shower. Just don’t.

“I guess I need to watch the movie.”

“Oh, don’t worry. She’ll corner you eventually and force you.”

I laugh at her expression, disgruntled and yet somehow affectionate. “I think she likes you.”

Cassie perks up. “You think so?”

“I do. She likes to act tough, but I can tell she’s already warmed up to you.”

“She could throw me a bone and let it show.”

I can’t help but laugh. “That would be too easy. She’s got to make you think you earned it.”

“She’s so stubborn,” Cassie says, grinning. “I sort of love her.”

“I am . . . very glad to hear you say that.”

“She’s an awesome kid,” Cassie says seriously. “It’s kind of hard not to.”

There’s still a touch of a smile at my mouth as I look down at my feet. “She is.”

I think I dread one-on-one conversations with Cassie because they are so easy. Sure, there are sometimes lulls or awkward silences where I am trying not to notice her in all the ways I shouldn’t be—but every time I talk to her, it’s almost as if we’ve been talking forever.

“I meant to tell you,” I start, changing the subject. “Outside of the . . . clam-tastrophe”—Cassie gives me an aha that I roll my eyes at—“work will be busier for a while.”

Her brow knits. “Oh?”

“Yeah. We’re testing a few new dishes for their potential as additions to the permanent menu, and that always means more time to assess any feedback and refine any details. I’ll have to meet with the new suppliers, and go over the recipes with my sous-chefs . . . It’s usually a nightmare.”

“Oh.” She nods idly. “I get it. Gotta work, right?”

“Stay in school as long as you can,” I huff. “It’s shit out here.”

Cassie laughs. “I bet the whole steady paycheck thing makes it worth it though.”

“One might argue that, yes.”

Her smile really is . . . very pretty. It usually tilts on one side first, like she’s thinking about it, but then the other lifts to join it as she grins in earnest. It makes it hard not to look when she smiles like that. I should let her get back to her schoolwork, I know that; I should turn around and head to my room to shower and leave her be.

I walk to the couch instead, settling into it as I take another swig from my water bottle. I reason that I am just resting for a second.

Don’t make things weird.

“Did you always want to go into occupational therapy?”

“Mostly,” she says. “Since my sophomore year of undergrad. Maybe earlier. The money is good, and the work feels like something I would enjoy.”

“I mean, you’re amazing with kids . . . Is that who you want to work with?”

“I think so. I told you my parents were sort of shitty, right?”

It hits me harder than it should, being reminded of it; maybe it’s because of my own situation. “You did.”

“Yeah, well. I kind of like the idea of being there for kids like that. You know? Kids that don’t think they have anyone else.”

Every new thing I learn about Cassie makes talking to her that much more dangerous.

“I get it,” I say, crinkling the plastic of the water bottle as I nod down at my knees. “It’s good motivation. Plus, it seems like you’ve had a lot of practice, with the children’s hospital. You worked there for almost a year right? What did you do before that?”

She looks surprised by the question, a strange blush at her cheeks as she averts her eyes, looking suddenly very interested in her laptop screen. “Oh,” she says. “Random odd jobs. Nothing nearly as cool as the hospital. I tried the whole full-time student thing for a bit, I guess.”

“Ah.” There’s something sort of nervous about her behavior, and I can tell that whatever she did, she must not want to talk about it. Which is odd, but also none of my business, I guess. I take her dodgy reaction as my cue not to pry. “Well. I’m sure it was very rewarding. It will be good experience, too, I imagine. It’s all very admirable. What you’re doing.”

“Makes for a lame personal life though,” she laughs. “My best friend is in her seventies.”

My brow furrows. “Really?”

“Oh, you’d love Wanda, if you can get around the fact that she’s still not entirely convinced you don’t have a secret basement, that is.”

“Oh, that friend.”

She beams back at me. “She’s kind of a worrywart.”

“I hope you brought her up to speed on the basement situation.”

“I did, but she hasn’t entirely ruled out the possibility that there’s a hidden door around here.”

“The more I hear about Wanda, the more terrified I am to meet her,” I snort.

“Oh yes. You should be very afraid. She’s one hundred and thirty pounds of pure terror.” She looks pensive then. “I would actually love to take Sophie to meet her eventually, if that’s okay? I think they’d really hit it off.”

“I don’t see why not,” I say after thinking for a moment. “Sophie would like that, I’m sure.”

“I definitely think Wanda would get a kick out of it. That is, if you’re sure you’re okay with it. I mean, you’re welcome to come, if you’re free . . . ?”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’m sure I’ll still be busy. Let me know the address and when you’ll be there. Maybe text me when you get back home so I know where you guys are. Actually, maybe we should turn on location sharing, that way if anything happens—”

I notice she’s smiling again, and I shut my mouth quickly.

“I sound silly, don’t I.”

“You sound like your run-of-the-mill control freak dad. It’s not a bad thing. I can do whatever makes you feel best.”

There’s no reason for me to think twice about this statement; I know it’s perfectly innocent, but that doesn’t stop the strange sensation from coiling in my chest. “Right. Sorry.”

“Apologizing again,” she chuckles.

“I’m sure Sophie would love to get out of the house for a bit,” I reason. “I’m sure she’s over being cooped up here with me every day that she wasn’t hanging out at the restaurant.”

“Sophie loves hanging out with you,” Cassie asserts. “She talks about you all the time.”

My mouth parts in surprise. “Really?”

“Literally. All the time. Give yourself more credit.”

I nod slowly, considering. “I . . . Thanks.”

“Just calling it like I see it.”

“Shit.” I frown. “That reminds me—Iris is supposed to be coming by later.”

“Iris?”

“Sophie’s aunt. I mentioned her, right?”

“Oh.” She nods in recognition. “Right. I remember.”

“She asked to see Sophie.”

Cassie laughs. “Why do you look so uncertain about that?”

“Iris is . . .” I sigh. “I suppose I should just tell you. Things can be tense between us sometimes.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah. She means well, she really does, but she’s always been so involved in Sophie’s life . . . I think suddenly not being able to see her whenever she wants really eats at her. She’s tried to talk me into a joint custody situation several times.”

“But you’re her dad,” Cassie answers.

I nod. “Right. And I’m happy to let her see Sophie when I can, but I want Sophie to have a stable environment.”

“That makes perfect sense,” Cassie says, and hearing it feels nice, like I hadn’t even realized how much I needed to hear another person validate it.

“She can have a habit of being . . . terse. With the nannies. In the past.”

“Is she going to go all WWE on me?”

This makes me laugh. “No, no. Nothing like that. I think it just bothers her that I feel the need to hire someone in the first place. Iris thinks I should just leave Sophie with her. But again . . . that feels like a slippery slope. I want her to know that this is home. I think she needs that in her life right now.”

“I might be biased,” Cassie starts, “because, you know, you’re paying me”—we both laugh—“but I really think you’re doing the right thing. Kids need to feel like they have a place that’s theirs, you know? Even if you’re not here all of every day, I imagine it’s a comfort to Sophie to know that you’ll always come home to her. If that makes sense.”

I’m nodding dazedly, wondering how someone who barely knows us could encapsulate everything I’ve been striving to do after such a short time with us. “It does,” I say. “Perfect sense.”

Cassie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry,” she says with a grin. “I can handle Iris.”

“Good,” I chuckle.

There’s awkward silence that settles once again because I don’t know what to say, the soft sound of crinkling plastic crackling in the air as I anxiously squeeze the water bottle. Again I tell myself to go, to leave her here and go on about my business, but I’m still finding it difficult to do so, not quite ready to be done talking to her.

“So, you said you had labs this weekend, right?”

“Yeah. Is that okay? I’ll be back in time to make Sophie dinner.”

“Oh, of course. Sure. I was just getting it in my head so I wouldn’t forget.” I nod aimlessly. “How did you meet Wanda, anyway?”

At this point, I’m grasping at straws to talk to her a little longer.

“She was my neighbor at my old place. I got locked out of my apartment back when I first moved into the building, and she made me tea while I waited for the locksmith. She’s ornery as shit, but I love her.” Cassie grins as she shakes her head. “Even if she was pretty convinced you might have been some sort of criminal luring me here with a fake kid.”

I snort. “Why does that sound like something I might worry about if Sophie was in your position?”

“Don’t worry, I promise you can’t be as paranoid as Wanda.”

“What a relief,” I deadpan.

“Seriously, it’s sort of hysterical that she would even worry about me like that. She’s the one picking up random bingo dates every other weeknight and bringing them back home.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. The woman gets more action than I ever will.”

Don’t think about that statement. Just don’t.

“She sounds . . . like a character.”

“She’s kind of wild. Honestly, her dating life is sort of impressive. She’s always trying to give me tips, and I swear to you, they are just as ridiculous as you might imagine. Thank God I’m not worried about it right now.”

Don’t ask. Don’t you dare ask, Aiden.

“So, you don’t date?”

You ass. You utterly dense ass.

She looks surprised by the question, and why wouldn’t she? It’s an inappropriate question. I quickly try to correct.

“I just meant—” Surely, she can tell I’m floundering. I hope it isn’t showing on my face. “I realized that we never discussed, ah, how we’d handle it. I mean, of course your dating life is a private matter, but it might confuse Sophie if you were to bring anyone here.” I want to crawl into a hole and never come out. “I mean, maybe if she was asleep, and you stayed downstairs—”

“Oh.” It takes her a moment before her eyes widen with realization. “Oh.” She laughs, which makes me feel slightly less ridiculous, but only slightly. “No, no. Don’t worry. It’s not going to be an issue. I don’t exactly have a lot of time for it either. School keeps me busy. Doesn’t leave a lot of time to meet Mr. Right, you know?”

There’s no reason for this news to please me. Absolutely none. I shouldn’t feel better hearing that she won’t be bringing some random man into my house, because it shouldn’t matter to me in the first place.

“Sure,” I say finally, unable to look her in the eye. “That’s . . . understandable.”

She laughs again. “The only boyfriend I’d have time for at this point would have to be a live-in willing to get down at the weirdest hours.” I think I stop breathing, but only for a second. I watch her eyes go wide and her cheeks flush ever so slightly as she seems to realize what she’s said. “Wow, I did not think before I spoke. Sorry. I sort of lose the whole filter thing when I get nervous.”

I know the longer I don’t respond the more awkward it will be, but my tongue feels glued to my mouth at the moment. I can’t stop wondering why she would be nervous. Is it because of me?

Doesn’t matter. End this fucking conversation.

“No worries,” I say tightly. “It’s fine.”

And I’m going to leave now, because it’s clear I can’t have a conversation with Cassie today without making a total ass of myself, and I’m about to make an excuse and leave when she says, “What about you?”

This throws me, forgetting what I’d been about to do. “Me?”

“I mean, surely someone like you isn’t hurting for dates.”

I can feel myself blinking dazedly at her. “Someone like . . . me.”

“Well, yeah, you know.”

I absolutely do not know, so I tell her so. “I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, making a slightly frustrated sound. “Oh my God. Obviously, you’re good-looking. And you’re this big fancy chef.” I feel my brows raise, still stuck on obviously you’re good-looking. “I mean . . . do I need a place to take Sophie when you bring someone home, or is there some sort of sock-on-the-door policy?”

Something about knowing that at this very second Cassie is thinking about me being intimate with someone, even in this strange offhanded capacity . . . it’s not good. What it does to me. There’s absolutely nothing about it that should be expanded or considered.

“Sock on the door,” I echo dumbly before a dry chuckle escapes me. “No,” I tell her. “You don’t have to worry about that. Between work and Sophie, it hasn’t been an issue for . . . a while.”

Especially since my last attempt was such a disaster.

But that’s an entirely different story.

I tell myself I am imagining it, the expression on her face that almost looks like relief but is gone as quickly as it comes, knowing that my nonfunctioning brain is just supplying what it wants to see. She’s probably just happy she doesn’t have to be subjected to something awkward, and I’m over here thinking things I shouldn’t. Again.

I check my watch, not actually looking at the time. “I’d better go shower. I still have some stuff to do before work.”

“Okay.” I catch her nodding from the corner of my eye, but I still can’t bring myself to look at her fully. “I didn’t mean to chat your ear off,” she continues.

I do look at her then, because I can’t help it. “No, no. You didn’t. Just . . . lots to do.”

“Sure.”

I push off the couch, giving her a nod before I retreat upstairs to leave her to her schoolwork. I don’t look back at her as I go, mainly because I’m afraid she’ll see how much I want to kick my own ass, but I note that I don’t hear her start to type again until I am nearly out of sight.

Don’t make things weird.

So much for that.

—◊—

“Can you tease your nipples for me, Cici?”

God, his voice. It’s low and gravelly, but it makes me feel tingly all over. Especially since he seems to know exactly what he wants me to do.

My fingers tweak my nipples, and I can hear his breath huff against his speaker.

“Just like that. They’re so pretty. I bet they taste fantastic.”

I wonder idly if it’s supposed to feel this intimate. I can’t see him, and he doesn’t know my real name.

None of this stops me from coming exactly how he tells me to.

—◊—