Conner
It’s been a week since the Porno Incident. While that night was awkward as fuck, I think things might actually be better now. Cassidy and I talk more. We’re war buddies in the trench by day, and in the evenings, we’re...friends.
I still want to fill her full of cum, don’t get me wrong. But I like talking to her. I can see why she and Sandy were so close.
I rub my chest over my heart. I miss my sister so much. She’d have been the one I went to for help and advice in any other situation. But she can’t help me now. Thank God she left me Cassidy.
I go downstairs and halt at the sight. Cassidy is smiling at me over her shoulder, then she returns to what she was working on at the counter, hiding whatever she’s doing from my view. She’s still in her pajamas, which I have to admit I like. They aren’t sexy lingerie by any means. A longish T-shirt over a pair of long-john bottoms and fuzzy socks.
I like the way those bottoms show off the shape of her legs. I like knowing she’s not wearing a bra. But what I love is the comfort she has in my presence now. That she doesn’t feel awkward wearing her pajamas in front of me.
I kiss Hayden and Ashley on the tops of their heads. “What you doing over there, Cassidy?” I ask the girls, “Is she hiding something from me?”
They coo and Hayden offers me a Cheerio from her tray. Then Cassidy turns around. She’s holding a plate with a muffin in the center of it. She’s lit a single candle in it, and she starts singing a very off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” The girls don’t know the words, but they like songs, so they start banging their hands on their trays and chattering along.
I’m overwhelmed with a feeling I don’t know the name of. It’s warm and bright, and for the first time in six months, I am content. More than content. I feel like I am exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I need to be doing, and a kind of peace steals over me. I can’t stop the smile from splitting open my damn face.
Cassidy finishes the song and her eyes are shining with tears like she’s feeling it too. Whatever it is. It’s big, too big to hold inside. I want to grasp the moment, but I know it’s almost gone.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I can’t think of a better way to start my birthday.” I want to say something cheesy. I want to take her in my arms and just hold her. Hold this perfect moment before it dissolves and I feel empty again.
She holds the plate up. “Make a wish.”
I don’t believe in wishes. I know you either act on your desires or you don’t. And the man I was on last year’s birthday had very simple desires and he acted on them, fulfilling his short-term goals with ease. He didn’t know what hard was. He didn’t know about grief or responsibility or putting off desire because the long-term consequences outnumbered the short-term achievement.
He’d have wished for a birthday kiss from the pretty girl and then worked his way to more.
But if I did believe in wishes, right now I’d wish for this feeling, this fleeting feeling, to come around more often and stay longer. To keep the pretty girl smiling. To hear the babies chattering instead of crying. To know with bone-deep certainty that I’m the right man for this job I’ve been given.
So, I blow out the candle and wish that I believed in wishes.
The rest of my day goes by in a blur. We’re working on a project for a museum downtown. I’m tired, hot, and grubby when I get home. I know after my shower that it’s my turn to take over from Cassidy. Dinner, bath time, story time, and bed time (hopefully) with the girls so she can study and have the evening free.
When I get out of the shower, I’m surprised to find the girls already eating their dinner.
“It’s your birthday,” Cassidy explains. “You should relax. I’ll take the evening shift.”
Still, I help her with the kids. Four hands are better than two. We work well together. Ashley and Hayden are happy to have both of us at the same time. I take Ashley from Cassidy’s arms when she’s rocked her to sleep. It’s a seamless transition now, so different from when we first started passing babies back and forth to each other. In the beginning, we used to wake them up more often than not when we tried to pass a baby to each other. Then we had to start over. Now, I can read Cassidy’s body language better, and I actually know how to hold a baby. Even the tricky part of putting Ashley down in the crib without waking her is second nature.
We sneak out of the nursery, Cassidy double-checking the monitor before we close the door behind us.
“Come to the kitchen with me,” she orders, and I follow her down the hall and down the stairs. Happy as hell to be behind her. God damn, her ass in those shorts is the best damn thing I have ever seen. If I keep looking, I’m going to need a cold shower, but it’s my fucking birthday. If ever there’s a day when I can ogle those luscious globes guilt-free, it should be today, right?
Her outfit is probably not something she thought would turn me on. The shorts aren’t too small and the T-shirt is baggy. Something about the knee-high athletic socks is hot as hell, though. She looks...comfortable. At home. Relaxed. And that is the strangest thing to be turned on by, but it really works for me.
I try to think of the last woman I was with and have a hard time even remembering the guy I used to be. I used to like the girls who were all done up. Glossy lips, perfume, high heels...all of it. Now, I feel like I wouldn’t even know how to act around a woman like that. Everything seemed so forced then. Not like now. I find I appreciate the shape of Cassidy even more when she’s just bumming around, like tonight.
She’s real.
And real sexy.
I need to pull my mind out of the gutter. She’s my partner in this baby care business. I don’t want to ruin the camaraderie we’ve established because my dick starts running the show. My dick is a horrible decision maker.
She’s got a sneaky look in her eye again. I like it. “Why are we in the kitchen?”
“Cake.”
“You made cake?”
She laughs. “Yeah, in my spare time, I bake. Oh wait, no, I don’t. I have twins to take care of all day. Therefore, I have no spare time. I bought cake, silly.”
I’m still reacting to her teasing me when she pulls a pink box from the fridge and opens it. Inside is my favorite—German chocolate. That feeling from this morning comes back, filling my chest with this light that seems to expand. Like I swallowed sunlight.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was really into baked goods suddenly—the muffin this morning and the cake tonight. But my sweet tooth isn’t very strong. And while it’s my favorite cake, even I know the feeling comes from her remembering it’s my favorite flavor. From her making sure I felt special today.
Damn. She really is smart, funny, and kind. Those eighteen-year-old punks don’t know what they’re missing, because suddenly, those are the things that make my heart race and my palms sweat. Yeah, her ass is amazing—but her heart. Jesus. I wish I believed I deserved her heart.
I need to make this not awkward and fast. “You’re not going to sing to me again, are you? Please say no.”
She throws a kitchen towel at me while she pulls plates down. “Ha-ha. Maybe I should.”
“Wait a minute.” I put the plates back.
“Don’t you want cake?” Her earnest fear that she’s disappointed me is somehow like an arrow right to my heart.
“I do want cake. Thank you for arranging it. What I don’t want is more dirty dishes. We are going to be uncivilized around here for a change.” I hand her a fork and pull the small cake from the box. “Dig in.”
“Just like that?” She’s dubious, and I fucking love that expression on her face. She’s usually so in control, especially in the kitchen. She’s organized and labels leftovers and always remembers to flip the magnet on the dishwasher so we know if the load is dirty or clean. She doesn’t eat cake without cutting it. Without putting in on plates.
“Just like that,” I say, and take a forkful.
We’re eating cake like we’re getting away with something, and I realize this birthday, despite all the pain of the last six months, is the best I’ve had in a long time.
“We’re not drinking milk out of the carton,” she warns me. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“We might.”
“No, I draw the line there.”
“Live a little, Cassidy.”
“Mr. Webster, you’re a very bad influence on me.”
And just like that, I’m rock hard.
I have very purposefully stayed away from any porn that included babysitters or barely legal teens lately. In fact, that’s why I was watching the MILF gangbang last week when I got caught. I’ve been trying to rub out to anything that doesn’t remind me of the barely legal babysitter I want to bone living in my house.
Because I sure as shit wouldn’t pass her around to a group if I ever got her naked. No, I’d keep her to myself. Nobody but me would touch her, see her. Nobody but me would hear the sounds she makes when she comes. Nobody but me would know the sweet taste of her pussy.
Fuck. Now I’m really hard.
It’s her fault. All week, I’ve been making sure not to put her in that taboo role, and then she goes and reminds me that I’m older, I’m her boss, and I am a bad influence on her. All in one sentence.
She’s a very naughty babysitter.
Fuck.
“I think you might want me to be a bad influence on you, Cassidy.”
She pauses her fork in mid-air, and this bubble forms around us in the heavy silence as we both think about what I just said. I hadn’t meant to say it. Not out loud.
“Maybe I do.”
There’s no one and nothing outside of this kitchen. No chores, no responsibilities, no have-to or should-haves. The world has shrunk to this moment. To this fresh-faced girl with jade green eyes and a woman’s heart but a naïve spirit. This angel who thinks she’s a wallflower, but she’s really a riot of roses. Not the kind you buy in the grocery store, but the heirloom kind that climb the walls and carry a rich scent that stays in your nose.
I want to tickle her skin with the soft, velvet petals. I want to fuck her on a bed of roses.
Shit. There it is.
I want to fuck her.
“Cassidy—”
“You’re going to say something that makes total sense. About me being too young for you. About you being my boss. About not wanting to be involved in the cliché naughty babysitter and daddy scenario. So just save it. I get it. It’s okay. I’d rather we just pretend we had the conversation, though, okay? Because I know you’re right. About all of it. But it doesn’t stop me from wondering what it would be like.” She takes a deep breath. “And that was really hard for me to say out loud and to you. But I’m glad I did.”
“I’m glad you did, too.” Even in the one week since our talk in her room, she’s changed. I’ve seen it in the little things—her teasing me more, being more comfortable around me—but her telling me flat out that she thinks about having sex with me is the biggest step I’ve seen her take. And it’s a good one. I put the cake down. I want to start ripping clothes off her body. Knowing she wants me is a bigger turn-on than I imagined it would be. But I need to slow down. “It would be really easy to get caught up in the fantasy. Too easy. We need to think this through.”
She cocks her head and looks at me through new eyes. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For talking to me. For thinking this through with me. Instead of treating me like I don’t know my own mind.”
“I know you’re smart. And you’re mature. But that doesn’t change that you are young. And I am your boss. That does make a difference. There’s an imbalance of power here, and I don’t want to take advantage of that.” There. I sound like a full-fledged adult. I want to stab myself in the eye I hate it so much. Being an adult is overrated, and I’m sure that’s why I’ve put off responsibility until this year.
But my words sound like I pulled them off a feminist blog. Which I did, actually. Last week when I was Googling why it was wrong to lust after my babysitter. And it is wrong. So wrong. So wrong it’s right.
I’m not okay with being a dick. Taking advantage of someone important to me is not cool.
But I still want to fuck her. And if she’s not being manipulated into it, is it still bad?
“Imbalance of power?”
“Yeah, okay. I read that. On a blog. Also, I’m not supposed to tell you to smile more because that’s condescending. And when I sit on a train, I need to make sure I’m not manspreading.”
It was a very in-depth blog, okay?
She does this squinty thing with her eyes and then shakes her head at me. “There might be a power imbalance here, but I’m not sure it’s weighted on your side. Seriously, Conner, how long do you think you could run this house without me in it?”
“About an hour and a half.”
She laughs. “Exactly. I could abuse my power. Gouge you for more money. Take more time off. Do less than I do—and you’d still put up with it because you don’t have a lot of choices. I’m not here as a starry-eyed teenager you can mold.” She starts to shrink into herself, but then forces her shoulders back and stands up straight. “We both know it’s been me molding you into the man you want to be so you can be a father to those girls. Teaching you. Mentoring you.”
My ego rears its head and wants to argue. But she’s totally right. And that this little slip of a woman called me on my bullshit is fabulous. She’s the kind of partner a man wants in all the ways that count.
She’s sticking up for herself, and that turns me on even more than I already was.
But she’s barely out of high school, and I have a feeling, based on her shyness around me, she’s not had a lot of boyfriends. I’m not like whips-and-chains kind of dominant in bed, but I do have some pretty strong tendencies that would probably scare her.
But what if they didn’t?
“Okay then, you have some power here. But how experienced are you?” I ask.
She blushes. “You mean sex?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I mean sex.”
She meets my eyes defiantly for about .2 seconds and then looks down. “Not very.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. I just want you to think about what kind of changes the two of us getting closer would bring.” Shit. I’m saying all the right things, but I want to give her every fucking experience there is. One after the other, over and over again.
“I’m a virgin.” She starts getting busy putting the cake plate back in its box. Cleaning and organizing mode has been reengaged. I don’t stop her because I know that’s how she feels in control of a situation. “I know I’m not like a lot of girls my age. I’m probably too modest about my body. I’m not good at flirting.” She hip checks the fridge door after putting away the cake. “And I didn’t think you looked twice at me. Until...I heard you say my name. Last week. When you were...”
Yeah, that. We never talked about the fact that she heard me call her name while I was masturbating. It seemed like something better left swept under a rug.
“So, maybe we can help each other?”
My eyebrows lift. “How do you mean?”
“Maybe you can help me get over my shyness. You know, mentor me. Like I help you learn about childcare. And basic household maintenance.”
Mentor her? At sex? That cold shower is going to have to be an ice bath now. “You keep saying things like that, and I’m going to stop finding reasons why it’s a bad idea.”
She swallows hard. I know she’s trying to be brave when part of her really wants to fade back into the wallpaper. “Maybe the naughty babysitter and the bad daddy cliché could be hot? Like...if we just went with it?”
Oh man. My cock is going to bust the seam of these pants. “You want to role play?” Is she trying to be every fantasy I have right now?
“It would be fun, I think. To just disappear into a fantasy. Who are we hurting? We can’t go on like this. I want to. With you. If you want to.”
“You need to be sure. I can be a pretty dirty guy. I don’t want to offend you or have things get weird between us.”
“They don’t have to be weird. Not if we decide now that they won’t be. Neither of us can date other people right now. We don’t have time. I certainly don’t have the energy. But we can be...roommates with benefits, right?”
“Cassidy, I’m not joking about being dirty. I haven’t gotten laid in six months. I’m going to be a pretty perverted fuck for your first time, I can guarantee it.”
“Well, at least I’d have my first time.”
Cherry. I can’t believe I’m even contemplating this. Taking her virginity.
I take the towel she’s twisting out of her hands. “Why that fantasy?” Because if she’s suggesting it only because she thinks it will please me, then we are back to me manipulating her again. She’s too important to me. To my girls. I need to be smart about this.
“It’s hot?”
My expression must be pretty readable. If she can’t talk about sex, we aren’t having sex.
She twists her lips. “Conner, I’m always the responsible one. I want...I need...to not be in control. Even if it’s just one night, I need someone, you, to take all the decisions away from me. I just want to feel. Not think.”
“You want me to dominate you.”
Please, God, say yes. Because I like taking charge in bed.
Instead, I get the deer in the headlights look.