Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling of Evie’s bedroom, I think about Alana and how she’s only twenty feet down the hall in another bedroom. In Evie’s guest bedroom, the shiny one with the salmon and pink accents, the Victorian décor, the one fit for a queen, not a nanny. Except that Alana deserves to sleep there. She may not have much experience as a nanny, but she’s worked damn hard.

You don’t get hired by Lodwick Brothers unless you’ve worked your ass off.

When she told me that, I was thoroughly impressed. But it does present a problem. Should I keep her working for me? It’s obvious she doesn’t want to be caring for kids and the first chance she gets to escape this job, she will. I promised Liam I would take care of him, promised him I would give him the same care his mother would have provided, and there’s no way Evie would’ve let a half-ass nanny take care of her own flesh and blood.

My best friend adored Liam.

I need to find someone who will adore him just the same.

It’s obvious that Alana isn’t the best choice, but I can’t seem to let her go. The young woman is clearly sucking up some major pride to be here helping me. She needs the money, and more than that, I can’t stop staring at her, listening to her talk, and watching her fumble in her interactions with Liam. In a way, I hope she’ll fail miserably as a nanny so I can continue to show her how it’s done.

She’s just down the hall.

Twenty feet away.

Probably in that T-shirt, ready for bed. What does she do before bed, I wonder? I so fucking badly want to go over there and crack the door open, see what she’s up to, but I’ve never been a stalker and I’m not about to start now. That blonde hair all pinned up is probably loose around her shoulders now. Those glasses are probably set on her nightstand. Does she touch herself while she’s lying in bed?

I saw the way she watched me tonight as we had our little discussion. I know she wants me as much as I want her, but we can’t do anything about it. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to lurk down the hall, go grab a glass of water, and see if maybe I can’t hear her talking on the phone or something. That wouldn’t be stalking. That would simply be overhearing. After all, this is where I live now—Evie’s house, now mine, since her old man still thinks we were married before her death—and I’m allowed to roam the hallways if I so feel like it.

Sometimes I feel guilty for living in a mansion I don’t own. But then I remember that I’ve had a hard life. My mother raised me all alone, died before I graduated college, leaving me to my own devices. Soon after, my best friend died as well, leaving me her awesome little kid. When her boyfriend left her high and dry, I was there for her. If anyone’s allowed to live in Evie’s place, care for her son, and not feel guilt, it’s me. I just have to keep telling myself that.

In my shorts, I slide off the bed and head out the door, determined to get a glass of water without waking Liam. Since his mother died, he’s had trouble sleeping the whole night long, and the kid has to find a way of moving on—just like I did. I’m at the top of the stairs, about to descend into the darkness of the house when I hear it.

A soft moan.

It sounds like it could be coming from a TV or electronic device. Maybe my resident nanny likes watching porn before bed? I immediately harden at the thought. I’d be good with that. Then again, maybe she’s crying softly in her sleep? Tiptoeing closer to her room, I crane my neck to hear better. Another soft moan. And another. Her bathroom door is open, the lights are off, but I can smell the sweet scents of bath bombs and other bath items. She must’ve taken a fresh bath just a short while ago.

More than likely, she’s lying naked in bed.

I’ll do anything, her words echo in my mind.

I can’t help myself and enter the bathroom, touch her towel which is still damp, and hold it close to my face. Fuck. I can’t do this. I can’t be a fucking creep, creeping around. If I’m going to be obsessed with this chick, then I’m going to have to be straightforward about it. Besides, it’s my house now, and I’m allowed to enter any room I damn well please.

Knocking lightly outside her door, I crack open and wait for her to acknowledge. I’m not one for peeping when uninvited, but for some reason, I can’t help myself. I need to know why Alana’s moaning is getting louder. She’s touching herself, I know it, and I have to see it for myself.

“Mr. Hardwin.” She gasps, pulls the comforter up to her chin. “Do you need something?”

My cock can answer that, and it will as soon as she sees the tent I’ve pitched in my shorts. I only get harder when I see that she’s in a tight tank top in bed, her hair all wet, and her hard nipples poking through the ribbed fabric. “I heard a sound like moaning and wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Of course she’s alright. She’s imagining herself getting reamed by your cock just like you were dreaming about her in your room, idiot.

“I must’ve been having a bad dream,” she says. So fucking cute when she lies.

“It didn’t sound like such a bad dream. Are you sure it was a nightmare?” I could leave her room and bid her goodnight, but I can’t. I won’t. We both know what’s going on, and I have to see her, hear those sounds coming from her mouth right this very second.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Her wide eyes regard me across the room with fear, nervousness, embarrassment for having been caught in the middle of something naughty. “Have you decided whether to keep me or not?”

“I’ve given it some thought, but I’m still not sure. I need someone who’s into it, Alana. Someone who’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay. I’ll do anything you tell me, Mr. Hardwin. I swear.”

“You shouldn’t swear. Dirties your mouth. You have a pretty mouth, you know,” I say. She stares at me. Through me. Her nostrils flare, and I can almost hear her heart pounding through the flimsy tank top. “Show me what you were doing before I walked in.”

“What do you mean? I was…sleeping.”

“No, you weren’t. Show me what you were doing. I promise I won’t touch you. Unless you want me to. I want to see for myself. Hands off.” I hold my hands up to show she can trust me.

She stutters and her face flares up with heat. “I already told you, I was sleeping.”

No fucking way was she sleeping.

I walk in and sit in a leather chair opposite her bed, facing her. My hand rests lightly on my crotch. If I could pull it out and stroke it, I would, but Alana seems new at this. If we enter into forbidden territory, we enter at our own risk and at her first move.

“Don’t lie to me, Alana. Show me what you did. Were you touching that wet pussy of yours and thinking of me?”

At first, our eyes are locked. I can feel her holding her breath, thinking hard about her response, but she doesn’t think too long about it. Apparently, she’s just as tired of playing this game as I am. “Yes,” she says.

I nod. “Good. Show me.”

“What do you mean?” she stammers, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“I mean, pull down that sheet and spread your legs, Alana. Show me what you were doing before I came in. I heard you moaning. Were you thinking about me fucking you?”

“Yes,” she says, resigned, laying back. I’m about to tell her to pull down the covers again when she does it without me telling her. She’s in light pink panties, and when she spreads her legs apart slightly, I can see she’s soaking through.

“Good. Now face me and do it. You’re beautiful, Alana. But I want to see how even more gorgeous you can get. Touch yourself.”

Sliding her hand into her panties, she closes her eyes and begins to touch herself, using two fingers to fiddle with her clit. Every so often, she dips down lower and fingers her pussy before bringing her fingertips back to her clit again. All this through her panties, but my imagination fills in what my eyes can’t see.

I push my cheek into my hand and just observe. “Take off the panties.” I won’t ask nicely and I won’t beg. I want her to do what I say when I say it. Whether it’s getting coffee for me or exposing her fresh, sweet pussy, I want her to react to my command.

With a moment of hesitation, she curls her fingers around the edge of her panties and slowly slides them down. My chest is going to explode from the anticipation, but I don’t show it. She’s fucking sexy. Blonde, fair skin, and a full, ripe body ready to be taken.

“Keep going. If I can’t touch you, I’ll watch you. You like it when I watch you, don’t you?”

She nods and works her fingers faster, dipping into her own slippery wetness and pulling it up to her clit. A long sigh escapes her, and I know she’s forgetting about her embarrassment and just starting to be free, let go, take herself to the next level. My hand pushes down onto my fully hard cock, twitching to be free, but I won’t pull it out. Not today. Possibly not ever.

I can’t get involved with Alana.

I just figured I’d satisfy my curiosity before this never happens again.

“What did you imagine us doing?”

“You, naked,” she says, spreading her legs completely now. I wish I could go over there and fuck her, just plow myself deep into her, and make her come. “Fucking me.”

“Ah, so you do like the thought of me telling you what to do,” I say with a smile. “You want me fucking you, don’t you? Hard and from behind, don’t you, Alana?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought. I knew you were a dirty girl. I knew you were just playing the coquette, pretending to be prim and proper with your bun and your glasses. But look at you. You’re just a dirty girl who loves cock and thinks about fucking, don’t you?”

“Yes…”

She’s going to come. I’ve hit that high note, that forbidden spoken thought, the one suggesting she loves sex, loves it like she should. “You wish I would turn you around and fuck you against that headboard, don’t you? Ram my cock into you and then when you come, flip you around and empty my balls on your face. Isn’t it, Alana?” I demand, my voice growing louder.

“Yes…” Her face begins to contort as she gasps for air, lips parted so beautifully, I wish I could put my cock there.

“Then, do it.”

“Yes…”

“Do it.”

“Yes…” Her fingers fly like crazy, working herself, but she doesn’t push over the edge, maybe because she’s still nervous about me being here, and so I can’t take it anymore. I fly to the edge of the bed and spread her legs, burying my face inside her sopping wet folds. Shimmering, slippery skin pushes into my face, as I feel her fingers dig into my scalp and pull me into her.

I eat the fuck out of her.

She smells so goddamn good, so fresh and clean, so sweet and innocent. Opening my mouth wide, I lick the fuck out of her pussy, taking in that feminine essence, making her mine, giving her what she wanted—what she needed. With a final, long moan, she comes—hard as fuck—and holy shit, there is nothing better in this world than having this woman’s pussy mashing against my face, as she screams through her orgasm. Her muscles ripple, and her pussy clenches, as the waves rock through her.

I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s too late. And I don’t care.

She trusted in me enough to do this, and I was pretty good about not touching her until the end, but by then, it didn’t matter anymore. She wanted me—needed me—to make her come. I smile even though my nose is buried in cum juice, and it’s such a fucking turn-on, I can’t stop. I keep licking her, pulling slightly on her hood, and lapping up that clit softly. With one hand on my crotch, I’m dying to pull my cock free and jack off while eating up this sweet girl’s pussy, but I hold back.

I feel like not doing so would mean a total loss of control.

At least this way, I’ve reined myself in somewhat. I can always jack off later when I’m replaying this moment in my mind a thousand times. The patience pays off, because Alana’s desire begins to build again, and I know she’s going for another orgasm. This time, I slide my fingers, two of them, into her pussy and begin fucking her with them.

“Imagine me fucking you, Alana. I wish I could,” I speak against her skin. “Imagine your boss fucking you, his nanny, every single night just like this. Would you like that, Alana?” I don’t know where the fucking question comes from, because I shouldn’t be having thoughts like these. I shouldn’t even be here, exploring forbidden territory but I am.

And maybe I’m a pervert, but Alana’s a pervert, too, and would it be so terrible if we got together every night and fucked our brains out? With a pussy like this, and tits like those… I reach up and cradle her breasts in my hands, feeling their slight weight, seeking out those hard nipples like pencil erasers. I squeeze them, pinch them, and pull on them until she’s pushing all the way through her tank top.

“Yes, I’d love that.”

“Good. Come for me again, Alana,” I tell her.

With a frustrated little growl, she shifts against my face but seems dissatisfied with it, and so the unthinkable happens—she stands over me. This beautiful goddess of a woman is standing over me, knees bent, and dipping her slippery pussy against my face, grinding herself against my lips, my tongue, my mouth.

I can think of myself as her boss as much as I want, but there’s no fooling anyone right now—she’s totally making me her bitch. She grips my hair, and for a sweet, innocent young woman, she fucks my face like a boss, bucking and humping my face so hard, I can’t even breathe. If I die, I die happy.

Screaming out loud, she moans into the four walls of her bedroom and quivers up against face. I’m not going to feel any nerve endings on my cheeks tonight, but it’s okay, because I’ll sleep with a smile on my face on this night.

“That’s it. That’s fucking it,” I tell her, climbing out from under her, lifting her, and laying her down in her bed. Alana gasps for air. Slender arms curl around my shoulders. As I admire the sheen of light sweat that’s formed all over her body, I wonder what the fuck just happened. Sexual tension just happened. My nanny just showed me her full potential is what just happened.

But it can’t anymore, and the moment she recovers, looking up at me with both satisfied and curious-to-know-what-I-think-about-this eyes, I step out of her bed and onto the cold floor once again. “We overstepped our boundaries, Miss Frasier,” I tell her, knowing I sound like an ass but unable to do anything about it. “It can’t happen again.”

“But…”

“It can’t happen again,” I insist. No idea what she was going to say, but women always want to know where they stand with me following sex, especially true the younger they are. They always want to know where the relationship is headed.

I’ll tell you where—nowhere. Because I don’t do relationships. I don’t even fuck my hired help either. This was my first. Before she can say anything else, I reach down and stroke her cheek. Soft and pink and full of flushed heat. I enjoy it for a couple of seconds, because I’ll never see her ravished and delicious ever again.

And then, as quickly as I can, I scramble the fuck out of her bedroom, knowing I fucked up harder than ever, hating that I lost control when I rarely do, and close the door.