Page 36 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“Yes,” Zasha replies easily. “I took a really bad tumble because…do you want to know why?”

My heart jumps slightly, wary of what details he will give her.

Dariya nods.

“I forgot to tie my shoelaces.”

Dariya gasps loudly and spins to face me. “Is that true?”

“Oh yes.” I nod solemnly, fighting to keep the amusement from my voice. “That’s why I always ask you to check. It’s very dangerous.”

“That’s so silly,” she says. “Can I have a drink?”

“Of course.” Unzipping her jacket, I scoop Dariya up and place her on a stool, then move to the fridge in search of some juice. Zasha lingers like a warm shadow—and while I’m used to Daniil doing the same thing, there’s something different about Zasha’s presence. It’s like I need to keep my eye on him at all times, though I can’t work out if it’s because of suspicion or curiosity.

“Orange?” I offer and Dariya nods. “You want any?” Offering to Zasha is just polite but he declines.

“I don’t mean to intrude on your time with Dariya, I was just hoping you could tell me how you think you could help me?”

That sentence could have been incredibly condescending, but something about Zasha’s soft delivery makes it much nicer. He’s so beautiful, in body and voice, that I briefly wonder if I’m dreaming again.

“I have some training dealing with trauma of all kinds,” I explain, pouring Dariya’s drink and setting it down. “Back when I was studying, before I settled on what I actually wanted to do, I dabbled in therapy which actually pairs well with childcare if you think you’ll be around kids in pain.”

“Ah, so you think I am a child?”

“No!” I chuckle and warmth beads the back of my neck. “Far from it, but from everyone else here, I’m probably the only one that stands a chance at helping you. Since um—” I glance at Dariya. “Since outside help is off the table. Besides, I’m your rescuer, right, so it’s only fair I help you put the pieces back together.”

“My rescuer huh?” Zasha’s eyes slowly drift down my body, not that there’s much to see since I’m still wearing my coat, then they dart up to meet my eyes and the force of his look sends me slightly off balance. “I look forward to it.”

With a wink that’s far too sexy for his own good, Zasha departs. Heat cascades over me from head to toe and I bite back a sigh.

“Your face is red again,” Dariya grins over the edge of her glass.

I shoot her a playful glare. “You gotta stop pointing that out.”

Zasha’s wink taunts me for the rest of the day. Every time I play it back in my mind, heat crawls down my spine, and I'm hopeless by the time night falls. Throwing myself into the shower, I cling to the hope that washing away the dirt of the day will also wash away the lingering warmth, but it doesn’t. If anything, the water running over my body makes it worse because each droplet becomes the lingering touch of Daniil or the heat of a kiss from Fyodor.

Amidst the water and steam, my fingers take on a mind of their own and before I know it, they’re inside of me as I writhe against the tile wall. My eyes close and Daniil melts into the shower with me—without his glasses. Each thrust of my fingers are his fingers. Each grind of my palm against my clit is his palm, desperate to make me feel good. It’s working. He holds me close and kisses my neck, lightly biting into my shoulder. He brushes my hair away from my face, tells me I’m beautiful, and thrusts his fingers so deep that a gasp punches deep out of my chest.

Then he pulls back and it’s not Daniil, it’s Fyodor. He kisses me hard, leaving my lips aching and grinds against me with his thick cock dragging across my thigh. His lips tease my earlobe, then he whispers a stream of filth in my ear; all the things he wants to do to me.

“I want to take you apart, Naomi. I want to spread you wide and fuck you so hard I can see my cum leaking out of you. I want to make sure you can’t walk once I’m done with you, and you’ll wear my bruises with pride. You won’t be able to move without your pussy missing the thickness of my cock?—”

My legs give out and I slide down the wall, panting as the fantasy consumes me. Water pours onto my breasts, so I angle my torso slightly so that droplets impact down on my nipples. An ache builds in my wrist as I work my fingers deeper inside myself, rolling my hips down onto my palm at the same time.

Then it’s Zasha who lifts his head from my pussy, my juices clinging to his chin, and he winks at me. Then he’s on top of me, pinning me down like he did in the kitchen with the promise of not letting me go until he’s tasted every inch of me.

It’s too much.

My muscles turn to iron when my orgasm hits, and I muffle my pleasure-filled cry by slamming my other hand over my mouth.

As I come, as waves of carnal lust crash over me, it’s not just one man in my mind but all three.

Fyodor, Zasha, and Daniil all around me, fighting for the best position to fuck me.

Just that thought brings a second orgasm crashing through me before the first is even over and I slump, utterly spent and exhausted, against the tiles.

Fuck.

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