Page 22 of Military Daddies' Nanny

Sensation fills me like a tank filled to bursting, and I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing Nancy, naked, sprawled in bed beside me, her huge breasts resting lazily on my chest.

Images of Nancy's pouty lips and hooded bedroom eyes swim behind my closed lids as my strokes turn longer, twisting over the slick head of my dick. Short puffs of air punch out of me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge I so desperately need to tumble over.

I should feel guilty, indulging in such intimate fantasies about a woman under my own roof. But the memory of Nancy's soft whimpers as our tongues tangled burns too brightly for any restraint.

With a guttural groan, I let the ecstasy of release finally crest over me in shuddering waves.

Long moments pass as I lay there, chest heaving and seed cooling stickily on my belly, waiting for the guilt to set in over what I've done.

But it never comes. My mind is blissfully blank, as though that intense climax finally managed to purge some of the overcharged lust Nancy awoke in me tonight.

A hazy sort of contentment replaces the blazing hunger, at least for now. I know my turbulent desires haven't abated permanently. Not with Nancy's heated confession about all three of us still ringing in my ears, stoking the fire all over again with the promise of mutual want.

This isn't going to cut it. As good as it feels, I need more stimulation to satisfy my blazing lust. I can’t remember the last time I was this aroused by someone, and the sticky cum sliding down the side of my body finally starts to disgust me.

I consider seeking her out to get some satisfaction but discard the idea for two reasons. The first being that Drew would absolutely lose his shit if he found me going into Nancy’s bedroom so late at night—and the bastard sleeps so lightly, he could hear a pin drop in his sleep.

The second and most important consideration being the fact that she’s considerably drunk. I have never taken advantage of a woman before, and I don’t intend to start now. But damn it, I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to bury my cock deep inside her.Right now.

I get out of bed and step out of my clothes, hoping a cold shower will help me blow off some steam. I’ve just had an orgasm, and yet, just thinking of Nancy a few doors away has me as hard as a rock again in a heartbeat.

The shower helps, thankfully, but after ten minutes of tossing and turning in bed, I give up any hope of finding sleep tonight.

I can hear the TV before I get down to the bottom of the stairs. I make out a few words from the television, and I don’t need to look in to know who’s out there, or what he’s watching.

Carlos is sprawled on the living room couch, wearing briefs and a tank top. His legs are draped idly over the back of the couch, and his eyes are glued to the true crime documentary playing on the TV.

It’s not unusual for him to be here so late. He uses the guest room sometimes and shuttles between here and his apartment incessantly. Drew and I never talk about it, but we understand. After being in the service, the loneliness can be a bitch. Fortunately, we’re just twenty minutes away, and the kids love him.

He glances up as I enter, thick eyebrows raised inquisitively. "You're up late,hermano. Everything okay?"

I make my way over to the couch and kick him lightly. He mutters a curse under his breath and takes forever to move into a sitting position.

Rolling my eyes, I drop onto the couch next to him with a huff. On the TV screen, a heavily tattooed detective is being interviewed about a grisly unsolved murder case.

"Hey, fill me in," I say by way of greeting, gesturing to the show. "What kind of depraved shit are we watching tonight?"

Carlos lets out a low chuckle, always appreciative of my morbid curiosity when it comes to his favorite true crime shows. He launches into an explanation of the complex case being explored, laid out in his usual overenthusiastic way.

“All right, so get this,” Carlos says, his eyes shining with excitement. “Back in 2008, this small town in Montana was rocked by a string of bizarre murders. At first, the victims seemed completely random—a retired teacher, a teenage boy, a middle-aged accountant.

“But as the bodies kept piling up, the cops finally caught a pattern. Each victim had recently come into a pretty sizeable inheritance. The murders were all meticulously planned too, no signs of forced entry or defensive wounds. Whoever was doing this was one cold, calculated son of a bitch.”

As he gets going, I feel the heated tension slowly bleeding out of me, replaced by a sense of easy camaraderie. Despite my raging lust, there's something calming about listening to Carlos holding court on one of his favorite subjects, allowing the gruesome details to simply wash over me.

Carlos' narration of the show is impeccable, painting a vivid picture of the whole event like I am actually watching it. The man is talented in that area.

It turned out that the killer was running an elaborate scheme to ingratiate himself with wealthy locals, earn their trust over years of contact, then manipulate them into updating their wills in his favor before knocking them off. The guy was fucking psycho!

Maybe ten minutes pass with Carlos still enthusiastically recapping things before I finally cut him off with a wry shake of my head.

"You know, I really just wanted a quick summary, not the full audiobook experience," I tease him lightly. "But now that I'm all caught up on…whatever this terrifying saga is, I've got something interesting to fill you in on too."

Carlos raises an intrigued eyebrow, his dark eyes glinting with undisguised curiosity. I know he can always sniff out when there's some juicy gossip to be had.

"Do tell, Nate. You've got my interest piqued now."

Leaning back against the couch, I launch into recounting my whole heated encounter with Nancy from earlier at the bar. I try to keep my tone nonchalant, but I know a hint of that simmering desire creeps into my voice as I describe the bold way she confessed to finding the three of us attractive.

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