Page 51 of Nanny for the Bikers

As the laughter dies down, I notice Clay swaying on his feet, his eyelids drooping. “Alright, I think it’s time for bed,” I announce, moving to his side to steady him.

Kip and Teller nod in agreement, their own exhaustion evident in the slump of their shoulders. I help them up the stairs, one by one, making sure they each make it to their respective rooms.

But as I tuck them in, my mind keeps drifting back to Teller’s words. “We’re all willing to share you,” he had said, and the implications of that statement send a shiver down my spine.

What does that even mean? I wonder my heart racing as I pull the covers over Kip’s sleeping form. Do they all have feelings for me? And if so, how could that possibly work?

I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts aside. It’s late, and I’m exhausted. I can’t deal with this right now.

But as I climb into my own bed, I can’t seem to quiet my mind. Images of Kip, Teller, and Clay swirl through my head, their words echoing in my ears.

And despite my confusion and uncertainty, I can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement at the possibility of what the future might hold.

27

AYLA

The warm water cascades over my hands as I scrub the porcelain plates, but my mind is far from the sink full of soapy dishes. Teller’s words echo through my thoughts, ricocheting off the corners of my consciousness. “We’d be fine sharing you,” he had said, his voice low and earnest. The implications send a shiver down my spine.

I pause, letting a dish slip back into the suds with a soft splash. My heart races as I consider what it would mean to be with all three brothers. Clay’s strong arms, Kip’s playful smile, Teller’s intense gaze - they each ignite something different within me. A longing, a desire I’ve never known before.

But doubt creeps in, as insidious as Lila’s cutting accusations. “You’re nothing but a whore, Ayla,” she had sneered. Her words had stung, leaving invisible scars I still carry.

Am I a bad person for wanting them all? For imagining their hands on my skin, their lips trailing kisses down my neck? I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles turning white. I can’t deny the pull I feel towards each of them, the way my body responds to their presence.

Yet Lila’s voice persists, taunting me. Perhaps she was right all along. Maybe I am no better than she claimed, a wanton woman with no shame. I close my eyes, trying to push away the self-doubt that threatens to consume me.

Strong arms snake around my waist, and I nearly leap out of my skin, the plate in my hand clattering into the sink. Heart pounding, I whirl around to find Clay’s concerned face mere inches from mine.

“Whoa there, jumpy,” he says, his brows knitting together. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I mumble, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I was just... lost in thought.”

Clay’s eyes soften, and he nods, his hands still resting on my hips. “I get it.” His proximity, the warmth of his body, it’s all too much.

“I just checked on Piper,” he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “She’s so close to rolling over. Can you believe how fast she’s growing up?”

“It’s incredible,” I agree, forcing a smile. But my mind is elsewhere, still trapped in the memory of last night’s revelation. Do they even remember what they said, or was it just the alcohol talking?

Clay’s thumb traces small circles on my hip, sending shivers down my spine. “Ayla,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “About last night...”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. This is it, the moment of truth. Will he brush it off as a drunken mistake, or will he stand by his words?

His eyes bore into mine, searching, probing. “What Teller said is true…we are willing to share you.”

Relief floods through me, followed by a fresh wave of uncertainty. “But... how would it even work? Won’t people talk?”

Clay shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips. “Let them talk. You’re a grown woman, Ayla. You can make your own choices.”

Can I really do this, give myself to not one, but three men? The thought is as thrilling as it is terrifying, a leap into the unknown.

But as Clay pulls me closer, his lips brushing against my forehead, I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I can find acceptance, even love, in the arms of these men.

Warmth radiates from Clay’s broad chest as he holds me close, his arms a steadying presence amidst the whirlwind of my thoughts. The scent of his cologne, a blend of spice and wood, envelops me, and for a moment, I allow myself to simply be.

“What if I’m not enough?” The words slip out, barely a whisper against the fabric of his shirt.

Clay’s fingers find my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. “Ayla, you are more than enough. You’re everything we could ever want or need.”

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