Page 33 of The Billionaire and the Nanny

“Doing. It’s what you’ve been successfully doing.” I pull her in close. “How about I talk to your boss and pull a few strings. Would you go out with methen?”

“I think that would be acceptable, but will your nanny let you goout?”

“My nanny? Youmean…”

“You know…Wilson—your nanny.” She bites her lip to keep from laughing. “I know you think you’re too old for one, but I don’t know…he keeps a pretty close watch on you. You better ask him for permission just in case.” She’s fucking with me. I pinch her waist just for that remark.

Her laughs lights up the room. I take her face and kiss her cheeks, her forehead, then her lips. That wasn’t so bad, asking her out on a date. Delicate arms wrap around my shoulders, drawing me in. “Thank you for the invitation. I thought you’d never ask. And for coming to my room again. I’ve been fantasizing about it for weeks.”

“Have you now?” I kiss her deeply, tasting her lips and tongue and drawing from her strong energy tonight. It’s so nice to see her feeling herself again. I’m immediately hard and wantingher.

“Yes. I’ve had this great balcony all this time and haven’t used it not even once.” Evil smile. Wicked woman.

“We need to fix that immediately,” I say, taking her hand, the comforter off her bed, and trailing it behind us onto the balcony. The quarter moon is just visible above the tall buildings, and the city is alive, as usual. I sit in the big chair outside and slide her onto my lap. Now she can feel my solid hardness for herself.

No more talking. No dirty words this time, either.

Something has clicked on inside of me, and I don’t feel the need right now. Tonight is different. I slide my hands up her tank top, cupping her breasts and feeling the slight weight to them, pinching her nipples and playing with them while she writhes against me with her ass pressed against my crotch. The pants come off, the shirt too, everything until we’re both naked underneath the comforter against the city skyline. Feelsgood.

Alive.

The fall chill breezes over us, but under the blanket, we’re warm and growing hotter, as she slides her slick, wet pussy over my cock, taking it in her hand and guiding it into her. She’s tight and warm and pulsating with need, and I can’t exercise any patience.

I drive into her—hard—without waiting.

She moans and leans back against my chest, her head on my shoulder, and the whole thing happens quickly, as I pat my fingers against her core and rub her in circles with increasing urgency. My woman. I won’t deny myself anymore. Whatever happens, happens. Fuck it. And it does, as she makes love to me under the moon, over the bustling city, bouncing on my cock and taking us to that next level.

And I don’t mean the orgasm that rises and ebbs over her at that moment or the way she calls out my name while she’s coming so hard, she has to hold onto my head to keep from sliding off my cock. I’m not talking about how quickly it takes me to spill my seed deep into her, something that rarely happens thanks to how desensitized I can be with some women. I’m talking about this—her—us—changingme.

I’m talking about lovingher.

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