Page 38 of The Billionaire & the Nanny: Vol. 3

Paisley

I can’t deny him.Logan is sexy as fuck, naughty, and a good man who wants me to stay and live with him. How can I say no? Will things get sticky at times? Probably. But I need him as much as he seems to need me, and I can’t be the rational girl when it comes to him .

Right now, this is what I need in my life .

Seeing his face between my legs, looking up at me with those silver eyes is all it takes to send me tumbling over the cliff. I come hard against his face, just like he wants me to. I don’t even care that someone in another building could totally be watching us through their telescope. Ask me if I care. I cry out, my moans filling the space of the greenhouse. My fingers curl into his hair, and I writhe, pushing myself against him, stretching out the orgasm as far as it’ll go .

I love him, I love this, I love our lovemaking, and I love being back here again .

I know it will bite me in the ass later, but as long as it’s Logan doing the biting, I just don’t care. When the waves die away, Logan stands to his feet, takes my head in his giant hand, and kisses me, pushing his Paisley-coated tongue into my mouth. I taste the sweetness and rev up for another round, because now comes his turn even though I’m spent .

His hands rove over my back and down to my ass, squeezing my cheeks hard and slapping them a bit. His fingers slide up and down my soaked pussy, then he returns to fucking me slowly with his massive digits. I know it’s just two fingers, but two of Logan’s fingers feels bigger and thicker than my own. I grow wet again and revel in another kiss, inhaling his scent plus my essence in a delightful mixture .

Just as I’m enjoying this kiss, he takes my wrists in one link of his thumb and forefinger and spins me around over the back of the little greenhouse bench. My hands are pinned behind my back, and I’m facing the outside world .

Part of me even wishes that Caitlyn and Miriam could see this. A big fuck-you to two women who’ve delighted in fucking up my life as of late. Logan’s grip on my shoulders pushes me down, and my head comes to rest on the bench. I slip my arms around the backrest and hold on for dear life. He’s fucked me hard before, so I can handle it again if need be .

“I’m sorry for being difficult,” I say, though I know part of me is just roleplaying. I’ve always loved the idea of being punished for being a bad girl, but that’s a whole chapter in sexual psychology just waiting to be written right there .

“Oh?” Logan purrs. “You think this is punishment?” He slaps my ass cheek hard until it stings, and I cry out. Then he rubs it down, soothing the redness and kissing my stinging skin with his warm lips. The length of his hard cock pushes up against my pussy. I tremble with every second he makes me wait. “This is reward, babe. For coming back to me. For forgiving me .”

I feel the fat, thick head of his massive cock pushing against my pussy, and he slides in just a bit. I moan, because I want so much more, he’s killing me over here. I moan, because he’s big and he knows it, and I secretly love it though I know it inflates his ego. Holding onto my hips, I bite my lip and know I’m about to get it .

And then he plows in all the way. I cry out loud again, as he pulls out slowly, waiting…for my moans to soften, for my body to loosen up before driving into me again. He pulls on my hair, dragging my face back so he can breathe by my ear, reminding me how very primal this act can be. With each thrust into me, his balls slap against me, which only makes me wetter .

When I feel his warm, big hands curl over my shoulder, I know I’m about to get it good. His other hand wraps around my hip and two fingers flatten up against my clit. He’s creating pressure in this position, prolonging the fullness inside of me. “I love this, Paisley. I love how you feel around me, and I love being inside you .”

Before I can reply, he drives hard into me, plowing his cock deep. Yes. I need this. Need it so badly. For two weeks, I haven’t stopped thinking about him. For two weeks, I haven’t touched myself because nobody can touch me like he can, and I didn’t want to remind myself of what I didn’t have anymore .

“I love it,” I think I say. I’m not sure, because my brain doesn’t work right at the moment. At least not for things like words, but I’m sure the next thing that comes out of my mouth involves telling him I love him. Is it true? What else could explain why I would come back to him? Why I even care about him ?

All this, plus he brings out the pure lust and need in me, and that’s so important, because for so long, I thought I wasn’t a full woman. I went so long without sex all through high school (because I was a good girl) to college (because sex was so pathetic). I thought that’s how it was meant to be. Logan has shown me what trust can do, what two people can achieve together .

The more he drives into me, dare I say makes love to me, he grunts, knifing hard into me, my brain shattering into a million pieces. I want to come again, and I want to come all over him, and have him spill his seed deep into me. With each thrust, our bodies move in unison, a perfect rhythm rising toward that crescendo .

Right when I reach back to grab his ass and push him deeper into me, he moans loudly, filling my ear, filling this beautiful green space, filling my life, holding himself still as he does. Words tumble from his lips, but I can’t make them out, because we’re in this fog together, and the words don’t matter, but they’re something about love and being his woman and never letting go. Hearing this man who’s always been so much a control freak letting go and telling me beautiful things, worshiping my body in such a way, and feeling the hardness of his body in contrast to mine makes me come again .

His fingers slide in and pat my clit to coax it out further, to elongate the pure joy of this lust until we can’t stand any more. Logan lowers himself, lifts me and carries my tired ass back to my bed where he plops me down and lands next to me. The whole bed bounces and I laugh out loud. When he looks over at me, he has this great big smile on his face. Which is so amazing. I’ve never seen him this happy. I’ve never seen that smile quite so big. I mean, I’ve seen his public smile in social media, but I’ve never seen this relaxed happiness pouring from his soul .

Is that because of me ?

Seriously?

“You’re amazing,” he says, fingertip brushing my cheek .

“No, you are.” I smile .

“No, you are.” He laughs, bear-hugs the crap out of me, and reels me in. My God, it’s like being hugged by the Hulk. And guess what? I can live with that. “Why are you smiling so much, Miss Carrington? Because I just fucked you in plain view of New York City ?”

“Because you haven’t stopped smiling since I came back .”

“Ah, well, that’s true. That’s what you do to me. Not something I’m used to .”

“You never smiled when you were married?” I ask, hoping the question isn’t a downer. I’ve never asked him personal questions about his marriage, but if I’m going to be living here and he’s begged me to come back, there’s nothing wrong with this type of closeness .

The glow in his face dies down a bit but he still smiles, only sadly now. He takes my hand and traces the lines all over it. “Babe, my ex used me like a two-bit whore .”

“Don’t say that, Logan .”

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