Page 21 of The Billionaire & the Nanny: Part 4

She smells so goddamn good, so fresh and clean, so sweet and innocent. Opening my mouth wide, I lick the fuck out of her pussy, taking in that feminine essence, making her mine, giving her what she wanted—what she needed. With a final, long moan, she comes—hard as fuck—and holy shit, there is nothing better in this world than having this woman’s pussy mashing against my face, as she screams through her orgasm. Her muscles ripple, and her pussy clenches, as the waves rock through her.

I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s too late. And I don’t care.

She trusted in me enough to do this, and I was pretty good about not touching her until the end, but by then, it didn’t matter anymore. She wanted me—needed me—to make her come. I smile even though my nose is buried in cum juice, and it’s such a fucking turn-on, I can’t stop. I keep licking her, pulling slightly on her hood, and lapping up that clit softly. With one hand on my crotch, I’m dying to pull my cock free and jack off while eating up this sweet girl’s pussy, but I hold back.

I feel like not doing so would mean a total loss of control.

At least this way, I’ve reined myself in somewhat. I can always jack off later when I’m replaying this moment in my mind a thousand times. The patience pays off, because Alana’s desire begins to build again, and I know she’s going for another orgasm. This time, I slide my fingers, two of them, into her pussy and begin fucking her with them.

“Imagine me fucking you, Alana. I wish I could,” I speak against her skin. “Imagine your boss fucking you, his nanny, every single night just like this. Would you like that, Alana?” I don’t know where the fucking question comes from, because I shouldn’t be having thoughts like these. I shouldn’t even be here, exploring forbidden territory but I am.

And maybe I’m a pervert, but Alana’s a pervert, too, and would it be so terrible if we got together every night and fucked our brains out? With a pussy like this, and tits like those… I reach up and cradle her breasts in my hands, feeling their slight weight, seeking out those hard nipples like pencil erasers. I squeeze them, pinch them, and pull on them until she’s pushing all the way through her tank top.

“Yes, I’d love that.”

“Good. Come for me again, Alana,” I tell her.

With a frustrated little growl, she shifts against my face but seems dissatisfied with it, and so the unthinkable happens—she stands over me. This beautiful goddess of a woman is standing over me, knees bent, and dipping her slippery pussy against my face, grinding herself against my lips, my tongue, my mouth.

I can think of myself as her boss as much as I want, but there’s no fooling anyone right now—she’s totally making me her bitch. She grips my hair, and for a sweet, innocent young woman, she fucks my face like a boss, bucking and humping my face so hard, I can’t even breathe. If I die, I die happy.

Screaming out loud, she moans into the four walls of her bedroom and quivers up against face. I’m not going to feel any nerve endings on my cheeks tonight, but it’s okay, because I’ll sleep with a smile on my face on this night.

“That’s it. That’s fucking it,” I tell her, climbing out from under her, lifting her, and laying her down in her bed. Alana gasps for air. Slender arms curl around my shoulders. As I admire the sheen of light sweat that’s formed all over her body, I wonder what the fuck just happened. Sexual tension just happened. My nanny just showed me her full potential is what just happened.

But it can’t anymore, and the moment she recovers, looking up at me with both satisfied and curious-to-know-what-I-think-about-this eyes, I step out of her bed and onto the cold floor once again. “We overstepped our boundaries, Miss Frasier,” I tell her, knowing I sound like an ass but unable to do anything about it. “It can’t happen again.”

“But…”

“It can’t happen again,” I insist. No idea what she was going to say, but women always want to know where they stand with me following sex, especially true the younger they are. They always want to know where the relationship is headed.

I’ll tell you where—nowhere. Because I don’t do relationships. I don’t even fuck my hired help either. This was my first. Before she can say anything else, I reach down and stroke her cheek. Soft and pink and full of flushed heat. I enjoy it for a couple of seconds, because I’ll never see her ravished and delicious ever again.

And then, as quickly as I can, I scramble the fuck out of her bedroom, knowing I fucked up harder than ever, hating that I lost control when I rarely do, and close the door.

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