Page 70 of The Nanny Goal

Of course Alexei Artyomov is the only person who kisses me better than Alexei Artyomov.

He tastes faintly of toothpaste but mostly of desire, sweet and warm and perfect, and when I lick at his lips, he growls and deepens the kiss.

I open for him and his tongue spears against mine. So, so good. I make a sound I don’t mean to. Something desperate and wanting.

He answers it with a groan so low it vibrates through my bones and makes my toes curl. Then he wraps his arm around my hips, a solid band holding me tight, and hefeasts.

His hunger makes me whimper, a sound he devours. And he works me against his body, hitching me up, up, up, until one of my legs is wrapped around his thigh and the thick, hard press of his erection is slotted right against the soft, thin cotton of my sleep pants through which I can feel everything.

As we explore each other’s mouths, he slowly starts to rock against me.

This is so much more than a kiss.

I moan again, louder this time, as his fingertips work their way under the hem of my sweatshirt, searing my bare skin. A secret, forbidden touch that sets my already heated flesh on fire.

I’m trembling against him, rubbing my needy sex on his cock like I’ve completely given up on the whole off-limits pretence, when there’s a tiny two-year-old cry from the next room.

He immediately goes still, but he doesn’t let me go.

“She’s awake,” I whisper against his mouth, my voice catching.

He rests his forehead against mine. He’s breathing hard, and his gaze is possessive.

As my pulse pounds, I wriggle out of his tight grasp. He lets me down, but doesn’t let me go.

I lean back against the bookcase, trying to create some space between us within the caged confines of his body. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

He pretends to agree with me, nodding, but the look on his face says otherwise.

“Alexei!”

“What? No, it was so bad. Especially when you moaned into my mouth. That was the worst.”

Oh my God.

“No, you can’t say that,” I protest weakly. “I work for you.”

He smiles slowly, confusion still tugging his brow a little. He looks confounded. “Do you? I don’t think you’ve sent me a contract yet, solnishko.”

A startled sob bursts out of me, and I turn it into a laugh because I have no other choice.

His gaze feels like a caress as he searches my face. “Do you need a minute?”

“I need more than a minute.” I close my eyes and press my head back against the bookcase behind me. “Thisreallyis a bad idea. We can’t do that again.”

He kisses my throat. “Okay.”

“I mean it.” I don’t sound like I do, though. I sound weak and needy and very persuadable.

He groans and steps back. “Coffee, then?”

My pulse hammers in my ears. “Yeah.”

“I’ll—”

He’s interrupted by a now indignant call from the next room. “Papa?”

He groans and squeezes my hips one last time before stepping back.

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