Page 90 of The Nanny Goal

That’s where she’s wrong.Hurtmight not be the right word, but it’s in the right territory.Sladkaya bol. Sweet pain.

Her hands are warm and steady as she gathers a chunk of my hair, then divides it in three, her thumb gliding against my scalp.

“Like this,” she says, tugging on the strands. “Keep it taut.”

Oh, I’m fucking taut all right.

I nod like I’m absorbing it, but mostly I’m just trying not to moan out loud.

She leans closer, breath brushing my ear. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Can you feel that? How I pull on it, keeping the pressure?—”

I twist and catch her face in my hands, kissing her hard before pushing up to my knees.

I like how glassy-eyed she is, and speechless, and when I pat her hip, it takes all of my control to not keep my hands on her and haul her against me. But I’ve asked her to teach me a thing and I’m going to learn it. “Let me try again.”

This time when she’s sitting between my legs, I’m painfully aware of how soft and warm her body is. I take my time gathering her hair into three chunks, and I tug firmly, making her gasp—and then sigh.

“Tension all right?” I ask innocently.

“Mmm,” she manages to get out.

I lead with my thumb, the same way she did, stroking against her scalp as I weave her hair together. Always holding taut, trying to be good even as my mind is half-distracted by being very, very bad.

The little noises she makes aren’t helping.

“Ahh…”

I twist the strand in my right hand up and over and under, moving it to my left hand. Grazing my pinky finger along her neck, too, because I can multitask.

“How does it feel?” she manages to ask.

Incredible. Like silk. Like trembling, needy, horny silk.I clear my throat. “Good.”

She reaches back, her fingers blindly tracing my work. “Oh, yeah, you’ve got it!”

I tug on the end of the braid. “Excellent.”

She tries to lean forward to grab a clip, but I don’t give her any slack.

She squeaks.

“Come here,” I say roughly, low. I’m needy, too.

The braid starts to fall apart as she twists, as I let go and grab hold of her body instead, lifting her up to straddle my lap.

“Alexei,” she breathes.

“Just a kiss,” I promise.

It’s not, of course.

She sinks down, her warm little centre finding my cock immediately, and I buck my hips at the perfection of the contact. Jesus Christ, she feels good.

My kisses trail over her jaw, and down her neck. I lick at her collarbone, tasting the day on her. All her hard work. She smells warm and sweet, all turned on, her private musk rising between us as she works her clit against the ridge in my pants.

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