Page 23 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
I let us happen.
And for once, it feels like more than enough.
His eyes darken with something primal as he lifts his head, and I swear I sway on my feet closer to him.
Something about him sends heat spiraling low in my belly, and I’ve never had that before.
“Tomorrow, then,” he says, voice like gravel dipped in sex. “But I need you to understand something, Pretty Girl. This isn’t a one-night stand for me. And I want you to be sure you want this. That you want me.”
Holy. Shit.
Is this real life? Because I swear, I’m seconds from combusting.
His words hit me right between the thighs, straight-up short-circuiting my brain.
My heart is pounding.
My skin’s on fire.
And my panties? Soaked.
Utterly ruined.
If he so much as brushes a finger against me, I might scream.
He’s serious.
Maybe he’s not just here to fuck and forget. Maybe he’s here for me.
The idea is too delicious to pass up. But so is the way I feel right now.
And the way he’s looking at me? Like he wants to tear me apart just to put me back together again.
I’m dizzy with it. Drunk on him already.
And yeah, maybe I’m not the kind of girl who gets offers like this.
A man this hot—GQ-cover, jawline-to-sin-for, pack-of-sexual-dynamite hot—wanting me like this? It’s unheard of.
But I’m not about to question it.
Not tonight.
“I do,” I whisper, my voice shaky but sure. “I want you so fucking bad.”
The moment the words leave my lips, he slams his lips to mine.
And I swear I hear a whole symphony in my head.
The music of connection. Of fate. Of something bigger than both of us.
He presses me against the wall the second we’re inside. His hands are everywhere—on my waist, tracing the curve of my hip, fisting in the fabric of my dress like he’s already half feral with want.
And I burn under his touch.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he says, breath ragged against my ear. “I’ll stop. I swear it.”
“I will. And I’ll tell you if I want more,” I promise.
