Page 47 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
He pushes his jeans down his legs and steps out of them, standing before me in nothing but tight black briefs that do little to hide his arousal. My breath catches in my throat. Cole is perfect—tall and athletic, with broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips. The light from the bedside lamp carves shadows beneath his muscles, highlighting every ridge and plane.
A small sound escapes me, something between a whimper and a sigh. My body responds instantly to the sight of him, a rush of heat flooding between my thighs.
Cole's amber eyes burn as he looks at me, his expression a mixture of hunger and something softer, almost reverent. He reaches for me, hooking his fingers under the straps of my bra, sliding them down my shoulders before reaching behind to unclasp it. The fabric falls away, and cool air brushes my breasts, making my nipples harden further.
His hands find my hips next, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my underwear. With gentle pressure, he urges me to lift up, and then he's sliding them down my legs, leaving me completely exposed. I resist the urge to cover myself, instead watching his face as he takes in every inch of me.
"Spread your legs," he says, his voice a low command that sends a shiver through me.
I comply, letting my knees fall open. Cole kneels between them, his hands warm on my inner thighs. His fingers trail upward, and when they reach the center of me, he makes a sound deep in his throat. He slides a finger through my folds, gathering the wetness there.
"You're so wet," he murmurs, bringing his finger to his nose. He inhales deeply, eyes closing briefly before opening to lock with mine. Then, never breaking eye contact, he brings his finger to his mouth and sucks it clean.
The sight of it—this intimate, erotic gesture—makes me shudder. Heat pulses between my legs, and I feel myself grow even wetter under his gaze.
"Please," I beg, my voice barely recognizable. "I need you, now."
Cole's mouth curves into a knowing smile. "Impatient girl," he says, the word more affectionate than teasing. "But you'll have to wait for a while."
He pulls me closer to the edge of the bed, positioning my legs over his shoulders as he kneels on the floor. I feel his breath against my most sensitive skin a moment before his tongue makes contact, a long, slow lick that makes me cry out.
The sound seems to encourage him. He settles in, his tongue exploring with careful precision. He finds my entrance, circling it before moving up to my clit, where he applies just the right pressure to make my hips buck off the bed. His hands slide up my body to cup my breasts, fingers rolling my nipples as his mouth continues its sweet torture.
I spread my legs wider, silently begging for more. One of his hands leaves my breast to slip between my thighs, and I feel a finger push inside me as his tongue continues to work my clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming—the wet heat of his mouth, the fullness of his finger curling to find that perfect spot inside me.
"Cole," I gasp, my hands finding his hair, gripping it as pleasure builds. "That feels so good."
He responds by adding a second finger, stretching me further as his tongue flicks faster against my clit. My body tightens, the tension building in my lower belly, along my thighs. I push my pelvis up, grinding against his face shamelessly, chasing the release I can feel building.
Cole seems to sense how close I am. His fingers curl inside me, pressing against that spot that makes stars explode behind myeyelids, while his tongue applies firm, steady pressure exactly where I need it.
The orgasm hits me like a wave crashing against the shore. My back arches off the bed, my thighs clamping around his head as pleasure pulses through me in hot, unrelenting waves. I cry out his name, over and over, as he works me through it, not stopping until the last tremor subsides and I collapse back onto the mattress, breathless and boneless.
When I finally manage to open my eyes, Cole is looking up at me from between my thighs, his lips wet from my arousal, his eyes dark with desire. He presses a gentle kiss to my inner thigh before climbing onto the bed beside me.
"You taste even better than I imagined," he says, tracing lazy patterns on my stomach with his fingertips.
I laugh, breathless. “You really have been thinking about this.”
“For years,” he says quietly, and there’s something raw in his voice that makes my chest tighten. “Ever since your eighteenth birthday party.”
“No way,” I whisper, but the memory flickers to life—clearer than I expect.
It was a month before I left for college in Portland. My brother insisted on throwing me a party, even though I wasn’t really in the mood for one.
I’d curled my hair for the first time and wore a strapless plum dress—the same one I’d worn to prom—the kind that made me feel both grown-up and exposed. I even wore mascara, which promptly smudged from the summer heat. But for a few hours, I felt… seen.
I remember the glances—more than a few of them—from guys I’d known my whole life. Including Cole. He might’ve even said something nice to me that night. A compliment. A look.
But I didn’t pay much attention. I was too distracted—caught between excitement and heartbreak. I was leaving. Leaving Silvercreek. And leaving behind the one person I’d secretly wanted all through high school.
Caleb.
“Why do you look so shocked?” Cole asks, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Is it really so hard to believe? You were stunning that night.”
“Thank you,” I say softly, a lump rising in my throat.
I gaze at him, taking in the flush on his cheeks, the way his chest rises and falls with each quick breath. His erection strains against his briefs, a visible reminder that while I've found release twice now, he's still waiting for his first.
