Page 10 of Nine Week Nanny
The slick circle of his finger over that tight ring of muscle sends a shockwave through me. It feels wrong and filthy and impossibly good all at once, like he’s wired me to detonate from somewhere I didn’t even know existed.
“Don’t stop,” I choke out, shame and hunger twisting together in my chest.
His cock pounds deeper as his finger keeps circling, never breaching, just pressing light and deliberate. The friction shreds what’s left of my control.
Heat rips through me, my orgasm tearing out of me sharp and violent. I convulse against him, my hands pulling him closer, crying out as the most intense release of my life slams through me.
He follows with a curse, hips snapping once, twice, before he buries himself to the hilt and stills. His forehead drops to mine, both of us gasping like we’ve just gone ten rounds.
The silence after is brutal, broken only by our ragged breathing. My legs are trembling, his chest slick against mine, and I can barely stand.
I don’t care. I don’t want to think. I don’t care that I don’t even know his last name. Right now, all I want is the way my body still pulses from him wrecking me.
He eases back, eyes dark and intent, and I know it’s not over. “You want that gin and tonic now? Or should we skip straight to round two?”
His mouth curves slowly, and he pulls a piece of hair from my face.
I laugh, breathless, still pinned between him and the door. “Are you always this confident?”
He leans in, mouth brushing my ear. “Only when I know the answer.”
I’m not done. I need more.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
His low chuckle vibrates against my throat before his mouth claims mine. It’s hungry and rougher now, tasting like everything we just did and everything we’re about to do again.
He spins me around, pressing me to the door, my bare skin meeting the cool metal. My palms flatten against it for balance.
Behind me, I hear him tie off the condom and drop it, then the sharp tear of another wrapper. A second later, the faint slide of latex over his length makes my knees go weak.
Then he’s there, one big hand spreading me open. The thick head of his cock drags through my soaking wet and hungry folds. He nudges my clit before sliding back, higher, until it brushes that tight, sensitive area again. When he brushes over the tight, sensitive ring of muscle, my breath catches.
“You’re so perfect.” His voice is low and rough, his hips moving just enough to make me feel every slow pass, my body begging for more.
He brushes there again, but never pushes. Just teasing. Just circling. My body shudders, caught between relief and wanting more. And God help me, it only makes me want him more.
I groan, needing an escape from the storm happening in my body. My forehead rests against the door, eyes closed, pulse pounding in my ears.
“That’s right.” He slides lower again, back through the wetness, slowly enough to keep my legs trembling. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
“Jesus. You feel so good. Don’t stop.”
“Are you begging for more?”
My pulse hammers. “Yes.”
And then his hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back just as he finally lines up and pushes into me. He’s slow and steady and rough at the same time, every inch making me gasp.
Cold air pricklesacross my skin, dragging me out of sleep.
I blink at the dark room, disoriented, the hum of the hotel’s AC louder than it should be.
Sheets slide against my bare skin, and that’s when I feel the solid warmth on my skin. It's heavy against my thigh. A man’s leg.
Oh God.
Last night slams into me in flashes. The door closing, his mouth, his hands. The way he made me forget my own name. The way my body still aches in the best possible way.
