Page 65 of Nanny for the SEALs

I glanced at the open door before returning my gaze to the screen. The title had loaded.

POUNDING THE SLUTTY NANNY

I was no stranger to porn. I didn’t watch it often, but sometimes a girl needed to Jill off and get some release. But seeing someone else’s porn history was like peering through a window into their soul. It was evidence of their deepest desire. Or, at least, the mostrecentdesire they’d had.

The nanny was wearing a plaid short skirt, like a Catholic schoolgirl. I clicked ahead and suddenly the skirt was gone, along with the rest of their clothes. The girl—thenanny—was bent over the couch and being fucked from behind. The man was turned sideways enough to give the camera a good view of what was happening. His hand flashed out and slapped herveryplump ass, leaving a red mark on the porcelain skin.

I thought about Rogan asleep in the chair this morning. He’d been up all night without sleep, but still found time to come home and fantasize about having sex with me.

It was kind of sweet, if you thought about it.

I pulled out my phone and texted him.

Heather: I thought you said you didn’t have a nanny fetish?

Rogan: I don’t. But I’m open to role-playing, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Rogan: Maybe not tonight, though. I can barely stay awake right now.

Heather: I think you’re lying. You totally want to pound the slutty nanny.

Rogan: Now that you mention it, that sounds like a lot of fun. I’ll call around and see if I can find a slutty nanny to pound tonight.

Heather: (angry emoji)

Heather: There’s nothing wrong with admitting it. I like that you’re thinking about me.

Rogan: Like I told you, I have a Heather Hart fetish. I’ll be into you whether you’re a nanny, or a flight attendant, or a waitress.

Heather: I was a waitress. At Outback.

Rogan: And we slept together before you became the nanny. See? Heather Hart fetish, not nanny fetish.

I raised my phone to take a photo of the computer screen. The man had pulled out and was now eating her out from behind. It reminded me of what Rogan had done the first night we were together.

Before I could snap the photo, I heard a sound that was totally foreign to me in the residence.

The doorbell.

24

Heather

I lowered my phone. The sound was a fancy doorbell chime, much nicer than the buzzer at my studio apartment. On the computer screen, the nanny was tossing her hair back and moaning loudly.

I closed the porn and left the office. Packages were delivered to the security office downstairs. Nothing came up to the residence. The dads were paranoid about all inbound mail, especially packages.

So who was here?

I gazed through the peep-hole. The man was tall and wore a suit. He looked suave, not like any sort of threat, so I opened the door.

“Hi, can I help you?” I asked.

He may have looked suave through the distorted peep-hole, but my impression quickly faded. He was bald, not by choice, and had a very round face with beady eyes. There was a gap between his two front teeth, a gap that became more pronounced as he smiled at me.

“The boys decided to hire themselves a treat, did they?” he asked in a British accent. Not quite posh, but not exactly cockney.

I glared at him and reached for the door. “And this concludes our brief discussion for the day. Whoever you are, you can come back another time.”

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