The Nanny

I’m too stunned to say anything. Of all the things I could have imagined coming home to, this wasn’t even in the immediate vicinity of possibilities.

I know that she’s waiting for me to open my mouth and say something—staring down at the floor with resigned defeat as if she’s already made up her mind that I’m going to push her away over this. I can’t pretend that I am not angry that she kept it from me, but probably not for the reasons she might think. I just hate the idea of her putting herself through hell with worry when she could have been honest with me. I even understand, I think, all the reasons why she didn’t. After wondering where she went for so long, even now, would I have also been hesitant to chance her disappearing again?

I thought you actually liked me, and that you actually wanted to meet up.

That’s the part that’s sticking out to me. All this time I assumed that it was me who had misunderstood things. Has she spent all this time thinking the same thing?

I didn’t want to have to go through that again. Especially now that I . . . know you.

Had she felt as disappointed when I pulled away as I had been when I thought she’d done the same?

“Cassie, I . . .” I feel a bit calmer now but no less dumbfounded. “I did like you. I did want to meet up.”

She finally looks at me, and I hate that her eyes are wet because of me. “What?”

“I didn’t mean to disappear,” I explain. “When it happened . . . I had just found out that Rebecca died. That month was insane. I was worrying for Sophie, and making arrangements, and trying to figure out how to restructure my entire life. By the time I was able to pull my head out of the water and breathe again, weeks had passed by without me realizing it. And when I came back to apologize . . .”

“I’d deleted my account,” she whispers.

I nod solemnly. “I thought that I was the one who misunderstood.”

I watch her mouth part with surprise, all the pieces clicking together, and I realize none of this had occurred to her before this moment. That she’s actually spent the better part of a year thinking that after everything we said, it had all been transactional after all. That I never cared about her like I made her believe. She’d been so afraid, that even now, even after I can’t seem to go a day without touching her or without being close to her—I’d toss her aside.

I can’t help it; it’s the question that’s been on my mind ever since I logged back in to find her account scrubbed. “Where did you go?”

“I . . .”

I watch her teeth worry at her lip as her cheeks redden. Her eyes dart away like she’s embarrassed.

“I couldn’t do it anymore. After you disappeared. I know it’s probably silly, but . . . I missed you, and I thought that you had dropped off the face of the earth, and I just . . .” She sucks in a breath, her eyes still wet. “I couldn’t do it anymore.”

It all feels surreal. Like any moment I’ll wake up in my bed and none of this will have happened. How is it even possible that out of all the people in this city who could have answered my ad it was her? That the one person that Sophie needed most, could also be the one person that I needed most, without even having realized it?

“I understand if you need me to leave,” Cassie says stoically, her lip trembling. “But I didn’t mean to keep it from you like this. I just . . . didn’t know how to tell you.”

Maybe asking her to leave is the sensible course of action. Maybe a more rational man would scold me for not even considering the thought. But regardless of our strange past and our stranger present and everything in between, the thought that bothers me most is Cassie walking out my door and never coming back. It probably doesn’t make sense for me to feel that way; we know nothing about each other that could warrant me feeling so possessive of her, like I can’t let her go, but . . .

It doesn’t stop me from feeling that way.

“I don’t,” I tell her finally, my voice thick. “Want you to leave.”

Her eyes are wide when they find mine again. “You’re not mad?”

“No, I am,” I assert, and when she starts to look crestfallen again, I add, “but not because you kept this a secret.”

“What?”

“I’m angry that you dealt with this alone. I’m angry that you spent all this time worrying that I would push you away without giving me the chance to tell you that there is absolutely no way I’m letting you get away again.”

Her breath catches, and she looks so sweet in this moment; her hair is falling down from her messy bun in pieces around her face, her mouth is parted in a soft, quiet way that begs for me to kiss her, and her eyes—her eyes hold so much relief that it makes something in my chest hurt.

I’m careful when I reach for her, approaching her like a frightened animal that might run, and for all intents and purposes, she could still do that. I notice she’s still trembling slightly when my hands cup her jaw, her lashes fluttering closed as her fingers wrap around my wrist. Maybe it’s imprudent of me to be as elated as I am to know that it’s her—that the person I find myself losing all my senses for today is the same person who drove me crazy back then. Her eyes are closed when I lean in, and I can feel that slight wetness at her lashes against my cheek when my lips touch hers.

She tastes sweet. Like wine and something that is inherently Cassie, and I find myself pulling her closer to try to taste more, something that is becoming a habit whenever I touch her. Like no matter how much I have of her, it’s somehow never enough.

I feel her fingers sneaking under my shirt, finding the raised skin near my navel as she teases at my scar. It makes me shiver, her touch paired with the knowledge of everything attached to these marks on our bodies—the realization of all I’ve said to her and all I’ve seen of her crashing down on me like a wave. How many times did I wish I could touch her like this? How many times did I wish I could find out if her lips were as soft as they looked?

How is it possible that after all this time, I would find the answer to all those questions in such an unexpected way?

I should take her to her room, I know that, but I can’t seem to stop touching her long enough to do that. Almost as if I give her an inch she might slip right through my fingers. I push her deeper into the alcove behind the stairs, my hands at her waist and her hips and everywhere else I can reach as her tongue touches mine sending me into a bit of a frenzy.

I dip my head to rest my lips against her shoulder as I urge her to turn, and there is only a hint of hesitation as she obliges, giving me her back as her hands brace against the wall. I let my mouth wander, teasing the raised skin between her shoulder blades in a way that I haven’t had a chance to do yet. I feel her shiver as my tongue traces the shape of her scar, her spine curving to bend into the insistent press of my mouth even as my fingers find the snaps of her bra to pop them open. Her back being bare only makes it easier to explore, and if I didn’t feel so restless right now, it might even be something I could spend all night doing. I tell myself I’ll have time later.

She looks breathless when I turn her to face me again, helping me when I urge her bra off to let it drop to the floor. Her breath is heavy, and for a second I am mesmerized by the rise and fall of her breasts as if begging me to touch them. I hold her gaze when I bend down to slide my lips against the swell, closing my eyes and focusing on the thumping of her pulse against my mouth.

“Your heart is beating so fast.”

She bites her lip, pushing her fingers through my hair to sweep it away from my forehead. “Did you know that on average, women’s hearts beat faster than men’s?”

“Oh?” My lips curve against her breast as I leave another kiss there, messier this time so I can taste her. “Snapple just hasn’t ever heard mine when I’m touching you.”

She gasps when I wrap my mouth around her nipple, and I’m entranced by the way her lips roll together—the way she looks at me through hooded eyes. I’m wondering if there had been signs I should have picked up on; how many times did I watch her come from the safety of my monitor? It feels like I saw her in every way possible, all those nights, but something about the time we’ve spent together feels different than it did back then, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because it’s me touching her, rather than herself. I’d like to delude myself into thinking so.

Her skin tastes sweet, too, the lingering flavor of the wine she spilled coating my tongue as I let it swirl around one taut peak. I tweak the other between my fingers as I let one hand slide down her belly, dipping past her shorts to tuck inside her underwear so I can see how wet she is.

Fuck, she’s already soaked.

“Is it weird?”

I release her with a wet pop, tilting my head up to see her more clearly. “What?”

“I don’t know . . . with everything that happened . . .” She lets out a nervous laugh. “I mean, there’s . . . a lot of stuff you asked me to do.”

My lips tilt as I press my fingers deeper between her legs, curling them to let them slip inside her as her mouth forms a quiet O. “I remember everything I ever asked you to do, Cassie.”

“Mm.” Her hips cant toward my hand as her eyes shut. “I liked it.”

“You liked it when I told you what to do?”

She nods lazily. “Mm-hmm.”

“I can do that,” I rumble. “Why don’t you start with taking these off?”

I let my fingers slip out of her to grip the front of her shorts, giving them a tug. When I pull my hand out entirely, rising to my full height to see if she’ll obey, I feel a familiar thrill coursing through me. It had been one thing to watch from the other side of a screen as she did whatever I asked her to, but this is different. This isn’t some faceless woman that I’m harboring some ill-advised crush on, this is Cassie—warm, soft, real. A woman that invades my thoughts more and more with every passing day.

I watch as she reaches to roll her shorts down her thighs, her underwear going right along with them until she kicks them off to let them land on the tile. It’s darker here in this little corner, the light over the front door not enough to illuminate her entirely, but I can make out every soft swell and gentle curve, from the fullness of her breasts to the slight slope of her belly and the roundness of her hips that make my palms twitch with a need to touch. The rosy color of her lips match the tight points of her nipples, and I know from experience that both complement the pretty pink between her legs.

Everything about Cassie seems to be designed to drive me crazy.

“I can’t believe that I spent all that time wondering”—my knuckles brush over the tops of her thighs as she shudders, and I slide my fingers between them, curving my hand and dragging it higher—“what it would be like to touch you.” Her lips part in a quiet gasp when my fingers slide back and forth between her wet folds, and I can feel my cock pressing insistently against my zipper. “I had no idea how much better the real thing would be.”

“Aiden,” she sighs, her slim fingers teasing the front of my jeans. “Take these off.”

“Here?” I push deeper, feeling her clench around my fingers. “You want me to fuck you out here?”

Her finger tuck into my waistband, tugging insistently. “Aiden.”

It feels like we’re in a different moment in time, one where she’s waiting on me to give her a cue, like the only thing that matters is whatever I’m about to ask of her. It makes me feel heady and a little out of my mind.

She squeezes me through the denim, and I hiss through my teeth. “Fuck.”

“I like it when you swear,” she says with a breathy laugh.

“You do?”

She nods.

“Really.” I keep pumping my fingers in and out of her, bracing my other hand by her head as I watch her touch me. “Do you want my cock, Cassie?”

There’s a noticeable shiver that passes through her, and she barely manages her shaky nod.

I tilt my hips further into her hand. “Well.”

She bites her lip as she unzips me, reaching with both hands to ruck down my pants before she teases the shape of me through my boxer briefs. I have to close my eyes when she pulls me out, her hands warm and soft as she drags her fist from base to tip. She pushes up on her toes to let her lips brush against mine, stroking me in a slow back-and-forth that’s driving me wild.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” she murmurs into my mouth. “You know I’ll do whatever you want.”

She’s slipping into the past with me now, whispering things I haven’t heard since she’d said them in a dark room with her face hidden. Just hearing them is nearly enough to make me come all over her hand, but that’s not what I want.

“Put your arms around my neck,” I urge. I regret the loss of her hand on my cock when she immediately obeys, but I know that inside her will feel that much better. “Hold on to me.”

She does what I ask, and I slip my hand from between her thighs to grab her hips, hoisting her up against me and pressing her to the wall as she wraps her legs around my waist. We’re close enough that my cock slots between her legs, coating me in her slick heat as I tilt my hips just enough to feel her. I pin her there against the wall and whisper that she hold on tight, reaching toward my back to pull my T-shirt up and off before I drop it to the floor. Her arms are immediately back to hold on to my neck, and it takes hardly anything at all to angle myself enough to slip inside her.

She makes a sound, something between a whimper and a moan, and I lean closer to let my lips whisper at her ear, “Shh.” I adjust her so that I can push deeper. “You have to be quiet, remember? Be good.”

“Yes—oh.” Her heels dig into my ass, her fingers pushing into my hair. “I promise.” She’s whispering now as if to prove her point. “Keep going.”

It only takes a slight bit of movement to root all the way inside her, her hips flush with mine as she trembles with it. I have to take a moment to collect myself so that I don’t immediately come inside her—it’s always a danger, as good as she feels—letting my forehead drop to her shoulder as I steady her with my hands on her hips.

“You wouldn’t believe how much I thought about this,” I huff. “I wanted to touch you so bad, Cassie. Then . . . now . . . fucking always.”

She kisses at my throat, her tongue licking there afterward. “You can touch me whenever you want.”

“Yeah?” I angle my head back to look at her. My hands slide to cup her ass, sliding out of her a fraction only to push back in. “Whenever I want?”

“Yes,” she hisses.

I lift her to pull her off of me, enough so that I’m only a little bit inside her before I let her fall back down. “Just like this?”

“Ah.” Her head falls back against the wall. “Whatever you want.”

“I just”—I grunt as I pull her up and back down on my cock harder—“want you.”

“Like that,” Cassie pants. “Mmm.”

“Can you come like this? Tell me what you need.”

“I think—if you—”

She arches to bend back against the wall, so much that I have to hold her hips tighter to keep her upright. It means that every time I thrust into her, I bump against that place that makes her gasp, her body jolting with every slap of my hips, and her legs tightening around my waist impossibly further.

“Right there,” she moans, struggling to keep her voice down now. “Oh—don’t stop.”

As if that was actually an option right now.

I can feel her nails digging into my shoulders, deep enough to leave a mark, but the sting barely registers with the way she’s started to tense up. I can hear the pops in her toes and feel the trembling of her body, evidence of her tipping over the edge. It’s difficult to duck my head so I can suck at the soft swell of her breasts, but I need my mouth on her, wherever I can reach. I feel that pressure building deep while I push into her again and again and again—my legs weak and my pulse throbbing under every inch of my skin.

“Cassie, I’m—fuck.”

I hold her close as we shudder through it, her breath hot against my ear as I bury my face in her throat. My teeth sink into the supple skin at the bend in her neck to stifle my groan, and she presses fevered kisses against my jaw as I try to come down from the high of it. I hold her close through all of it, unable to let go of her. It only occurs to me that I’m still gripping her tight, buried inside her, when I feel her fingers pushing through my hair while she strokes my shoulder in soothing circles.

When I finally pull away to look at her, the feeling it gives me to see her debauched and mussed and satisfied, smiling at me like I’ve given her a fucking present—it’s indescribable.

“Please consider leaving a tip,” she whispers.

I huff out a laugh, dazed at the idea that this is happening and that she is here and that so many things came together to put us in each other’s lives again. It still feels like it might be a dream, and maybe I would actually worry that it was, if she wasn’t so very warm and so very real in my arms. It has me wondering how many days we need to spend together for it to be socially acceptable to entertain the idea that I might be gone for this woman. Surely more than we have, I would think.

And what’s even more unbelievable is that even now, even just having had her . . . I already want her again.

“How much sleep do you need?”

She cocks an eyebrow at me. “Really? Again?”

“You did ask for a tip,” I say seriously.

Her mouth drops open as she smacks my shoulder, but her eyes say she’s more than happy to sacrifice her eight hours. I know reasonably at some point I do have to let her sleep; I’m aware of that.

But that isn’t going to be anytime soon.