Nanny Wanted (A Bad Boy Romance)

by Mia Carson

  Without a word, she set his coffee on the table and he murmured, “Thank you.”

  Louis stared between the two of them as silence descended in the kitchen. “Wow, you two suck at fighting but not fighting. You know that, right?”

  Stan’s eyes widened, and Remy shrugged, turning away. “Who said we’re fighting?” Stan asked.

  “You two are obviously not talking. I’ve been around enough adults to see it.” Louis rolled his eyes as if they were the ten-year-olds and not him. “Ready, Stan?”

  “Yep, let’s get you to school. I’ll be back,” he told Remy, who nodded absently.

  The front door opened, then closed, and she sagged against the counter, glaring down the dark drain as she cleaned up the dishes, pulled her hair back from her face, and trudged to her studio. The paint didn’t call to her today, so she went to the wire figure coming to life in the corner and tugged the sheet off it. The form was bigger than she anticipated, and she had to move a few of her other works to the side so the back piece would have room to expand as the figure grew up and out. She worked her way up the main torso, twisting the wires around and shaping the chest, when her fingers found their way to the back piece instead. She picked up new wiring, connected it and shaped it, fanning the metal out to encompass the massive form. Sweat dripped down her face and her fingers ached, her hands cramping, but she kept going.

  When she returned to the front of the figure, she picked up another post to start the second form and connected it to the first, twisting wires around to begin on the more slender second form she saw in her mind’s eye. She twisted two wires together when the end of one stabbed into her palm.

  “Shit!”

  “Remy?” Stan asked worriedly and rolled into her studio from the hall. “Let me see it.”

  “I’m fine,” she grunted with a wince, pressing a rag to her palm.

  “I said let me see it,” he ordered, and she held out her hand. “That rag’s filthy. Come with me, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  She glared but followed behind his chair as he pushed his way into his bedroom then to his large master bath. He pointed to the edge of the tub so she could sit as he pulled out a first aid kit from under the sink.

  “What are you doing in there with the wires?” he asked, dabbing at the puncture wound with a wipe. She flinched, but his hand caught her wrist and held her steady.

  “A new project. I told you.”

  “Maybe you should slow down a bit so you don’t hurt yourself anymore.”

  “It was an accident. It’s not like I’m in there purposely beating myself up over what happened in my life.”

  His hands stilled and he raised his eyes to hers. “What was that?”

  She pinched her tongue between her teeth, but she might as well tell him now. “You got a phone call the other day while you were out from a woman ranting about how you ruined her family’s lives.”

  Stan swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he continued to work on her hand. “I thought I told you not to answer the phone.”

  “I didn’t. She left a message, which I promptly deleted.”

  “You had no right!” he ranted and tossed the alcohol pad away.

  “Yeah, I think I do when I’m living in the same house as someone who keeps brooding about an accident that wasn’t his fault! That’s what’s been wrong this whole time, isn’t it? You’re not upset about some damn boat or your legs. You think you need to keep punishing yourself because one of those brothers died and the other won’t wake up.”

  Stan whipped his chair away from her, but she simply followed him, planting her hands on the arms and glaring at him. “Move.”

  “No. You’re not going to keep running to that cave of yours to sulk.”

  “I don’t hide,” he growled. “And it is my fault.”

  “No, it’s not! Everyone knows you tried to avoid their boat. They were drunk, Stan. That’s not on you. You can’t keep carrying this guilt around with you. It’s not worth it, trust me. It’ll eat you alive if you’re not careful.”

  “And what would you know of guilt, huh? You and your perfect, happy life of watching other people’s kids and their families. What have you ever done that would make you feel guilt like this? Tell me, damn it!” he raged.

  Remy’s mouth opened and words poured out and she had no idea where they even came from. “I was born, all right? I was born and I ruined my parent’s lives.”

  Stan leaned away from her. “What?”

  “I was born when my mom was sixteen, remember? They gave up everything for me. Gave up their dreams of going to college,” Remy rambled. “They lost their friends, their parents… they lost so much of their lives because of me. Try being a kid and carrying that shit around with you. Try understanding why the other kids at school won’t talk to you or why everyone in the damn town looks at you like you’re trash.”

  She stumbled backwards until she hit the rim of the tub and sank onto it, holding her head in her hands. Where had that come from? She’d thought those feelings had vanished a long time ago. Her parents had found out what she carried with her and had told her very firmly they loved her and they wouldn’t change their decision for anything. But Remy, apparently, never got over it.

  “The paintings,” he whispered. “That’s where they all stem from—your guilt?”

  “No, not all of them,” she murmured, not lifting her head. Why was she even telling him this? “I’ve always been scared to live my own life, scared of who else I might hurt by being around.”

  “So you live vicariously through the families you take care of?”

  She nodded, her hair flying everywhere. “I love what I do, but when I leave a family, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do…and this is way too much information.” She stood abruptly and tried to skirt around him to the door, but he whipped his chair around too fast, catching her legs. She cursed as he dragged her down onto his lap. Before she had a chance to push away, he grabbed the nape of her neck and kissed her intently on the mouth.

  “No running away, not this time,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “Stan,” she replied, but he kissed her again and she melted at his touch, unable to resist him any longer. She had no idea where this might lead and, frankly, didn’t give a damn. In that moment, her fears lifted, and she and Stan were all that mattered as he wheeled them from the bathroom to his bedroom. She clung to him, not wanting to leave his touch even for a second. Since coming here, being at this house with him, new emotions awoke within her and she saw the possibilities of her future laid out before her.

  All she had to do was be brave enough to believe in herself and believe in him to reach them.

  12

  Stan’s lips caressed Remy’s in a frantic need to be close to her and chase her guilt away as she had with his. He never thought anyone could understand the burden he carried. Though she had not been the cause of someone’s death, in a way, she seemed like the only one who understood his sulking and the depression weighing him down. Her art showed him more clearly than her words ever could the burden she carried around, and he wanted nothing more than to see those bursts of colors come to life in her paintings and in her smile.

  She clutched his shoulders, and not sure where the strength came from, he stood from his chair, lifting her with him, and tackled her to the bed. He rolled them so she was on top and he sat up. They tore at each other’s clothes, desperate for the touch of bare skin. His shirt went first, and she dragged her fingertips over his pecs and lower, tracing what remained of his abs. His stomach clenched, and he caught her hand as she grinned wickedly.

  “That tickles,” he whispered.

  “Does it now?” She lowered her head and kissed a path with her soft lips down his chest to his stomach. He dragged the band from her hair and let it fall over his hands, the silky strands brushing over his sides as she moved lower and lower until she reached the top of his jeans. “Remy,” he grunted when she unbuttoned them and worked at the zipper
.

  “Do you want me to stop?” she asked, her fingers digging beneath the hem at his hips.

  His hands clenched the bedsheets as she tugged at his jeans, dragging them down inch by agonizing inch. “That is a very loaded question,” he argued, swallowing hard. “Remy, wait.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her brow furrowed in worry.

  “I haven’t…you know, done this in a long time and my legs…they’re not really…” He failed to find the words, but she crawled up his body, resting her palm against his cheek.

  “You really think I care about that?”

  He remembered the first day they met and how she hadn’t given him the pitying look he was used to or even stared at his chair like it was a hindrance. “No.”

  She kissed him, her tongue flicking against his lower lip, and he grabbed her ass, grinding against her until she slipped back down his body again. Part of his brain said to bring her back, that he should be the one pleasuring her first, but she grabbed his jeans and boxers and in one hard yank, revealed the rest of his naked body to her hungry gaze. Her hair brushed across his legs as she kissed them, starting at his knees. He shivered in anticipation and tried to remember when he had last been touched by a woman. His cock throbbed with need, and when she closed one delicate hand around his shaft, his head fell back on a moan, nearly spilling himself. Arousal had been hard for him since the accident, but not with Remy.

  Her hand slid up his cock, gripping it with just the right amount of pressure to make his eyes roll back. She straddled his legs and rubbed her thumb over the crown. His hands twisted the sheets and his hips bucked, already so close to losing control.

  “How long has it been?” she asked curiously.

  “Too damn long,” he muttered. His head fell forward as he remembered she was still a virgin. He wanted to make sure she was ready for this, but her head lowered, her hair covering his groin. A second later, he cursed as her perfect lips surrounded his crown and drew him into her hot, wet mouth. He groaned and rested his hand, shaking from the pleasure rippling through his body, on the back of her head, urging her gently to take more of him in.

  She obliged, and soon, nearly his whole cock filled her mouth. She drew back slowly, dragging her teeth against his skin before lowering her head again. Her hand pressed down hard against him, finding that extra hidden length and increasing the ecstasy tenfold. He shoved her hair to the side, wanting to watch as he disappeared inch by inch into her mouth. When her brown eyes flickered up to meet his, his breath caught painfully in his chest and his hips bucked. She smirked around him, licking him like a damn sucker before swirling her tongue around his crown again.

  “Too much?” she asked when he started to pull away.

  “I have a feeling you’ll always be too much,” he grunted.

  She chuckled, the sound full of mischief, and licked his shaft again before sucking him hard into her mouth. As much as he wanted to spill inside, he wanted their first time to be together listening to her scream his name as he thrust within her depths, not her mouth. He rolled his hips away from her and dragged her up his body so she straddled his lap. When he kissed her again, his taste was on her lips, and the urgency to claim her overwhelmed him. He lifted her shirt, and she tossed it aside as he fumbled with the hooks on her bra. Those soft, warm mounds of flesh spilled free and he cupped them, massaging them as he drew one nipple into his mouth, sucking it until it hardened against his tongue and she dug her nails into his shoulders.

  He wanted to taste more of her sweet skin and licked from one nipple to the other, sucking and ravaging her breasts, leaving beard burns on the tender skin. Remy pushed his head closer as hers fell back on a moan. Her jeans blocked his hands from sneaking lower, and he grunted in annoyance.

  “Jeans off,” he growled against her chest.

  She laughed, leaning back with an arched brow. “Yes, master,” she whispered, and he sucked in a breath, his hunger ratcheting up even higher than before. She stood on the bed and undid her jeans languidly, slid the zipper down, and turned around so he received a clear view of that perfect ass he’d wanted to see for so long. Her jeans down, she kicked them from the bed and hooked her fingers in her lacy panties. “These too?” she teased.

  He growled hoarsely in reply, and she pulled them down, revealing the rest of her ass. He had always appreciated a nice, firm ass, and Remy had one. Throwing the panties off the bed, she turned to face him, and his eyes grazed down her naked body from her toes to her breasts, every inch of skin calling to him. She nibbled her tongue nervously, and he held out his hand for hers.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered.

  Her face softened. She took his hand, straddling his waist again. He wished he could do more, but for now, this was what he could manage. He drew her close, his lips closing around hers as he smoothed his other hand down her stomach to those soft curls. He twirled his fingers in them, teasing before slipping lower and finding that sweet bundle of nerves. She gasped against his mouth, rolling her hips to be closer, and his cock ached to spread those soaking wet lips pressed against him and plunge into her. She was wet enough, but he didn’t want to rush, not if he could help it. Rolling her nub, he moved his hips, rubbing his cock between those swollen lips, and she trembled at his touch.

  His heart thundering in his chest, he maneuvered his fingers lower, urging her to lean away from him so he had better access to her cleft. His fingers glided down and slipped carefully into her, spreading and stretching her untouched depths. She was tight, so tight, and he was not a small man by any means. His fingers worked within her wetness as his thumb pressed against her clit. Her ragged breathing tormented him with each stroke of his fingers. She clenched around him, holding him deep within her body each time. Her back arched, her head falling back so her hair draped over his legs. Drawing back his fingers, he grabbed her hips and smoothed her over his cock, wanting her to feel him, all of him.

  “Remy.” Her name was strained as his struggle for control grew too intense.

  “I want you,” she whispered and lifted her body so she hovered over his aching, hard cock. Her eyes holding his gaze, she lowered herself over him. His crown pressed against her lips, and she sucked in a breath. Her eyes widened as he stretched her slowly with each bit of him her body accepted. He lifted her off, not wanting to hurt her, but she shook her head, holding his shoulders fiercely in her hands. “I’ll be fine,” she promised.

  He wanted to argue, to take it slower, but she bit her bottom lip and the raw lust in her eyes took away any chance of maintaining control. He drove up within her and she cried out, hugging him hard to her chest as she shook in his arms. Cursing himself for being an idiot, he waited for her to yell at him, to pull away, but she rolled her hips and moved against him, riding him hard and steady.

  “Remy?” he asked, worried he’d hurt her, but when she looked at him, she smiled.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “Smartass,” he muttered and drew her mouth down to his as he thrust within her.

  The pleasure grew with each glide of her hips. He couldn’t get enough of her taste, of the feel of her tight sheath holding his cock snugly. He sucked her nipple hard into his mouth, and her speed increased. Stan cupped her ass, and when they neared the end, he held her steady as he thrust with abandon into her. Her moan turned into a sharp cry as her muscles held him and milked him dry. He bellowed his ecstasy, having not experienced anything this intense in years. Their quivering bodies clung to each other, riding the waves rippling across their bodies, and he never wanted to leave her warmth cradling him.

  Her head sank to his shoulder, panting for breath, and her whole body went limp against his chest. “Shit,” she mumbled. “I don’t think I can move.”

  He chuckled, pushing her hair to the side so he could kiss her cheek. “Same.” He rested his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes, but almost immediately, they shot open again. “Shit!”

  “What? What’s wrong?” she asked, sitti
ng up and looking wildly around.

  “Condom—I don’t even have any in the damn house.” He cursed, fearing she would hate him, but she burst out laughing instead. “I’m not sure this is funny.”

  She took his hand and placed it against her lower back. His fingers felt something too smooth to be skin and the edges of a square. “Sticker. We’re covered.”

  “Sticker? For what?”

  “Birth control. Quite handy.”

  He sagged in relief as she continued chuckling, the sound vibrating through his body.

  “Did I wear you out for the rest of the day?” she asked, her fingertips barely touching his chest.

  Catching her hand, he kissed each one. “No, why?”

  “Well, we only have until this afternoon to enjoy our time alone…” She trailed off as she rolled her hips. He was still inside her and already growing hard again. Whatever she did to him, he never wanted it to stop.

  He managed to roll them over so she was splayed out on her back and drew out of her at the same time. She gasped, whining at the loss of him, but he had something else in mind.

  Remy’s body was still reeling from the first orgasm, and after a quick jaunt to the restroom, she was back in bed. She was not going to waste a second of their time alone in the house. She lifted her head to see what Stan was doing when his tongue licked along the length of her swollen lips, spreading her easily, and sucked hard at her clit.

  Her back arched off the bed as she gasped at the sharp pleasure shooting through her body. He did it again, licking and sucking hard, plundering her depths with his mouth until she couldn’t even see straight. With each glide of his tongue, her legs fell open wider until she was spread-eagled. His hands massaged her inner thighs, caressing her tender skin as his tongue continued to drive into her body. Sex with Stan was more intense than she ever dreamt it could be, but what he did with his mouth was beyond pleasure. She might be an artist with paints, but he pulled moan after moan from her lips like a grand master of the art of lovemaking. His mouth drew away, and she whimpered at the loss, only to have his fingers replace it. They curved inside her, searching for that one spot, twisting and turning until they found it.