Good Boyfriend: A Love Story (The Bad Nanny Trilogy Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  “Zayden,” Brooke whispers, still sitting up. As I watch her, she traces her fingers down the front of her pj top and starts to pop open the buttons.

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “I'm really excited to be here with you.”

  I can't hold back a genuine smile. Aww, did you hear that? She's seriously goddamn adorable, this girl. I can't remember the last time a girl ever said anything quite so nice to me. Usually it's shit like I like your tats or nice place. That's about as friendly as they ever get—even my own girlfriends.

  Serious fucking change of pace, this chick.

  “Well, hell, I'm excited, too. This is like a sleepover or some shit, isn't it?” I pause as Brooke slides her pilling pajama top down her shoulders. The reveal is almost enough to make me blow my load in my boxers. Speaking of … why the hell am I still wearing these? “Only, uh, I never went to a sleepover where I got nude,” I purr, pushing the fabric down my hips and tossing it over the side of the bed.

  Brooke pauses for a second, clutching her top in front of her breasts, hiding her nipples from me.

  “I did once,” she admits, and even in the dark I can see her smiling.

  “No,” I whisper, scooting closer and lying on my side, propped up on an elbow. “You naughty little shit. Tell me about it.”

  “I was sixteen,” she says, fingers playing with the buttons on her nearly discarded top, “and my girlfriends and I were playing truth or dare …”

  “Oh, yes, I can totally see where this is going. Please tell me there's some girl-on-girl kissing in this story?”

  “You're such a dick,” she says with a huffed laugh. Brooke reaches up and shoves her crazy long hair over one shoulder, letting it slither and slide in a chocolate wave down her back. “No, there's no kissing in this story. They dared me to run naked across the lawn of the Carson Mansion.” Brooke chuckles at the memory, a bit of starlight leaking in the window and playing with the curve of her cheekbone. The effect only turns my platinum cock into uh, chromium or some shit. That's a harder metal, right? Hell, I just got tired of saying stone and steel and diamond, but if the words fit … “Anyway, they drove me over there, I got naked, and then I ran across the lawn until a security guard came outside and flashed his light in my direction.”

  Brooke shrugs like it's no big thing, but I can see she's proud of her little youthful indiscretion. The mansion she's talking about is this super famous Victorian house from a million years ago, propped up near the water in all its grandeur. It's a big (when I say big, I mean big-for-Eureka-which-isn't-big-at-all) tourist attraction in this area. I haven't seen it in years. I get the sudden urge to take Brooke and the girls over there and make a date of it.

  “I barely made it back to the car before he caught up to me,” she says with another giggle, prompting me to grab her and yank her over to my side of the bed. Brooke gasps, but she doesn't fight me, going pliant and melting in my arms.

  “I want to hear all your stories,” I tell her, and I'm being serious. I want to know everything, every stupid teenage prank she ever pulled, every boy she ever kissed, every dream she's ever had. All of it. I want every single memory until I know Brooke Overland as well as she knows herself. “And I also get the strangest urges to piss on you and mark my territory. I know that's super not cool and totally gross and animalistic, but there it is.”

  “You're sick,” she tells me, but she makes no move to squirm—as Jude would put it—out of my arms.

  “You can pee on me, too, if you want. This isn't a sexist thing, you know? You can mark me as yours.”

  “Nobody is going to be peeing on anybody,” she says as I run a palm up her side, marveling at the soft, silken touch of her skin. That's one of the reasons I like girls so damn much—there's no shortage of things to be awed by. Pink mouths, velvety skin, long lashes, hair like satin, and molten hot cores. Plus, they usually smell effing delicious.

  “Not a golden shower fan, huh? Lucky you—that wasn't on my list of required classes.”

  “You're such a nerd,” Brooke whispers as I lean over her, an elbow on either side of rib cage. My mouth swoops low enough to brush against her lips, but not close enough for her to actually kiss me.

  “Says the girl studying to be a biostatistician,” I whisper back, wondering what it'd be like to be with someone with such a crazy important job, someone who analyzes data about dangerous diseases for the CDC or something. And here I am, just a simple body piercer and part-time nanny. Guess I could be a househusband or stay-at-home dad, right? I mean, I did it for six kids, four dogs, and one hairless cat (the majority of which weren't even mine) and I did okay, didn't I? “Plus, you have super dorky glasses, and I at least look fucking swag as hell.”

  I tease Brooke's mouth with mine again, and she makes a small sound of protest, curling her fingers in my hair and trying to force my face closer to hers.

  “If you're going to insult me, at least kiss me, too,” she moans as I breathe against her forehead, swirling her hair gently against her skin. Already, Brooke's starting to sweat. Looks like I've got her right where I want her.

  A wicked grin splits my lips, but I still refuse to give her the privilege of my mouth. Last night, that was all about a quick connection, a cleansing fuck. This right here … I'm going to make love to this woman.

  I kiss along the edge of Brooke's hairline, shivering at the feel of her nails sliding down my back. The sensation is torturous agony, but I fucking love it, encouraging her by making deep, low sounds in the back of my throat.

  “What class is this?” she breathes finally, after I make my way down the side of her face, her neck, across the smooth surface of her collarbone. “I feel like I deserve a syllabus.”

  My laughter is dark and velvety, ripe with sex. I'm all about it right now, about claiming this girl as my own—sans pee, of course. I can still be bestial and not be gross, can't I? And even though we're having what's pretty much the tamest type of sex in the world—in the dark, on a bed, in a relationship—I feel this awakening happening deep inside of me.

  I've never done this before.

  I've never actually made love to a woman. Because I've never been in love with a woman before. Pretty hard to commit the act without the feelings, isn't it? I've gotten close sure, taken my time, made it slow and warm and sensual. But it wasn't what this is going to be. Besides, none of those girls were really mine.

  This one … this one is.

  “Lovemaking 101,” I tell her, even though I'm not sure how qualified I am to teach this class. I'm an expert on oral sex, exhibitionism, finger fucking, vaginal penetration, anal, dildos, vibrators. Fuck, you name it, I've probably at least tried it before.

  “Is this another general ed course?” Brooke asks, making one of those little hiccupy sounds that I like so much. I rub my stubbled cheek across the smooth pale surface of her breast, over her nipple and then down. I don't start kissing her again until I reach her belly button. God, that's cute. I kind of want to pierce this, too.

  “Nope. This is a master level course, Miss Brooke. You and me, we're not just connecting bodies tonight, we're connecting souls.”

  “Oh my God,” she groans, slapping her palms over her face, but then my mouth is tracing across the slick, shaved surface between her belly button and her clit. Brooke's sounds of embarrassment quickly turn into little gasps of want, her body wiggling as I curl my fingers under the waistband of her hideous pants and tug them down just a little, a frustratingly small amount really. I kiss and lick along the curve of those stupid pj's, making Brooke writhe with pleasure. “If you're this embarrassing in private, what am I supposed to do with you in public?”

  “If you're still talking,” I begin, yanking the damn pants out of my way, “then I'm not doing my job.”

  My mouth makes contact with that super smooth space just above the clitoris, tongue slipping out and tracing a little heart shape on Brooke's skin. She might not know what I'm drawing down there, but that's okay. I know, baby. I know.
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  I take my sweet time, easing the pants down along with my kisses, making my way to the end of one foot, and then right back up the other leg. The stupid yellow and blue fabric gets tossed on the floor, finally leaving her naked and gorgeous in the dusty starlight.

  Tonight, I'm going to ease us together, be a good boyfriend and take special care of my lady.

  Next, I'm dragging this girl into a sex shop and buying us some goodies to play with.

  Soft and hard, that'll be my teaching style this week. By the time we leave on Friday for Vegas (thank you HSU staff meeting for freeing up my new girlfriend's schedule), Brookie here will a consummate sex-pert. Yes, yes, that's a sex expert, but sex-pert totally sounds cooler.

  I slide back up her body, taking a handful of that gorgeous hair and letting it slide like water through my fingers. As she watches me in the dark, I use strands of it and trail it over her own nipples, making them pucker and harden with pleasure, teasing a line down her tummy and loving the way her stomach muscles contract against the sensation.

  Since we've both finally stopped talking (Brooke and I have a tendency to chat during sex which is awesome), I know things are getting serious. My own body is in blissful agony right now, pressed up tight to Brooke's curvy, naked form. No more shows, boys, I think as I curl my lip at the memory of Brooke onstage at the strip club. I mean, she was fabulous but the hordes of eyes on her … those I didn't like so much.

  I grind my erection against her hip with a hard thrust, watching her eyes fly wide, her lips part.

  When I finally drop my mouth to hers for a kiss, Brooke grabs at me like she's drowning, like my breath is the only source of oxygen in the room.

  Fuuuuuuck.

  That turns me on so bad.

  My hips continue to move against her side, skin sliding against skin. And that's yet another class we should work on—birth control. I want Brooke bare and hot and slick around me. It's tempting right now to ask if her if she wants to take the risk … but no. No, I wouldn't do that to her. I might want to mark and claim and act like a wild beast , but I'm not heartless. I won't ruin my girl's chance of getting her master's degree.

  Our mouths slant together, furious and frenetic, like an ember catching in dry brush, exploding into roaring fire. I can practically hear the lick of flames, crackling all around us, heating my need up into an unbearable ache.

  My right hand spills across Brooke's breast, the contrast between my inked skin and her bare flesh stark even in the shadows of the bedroom. My thumb slides slowly across the peaks of her nipple, making her arch her hips and bite her lower lip.

  “You're a real looker, babe,” I whisper with a small chuckle, nuzzling against the side of her throat, listening to the sound of her rapid breathing and thundering pulse like it's classical music. It soothes me, that wicked whimper that spills from her lips, that groan that grips her throat and makes her sound husky and wild. “So goddamn beautiful.”

  I roll over, putting my body between the smooth white lengths of her thighs. Brooke is more than ready for me, spreading her knees wide and relaxing into the clean, fresh sheets of the bed with a sigh. I'm such a smart cookie that I remembered to slip a few condoms under the edge of the mattress for easy grabbing. Reaching over now, I pull one out and stretch it over the aching thickness of my shaft.

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

  Here goes nothing.

  I lean down and take hold of her hands, like I did in the backseat last night just … with substantially more room.

  Brooke and I kiss again, slow and lazy and easy, like we've got all the time in the world. If the fates are at all kind, then we really do, right? Like decades of this. Looking at Brooke Overland now, sweaty and aroused and warm beneath me, I'm not sure that even that'll be long enough.

  I cradle my hips in hers, teasing the plush pinkness of her folds with the head of my cock, pressing her hands into the mattress, melding our mouths.

  Just before I enter her, I break our kiss apart.

  “I love you, Brooke Overland,” I say, and then I move forward slowly, so slowly that I feel like my head's going to explode. Oh, that was dirty, wasn't it? I meant my face-head, but if you want to play the double entendre game …

  My heartbeat roars like a lion, rampaging inside my chest as I struggle to hold back, to enter her with a tender sort of precision. I want Brooke to feel everything that I'm feeling right now. Ever-fucking-thing.

  “Zayden,” she gasps, unable to hold onto the silence, clutching at me, grabbing me. I let her pull me down, press our mouths back together. And then I make love to Brooke Overland in a sweet symphony, murmuring affectionate nonsense against her mouth whenever she takes a break for breath.

  As much as my body screams at me to hurry, to fuck, to come with my shaft buried inside of her, I push it all back. I make myself work a very steady, very slow rhythm, using my pelvis to grind her clit with each thrust. Brooke's desire is warm and liquid between her thighs; I can feel it all over me, even with the condom. It's everywhere the latex isn't, making my breath catch, my hands curl into fists around her fingers.

  When I see the slightest glimmer of tears at the edges of her eyes, I know I've got this. I've got this. I've fucking got her.

  “All my love, baby,” I whisper against her ear, just before her body goes completely limp beneath me, everything but the muscles between her thighs relaxing and turning liquid. It's like all her strength is channeled into that one spot, squeezing me so tight that I lose all the breath in my lungs.

  Brooke cries out, nails slicking along my arms as her own go limp and fall against the bed with a shuddering sob of relief, those crystalline tears snaking down her cheeks in two glittering lines. The light from outside turns them a soft golden color, like stardust.

  I take a moment to kiss each one away, and then move my own body to climax.

  I don't even recognize the sound that makes its way out of my throat, this simple, warm, deeply satisfied groan that I know for a fucking fact I've never made before. Just for Brooke. That one's just for her.

  If there's like, a dab of wetness at the edge of one of my eyes, who the hell has to know about it?

  I roll away from Brooke, but she only gives me a split second to get rid of the condom before she's reaching over my shoulder and rubbing her thumb along the edge of my eye.

  “I knew it,” she whispers as I lick my lower lip and close my eyes for a moment. That little shit … “I fucking knew it. You were crying, too.”

  “I was not,” I say, opening my eyes and trying to look all manly and shit over my shoulder. “I'm a serious badass, okay? I don't cry during sex. I'm macho and tough and totally masculine.”

  “Looks like I wasn't the only one that got schooled in the art of lovemaking tonight,” she whispers haughtily as I roll over and grab her, pulling that warm, sweaty body into my arms for a kiss.

  Her mouth … it tastes like a smile.

  That's when I know for fucking sure that I've just done my job.

  Even if I totally didn't cry at all.

  Even if I'm lying just a little bit.

  Zayden and I sleep in until early afternoon sunshine streaks through the curtains and falls across the bed in buttery shafts of color, making me stir and stretch like a cat. A few hours ago, I heard him get up and head downstairs. When he came back, he smelled like a little like peanut butter, but I was too tired to register what was really going on.

  “Did you get up this morning to make the girls sandwiches?” I mumble, rubbing sleep from my eyes and wondering if I should snuggle up against Zayden's muscular back. I mean, we've been snuggling for weeks now, but … it feels different all of a sudden. I feel stupidly shy.

  “Yup, yup,” he says, his voice gravelly with fatigue. He's smiling when he turns over and blinks a pale green gaze up at me. The color reminds me of fresh sage leaves or oregano or something, herbal and soft and easy on the eyes. “More of my specialty PB&Js. I was too tired to manage much else; I couldn't even find the
cereal in the cabinet.”

  My mouth splits into a stupid smile. Nothing's changed from the way Zay's acted for the last few weeks. He took care of the kids, slept in bed with me, fucked me. But somehow … I don't know. Ugh. I'm starting to wonder if I've ever really been in love before. Anthony and I didn't often spend the night in the same place—you know, the whole chastity thing—but I never really missed him either. It wasn't like I was excited to see him go home at night, but I didn't feel this sick, all-consuming need in my belly either.

  “If you want to get up,” he says with a sly smile, “I'll make you one, too. You are my princess, after all. I've got you a palace—in the form of a nine hundred square foot duplex—and now I owe you a feast. Whole milk, sandwiches, and half a banana sound luxurious enough for you?”

  “It sounds like heaven,” I say, wishing I could stay in bed with him all day, take a few more of his, um, classes. Even if I'm not learning anything new, I'd like to repeat the courses. Like, several times over.

  We share a long, lingering, knowing sort of look. If there were no kids in the house … it says. But there are, and I can hear a fight starting over who the coolest Disney princess is. The three year old says it's Tiana, but the seven year old is fighting for Elsa. Personally, I'm on Belle's team.

  “Merida,” Zay grumbles as he throws his feet over the edge of the bed and roots around for some pants. “From Brave.”

  “Belle,” I tell him, putting on the same pajamas I wore last night. I could've gone with some of the sexy lingerie I was using for work, but … no. I just wanted to feel normal, relaxed. And I did. And that sex was … I don't know if I could've had an orgasm like that if I'd been trying too hard. Instead, I just let myself go and it turned out for the best.

  Like letting that job go … I feel like a huge weight's been lifted off my shoulders. I was doing what I had to, clinging to it because that's what needed to be done, but now that it's over, I feel so much better.

  “I should probably start looking for a new job today,” I say as we head downstairs together and pause to say good morning to the girls. Oh, and settle the argument. We all decide that Rapunzel is actually pretty cool and let her be the winner … for now. When it comes to Disney princesses, the debate is never truly settled. “What about you? Are you going to try for a piercing position?”