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

by C. M. Stunich

  “You are so fucking boss at this,” he says with a quiet chuckle, following along behind me toward the pool area. Even from here I can smell the chlorine. “And to think you were all nervous and shit.”

  “I never said I was nervous,” I whisper back, using the key to unlock the double doors at the end of the hall. “I just said it was closed and locked—not that I couldn't get in.”

  “Well, well, well, look at you. My new girlfriend's a cat burglar. And here I was, thinking that my little Smarty-Pants was all innocent and shit.”

  “Where did you get a stupid idea like that?” I fire back, opening the door on the right and feeling warm mist brush against my face. The chemical smell is even stronger in here, the faint whir of the hot tub in the corner keeping the space from being too quiet. Despite what I said to Zayden, inside I am nervous. I'm the good kid, the one who gets good grades, follows all the rules, keeps her nose clean. Other than that one streaking incident, I've got a pretty clean record. Well, no actual record, but you know what I mean.

  I'm still exploring the pool deck when I notice that Zayden's already kicked off his boots and peeled his shirt over his head. His emoji tattoo looks like it's smiling right at me as he moves, unbuttoning his pants and getting rid of those, too.

  “C'mere, Brooke,” he says, motioning me over and then grabbing me by the front of my dress, tugging me in close for a kiss. That blackberry-cinnamon smell of his is just strong enough to cut through the bright stink of chlorine, curling my toes against the white and orange surface of my flip-flops. As he kisses me, Zayden reaches behind my back and surreptitiously pulls my zipper down its track, his fingers teasing a line of wild electricity down my spine.

  I feel like I've been struck by lightning.

  The red and black fabric falls to the ground around my feet.

  I look up at Zayden as he undoes the clasp on my bra, pulling the lacy fabric away from my breasts and then tucking as much as he can into his pocket.

  “For a quick getaway,” he whispers, stepping back so he can watch me slide my panties over my hips. By some miracle, I managed to find a pair that matched the bra. Without waiting for Zayden, I reach forward and stick those in his pocket, too.

  His eyes shimmer with mischief as he drops his jeans and, unsurprisingly, reveals that he's not wearing any underwear at all.

  I take a few steps and turn away from him, feeling a nervous throbbing in my chest as I descend the steps into the pool, the heated water lapping against my bare calves, thighs, ass. I can feel him right behind me, making even less sound than I am it seems.

  I'm just about to launch myself into the water when he grabs me around the waist, and I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a small scream.

  “Race me?” he asks, tracing his palm down my belly and cupping my sex for a moment. I get a quick tease, just enough to make me want more, make my skin feel like it's too tight for my muscles, and then he's pulling away, swimming across the still glossy surface of the pool with effortless strokes.

  I follow after Zayden, but I can't quite catch up.

  He meets me on the way back, using the water to enhance that easy, relaxed way of his, floating around me, somehow managing to lounge even though he's swimming. Moisture slides over the firm hard muscles in his chest and belly, amplifying the color in his tattoos, drawing my attention to the piercings in his nipples.

  The jerk somehow manages to notice the exact second I start to drop my gaze lower, trying to catch a glimpse of his cock. It's not as clear as I'd like it to be, hidden underneath the water. There're a few tattoos down there, mixed in with the piercings. I haven't gotten a chance to really look at them yet since, you know, it's usually inside of me. But I'd like to take a closer look.

  “Perv,” he scolds, reaching down to cup his junk with his hand. Zayden splashes water at me, and I return the favor, doing my best not to squeal when he lunges at me, chasing me around the edges of the pool.

  I let him catch me near the shallows, his body pinning mine to the wall near the steps.

  “Seems I like you both ways, Brooke,” he whispers, “naughty and nice.”

  “Wow, what a line,” I say, but it's working on me anyway. Our mouths meet and my body thrills at the wild heat of his body mixed with the warm waters of the pool. I even like it when Zayden lifts me up and sits me on the edge, the rough feel of the cement scraping against my naked ass. Standing between my legs like that, I can almost imagine what it'd be like to feel him bare inside of me … It's tempting, when he kisses my neck, teases my folds with his fingers.

  Zayden's right hand tangles in my wet hair, pulling me closer, encouraging me to lean into him, wrap my legs around his muscular form. For a split second there, I think we're going to do it, just leap in headfirst.

  But he stops us with a small curse and a palm between my thighs, almost like he thinks he needs to physically block himself or he'll just do it, thrust into me and take a risk.

  “No flipping way, Miss Brooke,” he growls, “no goddamn way.”

  I jerk back, scooting across the cement like I've been burned.

  How stupid. What the hell was I thinking? I'm smarter than that. The last thing I need is to get pregnant.

  Zayden watches me stand up and move over to the pile of clothes on the floor, grabbing the crumpled black and red folds of my dress.

  “Come back and swim with me for a little bit,” he begs, curling the stained brightness of his hands around the cement lip of the pool and letting the rest of his body float in the water, legs kicking slowly behind him. “I promise to be good. Scout's honor.”

  “You were never in the Scouts,” I say, holding the dress tentatively in front of me. See what he does to me? He makes me crazy. He takes away all my capacity for rational thought and sends it straight out the window with his stupid bad boy looks and his goofy attitude and his nanny-ness.

  “And I won't be in you either if you come back,” he jokes, and I can't help myself—I smile. “Unless, you know, you want to grab a condom from my pants pocket and bring it over here.”

  “I thought you said you wanted to swim?” I ask, dropping my dress back to the cement and giving in without much of a fight. But that, that was close. I think if Zayden and I are going to be dating, we should probably figure out the whole, you know, birth control thing.

  I climb back into the water and let Zayden grab hold of my hands, pulling me out into the center of the pool until I feel weightless.

  I just can't decide if that's the water that's making me feel that way … or him.

  Brooke and I head back to her parent's place after the pool and make love on their hideous floral patterned sofa. Okay, so maybe we just have sex. There are no tears shed on either side of that equation (not that, you know, I shed any tears the other night either).

  In the morning, I wake happy and sated with her in my arms, my skin itchy with chlorine. A quick glance at my phone tells me we have plenty of time before she has to go to class.

  “What time is it?” Brooke mumbles, and I flash her the screen. Her sigh of relief feathers across my nipple and makes my morning wood thicken painfully. “How nightmarish do you think it is over there, with Mercedes and Rob? Do you think they're handling the shuffle okay? From what I can tell, it was you that finally got Kinzie to stop acting like a brat.”

  I smile. Brooke has no idea what sort of compliment that is. Kinzie was a serious fucking handful. The only thing that seemed to work on her were those seven minute long sessions on the fuzzy pink toilet seat, the stopwatch on my phone counting down the seconds. Every time she spat at me, kicked me, or screamed like a goddamn banshee, I restarted the timer.

  But then, you know, my brother thinks she's got some sort of hyperactive bullshit that makes time-outs inconsequential to the kid. So not true.

  “Are we supposed to let them have sleepovers on school nights?” Brooke muses when I don't answer her right away. “I was never allowed to have them on school nights.”

  “Me neit
her,” I say, smiling as my brain conjures images of Rob and Mercedes trying to deal with the nightmarish hell of a school morning for so many kids. I wonder if adding in Brooke's two will really make all that much of a difference or if they're just sort of resigned to chaos at this point.

  “You know what one of the twins told me yesterday, before we left the duplex?” she mumbles, her mouth teasing my bare skin. I consider adjusting our position so each word doesn't move those soft lips right next to my nipple but, eh, I'm a glutton for punishment when it comes to this chuck.

  “What?”

  “Mike … or Ike … wait, how do you tell the difference?”

  “I don't; I just guess.”

  Brooke chuckles, and I bite my lower lip in an attempt to stay sane. The nipple piercings I'm wearing today have tiny silver hearts on either side of the barbell. I know, I fucking know, I'm a goddamn dork. I gotcha. Anyway, when she laughs, the metal feels like it's being heated up with her breath. It's fucking torture.

  “Well, one of them anyway came up to me and said he knows how grown-ups kiss.”

  “And how's that?” I ask as Brooke adjusts herself on top of me, our naked bodies pressed up close in all the best places. I've already gotten a condom clutched between the fingers of my left hand. Don't ask how it got there; I'm just tricksy like that.

  “He said, and I quote, you throw 'em against a wall and smoosh your faces.”

  A burst of laughter escapes me as I put my arms around Brooke and pull her close to me.

  “Is that a hint?” I ask and Brooke grins. “Do you want me to throw you against a wall and smoosh your face?”

  “I'd rather you turned me around and smooshed my ass,” she says, and then we both pause to laugh. But, you know, only for a second because even though that's dumb as hell, it's also kind of sexy.

  Brooke starts us off by finally—finally—putting that gorgeous mouth of hers against my nipple. She teases the barbell pierced through my flesh with her tongue, tracing a straight line from one metal heart to the other, drawing a rough sounding gasp from my throat.

  My fingers dig into her hair, holding her mouth there, keeping those scalding hot lips to my flesh as she works her way around my chest, alternating pressing kisses to my pecs and sucking on my nipples. After she's got me good and worked up, she starts blowing air against the hardened peaks, making my breath hiss out between my lips.

  Brooke really takes her time, savoring my body as she moves slowly down, drawing a line with her tongue in the valley between my abs, pausing to bite and tug at the ring through my belly button. As she goes, her breasts slide across my skin, her own nipples hard as diamond, teasing me as they drag across my pelvis and thighs.

  “There are clouds and stars and a moon down here,” she whispers reverently, making me laugh.

  “Yes there are fucking are,” I agree, my words descending into a low growl as she finally wraps those gorgeous lips of hers around the head of my cock. The blanket resting across Brooke's back—some hideous knitted nightmare that would look better as one of Hubert's sweaters than on a couch—slides off of her and onto the floor.

  It's like the great reveal at a show, like the band stepping onstage for the first time, or the opening of a fantastical play.

  I am seriously goddamn mesmerized, baby.

  “Oh fuck yes,” I groan, letting my head fall back into the nest of decorative pillows behind me, pressing Brooke's face to my crotch and feeling my lids get heavy when she takes more of me into her mouth. I have no idea what she's doing down there (and let's be honest, she probably doesn't either), but all I can feel is slick, scalding warmth immolating my shaft. But if this is how I burn, then I'm ready to fucking incinerate. “Suck me harder, Brookie. All the way in.”

  Brooke wraps a fist around the base of my shaft and squeezes me nice and good and hard, just like I taught her. I know I'm a stupid perv, but that turns me on, knowing that everything she's doing is something we worked on together. Her tongue is doing some sort of elaborate dance on the head of my dick that feels too damn good to question, taking advantage of the Prince Albert piercing like she's done this a million times before.

  “You're a fast fucking learner,” I say, but the words are lost in another moan, my hips rising up to meet her slick hot mouth.

  “Lucky you,” Brooke says, pausing for just a second to flick those gorgeous brown eyes up to me. We stare at each other for a second before her mouth curves into a confident little smile. “Double lucky you because I think I really like sucking cock.”

  “You did not just frigging say that,” I growl, biting my lower lip and pushing her back down onto my shaft, my hips continuing to thrust toward her face.

  It's only because I tilt my head to the side to avoid the scratchy surface of a decorative pillow covered in sequins that I see them, the two old people standing in the doorway staring at us.

  “Jesus fuck,” I snap, using Brooke's hair to pull her head up off my cock. Probably not the best move considering I'm pretty sure those are her parents standing there. Definitely does not look good for me.

  It takes Brooke a second to realize I'm staring at something and glance over her shoulder.

  I can tell the second she lays eyes on them by the way her naked body stiffens, the strangled sound she makes low in her throat.

  “Shit.”

  It's the only word she can get out, scrambling to put some space between us as I grab that sequined pillow like it's a fucking lifeline and hold it in front of my crotch.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Brooke's mumbling as her mother lets out some sort of wild wail and turns away, burying her face in her husband's blue and white checkered button-up. He just sort of stands there, frozen in shock, his eyes the same espresso color as his daughter's.

  “Oh, Jesus, Brooke,” he says, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around his wife.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she says, like she can only pick one word at a time or nothing at all will come out. As she scrambles to yank the red and black dress from last night over her head, I search around for my jeans. I'm still pulling them up my hips when her mother makes the mistake of turning around and sees my half-erect cock glistening in a stray shaft of sunshine.

  Eh. Sorry, Mom.

  She gasps and clutches at her chest like there should be pearls there to grab, blue eyes wide as I yank the pants up the rest of the way and button the fly.

  “I thought you guys weren't coming back until Saturday?” Brooke asks, clearing her throat and lifting her chin in that defiant way of hers. She lets her eyes slide over to me, meeting my gaze with an expression that's difficult to read. Me, I just stand there like an idiot because it's been years since I've had to deal with angry parents. Occasionally—and without my prior knowledge, I promise—I've ended up in a sticky situation with a woman who was otherwise attached. So, angry boyfriends and husbands I could handle. But not this. Right now, I'm stumped as a fallen tree, my friend.

  “Who the …” Ms. Overland says, gesturing vaguely in my direction as she swallows back a deep breath and closes her eyes for a moment, gathering her composure. “Who is this?”

  “This is …” Brooke keeps staring at me, like she's waiting for some sort of help.

  “Zayden Roth,” I say, taking a step forward and extending my hand. I realize that I'm still somehow clutching the sequined pillow and toss it back on the couch. Still, neither person moves to shake with me. Understandable, I guess, considering what they just walked in on. “I'm Brooke's boyfriend.”

  “Her boyfriend?” Mr. Overland asks, giving his wife a look. The situation stops being even remotely funny there for a second. I remember what Brooke said about him having early-onset Alzheimer's, and then I just sort of feel like a complete dick.

  “Brooke doesn't have a boyfriend, not since Anthony,” Mrs. Overland confirms, and her dad lets out a small sigh of relief. Then, of course, they're both looking at me like I'm some sort of predator or something, like their daughter's not a capable twen
ty-two year old adult.

  I'm going to try really hard to be nice here because things would probably work out better for all of us if we got along, but I'm sort of predisposed to not getting along with these folks. The way Brooke talks about them, the way they treat her compared to her sister, it's not fair. Especially not when Broke's put herself through so much shit to take care of their granddaughters.

  I decide to just keep my mouth shut and wait.

  “Zayden and I started dating a few weeks ago,” she says as her dad eyes something hanging from my pocket and I realize Brooke's lacy black panties are dangling there pretty goddamn conspicuously. I stuff the back in with a pair of inked fingers, but that doesn't do much to dispel the severely disturbed expressions on the people in front of us. “He's a nanny,” she states finally, firmly, her voice brooking no argument. “I hired him to help out with Bella and Grace and things just sort of … progressed from there.”

  “You left this man alone with the girls?” her mom says, voice thready and weak. I try not to take offense at that. Honestly, I don't much trust dudes either. That's one of the reasons I decided to help Brooke out in the first place.

  “Mom, Dad,” Brooke says, making herself take long, slow breaths. “Maybe Zayden and I should go and we'll come back later, so we can talk?”

  “No, no,” her mom says, lifting up a hand and pinching the bridge of her nose with manicured fingernails painted a glossy shade of lavender. Her hair is long, maybe half as long as her daughter's, and a silvery-blonde color that looks more natural on the bottom than it does on the top, like maybe she's had to start dying it over the years. Fine wrinkles pucker around her lips as she frowns. “Where are the girls?”

  “A friend's taking them to school,” Brooke says, and I can see on her face that she hates how bad this looks, like we've been lying around and having orgies for the past two weeks while some other random stranger watched that horde of demon children.