by Sierra Hill
I feel so out of my depth when she’s around. Like a stranger in my own home. As if I’m tiptoeing around the complexities and unfamiliarities of a new relationship.
Which is crazy, since she’s not my girlfriend or even my lover. She’s my nanny.
It’s rare for me to feel uncomfortable around a woman. I’m not saying I was a ladies man in my prior life, but I could certainly hold my own in a conversation with a beautiful woman. I knew how to put the moves on when the moment called for it. Or flirt with the opposite sex, charming the pants off a girl.
But Brooklyn is a rare and different breed altogether. Aside from her beauty, she’s not only sweet and strong but sophisticated and scholastically brilliant, as well. That much is already apparent by the way she speaks and talks about her childhood development educational experience.
Honestly, that first night when she asked me about a dog for Caleb, I knew she meant well and provided some very relevant facts about it, which I can’t deny, but there’s no way I’m ready and able to get a dog. Not now and maybe not ever.
It wasn’t just my wife that I lost the night of the car accident, but also my chocolate lab, Ollie. I’d had him since he was a puppy and he went everywhere with Caleb and Becca. He’d sleep at the end of Caleb’s bed when he first came to live with us after we were granted sole custody. He was the best dog in the world, and I still had residual sadness over losing both my loves that night.
Yet, I acted like an ass toward Brooklyn, and instead of explaining my reservations, I just shut down, ending the conversation with my tone and grumpiness.
She didn’t deserve it. Brooklyn is amazing and I’ve already seen changes in Caleb that I hadn’t noticed before.
And then there’s also the part of her being stunningly sexy. I about bit my tongue as I stood behind the corner the other night watching like a fucking creeper as she leaned over the bathtub to wash Caleb’s back. The smooth cheeks of her ass peeked out from under her denim shorts, taunting me like a devil with a promise.
Because at that moment, I promised to give my soul for a chance to touch that ass with my bare hands someday.
And now I’m plagued with those unruly thoughts as I shift in bed uncomfortably, throwing the sheet off my legs, my erection tenting my briefs. Maybe I just need to go out on a date and get laid like my friend, Lucas Mathiasson, suggested the last time we hung out. He’s actually the reason I moved down to Phoenix and accepted the job as Associate Head Coach at ASU. We attended college together in Indiana and after graduation, when I went onto the NBA, he came down here to grad school, then got his Ph.D. and is now a professor of art history. He also happens to be Caleb’s godfather, since my brother had already been dead for a few years before Caleb was born.
The last time I was with Lucas, I was this close to going home with a woman and probably could’ve fucked her against the wall in the bathroom if we’d had time. But instead, I got a call from my babysitting service indicating that Caleb was running a fever. That was two months ago.
Being a single father sure can complicate a guy’s sex life.
Needless to say, I’m feeling all kinds of horny and in need of release as my hand slides down my stomach and under the stretch of the waistband, finding my aching, neglected cock. I wrap my fingers around my shaft and stroke it hard from root to tip.
Perhaps I should feel guilty over the impure, lustful thoughts I’ve been having about Brooklyn, but right now, I just need relief and I don’t care how I get it. I’ll worry about reality and the psychological implications of me jerking off to images of Brooklyn’s naked ass later.
My imagination takes off as I continue to stroke myself, conjuring up sexual fantasies about Brooklyn knocking quietly on my door.
She pads in on her bare feet and slowly undresses in front of me, as I lay outstretched and naked on my bed.
“I know you want this,” she’d murmur, climbing on top to straddle me, her firm breasts falling over my face just in reach of my mouth. Her hands would wander over my shoulders, down my contoured torso and underneath the sheet where she’d trace the V at my pelvis, as I’d arch into her aching for her touch.
“Yes, I want you, Brooklyn. I want you to ride me hard so I can see your tits bounce. And when you come, you’ll say my name like a prayer.”
Her body would feel so warm, so welcoming as my cock slides through her wet heat, impaling her in the perfect spot that makes her back arch, thrusting forward with a moan of pleasure. My mouth would suckle the hardened peak of her nipple, dusty rose and ripe, her moan of satisfaction eliciting an animal-like growl from deep within my chest.
My cock strains, pulsing in my hand that begins to move with more fervor, with less precision and more friction, as I feel my balls draw and tighten up. Hot semen pours over my clenched fist as I imagine shooting my load inside her tight heat.
It’s then, as the ringing in my ears quiets down and I lay listless against my pillow, that I hear a creak outside my bedroom door.
Surging from the bed and to my feet, my instincts kick in and I grab my shorts from the floor, tucking my still semi-hard dick in my shorts and fly to the door, ready to protect my home from an unknown invader.
My mind races, the adrenaline thumping in my ears, as a hundred different scenarios rush through my head, most prominently an intruder situation. I grip the door handle and swing it wide only to find a very alarmed and stunned Brooklyn standing outside my bedroom door.
Sheer panic threads across her face, her wide-eyed stare immediately causing me guilt.
“Brooklyn, what are you doing up? Is everything okay? Is Caleb okay?” My voice is raspy and a bit harsher than I mean to sound, but goddamn, she can’t be sneaking around in my house at one a.m. in the morning.
And by the way, I just orgasmed thinking about you coming into my bedroom and stripping. Not feeling guilty over that at all.
“Yes, I’m so sorry,” she mutters, instinctively wrapping an arm around her middle. The other hand holding a cup of water. “I was just in the kitchen to get some water and I thought I heard something and thought it might be Caleb.”
My gaze flicks down the hallway to his halfway open doorway and then back to Brooklyn, who I now see is wearing pajama shorts and a cropped cotton tank. I inwardly cringe, knowing now that I won’t ever be able to expunge this from my memory.
“He’s fine. I’m fine. Jesus, you scared me. Go back to bed.”
She nods, biting the edge of her lower lip, and turns slowly to walk back down the hall into her bedroom. Hesitantly she peers over her shoulder and I see the flash of something in her eyes before she disappears out of sight.
And then it dawns on me that perhaps I wasn’t as quiet as I’d thought, and maybe she heard me jacking off and may have even overheard my climax.
Shit, I’ll have to be mindful of that possibility in the future.
8
Brooklyn
I try to keep my embarrassment in check this morning as I finish making breakfast for Garrett and Caleb. Not a lot embarrasses me these days, but I can’t help but feel my cheeks flush the minute Garrett walked into the kitchen.
Damn if the memory of what I heard last night coming behind Garrett’s door doesn’t get me hot, the evidence of that effect leaving a wet spot between my legs and a blushed speckled red over my cheeks.
There is no doubt in my mind that what I overheard was Garrett getting himself off as I tiptoed as quietly as I could as I passed by his doorway into the kitchen. The low vibration of his moans, and the slap of skin from the other side of the doorway had me skittering to a stop in the middle of the darkened hallway, my search for water now secondary to the interest in listening to his sexy sounds.
But on my return trip, glass in hand, I couldn’t help myself. It sounded so damn hot, I put my ear to his door and listened like a guilty-pervy interloper as he orgasmed, unseen on the other side of the wall. My body heated and reacted, requiring that I hold a hand over my mouth and clench my thighs together to
stop the ache building between my legs.
It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d heard sex noises from someone other than me and my partner. Living in a college dorm and with roommates for years, you get used to the creaking of beds, the husky moans of couples getting it on and the heavy pants and screams of climaxes.
But stumbling upon my new hot boss having an intimate solo session with himself? It’s enough to make me blush like a virgin bride on her wedding night as Garrett sits down at the table, freshly showered, hair still damp and slicked off his forehead, the smell of his aftershave clinging in the air.
“Good morning,” I greet, staring into the frypan as I finish cooking the scrambled eggs and bacon. “I wasn’t sure if you were a breakfast eater or not, so if not, don’t feel obligated to eat it. But I know you have a long day ahead of you.”
Before we went to bed last night, Garrett mentioned that this week’s training schedule would be long and nothing short of grueling, informing me ahead of time that he’d likely not be home each night before Caleb went to bed. Ensuring me that if I had any problems, I shouldn’t hesitate to call him. What we didn’t talk about, though, was his breakfast needs and whether he expected that I was to only make it for Caleb or for him, as well.
“Oh, thanks. It smells great, but you don’t need to worry about me. But since you went to the trouble, I’ll stick around for a few extra minutes.”
“Good morning, buddy. Give me some skin, little man.”
Peering over my shoulder, I see Garrett bend down, planting a gentle kiss across Caleb’s forehead and then hold his palm out to give his son a high-five. Grinning like a lunatic down at the eggs, I hear Caleb making his happy noises of contentment, trying so hard to express himself in a way his father will understand and be proud of.
It breaks my heart that Caleb can’t communicate with us using speech. Which reminds me that I want to talk with his speech therapist later this week to see what tools he’s been using with Caleb so I can continue working with him outside of his appointments. I’ve been doing some reading at night before bed on traumatic brain injuries in young children, and with Caleb’s abilities, I think he can really make some progress in this area, given the right tools, and lots of time, practice and patience.
“Looks like Caleb had a good night’s sleep. And how about you? Did you get what you needed last night?”
I nearly drop the pan I hold in my hand at his question. Holy shit. Did he know what I did after I shut my bedroom door? After he’d gotten me so worked up, I had to take care of myself with my own fingers?
I turn at the sound of his voice and realize he’s suddenly appeared at my side at the counter, opening a cupboard above his head to pull down some plates.
Just the close proximity of this man sends tingles dancing up and down my spine. Like there’s this electric force field that activates anytime he’s within a few feet of me, turning me stupid. It’s so difficult not to find this man attractive, and to keep my feelings in check where he’s concerned. It doesn’t seem to even matter to me anymore that he’s my boss and that I shouldn’t be crushing over him like this. It goes up in flames like I did last night.
Did I get what I needed, he asked. Well, I guess technically you could say, yes. It took me mere seconds to bring myself to climax, no BOB required.
My hands shake and the words come out in a husky whisper. “Um, get what I needed?”
Garrett tilts his head, staring at me as if I’ve grown two heads, his eyes lingering on my face for a beat.
“Yes, when you came down to the kitchen last night. Did you get what you needed?”
“Yes. I did. And I have to say, that mattress is like heaven. Sure, beats the lumpy twin I have in my apartment.”
I feel it before I even see the change, but his entire demeanor tenses up. Dishing up the food, my eyes wander to his face, taking in the tightness of his jaw and his lips pursed tightly. I fight my intuition and snatch my hand back before reaching out to touch his shoulder, remembering to keep my hands to myself. Whatever I just said has turned his bright mood, sour. It was obviously the wrong thing.
“Everything okay, Garrett?”
He shakes his head as I hand him a plate full of food.
“Yeah, it’s stupid really. It’s just that the guestroom bed used to be mine and Becca’s. I should’ve gotten rid of it when I moved down here but I couldn’t because you’re right, it’s a great bed. Becca said the same thing about it the first night we slept on it.”
His laugh is forced and humorless.
Well, fuck a duck.
I’m sleeping in his old marriage bed. One he slept in with his dead wife. No wonder he doesn’t want to sleep on it anymore.
Just when I thought this morning couldn’t get any more awkward than it already is, I’ve gone and inadvertently stuck my foot in my mouth. Again. Why do I seem to continue to do that?
Hoping to change the subject off of anything having to do with his previous life, I sit down with my own breakfast and ask about his summer camp.
“How’s your summer team looking, Coach?” I give him a playfully crooked smile, which he returns with a grin.
“They’re looking good. I have hopes that we’ll see some All-Stars come out of it.” Shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth, he moans around the utensil. “Jesus, these are so good. How can eggs taste this good?”
I wink. “A good cook never divulges her secrets.”
Garrett glances over at Caleb who babbles loudly. “Did you hear that, buddy? Brooklyn has a secret and she’s not sharing. You remember what we do to extract secrets out of people, don’t you buddy?”
Caleb laughs and giggles, his smile contagious and filled with innocent excitement.
Garrett quirks an eyebrow at me and then turns on Caleb, throwing his arms up and growling like a monster before tickling Caleb’s ribs and underneath his chin, all while he laughs maniacally.
“We use the tickle monster to get those secrets out of you, don’t we?”
I begin to laugh as they play and roughhouse, until Caleb’s little voice breaks up the laughter.
“Bababababa!”
And before I even know what’s happened, Garrett turns toward me and with the speed of a Ninja, starts tickling my side. Throwing back my head in laughter, I wiggle in my chair, until I can’t take it anymore and I jump up on my feet, making a run for it and hiding behind Caleb’s chair.
“Caleb,” I shriek. “Help me. The Tickle Monster is going to get me!”
Caleb seems to love this game and is screaming in delight at the top of his lungs, spurring Garrett into action.
“We have to tickle it out of her, Caleb!”
And then he’s chasing after me, as I run around the table and the sounds of our laughter fill the spacious kitchen, once filled with two lonely boys.
We’re huffing and out of breath when Garrett finally grabs hold of me in his huge wingspan and swings me off my feet, his arm firmly planted around my stomach. It’s only as our laughter dies down and we catch our breath that we simultaneously realize what a compromising position we’re in.
The thick warmth of his arms and his solid chest against my back feels impossibly good. While his impressive height has the top of my head barely touching the bottom of his chin, his breath leaves warm paths of air at the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. The scent of his minty breath and his spicy aftershave has my body coming alive, hot with want.
There’s a moment Garrett’s hesitation makes me wonder what he’s thinking. Does it feel good to him, too? Or is this just a game to make Caleb laugh and it means nothing to him?
My thoughts shake free the minute Garrett tenses, the ripples of his muscles flexing and then going lax as he drops me to my feet, taking a gigantic step away.
He mumbles an apology, his voice cool and crisp like his aftershave. “Sorry. But I need to get going. Thanks for breakfast.”
Garrett picks up his plate of mostly uneaten food and sets it in the
sink before placing a gentle, lingering kiss on his son’s head.
“Bye, buddy. I’ll see you later tonight. Be good for Brooklyn today, do as she says and we’ll see about going to the park later tonight. Okay?”
Caleb’s face lights up and he bangs his tiny four-year-old fist on his table. “Yaaaaaaayaaaaayaaaa.”
Garrett’s smile vanishes as he peers at me just outside the kitchen.
“I’ll see you later. Call if you need anything.”
And then he leaves me standing in the kitchen wondering how the hell I’m going to deal with his awfully erratic mood swings.
Just when I think we’re making progress, he closes down again, shutting down like a power outage.
9
Garrett
The hallways of campus are fairly deserted during the summer months, although the summer session is in full swing.
Knowing Lucas will likely be in his office this time of the morning, I make the trek from the athletic center over to the art history building and head to the second floor. Making a sharp right at the top of the stairway, I locate the hallway running down into the faculty office corridor and get to the office marked Art History Department. Finding Lucas’s door slightly ajar, the name placard stating The Doctor is In, I laugh and give a quick rap with my knuckles.
“Enter,” he says, his voice low and sounding distracted.
“Well good morning to you, too.”
I find him with his nose buried in a book, an open MacBook on the side, and a pencil in his mouth. So typical of Lucas.
His head pops up in surprise and the pencil falls from his mouth.
“Garrett. What the hell are you doing here?” He bellows out his surprise, standing from the chair and moving around the desk to give me a slap on the back, bro hug. “You didn’t call. Is everything okay?”
Lucas gives me that look of concern I’ve seen on many occasions in the past ten years. He’s been with me during the best of times and also during the worst, where I wasn’t sure how I’d go on. When we lost the NCAA championship our senior year. When I met, dated and then broke things off with Becca. When my brother died. And then everything that happened after Caleb’s birth and Becca’s death.