by Brill Harper
He works so hard. Provides for his nieces. Makes sure I’m a happy babysitter. But he’s so tense. So unhappy.
I want to give him something.
Something he wants. Something he needs. Something no man has ever had before.
Me.
Author’s Confession: Writing this series is like eating candy for dinner. I’m like...sorry not sorry. Conner is the book boyfriend you want in your life. I promise. And if you ever had a crush on the DILF while babysitting, this book is for you.
______
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Conner
I have to admit it; the living room looks bad. Toys strewn everywhere, blankets spread across the floor, and chair cushions in place of baby gates. I did everything in my power to stop the girls from tearing down the fucking walls, but my efforts were laid to waste by the twin tornados I call my nieces. Even now I have almost no idea where the toddlers are. I’m too busy cleaning the mess they left behind.
I don’t want the babysitter to see this when she gets here.
Fuck if that doesn’t sound stupid.
I just wanted to give her one night off. She’s twenty-years-old. She should be out with friends, dating, shopping. Hell, whatever twenty-year-olds do. It’s been too long for me to even remember.
But instead of having a carefree life, Cassidy is stuck here with me most nights. Taking care of tornado clean-up. Playing house to two babies who aren’t hers and a grumpy old fucker who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing unless it’s the eight hours he spends outside of this house doing his job.
I don’t know how I got so old in such a short amount of time. I’m thirty, but I feel like the best of my life has passed me by already. Maybe it will get better. Maybe when I’ve had more time with the grief of losing my sister and her husband. Maybe when the twins can use actual words to tell me what they want and what the fuck is wrong so I’m not just trying to guess all the time.
Until then, I need Cassidy. She’s an angel. The girl-next-door who stepped in the night of the accident. She’d already spent the first three months of the twins’ life helping my sister after her rough delivery. Then, Cassidy babysat or helped out when they needed, so my neices know and trust her. Hell, they know her better than they know me. Cassidy has been with them since day one. And now she’s practically their mom.
She’s somehow also managing to go to college. Her classes are online, but I don’t know how she does it. So I gave her one fucking night off, and the place is falling apart.
After wiping up sweet potato puree from the hardwood floor, I make my way toward the alarming sounds I hear coming from the bathroom. When I reach the doorway, I turn on the light and freeze.
The baby in yellow- Ashley- has lifted the toilet seat and pushed her pretty sandals inside, along with her stuffed bunny. Her twin sister Alice has shoved her tiny red dress down to her ankles and managed to pee all over it. I don’t know where her diaper is. I don’t want to know.
I don’t care about the dress. I don’t even care about the sandals. But I’m torn apart by Mr. Bunny.
No way Ashley will go down tonight without Mr. Bunny. She’ll be up all night screaming.
I feel like I need seven more hands. I don’t know where to start. How to start. I just want a goddamned beer and to watch a game on TV. But not tonight.
I start with Alice. I clean her up, put her red pajamas on her and stick the one-year-old in her crib. Her cries are loud, but Ashley’s are louder. Shrill wails paused only by incoherent mumbles that sound a lot like backtalk. Ashley is the fighter of the two, the one that causes the most trouble.
After putting Ashley’s yellow jammies on, I plop her in the neighboring crib, sighing as the girl screams her little lungs out. I try everything from singing, to rocking her, to kissing her angry, red cheeks. Nothing helps.
Alice drifted off to sleep, but Ashley is still fighting on by the time Cassidy comes through the nursery door. I guess I was so caught up in trying to soothe the baby that I didn’t hear the front door open or close. Some protector I am.
Cassidy comes into the room silently, hovering behind me. After watching me struggling, she reaches around me and picks up the crying child, hushing her.
“I was trying to calm her down but she just wouldn’t stop,” I apologize, feeling like a fool. “I don’t know the nursery rhymes, but she seemed to like Luke Bryan for about five minutes.” Cassidy chuckles and waves me off wordlessly, motioning for me to leave the room. But I stay for a minute, watching.
She begins humming something my sister used to sing, a soft lullaby that soothes the baby in a way I can’t. I really don’t think I’d have been able to keep this family together without Cassidy. I’ll never be able to repay her for the sacrifices she makes for my nieces. For me.
Cassidy is a slim girl, though you wouldn’t be able to tell from the oversized sweatshirt she wears all the time. The glimpse I catch of her figure as she bends over the crib has me rock hard, though. The tight-fitting jeggings she wears stick to her generous thighs because she’s slim but round and thick at the bottom. Lush. I start to sweat.
It’s been a long time for me since I’ve been with a woman. And it’s going to be a lot longer as far as I can tell. But this babysitter shouldn’t suffer the consequences of my overactive desires. It’s not her fault. She’s done nothing but help me, and I repay her by thinking about how I’d like to see that thick ass jiggle while I’m coming at her from behind.
She is driving me crazy.
Sometimes, her gaze lingers a little too long on me. Then she blushes and looks away. She’s shy, sweet. Part of me wonders if she’s biddable and pliant too. The part of me that’s an ass.
I can’t take advantage of a young woman’s innocent crush. I would crush that innocence. That’s not who I am. Or at least, that’s not who I want to be.
But I can think about it all I want to. And I do.
When I get into bed every night, I dream she is there with me. I run my hands up her thighs, slip her jeggings off, and just feel her. As she starts squirming, I have to pin her down to the bed so I can take my time. I nose at her soaking wet panties, sucking her through the thin cotton. I slip them off, my head nestled between those glorious thighs as I lick up her sweet, succulent juices.
My dreams are always about pleasuring her, making her see how beautiful she is, appreciating her body the right way. My pleasure comes from seeing her fall apart at the touch of my fingers. Hearing that sultry voice cracking as I bury my tongue deep in her pussy. Watching her breasts bounce as she comes hard around my cock.
I have to jerk off at least twice a day at this point, sometimes three times. It’s shameful to be honest. I try to rid myself of the fantasies, but they are still there. Her innocent eyes staring up at me as I pound into her, the sounds she would make. How I would kiss her all over, sucking her nipples into my mouth, pinching her clit between my fingers as she cries out. Cassidy has taken over my mind, and there isn’t much I can do to stop it. Not that I really want to.
No, what I want to do is take her. Make her mine.
By the time Cassidy comes downstairs, I am barely restraining himself from pinning her to the kitchen counter and tearing off her pants. I just can’t risk coming on to her. The girls need her. I need her.
I can’t lose her. She’s the only thing holding my world together right now.
“She asleep?” I ask, turning in a way to hide my erection.
She nods. “Mr. Webster?” Cassidy asks. “What are you planning to do for your birthday?”
“I told you to call me Conner, Cassidy,” I correct her. For her own self-preservation, she needs to use my first name. When she calls me Mr. Webster, it feels even dirtier. Taboo. Mr. Webster and the babysitter kind of thing. It shouldn’t turn me on so much. The taboo of it. “And I don’t want to do anything for my birthday.”
At my age, birthdays have become a blur. They’re hardly anything to celebrate anymore. Just ano
ther year closer to death, basically. God, is that really me? I’m not old enough to feel this old.
“I think we should do something.”
“We?”
I know exactly what I want to do. And she’s standing in front of me.
What I want is the right to touch her when I want to, instead of having to clench my fists. I want the right to taste her, instead of having to bite my tongue. I want her body, but I know I can’t have it. I’m so frustrated. By this life I didn’t ask for. By the pain those girls upstairs are going through. And by the desire for this innocent babysitter than I can never, ever act on.
“We should do something. The girls need to be part of a normal family celebration.”
“We aren’t a normal family, Cassidy. We aren’t really a family at all.”
She shrinks back and I feel like an ass.
“You’re right. I’m going to head on up to bed now, Mr. Webster.”
“Cassidy, I’m sorry.”
I hate that I hurt her feelings. I know she’s got everyone’s best interests at heart. But I’m afraid of what will happen if we act like we’re playing house any more than we already do. I don’t know that I’ll be able to know the difference.
She gives me a shaky smile. One I know is fake. “It’s fine. I’m going to crash here in my room here tonight. It’s late.”
She’s been doing that most of the time. I don’t remember the last night she went home next door. It’s easier on us both, since I go to work so early. I can’t imagine her parents are okay with it, but they haven’t said anything. She stays in the guest room. I sleep in my sister’s old room. It’s all on the up-and-up. Except for the part where I want to wake her up by sucking on her clit until she’s screaming my name.
FROSTING FOR YOUR READING ENJOYMENT
LIKE FIRST TIMES? FORBIDDEN FRUIT? Yes, please. Love a hot, dominant alpha claiming what’s his? Fuck, yeah. Want to watch him fall hard for the sweetest fantasy he didn’t know he needed? Now we’re on the same page.
We’re talking vigorous, virile, well-built men who work hard and play harder. Real men. Real men who get real dirty.
Really, really dirty.
And they claim, mark, and take what’s theirs. Like innocent, quirky, inexperienced girls.
Are you ready for the Blue Collar Bad Boy Series?
The first book in the series is included as a bonus read. Enjoy!
Bounced
Blue Collar Bad Boys Book One
Anvil
They call me Anvil.
It’s not my real name, but that’s what it feels like when my meaty fist comes down on you if you misbehave in the road house where I work.
I’ve seen some crazy stuff as a bouncer. I thought I’d seen it all.
But I’ve never seen anything like her. Just one look and I knew my life was never going to be the same.
She’s sweet, innocent, and looking for trouble.
She found it.
I’m big and mean and more trouble than she ever imagined. I’m going to mess up all her carefully laid plans. And I’m going to make her mine.
Sarah
I’m a careful girl. Life is too dangerous not to be. I have a plan. Goals. And none of them include an overly-muscled, tattooed, possessive bouncer with an eye patch from the road house just outside of city limits.
I just wanted one night off from being perfect, boring, and careful.
He’s too much man for a girl like me. Too intense. Too visceral.
But I don’t think he’s going to let me go.
Author’s Confession: I don’t even know if this could happen in real life. Luckily, it’s a book. That means the hot, tatted, beardy bouncer can totally take one look at the virgin college student studying actuarial science and know he’s going to marry the sh!t out of her. Right?
CHAPTER ONE
SARAH
THIS IS THE WORST IDEA I’ve ever had. Times one million. Maybe times a million more than that.
Christa and I are following a completely bald three-hundred-pound bouncer named Jim through the back door of Billy’s Suds. It’s a service entrance, and from what I’ve gathered, Christa has offered a service in exchange for letting us drink as if we were twenty-one.
When she told me she could get us in, she didn’t mention anything about this part of it. She comes here all the time, she said. She always gets in, she said. Never a problem…well, you get the idea. I didn’t ask how or why they always let her in. It seems to me, if there were this kind of exchange, it ought to have been worth mentioning. Like, “I can get us in because I give the bald guy named Jim a beej every Tuesday night.”
Billy’s Suds is a road house just outside of city limits. It smells like smoke and urine, to be honest. And the floor is sticky as we walk down the dark paneled hallway into a room marked Office. I don’t want to know what the sticky substance is. Billy’s Suds is the kind of place where it’s better not to ask. I will probably throw my shoes away when I get home.
My stomach acid is rolling to a boil, and I’m trying to act cool but doubt that it’s working. I mean, come on. This is not me. Not my life. Not even what I’d willingly watch on TV. I go to bed at ten and get up at six. I eat five servings of fruits and vegetables every day. I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. I turn my college assignments in early.
I do not follow strange men through back doors of illicit bars. I have never given a beej before, and I’m hoping to keep that record going at least this one more night.
Jim opens the door and ladies-firsts-us into the room, closing the door behind him. It smells like more smoke, but less urine in here. That’s all I can say for it. I hadn’t expected a backstage tour of the road house, and under other circumstances, I might have been more intrigued since the reason I was here tonight was curiosity.
Normally, I’m a good girl. I follow the rules. Rules made by other people and rules I make for myself. Like, I might even say rule-following is my super power. I’m studying actuarial science because I think it’s fun. That’s how risk averse I am.
But I’ve been feeling sort of…restless…lately. I thought maybe if I did something just a little crazy, a little less me, I could shake it off. Feel normal again.
I wanted to go to a bar. See it. Order a beer. Maybe even drink it. I didn’t plan anything too illicit. This is way off my radar of acceptable. But Christa is smiling like she just got asked to prom, and Jim looks oddly goofy about it, too.
As if I’m not in the room, he asks Christa, “Is this a twofer, or is she just a watcher?”
My breath freezes. I’m not wild about either opportunity. But for the love of God, watcher, please say watcher.
Christa flips her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and reaches for his zipper. “I’m all the woman you need tonight, Jim.”
“You sure, baby?” He’s looking at me, so I think he’s asking me. But Christa is sliding to her knees, and I don’t know where else to look so I nod quickly and move to a wall that holds some pictures and framed news stories about tournaments and things. I pretend they are supremely interesting and try to block out the sound of slurping and a long, happy groan from Jim.
I have never felt so awkward in my life. I’m hugging myself and repeating a litany in my head about how this will all be over soon. All be over soon. All be over soon.
“Thought you said she wanted to watch?” he asks Christa. “She get off on that? She’s not even looking.”
Every square inch of my skin is red hot and blazing. There’s a window, and I’m contemplating throwing myself out of it.
“Leave her alone, Jim. She’s sweet,” answers Christa. “I just wanted to get her out for a bit. She’s my tutor.”
“Ah, baby. You could tutor her. Nobody slobs a knob like you do, princess.”
I wince. Shakespeare Jim is not. But at least he’s appreciative.
I wonder if it would be too obvious if I plug my ears and start humming “Mary had a Little Lamb” because, while I’d seen some pretty
epic blow jobs on my Tumblr page, this voyeurism thing isn’t working out for me. All I feel is a supreme case of embarrassment.
This is real life. This is totally happening. I should be home with Netflix and takeout. I was not made for road house sex listening.
The door opens, and I hear it slam as it bounces off the wall behind it.
Jim yells, “Occupied!” as I turn to face the commotion.
Commotion indeed.
You would think, in a normal situation, the eyes would be drawn to the blonde on her knees with a cock in her mouth. But no. People having sex is not the biggest thing happening in the room. Sorry, Jim. No offense.
What’s riveting is the giant standing in the doorway with hellfire in one eye and a patch over the second with a long angry scar slashing his left cheek. His hands are pulled into fists. Really big, meaty fists. He spares a glance at Romeo and Juliet and then focuses his dark gaze on me.
I feel like I’m on a stage under a hot spotlight. It’s maybe just a moment, but I swear the only thing I can here is his breathing. Like time is standing still except for the two of us.
“Oh my God,” Christa squeals and breaks the stillness. She crabwalks away from Jim as he tries to stuff himself back into his pants. I help her up while the big guy in the doorway moves in to the room.
I’m sure I’ve never been in the presence of so much testosterone. The two men in this small office with us are huge. Jim outweighs Patch Guy, but only because Patch Guy is all muscle while Jim is…well, Jim is not in as good of shape.
The differences don’t end there. Jim is bald; Patch Guy has a full head of hair. They are both covered in tattoos. Patch Guy has sleeves made of them. They are both men I wouldn’t want to run into in an alley or be trapped in a tiny office with. There’s this crazy energy in the room. The kind of tension that comes right before a lightning strike. The hairs on my arms and back of my neck are quilled up like a porcupine.
“What are you doing here tonight?” Jim asks the tree trunk who looks like he’s about to beat the shit out of him. “You’re off.”