Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)

by C. M. Stunich

  “Did I ever mention to you how much I love your tits?” Zayden asks with another impish grin.

  “I don't think you've said it outright, but I kind of got the gist,” I whisper as I struggle to stay quiet. I know there's nobody around, but I'm afraid my voice will echo, that one of the neighbors will get it in their minds to come and investigate. “But mine are nothing special. They're pretty much just average C cups. I bet you've seen better.”

  Zayden looks up at me and runs his tongue across his lower lip, the motion driving me completely up the wall. Well, metaphorically speaking of course since I'm trapped beneath the hard warmth of his body, cradled in the bouncy mesh.

  “Better?” He looks down at my boobs and I laugh, trying to cover them up with my hands. Zay pushes me away, grabbing my wrists and pinning them above my head as he leans it and teases my nipple just barely with the tip of his tongue. The sensation is hot and sharp enough to be almost painful. “Now, I don't know about that. They're not huge, but they suit your body.” He squeezes my breast in his fingers, making a warm sounding purr in the back of his throat. “Full, ripe, soft as hell but lifted and perky. Nope. I can't say they get any better than this, and I like to consider myself a breast connoisseur.”

  Zayden winks at me and then dives back into teasing and licking and sucking my nipples and the soft skin around them, working me into a frenzy without touching anything else. My hips buck against his body, desperate for stimulation, hungry for release.

  When Zay moves his mouth up to kiss and suck at my neck, I forget to care about hickeys or how about how cold I am and I even forget to be silly. I just succumb to his touch, his body, his presence. Because honestly, as hard and firm as his muscles are, as bright as his tattoos, as sharp as his piercings … it's him that I find most attractive. I like his mannerisms and the way he smiles, how he takes such care to shave designs into his hair in the morning. I like the way he holds the baby and plays with the kids and puts sweaters on his cat.

  I pretty much like everything about him.

  I breathe out suddenly and look up at the night sky, letting my thoughts drift away on the wind as Zayden starts kissing his way down between my breasts and pauses at the corset, reaching under me again to take it off. As soon as it's gone, he kisses my belly down to the panties. I left the garter belt and thigh highs off before I left the club, so it's nothing but smooth sailing from here on out.

  Zay slides his tongue in an arc just above the waistband of the thong, grabbing the edge with his teeth and pulling it down. I think he sneaks his fingers under the fabric on the opposite side, too, but all I can see is him looking up at me with his brown eyes, his full sexy mouth curved into a smirk, the red fabric clenched between his teeth.

  I sigh and drop my head back against the taut surface of the trampoline beneath my head. Zayden's weight pulls me in towards the center as he gets the panties off my leg and tosses them aside, reaching down to undo the crazy red and black striped belt he's wearing.

  “Brooke,” he says as he undoes his jeans and fishes a condom out of his back pocket. “Come here.”

  I sit up as Zayden reaches out for my hand, encouraging me to straddle him, a knee on either side of his thighs as he leans back into the mesh and looks up at me. His cock stands between us, thick and proud and ready.

  Without a word, I climb up over him, aligning our hips as I reach down and take hold of his shaft, using instinct to guide him to the hot heat of my core. Zayden watches me with half-lidded eyes, his gaze heavy and direct, attention focused on my face, on the way the water sluices between my lips. My bangs stick to my forehead as I drop my head back and relax my muscles, sliding all the way down Zayden's cock until we're pressed together tight and my head is spinning from the rush of pleasure.

  “I can't move,” I whisper, because I feel trapped, frozen, full. Zay reaches up and runs his thumb down my lower lip, taking hold of my hip with his other hand, the one tattooed with an empty, open book.

  “Sure you can,” he whispers, urging me to move with his hand as I drop my own to his chest, fingers splayed out across the wash of tattoos between his shoulders. I can barely seem to find my own breaths, each exhale getting caught in the night in a cloud of white. “That's it, right there. Work that cock, Smarty-Pants.”

  My first response is to laugh at that, but I can't get the breath for it. I feel tight and stretched and warm, leaning my body forward just enough that I can feel pressure on my clit. Oh yes. Yes, I like that.

  “God yes,” Zayden groans as I get into the movement, grinding our hips together, the bounce of the trampoline the perfect backdrop, letting our bodies rock into one another with each movement. “Faster, babe. Work me hard.” I kind of want to tell Zayden to stuff it with the dirty talk, but then … I like it. A lot.

  I work our bodies until the cold droplets of rain turn to hot drips of sweat, Zayden's hands sliding up and taking hold of my breasts as I drive him into me, actually enjoying doing the work more than I thought I would.

  I feel powerful up here, in control. It's definitely fun both ways, but tonight, this is exactly what I need. Zayden is exactly who I need.

  I move my body hard and fast until I feel his muscles clenching beneath me, his thumbs grazing across the tender points of my nipples as he comes with a deeply satisfying sound. My own body is thrumming and pulsing, desperate for a release of my own.

  Zayden sucks in a deep breath and pushes me off, sliding down between my legs before I can even puzzle out what he's planning. Two fingers slide in deep as he presses that full mouth of his up against my clit, tongue flicking out and tasting me as Zay takes hold of my hip bone with his opposite hand, locking me in place.

  The drizzle turns into a violent pour in an instant, the sharp salt scent of the bay drifting across my parted lips as I tangle my fingers in Zay's hair and pull his face against me. With the stars above and the warmth of him below, I don't want this to ever end. I want to stay here on this trampoline with Zayden forever, make love in the grass, on the tire swing, against the base of one of the massive redwood trees.

  But my body's a traitor, grasping at me with the hot hands of pleasure and pulling me under, letting that bright white light of an orgasm crash over and consume me.

  There's a single instant there where everything is clear, sharp, where it all makes sense. I want Zayden to fall in love with me. As quick as the clarity comes, it's gone, leaving me a tangled mess of cold and wet and shaking emotions.

  “Oh, baby,” Zayden says, sliding up over me and pressing his mouth to my throat. “Let's go inside.”

  I nod and let him help me up, the process complicated by the sway and bounce of the trampoline. Plus … I'm sort of naked and wet—in more than one way. I let Zay jump off first and when he holds his arms up to me, I reach down and put my hands flat on his shoulders, jumping into him.

  We stumble back a few inches in the wet grass and then pause, Zay's sea glass green eyes gazing down at me with a faint sort of wonder. I try to decipher it's meaning, but he blinks it away as fast as it came, pulling away and grabbing my hand to drag me inside.

  The dogs burst out around our feet as soon as we open the sliding glass door, but Zay ignores them, grabbing a hoodie off the table and tossing it to me as he retreats into the bathroom for a pair of towels. He tosses one over as I sit my shaking ass in a chair, bare butt cheeks cold against the wood surface as I tousle my ponytail, trying to wick as much moisture out as I can before I yank the hoodie on.

  “Is this … does this have … why do you have a sweatshirt with David Bowie on it?”

  “Um,” Zayden says, leaning over me with his sexy ass bare chest and nipple rings all up in my face. “This isn't just David Bowie, okay? This is Jareth the Goblin King, duh.”

  I stare up at him and he sighs.

  “Okay, you fucking millennial, this is from the Labyrinth.”

  “I think we're both millennials actually,” I say, but I don't really care about any of it. The Labyrinth—which
I have seen, thank you very much—or millennials, but I'm all twisted up inside and I can't quite think clearly right now.

  Zayden stands up and claps his hands together, using his foot to open the oven door. Inside, there's some sort of … pie?

  “What the hell is that?” I ask as he pulls it out and presents it to me. There's a shiny latticework crust on top and everything. Whoa. Fancy. “Did you … make that?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely. Google, baby. Google will tell you everything. I could make a goddamn rocket ship with instructions off that damn search engine.”

  “So … what is it?” I ask, crossing my arms over myself and letting my body sink into Zay's hoodie. It's soft and clean and smells just like him, that blackberry/cinnamon smell that I like so much. I'm painfully aware of my lower half though, of how naked I still am, how wet between the thighs. I tuck the fabric down as Zay raises an eyebrow and sets the pie on the counter.

  “Chicken pot pie, Smarty-Pants. I'm making us plates and we're watching the fucking Labyrinth. If you can't recognize Jareth at first sight, you've got some serious issues, kid.”

  “Zayden,” I start, but then I have no idea what to say, curling my fingers over my knees, pressing my fingertips into my skin until the flesh turns a pale white. I glance up to find him standing at the counter, slowly spooning food into a pair of bowls. His movements are awkward and weird, but when he glances over his shoulder, he's smiling again.

  “A musical from the eighties with puppets. Doesn't get much better than that, right?”

  I stand up from the chair, letting the hoodie fall over my ass; it's so big, I'm swimming in it.

  My arms slide around Zayden's waist and I rest my cheek against his bare back. With a soft sigh, he drops the serving spoon back into the glass pie pan and turns around to look at me, his eyes suddenly dark, his expression taking me in with a slow careful intensity.

  When Zay drops his hand to my face and lifts my chin, I close my eyes, savoring the feel of his mouth against mine. As soon as our lips connect, the atmosphere in the room amps up considerably. Zay turns us around and lifts me with an easy motion, setting my ass on the edge of the counter.

  With a frantic flick of his hands, he opens his jeans and then digs another condom out of his pocket. How many of those fucking things does he keep in there? I don't have a lot of time to contemplate that because Zay's yanking me forward and guiding himself to my opening, shoving hard and fast inside.

  My pulse skyrockets, and I find my breath escaping in small, harsh gasps as he drags me forward and pins my pelvis against the curved edge of the linoleum counter. Unlike the trampoline or the bed, there's absolutely no give when he thrusts forward, hitting me hard and deep with the thick solid length of his shaft.

  My head spins, my hands thrown loosely around Zay's neck as I press our foreheads together and he makes a sharp sound in the back of his throat. It's a wild noise, harsh and desperate, kind of like his frantic motions, like the whimper that builds in the back of my own throat.

  When the friction of his body against mine sends me over the edge, Zay bites down on that curved space between my neck and shoulder and empties himself with a deep, quivering growl that I can feel all the way in my bones.

  I lean back away from him, noticing that the glitter from my breasts has rubbed off all over his face.

  “Holy sweet baby Jesus,” he whispers as he looks at me with some sort of awe in his face, blinking quickly and then sliding out of me, turning away while he removes the condom and fixes his pants. “You've got some sort of magic in you, Brooke Overland,” he says with a glance over his shoulder.

  I smile, but I don't have a response to that statement.

  “Puppets?” I ask because I'm shaking and twisting and falling inside. Falling for Zayden Roth.

  Zay nods and lets his mouth curve up into one of his signature smiles.

  “You got it, doll,” he says, helping me hop down from the counter.

  We eat our food, watch the movie, and end up fucking through the last half of it.

  It's seriously the best night of my entire life. Guess nothing can last forever though, can it?

  Aww, man.

  I am like totally crazy, head over heels fucking obsessed with Brooke Overland.

  I never smoke. Seriously. Never. Unleeeeeeess, I'm having a day as shitty as this one.

  “Dude, what are you even going on about?” Jude asks as I exhale and ash my cigarette into the wood chip area in front of the bay window. I keep checking over my shoulder to make sure none of the kids catch me out here. Uncle Zay is so goddamn cool if they see me smoking, they'll probably take it up like tomorrow. “You're in love with some twenty-two year old girl? That's gross. Why are you even sleeping with somebody seven years younger than you. Isn't that illegal or something?”

  “Shut your fat trap, Jude,” I say as I take another drag on the cigarette and then cough. It feels really good to smoke once in a while, but also kind of gross. I feel this weird guilty pleasure as I savor the last cig I have left. I've kept it with me at all times for months, just in case of emergency.

  This is so an emergency.

  “I didn't say in love, did I?”

  “Yeah, you didn't say the exact phrase 'in love', but you listed pretty much every symptom and consequence of being in love.”

  “Like you'd know shit about that,” I say, wondering what he's doing while he's talking to me. He might be my boss, but I don't trust this guy for crap. One time, I found out he was actually getting his cock sucked while we had a conversation about my dead parents. That's just plain nasty if you ask me … althoooough I have been known to pick up my phone mid-coitus. Kind of like when Rob called me to ask about my driving up here. I should've let that shit roll to voicemail.

  But then I never would've met Brooke.

  “I've been in love seven times, you dick. How many for you? Oh, that's right: zero. Or if you count this Brenda girl, then it's one.”

  “Brooke, man. Her name is Brooke. Get it right, please.”

  “You need to get your ass back here before you ruin this girl's life. Leave her alone, man. You've got a chronic dating problem; don't inflict that on some poor woman with enough shit on her plate.”

  “Says the guy who supposedly fell in love 'seven times',” I make quotes with my fingers even though the only person around to see is the neighbor that called animal control on me. I smile tightly at her and she turns away with a huff. “And then left all seven of the girls he was in love with.”

  “Exactly. Because I am fully aware that I'm an asshole. I think part of you wants to believe you're some sort of nice guy or something. Face the facts, Zayden: you're a dick. You might smile and make a lot of jokes, but you're still just a single asshole from Las Vegas with no money and a condo you can't really afford.”

  I roll my eyes and take one last exhale, smoking my precious cigarette down to the filter. I drop it on the porch and crush it out, leaning down to pick up the butt. God knows if I leave it here, one of those dogs or hell, one of the little monsters, will probably eat it. That would be just my luck, wouldn't it?

  “I called you for advice, bro, but … that's kind of not what's happening right now. I feel like you're just taking advantage of the situation to insult me.”

  “You just don't like what I have to say,” Jude tells me and I hear the jingle of the shop bell followed by the sweet chorus of giggling tourists. Makes me a little homesick. “Look, I gotta go. I'll see you on Thursday or what?”

  “Friday probably. Takes me like a whole fucking day to drive.”

  “Say hi to your hairless pussy for me,” Jude jokes with a laugh just before he flicks the switch on his charm and starts chatting to the women in the shop. “A clit piercing? I think what you mean is a VCH or HCH which I'd be happy to tell you all about. We do require a fifty dollar deposit for an anatomy consult—”

  I roll my eyes and hang up on the idiot. He's been known to leave calls connected in pretty awkward situations,
such as when he had his grandma on the line and started begging his then-girlfriend to deep throat his cock. Oh, Jude. If I'm a nerdy douche, then he's a dickhead douche. Nothing cute or charming about him at all.

  “Uncle Zay?”

  I jump and drop my cell phone … watching as the screen cracks into spiderweb formation across the front.

  Cool beans.

  Guess I'll be replacing that when I get back to Las Vegas.

  “What's up, honey?” I ask, grabbing my phone from the pavement and standing up, wishing that Brooke were here and wondering what she's up to. This morning was kind of weird, but I felt like we both understood each other, you know? Like all these feelings we're both having are just … they wouldn't work out.

  I run my fingers through my hair as I look down at Bella.

  “Can you come jump with us on the trampoline again? It's only fun when you do it with us.”

  I smile and reach out to pinch her cheek. Bella wrinkles her face up and bats me away, turning around and sprinting towards the sliding glass doors with an adorable childish glee—until she finds out they're closed and slams into them, ricocheting backwards into the kitchen.

  Fuck.

  Well, that can't be any good, now can it?

  When Brooke gets back, she looks exhausted, her glasses sitting perched on the end of her nose as she hangs up that big ugly camel coat of hers and looks at the snot on my shirt with a raised brow. I can't help but admire that piercing gracing the sensual curve. Damn, I'm good.

  “Don't ask,” I say, pointing to the snot trails and the splatters of blood from Bella's nose. “We had a little incident with the sliding glass doors.”

  “Oh my God,” she says, but I'm already holding up my hands.

  “No worries. I got it under control.” I point back at the glass and the three hundred plus stickers across it. “I asked Kinzie to help the twins put up one or two tasteful pieces as a warning while I cleaned up Bella's bloody nose, but … we got this instead. If you want me to scrape them off before I leave on Thursday, I can definitely do that.”