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One that is a first in many ways. Losing my viginity, screwing my boss, screwing my dad’s best friend, and discovering my tastes in the bedroom do, in fact, steer in the wild and kinky direction.
Fantasies are one thing, but I really did enjoy all that stuff in the moment. I guess I’m just not a vanilla kind of girl.
But damn, am I in over my head.
I’m around him every day, though, and it makes ignoring the inappropriate feelings that much harder. I’ve never fallen for anyone else at work, which is probably a normal thing for other people, but as the nanny, it’s especially problematic.
I can’t just switch desks with someone or adjust my schedule. My job is being around Elijah, and by extension, Noah.
Office romances seem so dreamy in books and movies, but it’s an entirely different story when it’s not just some office but the guy’s home. Oh yeah, and he’s my dad’s best friend, so that puts me at odds with not only my father but Noah's actual age.
Do we even have anything in common besides the sex?
He couldn’t possibly actually like me. I mean, sure, it’s fun, and we connect like nothing else, but it’s all physical. I don’t even know if we’d actually get along if we were to date.
My brain swirls as the word date tumbles through my mind.
I’m not dating Noah. I’m fucking him while his kid is at school or asleep and behind my dad’s back. Ugh.
Suddenly my dad’s place appears before me, and I realize I drove the entire way home on autopilot. I click the garage opener and pull in alongside my dad’s classic Mercedes.
He never drives the thing except for very special occasions, so parking next to it always makes me nervous.
It’s not especially late, so when I get inside and see my dad isn’t home, it makes sense. He’s either still working or out, and either way, it works for me because I want nothing more than to go upstairs and relax.
As I take off my jacket in the guest room I’m using, I get a whiff of Noah’s body wash, the strong smell clinging to my skin even now.
I can’t smell like him if I do run into my dad.
Turning on the shower in the guest suite’s bathroom, I take a look at all my bottles and spa tools littered throughout the space. It looks so different from Noah’s minimal shower accessories.
So different.
I set the water to near scorching and strip, throwing my clothes right in the hamper for me to wash.
Pausing with my hand wrapped around the shower door, I take a deep breath against my skin. I smell like Noah.
With a sigh, I step under the spray and soap up with my bottle of Dove that sorely needs to be replaced. The mild smell quickly washes away the lingering scent of Noah’s certainly expensive stuff, and I decide to give my hair a scrub, too.
Running my fingers through my wet curls, my mind drifts to how good it felt to have Noah grip my hair. I remember the naughty fantasy I’ve always had of being claimed like that.
The heat of the shower seems to magnify, and my mind spins. How can something so wicked feel that good?
But I know it’s just the circumstances. If Noah and I met on the street, it would be an entirely different situation.
“But you didn’t. You nanny for him.”
I hang my head back and let the water rinse my shampoo. There’s no use trying to argue with myself.
I know it’s incredible, but the situation is what it is. I can’t keep doing this with the father of a kid I take care of, let alone my dad’s buddy.
“Yeah, he definitely will not like that.”
A part of me marvels at the sheer number of complications that accompany Noah as a sexual partner, and I have to laugh. My taste for older guys has landed me in some serious hot water.
I finish up the shower with conditioner for my hair and then step out into the much cooler room. Towel drying, I walk to the closet where I’ve stored my clothes and find my favorite set of pajamas.
The silk shirt and shorts are like something out of the ’50s, and the feel of the slippery fabric feels incredible against my overwhelmed skin.
