Page 57 of The Billionaire’s Nanny

Grace's door was shut with the nightlight glowing underneath the crack. Lucy stopped there and counted for three breaths, then she carried on down the landing. Her hands were unsteady. She wanted Carrington so much that she made herself go slowly, and she held the handle down while she pushed and let it up again on the other side.

Lucy walked in and saw Carrington sitting on the side of the bed with her hair down and a book lying on her knee. She looked up. Neither of them said anything, and then Carrington put the book on the nightstand and stood.

"I was going to come down," Carrington said.

"But you never come down."

"No."

Lucy pulled her sweater and shirt over her head and folded them neatly. She placed them on the chair before slipping out of her jeans. Sweater at the bottom of the pile, shirt on top of it, jeans across the seat with the belt still through the loops, so she would not have to hunt for a belt in the dark at five in the morning. She had learned that in April, on a morning when her shirt ended up on the floor by the door and cost her two minutes. Two minutes had not mattered then. She had been laughing about it on the path. But now, an extra two minutes could mean getting caught.

When Lucy looked up, Carrington was watching her. "Lucy."

"I know."

Lucy pressed the door until she felt it latch properly, then she got into the bed. The sheets were cooler than she expected. The lamp on the far bedside table threw a low amber arc across the pillow, just enough to see by. Carrington was propped on one elbow, still wearing all her clothes. She had only taken off her shoes.

Her hair was still up, the knot at the back of her neck with three pins holding it, maybe four. The gold earrings were gone, and on the bedside table behind her, lined up in a neat row on the oak surface, were her rings.

Carrington reached for her, and her hand found the side of Lucy's face. She traced the line of Lucy's jaw with her thumb, and Lucy felt the whole week collapse into that single point of contact.

"Lucy."

There it was again, low and unhurried. Lucy turned her face into Carrington's palm and pressed there. She felt Carrington's breath catch, a small, controlled hitch, like a sentence interrupted mid-word. Her fingers were cool and very still against Lucy's cheek, and Lucy kissed the base of her thumb.

"Come here," Carrington said, and Lucy was already moving.

She fitted herself against Carrington's body, face to face on the wide bed. She tilted her chin up and Carrington angled down to kiss. Lucy opened her mouth against Carrington's and felt Carrington's hand slide from her jaw into her hair.

Carrington's fingers spread against her scalp and pulled, and Lucy's hips jerked forward into the contact of Carrington's thigh between hers. She was already wet, had been wet since she turned the corner of the landing and saw the line of light under the door. She ground against the fabric of Carrington's pants and didn't pretend she wasn't doing it.

Lucy pulled back enough to look at her. Her mouth was swollen from kissing, and her eyes were dark and focused on Lucy with an intensity that made Lucy want to take her apart slowly.

Lucy reached for the top button of the gray blouse while Carrington watched without helping. When the blouse fell open, Lucy spread her hand over Carrington’s soft, warm stomach. Carrington's abdominal muscles tightened once under her palm and then deliberately released, and Lucy understood what that cost her and stayed exactly where she was, hand flat, waiting.

"Okay," Carrington whispered, more to herself than Lucy.

Lucy undid the front clasp of the bra and pushed the blouse and the straps off Carrington's shoulders and down her arms. Carrington lifted enough to let the fabric slide free, and then she was bare from the waist up.

She leaned down and put her mouth against Carrington's sternum, right over the bone, and kissed her way to the left nipple and took it in her mouth. The sound Carrington made—open and raw, not muffled—filled the room.

Lucy sucked and used her teeth, lightly, and Carrington arched under her and said fuck in a husky voice, and Lucy smiled against her skin and did it again. As she worked her way lower, she unbuttoned the charcoal pants and pulled them down over Carrington's hips. Her panties were already damp at the center, and Lucy pressed her mouth against the wet fabric. Carrington's thigh clenched against her shoulder.

She peeled the underwear off and put her mouth on Carrington. Lucy licked into her folds, slow and deliberate and thorough, and Carrington's hips came off the bed. Carrington wasn’t being quiet at all, and Lucy loved that, loved the volume of her, loved the way the moans echoed off the gray walls and came back to them.

Carrington tasted like salt and skin and something faintly clean, like soap, and Lucy found the rhythm that made Carrington's thigh shake and she kept it exactly there. Carrington's fingers tightened in her hair and her hips rolled against Lucy's mouth as she said, "There, there, right there," in a voice that had lost every trace of composure. Lucy kept her tongue exactly where it was and felt Carrington come against her mouth, a long shuddering climax that made the bed creak and made Carrington's voice break upward into something almost like a cry.

Lucy pressed soft kisses against Carrington's inner thighs and waited. After a moment, Carrington's grip in her hair loosened and her breathing started to slow. Lucy shifted to lay next to her, and Carrington kissed her, slow and deep, entirely devoid of self-consciousness in a way that made Lucy’s entire body ache. Carrington's hand found Lucy's hip and pulled her closer, and her long fingers slid down over Lucy's stomach and under the waistband of her underwear. Lucy was so wet that Carrington's fingers slid against her pussy with no resistance at all. Lucy gasped into the kiss and her hips rocked forward into the pressure.

Carrington slid through the slickness and found her clit, then circled it with torturous patience. Lucy pushed into it and grinded against Carrington's hand, fucking herself with them.

"Tell me what you want," Carrington said, pulling back just slightly to look at Lucy.

Lucy looked at her. The lamp caught the loose strands of Carrington's hair, the flush across her chest, and the swell of her lower lip where Lucy had bitten it. She looked wrecked and content at the same time, and Lucy wanted her so badly it felt like a physical object inside her chest.

"Your mouth on me and fingers in me," Lucy said. “I want both.”

Carrington shifted down the bed and Lucy rolled onto her back. Carrington ripped her underwear off and dropped it over the edge, and then she was between Lucy's thighs. She lowered her face, and her mouth was on Lucy’s swollen clit, and her fingers, two of them long and sure, pushed deep inside her pussy. Carrington's fingers curved inside her and pressed forward, and the pressure from her tongue was devastating in tandem. Lucy's hands were tangled in Carrington's hair, pulling pins free, and the updo came apart in stages—first one side, then the other, then the last pin dropping somewhere onto the sheet. Carrington's hair fell forward against Lucy's thighs, and Lucy gripped it, holding Carrington's mouth against her. She fucked up into it, moaning in a voice she barely recognized as her own.