“Fine.”
“Love you.”
“You, too.” An embarrassed flush rises up my cheeks as I click off.
“It’s late.” Daniel folds the Twister mat and shoves it back in the box.
I blink at him. “But…we didn’t finish our game.”
“You win,” he says over his shoulder before his bedroom door closes sharply behind him.
10
DANIEL
Who knew Twister was such a turn-on?
Everyone. Everyone knew, asshole.
I hit the bathroom switch and the lights over the vanity blink to life.
There’s no point playing a game where the rules demand you getting that close to another human except physical contact.
But I wanted to play with her, to push her a little the way she’s been pushing me.
I strip out of my clothes. Instead of folding them, I toss my shirt, pants, and shorts in a pile on the floor and ignore my dick that was half hard until the second she dropped me for that phone.
I yank off my ring and set it on the vanity before I step into the shower and crank the dial as far as it will go.
I lower my head and brace my hands on the tile. The water can wash away the day, but it can’t wash away how I feel.
Who the fuck is Clay?
A boyfriend, maybe. A guy who matters to her, definitely.
It never occurred to me that she had someone in her life like that, and the idea burns me more than it should.
She knows me and my family. She knows where the Tupperware goes and which jam my kid likes on his toast and that I played Twister in college.
And what do I know about her?
Nothing.
Maybe we should keep it that way.
It’s none of my business who she spends time with when she’s not here as long as it doesn’t affect my kid.
She could be dating half the football team.
My lip curls at the thought.
Except…
She said a tattoo on her ass wouldn’t be seen by anyone. I assumed that meant she wasn’t with anyone in that way.
The idea was so fucking sexy I wanted to put it on her right there. To leave a mark for my eyes only, a secret between us she’d think of every time our eyes met.
Water washes in streams down my hair, into my eyes, off my chin.
All of that obscures the more important question: What would’ve happened if the phone hadn’t jarred me back to my senses?
She’s a student, and my nanny.
Months ago at that club, I saw her. Shiny hair, shinier lips, confidence in every step of her swaying hips.
I wanted to drag her against me, fit those sweating curves against my body.
Now, having her in my space, sex is on my mind all the damned time.
My cock rises up, evidence of what I’ve been battling this entire week.
I shake my head, sending water splattering on the shower door as I turn my back to the spray and take my cock in my hand.
I picture her bending over in the living room, her curved ass inches away.
Teasing me.
Tempting me.
My breath comes in shallow rasps.
No.
I have self-control. I’m a goddamned professor. I wear cuff links and pay taxes and make sure my kid doesn’t live on takeout.
My muscles tighten as I spin the dial and let the water turn icy.
I leap out of the shower and go to my room, toweling off on the way.
The sheets are smooth and cool against my hot skin as I shift into bed.
The house is quiet.
Andy’s asleep.
There are no sounds from the bedroom next to mine.
Until I hear it.
Bed springs creaking lightly.
She’s upstairs too.
Upstairs and in her bed.
I’m horny. It’s natural and has nothing to do with her.
She could be right about one thing.
My computer is downstairs but I pull up a porn site on my phone, browsing the categories.
Nanny stuff comes up.
It’s probably a fantasy. Older guy, younger girl he can’t have. This will get it out of my system.
I click on it and watch for a few minutes.
It doesn’t do anything for me.
After a minute, I toss the device on my bed.
I imagine my door opening, her standing in the doorway wearing those shorts and a tank top.
My hand shifts down to grab my cock.
I fist my dick, using the slickness to rub the head.
Then stroke down.
I’d be across the room in a second. Quiet so we didn’t wake Andy on the opposite side of the hall.
I would pull her inside, shut the door behind her.
Then pin her against the wall.
My cock throbs in my hand, appreciation for the fantasy playing out in my mind.
I’d watch those eyes darken in the way they do when we’re alone, only this time, there’d be no interruption.
With every touch, I’d strip away that “don’t give a fuck” exterior and see what’s underneath.
My hand aches, grip tightening.
We’ll see if she’s too casual to care when I sink inside her, filling her up with every stroke…
The climax starts at the base of my spine, barreling down on me like an unstoppable train.
Fucking hell.
I spill all over my hand.
I come for what feels like forever. As if I was waiting for exactly this excuse to wring every ounce of physical pleasure from an act that’s been perfunctory for years.
Finally, I drop back against the pillow and stare up at the ceiling. My heart jackhammers in my back.
When it slows enough that I can hear more than my own racing pulse, the house is silent.
Nothing changed tonight, I tell myself.
I’m lying.
11
KAT
“So I called because mom’s birthday is coming up,” I say into my phone as I reach the doors of the campus bookstore. I flow inside following a stream of traffic. “I was thinking we could get her one of those Pandora bracelets. At Christmas, she said they were cute. Want to go in on it with me?”
“She was dropping hints about Cartier last month,” Clay responds.
I wedge my way through crowds of students, some enthusiastic and others cursing, toward the psych section.
“Dad made about a thousand times as much money as I did this year. He can get her Cartier.”
“Just send me the link and I’ll buy it. Don’t worry about the money.”
I roll my eyes.
My brother plays basketball, and he’s good.
Professional good.
He’s been making bank since getting drafted first round. He also works his ass off, no matter what he’d have anyone believe.
I scan the shelf labels, trying to find my course.
Topics in Psychology. Psychometrics.
“How’s the new gig? Aren’t you starting your season soon?” I ask.
“Next month.” His frown is practically its own syllable. “I won’t be here forever.”
“None of us are.”
Advanced Social Psychology.
Bingo.
The last copy.
I lunge for the book, tripping over another student to get it.
“Helpful, Kat. Really. You should be a therapist.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Yeah?” He sounds genuinely surprised.