Page 103 of The Nanny Game Plan
I manage so well that a minute later, one of the old women by the space heater in the corner calls out, “Either get a room or get over here so we can get a better look at the show. I’m nearsighted, and Rosalie forgot her glasses.”
Dean and I pull back, laughing, and he lifts a hand in apology. “Sorry, I just?—”
“You’re just in love,” the silver-haired woman in a massive sheep-print sweater cuts in with a good-natured flap of her hands. “But you look like the kind of people who have a place to go home to. I suggest you go there and enjoy each other in private.”
“Wise woman,” I murmur, squeezing Dean’s hand. “Think we have time before Elly drops off the girls?”
“If we run,” he says, grinning my way.
We run.
Dean speeds.
And just ten minutes later, we’re inside the house, kissing deep as we stumble toward his bedroom.
We make it as far as the hallway before he pins me against the wall, and I suspect we might be doing that “too desperate to get to a bed” thing we do so well.
And that’s fine by me.
Better than fine…
“God, I missed this,” I say as he kisses his way down my throat.
“Me, too,” he says, sucking in a breath as I shove my hands up under the back of his sweater. “Damn, woman, your hands are freezing.”
“Then, I guess you’d better warm me up,” I murmur, smiling against his lips as he kisses me hard again.
A beat later, I’m off my feet, clinging to him as he swoops me into his arms and makes quick work of getting us both to his bedroom and naked on that big, beautiful bed.
Then, his mouth is latched around my nipple as he fingers me into an orgasm that hits hard and fast—making me scream soloud, I’m really glad the girls aren’t home yet. Then, he’s on top of me, nudging my thighs wider as he grips the base of his cock, guiding it to where I need him so badly that I’m shaking with it.
Coming on his fingers and his mouth are both fantastic, but neither can compare to the bone-deep bliss of feeling him tunnel deep inside me, stretching my inner walls, easing the ache even as he awakens a hunger unlike anything I’ve felt before.
I am a shameless, starving sex beast with this man.
I am wild, desperate, some might say flat-outferalfor his cock, and he doesn’t judge me for it.
He adores me for it, a fact he proves as he lets me roll on top and ride him with a feverish abandon that has us both grunting, panting, sweating, and cursing as we strain toward something so much more than release. This is communion, celebration, and the best thing that’s ever happened to my body by leaps and fucking bounds.
I wail the truth of just how incredible my man is to the ceiling as I come in deep, clutching waves. Moments later, Dean bucks up with enough force to lift me into the air as his cock pulses inside me, filling me to overflowing, and I am…in heaven.
Sticky, sexy, orgasm-flavored heaven…
“What flavor would an orgasm be, do you think?” I murmur afterward, as we lie spent on the covers, catching our breath. “If orgasms had a flavor?”
“Orange blossoms,” he says without missing a beat.
I hum my approval. “Yes, and honeysuckle. With a hint of lemon zest.”
“And something salty, but clean,” he adds, “like an arctic ocean. Or summer rain by the seaside.”
I lift my head, smiling down at him. “I think we just came up with Capo’s new scent.”
He nods seriously. “Totally. He can call it Big O in the Afternoon.”
“Is it still afternoon?” I glance over at the clock by his bed, my eyes flying wide. “Shit, Dean, it’s already four fifty-five! Elly will be here any minute!”
We scramble into our clothes and jog for the front door, shoving our feet into our shoes and dashing across the lawn. We reach the end of the driveway with just enough time to help smooth each other’s sex-frizzed hair back into place before Elly’s minivan pulls around the corner.
