Page 19 of Crossed Up

He smirks, giving me a faint eye roll.

I flip him off before shutting the bathroom door and twisting the lock. “Just humor me, you dick.”

My thoughts are all over the place as I step under the steaming spray, but as much as I try to keep them on other things, they keep looping back to my son’s nanny. What kind of person has a woman as gorgeous and kind as Lyla and puts their hands on her in any manner less than the reverence she deserves?

Just the thought of the stunning brunette who sleeps down the hall from me has me hardening even as guilt eats away at my conscience for thinking of her in that way again. Flashes of her toned thighs and the crease of her ass from our midnight run-in a few days ago assault my vision and I groan quietly, stroking a hand down my aching length.

There’s no harm in another silly little fantasy as long as it stays a fantasy… right?

Fuck, I’m definitely going to hell.

My imagination takes control as I let myself think about what might have happened in the darkness of my kitchen that night if we were different people.

I think about the way she stood bent over the counter, her pert ass hanging out of those adorable little cherry print shorts she loves so much. I think about the look on her face as she enjoyed her ice cream, and the sass on her pouty mouth when she told me she had a thing for cherries.

It was late, just like it is right now, but I woke up from a nightmare, thirsty as hell. Only when I walked into the kitchen to grab a water, Lyla was already there eating ice cream straight from the container. Watching the way she wraps those plush lips around the spoon nearly brings me to my knees and forces me to bite back a groan.

She’s in one of her tiny, cherry-printed sleep sets, and it exposes the clear pale skin of her shoulders and tight buds of her nipples. My mouth waters as I take in the stunning woman camped out at my kitchen island.

The fantasy starts to take shape as I slowly stroke myself, the guilt fading quickly into pleasure.

Hearing her admission about liking cherries makes me chuckle as I place my palms on the solid marble and subtly flex my arms. I watch her mossy green eyes deepen to emerald, desire flooding her heated gaze as she locks on to the subtle movement.

Leaning forward, I take the spoon out of her tiny hand and scoop up a bit of the chocolate cherry ice cream, flipping the spoon over to take an exaggerated lick.

I stay silent and wait, nearly smirking at the quiet gasp she lets out. “You have your tongue pierced?”

Nodding, I stick my tongue out so she can see the little silver ball in the center of my tongue. It’s not really visible unless you know to look for it or I make a point to show it off, which I was absolutely doing just now.

Copeland was spiraling last year after receiving yet another text from his cheating ex, and I made the mistake of getting black-out drunk with him in solidarity. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in bed with the idiot, both of us suffering from massive hangovers and throbbing tongues.

Lyla reaches up like she’s going to touch it, and even though I know she’s my son’s nanny and this is definitely a terrible idea, I can’t stop myself from gripping her wrist and bringing her finger to my mouth. Checking to make sure she’s not freaking out, I wrap my lips around her finger and suck.

I groan out loud as my fantasy Lyla moans at the contact, stroking my cock faster and slapping a hand on the tiled wall to steady myself when my legs start to shake. The pleasure is so overwhelming my vision starts to spot, but it leaves room for the fantasy to become even clearer.

“What do you think?” I ask her after releasing her finger. Her gorgeous eyes are glassy with desire.

She blinks, swaying a little so her wet finger rests against my chest. In a move I’ll likely never get to experience in real life, Lyla trails her moistened finger over my chest to circle my nipple, leaving it wet with my own saliva. She grins when I shiver, a layer of goosebumps covering my overheated skin.

“Fuuuck, angel. That feels good,” I breathe out loud. The sounds of the shower around me are loud enough to drown out my panted words, but at this point, not a single part of me cares if Rhodes hears me fucking my fist to the thought of my sexy nanny. I stroke my fist up over the head of my cock, spreading the beaded precum down my aching length.

A smug grin crosses her pretty pink lips, and with that single tilt of her lips, my carefully held control snaps. Gripping the backs of her thighs, I lift her up and drop her on the counter. The move places her at my eye level, and I’m taken aback by how sinfully hot she looks in her sleep-mussed state.

With a dirty smirk, I drag my tongue up the delicate column of her throat.“You think it felt good on your finger? Wait until I show you how good it can feel somewhere else. Somewhere more… intimate.”

Her breaths are coming in small gasps now, but she nods, lifting her hips for me so I can slide her teeny little shorts down. Taking the spoon out of the now-melted ice cream, I tease it up her inner thigh, leaving a trail of the cold treat as I go. Offering her a heated glance, I lick a path across her velvety skin, groaning at the taste of my angel combined with the sweetest fucking cherries.

Just as her hips buck up into my mouth in the fantasy, I lose it. Cum lands in thick ropes on the floor as I quietly growl out Lyla’s name.

I enjoy the post-orgasm haze while I wash up, but the cold air outside of the glass-walled shower brings with it a flood of intense guilt over what I just did.

Banging on the door distracts me from the lingering shame of my new favorite fantasy, and I open it to see a panicked Rhodes holding up my phone. “It rang as soon as I heard the shower turn off, so I rushed over here to get it to you. I know I told you they would be fine, but Crew is crying!”

Normally, I’d laugh at Rhodes’ inability to handle tears of any kind, but my focus immediately sticks to the fact that my son is crying. Snatching the phone out of my best friend’s hand, I bring the screen to my face in a panic until I see both Lyla and my boy giggling in a dark room, their faces lit up by what I’m assuming is the TV.

She snorts, waving a hand. “Sorry, you guys are too much. I was trying to explain to Rhodes that Crew is fine, but he started to panic, and then everything went blurry until he handed you the phone.”

I hear her words, but I don’t think they fully register until I see with my own eyes that my son is okay and sitting on his nanny’s lap. There are tear tracks on Crew’s cheeks, but his eyes are dry, and he has a happy look on his face. “I’m okay, Daddy. I had a bad dream, but Miss Lyly helped.”

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