Page 25 of The Christmas Nanny

The hot shower sent my mind into a happy place, away from the snow outside, away from my old job, and away from Jeremy. Thankful for a different path forward, I would make the best of my new life. With the money Quartermain mentioned, I could finally buy a house and get out of an apartment. My lease was up in January. The timing couldn’t have been better.

I moved the soap across my nipples, and the thought of Jacob touching me emerged. I moved the soap down my stomach and imagined Jacob’s hands on my skin. I dropped the soap and ran my fingers through the trimmed patch of dark hair between my legs. Jacob’s hands were deliciously tantalizing.

He parted my legs, standing behind me, reaching around, the tips washing across my pubic hair. A finger slipped down between my lips, and I moaned. “Jacob.”

When I opened my eyes, Wigglebutt stood outside the shower door, watching. “I know. Go knock something off a shelf.”

I pulled on black thong panties and a matching bra. I wasn’t sure what Jacob was expecting, so I climbed into a pair of jeans and pulled on a cashmere sweater. I stopped at the front door and considered everything that had happened since leaving Jacob’s this morning. With a smile, I left the apartment and headed to Jacob’s, passing decorated houses, lights blinking, and children playing in the snow. Everything was right with the world. The best Christmas ever was heading my way.

***

“Sooner than I expected, but glad you’re here,” Jacob said. He stepped from the doorway, and I entered his house again. Slim Shady sat on the couch watching us.

“I wish you’d reconsider not taking the job, Jacob. I think it would be fun, us working together.”

“He offer you a room in the wing?”

“You too?” I asked.

“Why would a billionaire couple need to hire two nannies for an eighteen-year-old girl? Hell, she’s a woman.” Jacob returned to what he was doing on the stove, and I sat at the table.

“Rich people are eccentrics. They do things they find normal that the rest of us find strange.”

“There’s still something not right about the offer.” Jacob set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table. He popped the cork and poured. “To us,” he said. “And whatever weird shit the Quartermains have planned.”

“They’re using us for something,” I said. “But the money is too much to pass up. I gotta stay with it.”

“You should. Do what you think is best for you, Christine.”

“What’re you making?”

“Pasta. A recipe my grandmother passed on to me before she died. I loved it as a kid.” He tapped the oven door. “Sauce is cooking now.”

“Why hasn’t someone snatched you up?” I asked. “Cook. Good-looking. Artist. All-American boy.”

“Come here for a taste.” He raised the spoon from the pot on the stove, and I left the table. He blew on the spoon and moved it to my lips.

I sipped from the spoon, and suddenly I was in Jacob’s arms, rising, my ass landing on the kitchen counter. He spread my legs and moved forward, hand on the back of my neck, open mouth on mine. His tongue explored, and every bit of me allowed him to do so. We were finally at that place I’d been waiting for.

When the kiss slowed, the tip of his tongue tracing my lips, his hand disappeared beneath my sweater. Fingers moved left and right, finding nipples, freeing them. I moaned from pleasure but mostly out of need. I tried to grab his crotch, but he pressed my hands above my head against the cabinets. He undid my jeans.

“Leave your hands up,” he ordered. He opened the drawer beneath me, a drawer full of junk, and removed handcuffs. “All-American boy,” he said. He cuffed my hands to the cabinet handles and proceeded to pull off my jeans, leaving behind the black panties. “Your pussy is wet. I like that. I like that you’ve been thinking about it since you walked through the door.” How did he know? Was I that obvious?

He placed his hand on the insides of my knees and pressed them further apart. “I can’t touch you,” I said.

“Not yet.”

He put his hands on my ass and pulled forward, moving to his knees, my drenched pussy at the counter’s edge. I leaned against the cabinet to keep from falling, the wetness beneath me making it incredibly hard not to slide forward.

Jacob watched for a moment. He watched me pull against the handcuffs. He watched me relax, anticipation building. An evil smile worked across his face before he licked the wet counter. He opened the drawer again and removed scissors, cutting away the panties, smelling the crotch, licking the damp fabric. It was as if I’d walked into a stranger's house. The chair! I wanted to be in the fucking chair!

“Don’t be afraid, Christine.” My name poured seductively from his lips. He grabbed my neck so as not to cause pain. His grip was seductive as if saying everything about to happen was meant to happen. That in his presence, I could release myself, trust him, throw myself into his arms, and rest while he did nasty things to me. I let it happen.

Jacob’s hand tightened, but I didn’t fight it. He had a finger inside my cunt, stroking, his tongue relentlessly sucking my clit. I placed my feet on his shoulders and raised my ass as I came, the oxygen to my brain slowly dissipating. Just as my climax waned and my mind clouded, Jacob let go of my throat and stood, eagerness and satisfaction filling his eyes. He wasn’t done. He was bringing Christmas early.

“Holy Fuck,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

Jacob lowered the temperature on the stove and moved back in front of me. He pushed his pants down and released his cock, the head enormously swelled. His cock wasn’t long, but the width scared me. He took the thick shaft in his hand and pressed the head against my sloppy lips. I thought he would shove inside me, but he did not. Instead, he stood there stroking himself, eyes never wavering from mine. This was Jacob King. The man most people never got to see.

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