Page 39 of The Christmas Nanny

“You’re soft,” she said. “Charles says you taste good as well.”

“What are you doing?” I moved away, hugging the bed’s edge, and Samantha followed. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“He told me to come to your room and climb into bed with you. That’s what I’m doing.” She said it like she was only following orders, so don’t get bent out of shape.

“You’re not. And you don’t have to do what your asshole father is telling you to do. I’m not going to jail for him or anyone else.” I decided right then Quartermain was off his rocker.

Samantha reached behind her back and pulled an envelope from her panties. She opened the envelope and dropped the money on the blanket as if it were raining hundred-dollar bills. “It’s $5,000. He said people talk, but money talks louder.”

“I’m not doing with you whatever it is he told you we should do,” I said, greedily eyeing the green on the blanket. The money said I could pay off my car in a few short months. It whispered I could have my own place by the end of next year if I just kept my blinders on and did as told. “It’s tempting.”

A hand moved between my legs, and fingers pressed against my pussy. “I heard you were always wet. Can you tell me about the nights you spent with my father?”

“Shit!”

“Relax. I go both ways. And if I’m being honest, pussy tastes a lot better than dick.”

“I don’t,” I said frantically. “Go both ways.”

“Have you ever tried?” She slipped a finger beneath the wet fabric, and I couldn't help but moan, pulling the covers to my chin and losing myself in Samantha’s eyes.

It was wrong. So wrong.

Samantha grabbed the money with her free hand and laid it beside my face, the hundred dollar bills crisp, the scent intoxicating. Her finger found its way inside me, wiggling, easing my hole wider.

“He . . . he told us you were off-limits.”

Samantha chuckled. “It’s all part of his manipulation.” She pulled my panties down and moved over me, spreading my legs with her knees. She rubbed her bare pussy against mine, grinding hard, making me want to scream. It felt good, her skin soft, the chestnut-colored eyes arousing. I suddenly understood what a man meant when he said there was nothing like a woman’s touch.

I pulled our shirts up, and our breasts touched, nipples poking each other, my pink flesh against her much darker nipples. I buried my face in the crook of her neck and breathed deeply, her divine scent exciting something deep in my soul.

Samantha moved up and down several times before our open mouths came together. I’d never kissed a woman but found it erotic, sensual, and delicious. I would do it again and again. I wanted to do it again with Samantha.

The grinding increased, intense and painful at times but pleasing as a whole. Samantha shuddered, her neck tensing, and she came, the warm wetness sliding between my pussy lips. I didn’t climax, and that was okay because the experience had still been a sensual experience with a woman, something I’d never felt. The strange things added to my bingo card for the year made me smile.

I held Samantha tight, the warm, soft skin a comfort I never knew I missed. I felt protected, wanted, needed, and desired. Yes, I felt protected in a man’s arms and would always want it to be that way, but having Samantha next to me, on me, in me, made my need for a woman’s touch greater.

“That was quick,” I said.

“Always is the first time I’m with someone.” Samantha shrugged, and I saw a desire to be loved in her eyes. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but it was there, creeping up from her soul. I’d been in that place before and probably was now. Hurt rarely showed on the outside, but once intimacy became part of the picture, the hurt was there for someone special to see.

“I can find you help,” I said. “He should not be asking you to do things.”

“Forget that for now,” Samantha said. “I just want you to hold me for a few minutes. Let me relax against you. I miss just being held.”

I moved Samantha to her side, facing away, and moved forward against her. She pressed her ass back and moaned. She fell asleep with my arm draped over hers, the fresh smell of her hair and skin captivating.

Knowing Quartermain had sent Samantha to my room stirred a pot of discontent in my stomach. It was one thing to play his games, yet another involving his daughter in his dirty little escapades. How did someone like me even the score with a billionaire? Very carefully.

I eased from bed and moved the covers over Samantha. Although I needed a shower, I didn’t want to wake her, so I dressed and snuck from the room under Wigglesbutt’s watchful eyes.

I made it all the way to the kitchen without seeing another person. When I closed the refrigerator door, Jacob stood at the counter, waiting.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“You mean about Quartermain and me?” I said, disgruntled. He could have gone home and left the money behind, but, like me, he stayed to make a buck.

“Yeah. Something like that.” He moved around the counter, sporting a hard-on beneath his gray sweatpants. It didn’t bother him that I stared.

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