Page 18 of Puck Your Nanny

My stomach flips, an undeniable pull coiling inside me. My eyes flick to Calvin, then Peter. Their expressions darken, their bodies tensed like they're barely holding themselves back.

I shift, hyperaware of the cool air licking over my bare skin. My covers have slipped. I'm naked; I don't remember undressing.

Calvin growls low in his throat, his eyes dropping to the exposed curves of my breasts, my nipples tight and aching. The sound rakes down my spine, pooling heat between my legs. A desperate need pulses inside me, relentless and impossible to ignore.

Nate kneels onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. The heat of his body is palpable, his scent wrappingaround me like a vise. His fingers trace a slow, deliberate path up my leg. The roughness of his calloused fingertips leaves goosebumps in their wake.

A sharp cry pierces the haze. William. For real this time.

I jolt upright, my body on fire, my breathing ragged. The room is dark, filled with William’s cries. I can't believe that was just a dream. A vivid, inappropriate dream. My skin is overheated and my thighs slippery through my shorts with how turned on I am. I push myself out of bed and hurry to the nursery. Will needs me, and I can't be a mess right now—even if the ache between my legs is unbearable.What the fuck was that? Some kind of Omega fantasy?

The nursery is dimly lit by the nightlight. William wails, his face scrunched, arms and legs flailing. I rush to the crib.

"Hey, sweet boy, what's wrong?" I reach down. The scent of a soiled diaper hits me, at this point it's a welcome distraction. "Okay, let's get you changed."

I carry him to the changing table, my movements shaky. I remove the dirty diaper, wipe him clean. His cries soften to whimpers as I apply diaper cream and fasten a fresh diaper. Focusing on him seems to help ease the ache and the unreal horniness that overtook me. At least I can focus on Will and not be distracted by my own needs.

"There you go, all better." I lift him. He settles against my chest, sniffling. "Hungry, too? Is that it?"

I carry him out of the nursery and down the stairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet. I prepare a bottle, my body still humming with residual heat from the dream, a heat that refuses to dissipate no matter how hard I push it down.

Once the bottle is ready, I head back upstairs to the nursery, settling into the rocking chair. I offer William the bottle. He latches on, his whimpers subsiding as he feeds.

The room is quiet, only the soft sounds of William sucking and the gentle creak of the rocking chair. I gaze down at his face. His features relax, his eyes fluttering closed as he drifts, full and content, back to sleep. Tenderness washes over me. This is real. This matters.

I rock him for a few minutes longer, even after he’s finished. Then I rise and gently lay him back in his crib, tucking his blanket around him. He sighs softly but doesn't wake.I leave the bottle on his dresser, I'll clean it in a few hours. I don't want to go back downstairs right now.

I tiptoe out of the nursery, leaving the door ajar, and head back to my room. As I reach the doorway, a sudden, sharp cramp grips my lower abdomen. I gasp, clutching at my stomach, the unexpected pain doubling me over. A wave of heat crashes over me, leaving me drenched in sweat, breathless, aching.

I stumble towards the bathroom, my mind racing. Another cramp, sharper this time, clenches low in my belly. My period. But it's not due for another two weeks. My cramps are never this bad. This feels different.

The pressure between my legs is unbearable, my clit throbbing with a need so insistent it steals my breath. A whimper escapes before I can stop it. My thighs press together instinctively, but it does nothing to ease the ache. I want to touch myself, need to, but I can’t, not now.

This isn't just from a dream. This is something else. Something more. It can't be what I'm thinking.

Turning, I go back to my room.My gaze flicks toward the nightstand where my dildo is tucked away, untouched for months. The thought of using it sends another hot pulse of need through me, but I shove the idea aside. I pace my room, panting, as the heat in my body builds. The air is thick, suffocating. My clothes stick to my skin. And then, the scent hits me:sandalwood, leather, lavender, spice. It’s everywhere. It pulls me back out to the hall.

It’s coming from them.

My feet carry me toward Nate’s door before I can think better of it. My clit pulses in time with my racing heartbeat, the ache between my legs unbearable. The thought of their scent, their hands, their mouths—it sends another shuddering wave of need crashing through me. I can’t. They can’t know. If they find out, I'll be out of a job, and I'll have to leave after getting attached to William. I'm not sure I could take that pain so soon again. I know it will have to happen one day, but not now.

My head turns toward the laundry room next to Calvin's. I think back to the Omega romance movies I've watched and how being around an Alpha's scent, having their clothes to sleep with, helps push off their heats. My feet carry me that way. I know Nate and Calvin both like to toss their clothes on the floor to deal with later in the week.

Pushing open the door, I find two piles, just as expected. Peter doesn’t keep his clothes up here. I get the feeling he only takes the stairs once a week to avoid dealing with the pain. He limps a lot and always looks angry, so I have to assume it’s the pain causing his sour mood.

I glance around, making sure no one will see me, and then I snatch the black shirt from Nate’s pile and the flannel from Calvin’s. I dart back to my room, feeling like the strangest thief in the world before I close the door and walk over to my bed. The urge to bury my face in them is too strong. I sit down on the edge of the mattress and bring them both to my nose. I inhale deeply and have to suppress a moan.

Fuck, that’s good. My nipples harden, pressing against the cotton of my shirt. I lie back on the bed, rolling to my side as I continue to inhale. The dampness in my underwear and pajamashorts is ridiculous. I rub my thighs together, trying to get relief without touching myself, but it’s not working.

"Just this once." The words rasp out of my throat. "Just to ease the pressure. It’s the dream. That’s all. This isn’t what I think it is." A pathetic lie, but I cling to it.

I shove my pajama bottoms and underwear off, shivering as the cool air brushes against my overheated skin. I collapse back onto the bed, the sheets a brief relief against my fevered body, but it does nothing to ease the ache burning inside me.

My hand moves at a sluggish pace, filled with hesitation. It hovers. Then my fingers slip between my legs, my other hand pressing their shirts to my face like some kind of fiend. Fuck, I’m wetter than I’ve ever been in my life. I’ve never had so much arousal coating my fingers before I’ve even begun.

A gasp escapes. My fingers find my swollen clit. My hips buck at the contact as I spread my fingers in a V and squeeze. The pleasure is sharp, immediate. I use their shirts to muffle the cry that rises in my throat. I run my fingers back and forth over the nub, trying to get the release that hovers just out of reach. My hips rock, desperate for more friction. I need more.

I press harder, faster, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The pleasure builds, the coil of tension in my lower belly tightening. I clench the shirts for dear life, knuckles white. I’m close. So close. My muscles tense to the point of breaking, but I can’t hold on long enough to come. They shake, and as they release, my chance at an orgasm goes with them.

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