Page 1 of The Nanny Goal

CHAPTER1

ALEXEI

At the top of the list of key lessons I’ve learned about being a single father is that the safest time to stroke one out is really fucking early in the morning.

File that under “things nobody tells you”.

Of course, nobody knew I was going to be a father before I was suddenly thrust into the experience with an hour’s notice.

Two years later, I’m still figuring out how to balance my pro hockey career and raising a toddler—and finding reliable personal time remains a struggle.

You might think it would be late at night, but half the time I’m too fucking wiped, either from a game, or pushing myself too hard through workouts, or simply managing the complicated mess that is my new life. And the rest of the time, there’s a solid chance my parents will barge in because they’re night owls with zero sense of personal space.

Middle-aged Russian parents do not understand that a guy needs his privacy because he’s not getting laid, he might never get laid ever again, and the only thing that would get him off anyway is a memory he feels fucking guilty for indulging in.

Another reason I take care of business at dawn… this is when I’m weakest. This is the time of day I can’t stop myself from getting hard for an off-limits woman.

My best friend’s younger sister.

The woman I was with when?—

I don’t think about that part of it, the part that means it will never happen again.

In hindsight, it should never have happened in the first place.

I’m not proud of how much I enjoyed the way she looked at me, like I could build sandcastles in the sky for her.

And when I give in, like I am right now, and shove my shorts down to wrap my fist around my erection, I desperately reach for any fantasy but that one.

I imagine her fingers on my cock, something that never happened. Her breath, warm and sweet, against my most sensitive flesh. Licking at my tip with her pointy pink tongue.

Something else she never had a chance to do.

Most of my fantasies are basically alternate endings to that night. What if I hadn’t checked my phone? What if she’d gotten my zipper undone and her slim fingers into my boxers?

She’d been so fucking willing. So eager.

I stroke myself harder than she would have, punishing myself, jerking roughly. I never pretend my hand is hers, probably couldn’t even if I tried. But in my head, I see it play out. She climbs on top of me, curious fingers exploring my length. Teasing me. Making me buck into her touch, needing more. Needing so much more.

I would make her hold my gaze as she brought us together, replacing her hand with her entire body, her sweet pussy, that tight, wet?—

Fuck.

It’s a good thing it’s just a fantasy, because I just prematurely jizzed at her entrance like a teenage boy.

Chest heaving, I pump the last of my seed into the pooling puddle on my abs and shut my eyes.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,”my fantasy of Emery says.“I’m so hot you couldn’t hold it.”

Real life Emery wasn’t that cocky. She was sweet and innocent, and the adoration in her eyes as I took that innocence was headier than any drug.

I put us both in a terrible position that night.

And right on cue, as the blood pounds fast and heavy in my ears, a rustling sound comes across the baby monitor on my bedside table.

The fantasy dissolves as quickly as that night did.

From now until late tonight, my time belongs to others.

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