Page 91 of The Nanny Goal

I cup her ass, squeezing her cheeks in my palms, and I’m about to mouth my way down to her pointy little tits when the baby monitor in the kitchen goes off, a staticky cry breaking the mood with painful success.

“Fuck,” Emery breathes, panting against my temple.

Not tonight, no.

“Papa…”

“Go,” Emery whispers. “It’s okay.”

It’s not, though.

She climbs off my lap and pats me on the head.

Pats me on the fucking head.

The worst part is I know I’ll be jerking off to this in the morning, head pat and all.

CHAPTER28

EMERY

I don’t sleep well at all, so when I wake up for the third time and it’s almost six in the morning, I roll out of bed and put workout clothes on. Might as well make the most of the pre-Inessa hours of the day.

The house is completely still. I use a bottle of water I filled last night to brush my teeth, lest the running water through the pipes wakes up my tiny and adorable-but-dictatorial charge, then I pad down the hall barefoot, grateful for the thick carpeting that allows me to glide silently past her bedroom.

At the other end of the hall, I’ve just turned the doorknob to go upstairs when I hear Alexei murmur my name from his room.

Surprised that he’s awake already, I turn, thinking he’s seen me, but his door is pulled to—not shut, but not ajar, either.

Frowning, I lift my hand to knock, wondering how he knew I was in the hallway, and then I freeze.

Because he says my name again, but it’s not…

It’s not like he’s calling out for my attention.

It’s low, it’s growly, and it’s private.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Ride me.”

What the fuck?

If the house wasn’t so completely still, I wouldn’t hear him at all. He probably thinks everyone is still asleep.

My ears turn hot as the next thing I pick up is the unmistakable sound of skin slapping.

He’s…

I need to move, but my feet are made of lead. I sway forward, straining to hear what he says next. My hand comes up to brace myself, because all the blood rushing to my head means I can’t think straight, and I don’t remember that the door isn’t latched.

My palm connects with the panel and the hinges squeak.

It’s the loudest sound in the world, worse than a shotgun going off, and in the crack that forms between the door and the frame, I see Alexei’s body arch off the bed, his horrified gaze meeting my prying eyes.

He’s almost naked, a pair of black boxer briefs pushed down around his hips.

His hand is wrapped around his straining erection, which stands out like a spotlight is on it, shining wet at the tip.

“Emery,” he chokes out, and his whole body convulses, his cock erupting in his hand. My eyes go wide as his release sprays up his torso.

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