Falling for the Babysitter Read online

  He picks her up and they sit on the floor. Bailey’s tears stop. She must remember me from yesterday, because she reaches her little hand toward me. I take it and sit beside them.

  “Wow, she’s really picky about the people she lets near me,” Deacon says. “She’s kind of territorial. She must really like you.”

  I cross my eyes, making funny faces at her, getting her to laugh. “I like her too.”

  He starts to hum a tune, a lullaby I remember from my own childhood. I hum along. I can’t help myself. He smiles, encouragingly, so I start to sing the words and he sings along too. He has a great singing voice, and I was always given solos when I was in the school choir so I know I sing well too. Bailey seems to like it. Her smile stretches her chubby cheeks and she lets out happy gurgling sounds. After a few minutes she’s dozing off. By the end of the song, she’s passed out.

  Deacon lays her in the playpen and I step out of the room into the dark hallway. This is where we were standing yesterday when he moved the hair from my shoulder and we almost kissed. He comes toward me, but stops before getting too close. His eyes are intense, focused on mine. The need in them is undeniable. They sparkle in the low light, begging for something more. I step up to him, letting him know I’m ready and willing. I want this kiss more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

  Only, instead of closing the gap between us, he takes a step back. He’s reluctant about it. Did I read him wrong? In the kitchen it seemed like he really wanted me. I feel so confused right now, and torn. I know if we kiss, or if things go any further, that might change the dynamic between us. It might screw up this whole arrangement. Maybe he’s afraid if we sleep together and things change between us, he won’t have someone to take care of Bailey while he goes to work. I can’t blame him. I know how hard it would be for him to find someone he trusts to watch his daughter.

  “I should get to work,” he says, his voice hesitant, as if he doesn’t really want to leave.

  I want to tell him to stay, to be with me, but I don’t want him to get in trouble at work. I don’t want to be selfish. “Of course. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  “Surprisingly, I don’t worry about anything knowing you’re watching my daughter. I’m always worried about her otherwise, but I can see she’s in capable hands.”

  These hands are capable of other things too, not just watching children. They’re capable of making him very happy. I want to show him that. I want to tell him that, but I can’t. Not without changing things between us that might not be for the good.

  He leaves for work. I watch him from the window as he pulls out of the driveway and heads down the road. Once he’s out of sight, I go to his room. All these years wondering what it was like in there. I need to see it for myself.

  The first thing I do is go to the window where there’s a direct view to my room. So it’s possible that he was watching me last night. There are fingerprint smudges there. Had he watched me and touched the window?

  I look around at the rest of the room. He has a queen size bed with a blue sheet set and matching comforter. Such a bachelor room. It’s very sparse on the decoration, and everything is bland, dark colors. Kicking off my shoes, I flop back on his bed, sprawled out, moving my hands like I would if I were making a snow angel on the cool fabric of his comforter.

  I can smell him on the sheets, the leathery musk of his cologne, the soap he uses, and the gel he wears in his hair. Putting his pillow over my face, I hug it tight and breathe in deep. I’m so turned on right now, I can hardly stand it. I used to masturbate with my pillow when I would think of him. That was before I was old enough to go to the sex shops and buy myself toys. I would take my body pillow and pretend it was him, get naked and then rub against it until, well, you know. I’m half tempted to use his pillow as my new play thing, maybe switch it out for one of my own. I could take Bailey when she wakes up and run over to my house. All I’d have to do is put his pillowcase on it.

  Smiling, I take the pillow off of my face when it gets too hot. When I do, I see a dark figure in the doorway and yelp, my heart racing a million miles an hour.

  Deacon stands there, a crooked smile on his face. “Hi,” he says.

  Flushed, I ask, “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at work?”

  I sit up and start to stand, but he says, “No, stay there.”

  It feels a little like I’m in trouble. Like when I did something wrong as a kid and I was made to stay on my bed and not move.

  “I called in sick,” he says, moving toward the bed. Toward me. My breathing comes faster. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. There’s a connection here. I know you feel it.”

  I lean back until I’m lying on his bed, my breath now coming in heavy bursts as he leans over me. I nod because my voice is caught in my throat. He grabs my arms and raises them above my head. Letting out a low moan, I welcome this aggressive side of him.

  He bridges the gap between us until our lips are touching. It’s a gentle kiss at first. An introduction, his lips getting to know mine. His are soft, yet eager. His weight settles on me, fingers curling in my hair. I love how his body fits perfectly with mine. Our hips and chests meshing together as if we were made for each other. I can feel his heartbeat against me, moving just as fast as mine. He seems so confident, but his heartbeat suggests he’s nervous too. Or maybe he’s just as excited to be with me as I am to finally be with him. I can’t believe this is finally happening. All my adolescent dreams are coming true and I try to memorize the feeling of him against me, the sound of his breath, the smell of him, in order to keep this memory with me always.

  Our tongues meet, twisting and writhing. Limbs intertwine. I slip his shirt over his head, mussing up his hair. His skin is hot to the touch, taut over his muscles. I love the smoothness of him against my fingers. Looking down between us, I see his hard on straining to get out of his jeans. I’m all too eager to help him with that. He raises up to give me plenty of room to work as I unzip his jeans and slip my hand into his boxers, gasping when I feel how large he is. How will that ever fit?

  A tendril of fear shivers through me when I think about the pain of having sex for the first time. Especially with someone so big. I know it’s not likely, but I can’t help but worry that it won’t fit.

  Somehow he manages to get his jeans off with one hand. His boxers slip down over his narrow waist, and I see just how intimidating he really is. I’m nervous, but at the same time I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been. His skin is smoldering and silky. I wrap my hand around his massive manhood, slowly stroking. He lets out a deep, masculine growl that sends goose bumps prickling up my arms.

  It’s as if I’ve awoken a beast. Suddenly he’s tearing off my clothes, his eyes feral with lust. I’m a rag doll, being bent and positioned roughly. This wild side of him is such a turn on, and I realize the difference between a boy and a man are worlds apart. My ex, Trevor, was a terrible substitute for the real thing.

  My clothes are off in seconds. He sits back, just looking at me. It makes me a little self-conscious being exposed like this, but the intense look on his face lets me know he likes what he sees and all I want to do is please him, so I make sure not to curl in on myself like I want. I stay open to him, let him see every part of me, every flaw, every freckle.

  “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he says in a deep, sultry voice.

  He’s kissing me again, licking, biting at my bottom lip, while his hands explore my breasts. I never really knew just how sensitive my nipples were until now. Every time he tweaks one, it sends a curl of lightning down to my clit which feels swollen and neglected while the rest of my body gets all the attention. But that’s okay, because I know when he finally does get around to touching me there, it will be worth the wait.

  He takes one of my breasts into his mouth, growling like a dog with a toy he doesn’t want to share with anyone else. He’s so possessive over my body. I’ve never felt this wanted, or lusted over before. Then he switc
hes breasts, making sure each has its fair share of attention.

  When he comes up for air, he says, “You have the most perfect tits.” He squeezes one and licks his way around the areola. “And the cutest little nipples.” He takes them both, holding them. “These belong to me now,” he says possessively. “No one else can touch them.”

  “My entire body is yours,” I say desperately. “I want only you. I’ve always wanted only you.”

  He sits back, looking curiously at me, while still holding my breasts in his hands. “Always?”

  “Since I was thirteen,” I say. “I’ve had the biggest crush on you. You must’ve noticed. I wasn’t very good at hiding it.”

  He laughs. “I had a feeling when you started coming out of your house every time I did. I saw you a few time staring at me too.”

  I feel myself blushing, but I don’t care. I want him to know. “I was a little obsessed with you.”

  “Oh yeah?” he says and kisses one of my nipples. “Did you fantasize about us being together?”

  “All the time.”

  He sucks nearly my entire breast into his mouth and starts to suck and nibble. The pressure between my legs builds until I feel like I might burst. When he lets go he asks, “What kinds of things did you picture me doing to you?” he asks.

  His hand runs along the skin of my inner thigh, coming awfully close to the dip between my legs, but he never goes that far. It’s like he knows the agony I’m in and wants to torture me.

  My hands go to the tight globes of his ass cheeks. I push his boxers down to his knees, as far as I can reach. He pushes them down the rest of the way until they’re at his ankles and he kicks them off. We are both entirely naked how. It’s terrifying and thrilling all at the same time. And though there’s nothing in the way now, he has amazing restraint. I arch toward him, but he manages to keep our hips from touching.

  “I pictured you touching me—” I nod, “down there.

  He smiles and chuckles. “You mean your pussy?” he says.

  I blush. I don’t know why it’s such an embarrassing word for me to say. I’m an adult, after all. I’m eighteen. But for some reason it stills feels like a bad word to say.

  “Yes,” I say. “My pussy.” I try the word out. It’s weird. A little naughty, a little embarrassing, but I like it. Feels sexy. And I can tell by the way Deacon starts to lose his smile, his features becoming sharper, intense, that it turns him on too. “I used to imagine you sneaking into my room when my window was left open on summer nights. You would strip me down and wake me up by licking my pussy.”

  He makes low sound in his throat. His hands squeezing my breasts harder, painfully pinching my nipples until my pussy starts to leak everywhere. I can feel the puddle growing on sheets beneath my ass.

  “What else,” he says, his voice barely a whisper as he spreads my legs apart and squeezes the skin of my inner thigh as if it’s taking all his restraint to keep from tearing me open.

  “And then you would fuck me.” Suddenly these naughty words feel right and they come spilling out of me as if they were always there, held captive, just waiting for the right time to escape. “You would slam your cock so deep into me that I would have to bite my pillow to keep from screaming. When I became too loud, you would flip me onto my stomach and push my face into the pillow as you fucked me from behind.”

  His hands are still gripping my inner thighs, but his face looks a little dumbstruck. He stays like that for several seconds and I start to wonder if I went too far. Then a smile forms on his lips and keeps stretching until it fills his entire face. “Wow. And here I thought when young girls have crushes on older men, it’s all about nice dinners and romantic gestures.”

  I smile up at him. “Those are good too,” I say.

  He laughs and kisses me on the lips, a quick peck that becomes a slow kiss until developing into a heated, sensual make-out session. His lips taste so good. While his lips move down to my neck, his hands move up my thighs, spreading my legs further. He’s massaging the puffy skin of my outer labia, pinching and pulling.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, thrusting my hips up toward him, mewling and whispering, “oh fuck,” as the engorged feeling in my pussy becomes more prominent.

  “I need you inside of me,” I tell him.

  Though I’ve never had sex, something instinctual tells me that’s the only relief for the pressure I feel building up.

  The tip of his finger finds the top of my clit and he starts to rub in slow circles, and I’m yelling his name, feeling as though I will launch out of this bed, right through the ceiling. I’ve masturbated a thousand times, but it’s never felt like this. It’s a completely different experience when you’re turned on so much that there’s no oxygen going to your brain and you feel half-crazy with lust, and someone else is doing all the touching for you. It’s mind blowing. It’s more that I can take.

  The orgasm is on top of me before I even realize it’s coming. I’m making choking sounds and my body is lurching, spasming. At first I think we’re done, because when I’m touching myself, that’s all there is. The build-up, the release, and done. But Deacon keeps rubbing and I realize, no, it’s not done. That powerful feeling just keeps building and building, until it’s almost painful, and I’m thinking we should probably stop before the pain gets worse, but he keeps rubbing and instead of the pain getting worse, something inside of me breaks open and pleasure explodes in bursts and I’m coming and coming, and still coming. My mouth opens and a cry comes out without me even realizing what’s happening. He keeps rubbing and I keep coming for an entire minute until finally the ebb starts to take me back down.

  Deacon is kissing the side of my breast, watching my face with a teasing smile. “How was that?” he asks.

  “What the fuck just happened?” I say, breathless and a little confused. How had I been masturbating for years and never knew it could be like that? It’s almost like a betrayal, like my body has been lying to me this entire time.

  He buries his face between my breasts and starts laughing. Like, crack-up laughing. I feel kind of dumb, like some ignorant little girl instead of the sexual woman I try to portray myself to be.

  “You’ve never had an orgasm before?” he says when he finally stops laughing.

  I’m still breathless, my heart pounding in the back of my neck. “Not like that. Nothing close to being like that.”

  He looks at me, smug now when he smiles. “Oh, honey, that’s nothing compared to the things I plan to do to you.”

  A shiver rolls through me and it feels a little like Christmas right now. I’m so excited I can hardly sit still.

  He kisses his way down my body until his head is between my spread legs. At first he just teases me. A nibble here, a bite there. My body reacts. Just knowing he’s down there is enough to turn me on. Then his tongue reaches out, touching that most delicate spot and it’s as though the rest of the world has just slipped away into the abyss. I close my eyes, marveling in the feelings he’s giving me. He sucks at the skin of my labia, nursing at my clit. Tongue driving deep. Drinking in my excitement. He’s so focused. The skin on his forehead tightens as he concentrates on bringing me pleasure.

  When he comes up for air, he says, “Your pussy tastes so good.” Then he’s diving back in. I hold the back of his head, running my fingers through his thick hair.

  He fits his entire mouth around my pussy, hungry for it. Sucking and licking as if he’s afraid to miss a single drop.

  A wonderful warmth spreads through my body, reaching out to my limbs and I lie here feeling as if I’m glowing from the inside out. I’ve never felt like this. It was always awkward and confusing with other boyfriends when we’d fool around and it was obvious that neither of us had enjoyed the experience as much as we should have. Maybe it’s because Deacon is older and more experienced. He seems to know exactly what my body needs exactly when it needs it.

  He slips his finger in, and though I’ve been fingered before—including by myself�
�it’s as if he’s found some kind of secret passage, a pleasure center that’s been hidden my whole life and only his finger is the key to unlocking it.

  I let out a loud moan despite trying to be painfully quiet as not to wake up the baby. It’s probably too late for that now. I already cried out more than once.

  He tries a second finger. It’s an uncomfortably narrow fit. “Jesus, you’re tight,” he says.

  I almost tell him it’s because I’ve never had anything more than one finger in there before. I’m afraid to tell him I’m a virgin, afraid it’ll scare him away. I don’t want this to stop. I don’t want him to think of me as the little kid next door. I’m a woman now, and I don’t want to come off as anything else.

  I take his hand and move it before he realizes I’m a virgin. “I need you,” I tell him. “I want you inside of me.”

  He climbs his way up my body, kissing me the entire time. While he’s on top, he looks at my eyes and he’s so insanely handsome. I can’t believe this is actually going to happen with him. All of those adolescent fantasies finally coming to life. I can hardly stand the anticipation.

  The head of his cock rubs against my clit, both of us wet and slick, driving me wild. He starts to push into me and when he does there’s a slight tinge of pain. He stops, hitting my barrier. His brow furrows. There’s a long pause, him studying my face before he finally says, “You’re a virgin?”

  I take a long breath. There’s no sense in lying. It’s pretty obvious. “I am.”

  He lets out a disappointed sigh, and my heart clenches. “Remy, your first time should be with someone you care about.” He starts to pull out, but I grab his hips, holding him in place.

  “There’s no one else I would rather lose my virginity to. I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen-years-old. No one has ever made me feel the way you have. I’ve always been waiting for you,” I say. “I want to do this with you and only you.”

  The hunger in his stare intensifies. His lips devour mine, our tongues clashing together, twisting and writhing around each other.