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Another thrust.
Another. Water sloshes all around.
“You feel so good,” he breathes out. “Perfect girl.”
His praises do wonderful things to me. I begin to move with him. The undulation of my hips dances with his own. We crash in the middle again and again. Pelvis to pelvis, his thrusts going deep and his thumb grazing my clit sporadically to keep me hovering on the edge of coming again.
It’s a desperate struggle to get more, more, more of each other. I know we’ve gone further than we ever should but having him inside me makes it feel like that doesn’t even matter.
Nothing matters but this.
There are no words. He cleaves into me and I welcome him. My whole body feels perfectly on fire.
“I’m—I’m so c-close.”
My voice is a broken tremble in the night. It only spurs him on more. Reese grips my hips and pulls back to look at me as he drills into my body. Our eyes fixate on each other. His face is so beautiful. Brows furrowed in pleasure and his lip drawn between his teeth.
That’s what sends me over.
He loves fucking me so damn bad.
I grip his shoulders, pussy tight again around his cock. I jerk against his lap and can’t help but continue to writhe when everything erupts into a volcanic flow of pleasure again.
Reese fucks me harder through it. His thrusts lose their cadence and then he can’t help it; he buries himself all the way inside me, then stills. Heat gushes through my insides.
I shudder. I love the feeling entirely too much.
When we’re both finally spent, Reese stays inside me as he kisses his way up my shoulder to my neck. His teeth leave a trail of bites that lead right to my mouth. I take it eagerly, moaning against his lips.
One thought runs through my head again and again as life returns to something resembling normal.
I’ve gone and done what I said I would never do.
And for now, I’m perfectly fine with it.
34
REESE
I fucked up.
And honestly, I’m glad that I did.
It would get me in serious trouble if it got out. Not only is mega playboy Reese Dalton a father to a secret baby, but he’s gone and fucked his nanny. How stereotypical.
I can see it in my head: the tabloids running wild. All the speculation. I’ve been the focus of their attention for so long that I can predict their bullshit.
But as I lie down in my bed with the scent of chlorine and Olivia’s sweet pussy still on me, I don’t give a shit. There’s something in her that sees me. She found that box of memories—and instead of judging me or running away, she stayed.
She stayed.
Now, I’ve got that feeling and the memory of her moans imprinted on my brain. The only downside was that she didn’t come to my bed after. I’d have killed to put her on my sheets and taste her again and again.
I roll over and grimace. I don’t have practice or film study or anywhere else to go. I want to spend the day with Olivia. I’m high with the need to keep her close.
Does an addiction start so soon? Or did it form the moment I met her?
I grab my phone from the nightstand and shoot a text to Paula. Arrange a discreet babysitter to come to the house at 7.
