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Despite the lack of electricity in the house, an arc of current sizzles between us.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She never uses my given name. It is always “Mr. Hawkins” despite all my requests for her to call me by my first name. I’m older than her, sure, but I don’t get off on the whole mister routine.
I have enough trouble not thinking of all the ways I’d like to fuck Peyton but her lips forming my name makes that impossible.
I remain silent for a couple of beats. My eyes lock onto the way her lower lip is caught between her teeth. She’s punishing the flesh, making it plump up and through it all, I feel every inch of my cock throb.
Peyton raises her head, meets my eyes briefly, then looks down. She takes a sip of her drink.
Holy fuck. She’s a submissive.
Images of those sweet lips sliding over the crown of my cock and down my length make me dizzy. Pleasure rushes through my body, setting all my nerve endings on fire.
Long locks of hair tangle around her almost completely bare shoulders and drops down to tease over her taut nipples. Instead of covering the hard tips, the bouncing ends of her hair draw my attention to them more.
“You should stay at a hotel until Lila comes back.” My voice sounds hoarse. “There isn’t much for you here, especially without power.” I hear my words, but I don’t put strong enough conviction behind them from the way her eyes fly to mine and narrow.
Her staying in town is the right thing to do. I need to have this temptation removed from me. I promised Oliver I wouldn’t touch her. I always keep my promises. In a sleazy business like entertainment, respect is such a rare commodity and I’ll be damned if I lose mine.
Peyton’s eyes change from narrowed slits to wide-eyed when she sees I’m not budging.
“Oh. You’re serious. Umm...” Her lips peel apart, giving me a glimpse of the tip of her pink tongue. I am sure she’d taste sweeter than any honey and would be impossible to forget.
“It’s just that, well, it’s so peaceful here. I love it.” A frown forms between her perfect brows. “Though this isyourhome, Sir. After all the traveling I’m sure I’m the last person you want around right now.”
Her voice is sultry, low and like an angel’s.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
She nods, and my cock twitches at the way she pulls the ends of her. A delicious agony washes over me. I don’t want her to go. God only knows what kind of drunken ape-men assholes are at the hotel. I can’t protect her if she isn’t with me.
Mine.
A voice in my head is already screaming at me to claim her already. Show her all the different ways I can make her scream with pleasure.
I clench my fists at my sides in frustration. Wanting to fuck the nanny is the most tired cliché out there. Sure, I haven’t been planning to spend my vacation beating it off to avoid temptation, but adulthood is full of disaster and disappointments.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. There’s plenty of room here for both of us if that’s what you’d like. You are more than welcome to stay.” I force myself to give her a friendly smile, although relief and terror alternately rip the hell out of my insides.
The devil in me is thrilled. Having her close lets me protect her. The adult part of me—believe me, there is no inner angel at my age—knows that is going to cost me some serious heartache and sleep.
“Thank you, Mr. Hawkins.” Joy floods her face. “I’ll get us some dinner.” She slides off the stool, and I can’t help but notice her breasts jiggle with the movement.
“There’s some dinner almost ready; I’ll set the plates. Why don’t you stay put, maybe put another towel on and warm up?” I light the candles and hurricane lamps that we kept on the kitchen table. Out on the islands, these aren’t just decorations, and we depend on them. Besides, I always prefer the soft glow of candlelight.
“Consider me warmed. Besides, I love being in a kitchen, especially one as beautiful as this one.”
My heart stops when she unwraps the towel from her waist and tosses it over the back of a chair back. Blood roars through my veins and it’s like the first song of a concert. The second I strum my fingers over the strings of my guitar and belt out the first line to a song a surge of power fills me.
Only now, it’s not power—it’s ball-gripping lust.
Peyton leans over and opens the oven, pushing her perfectly round ass into the air. The sides of her suit have ridden high on her ass and if I were less of a man, I’d have broken down by now and confessed. Looking at her almost makes my resolve not to take her in the middle of the kitchen nearly crack.
She twists her long damp hair into a knot while she busies herself with the final touches of food prep. To keep busy, I gather the plates.
But I’m left with enough time and plenty of opportunities to admire the graceful curve of her neck and shoulders. She chats about what she’s seen along the beach. Perhaps she is as nervous about spending time alone with me as I am with her.
