I want to own her.
The thoughts pop into my head, and I force them away – especially the last one. It’s a stupid fucking thought, one I’ve never had about anyone before.
And I don’t spin her around. I don’t put her palms against the door. I don’t bend her over, smack her ass while I thrust inside her.
Yet.
She looks down at me, face flushed, lips plumped and swollen from mine being pressed against them, her breasts heaving as she gasps, and I know by the expression on her face that no one has made her come like that before.
That makes me want to take my time with her.
I slide my hands up her legs, around her thighs, until I reach the sides of her panties. Her hands go automatically to them, as if she’s trying to keep them on, the gesture self-conscious, which makes her somehow more endearing.
I wasn’t lying when I told her I’d been thinking about the way she would taste since the second I saw her. I’ve been thinking about how her face would look, her expression when she let go of the prim-and-proper bullshit and finally came on me, since I first looked at her.
Grasping the edge of her panties, I tear the shit off her before she can protest. She squeals – literally squeals – which just makes me want to do it again. "Luke!"
"What?" I ask. "Were you attached to those?"
I toss them, watching as they land perfectly in one of the bowls she has perched on a table in the entryway, this wooden decorative bowl that holds her keys and her sunglasses.
Now it holds her panties, too.
Kneeling between her legs, I spread her thighs apart with my hands, my thumbs grazing her * lips. She's freshly waxed, groomed, and I realize that’s for me. Despite all of her protesting, she’s wanted this. She’s anticipated it.
Shit, I could come right here and now at the thought of that.
"What?" she asks, looking down at me, her voice breathy. "You're making me nervous."
“Nothing,” I say. “You’re just hot as hell.”
Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. “No one’s told me that in a long time.”
My hands on her thighs, I lean closer to her, inhaling her scent. I want to drink her in. “The men you’ve been around must be fucking blind.”
She moans before I even touch the tip of my tongue to her *, and it spurs me on. I lick the length of her, slowly, trailing my tongue along her until I reach her clit. When I take her clit into my mouth, sucking it, she leans against the door, watching me with hooded eyes. All I can think about is what those eyes would look like as she comes.
Her fingers run along the back of my head, and she moans my name as I lick her, her breath coming shorter and shorter as I fuck her with my tongue. She’s whispering my name over and over like it’s come kind of mantra – until she stops, this time saying it with a hint of alarm in her voice: Luke!”
I look up at her, not stopping until she says it again. “Shit. Luke! The nanny is back early. She’s pulling in the driveway. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
And just like that, she’s pushing me away, scrambling for her jeans, grabbing the rumpled clothing from the floor. “Luke,” she says. “Shit. I have to put clothes on. You. What are we doing with you?”
“Well, a half-second ago, you were about to come on my tongue.”
Her face goes scarlet, and she looks like she’s about to break into a run, the lower half of her body naked. “Oh, shit. I mean, there’s a bathroom downstairs for you to clean up. Oh, God.”
She’s darting upstairs before I can tell her she left her torn panties in the bowl on the entryway table. I slip them into my back pocket before the door swings open.
The nanny stands there with Olivia on her hip, her eyes going wide. “Oh,” she says. “I didn’t know anyone was home. We came home early instead of going to the park, because it looked like it was going to rain. Autumn is usually out in the – “
“Usually what?” Autumn’s voice comes from behind me, and she passes me without a second glance, scooping Olivia up in her arms. “Hey, my little baby. Did you have fun?”
“We sang lots of songs,” the nanny says.
“Mr. Saint was just giving me some ideas for reorganization of the orchard to increase efficiency of the crop,” Autumn says quickly.
“Efficiency,” I agree, stifling the pang of irritation that runs through me. The way she avoids eye contact with me makes me feel like she’s ashamed of what happened, and for whatever reason, that annoys me.
“Are you staying for lunch, Mr. Saint?” the nanny asks.
Autumn clears her throat. “I think he probably has a lot of work to do,” she says, interrupting me before I can speak.
“Yeah,” I say, annoyed that she just interrupted me, like she’s afraid of what I’m going to say or something. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Work that I’m basically doing for her as a favor. I don’t need this job.
I don’t know why I’m so annoyed that she just brushed me off, but I am.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Autumn