The Nanny

I’m going to tell him today, I’ve decided.

I know it’s not a good look that I waited yet another day, but it’s just that we had such a good time at the park yesterday (I lost at Frisbee, but with the bet we made, did I really?), and then Aiden worked late, and it’s just not something I could bring myself to talk about over text. Even face-to-face, there is a good chance he’ll get irreversibly angry and tell me to get out of his house, which is something I’ve been trying to brace myself for, but deep down I know it isn’t something I could ever be prepared for.

I’ve been pacing around the living room while Aiden takes Sophie to school, running through every possible outcome in my head. In some versions, Aiden is confused but understanding. In others, he is so angry that he can’t even look at me. And in the more delusional possibilities—he’s even glad to have found me again.

But that seems unlikely.

I have to tell him though. Today. Before he can get back here and distract me with his kiss and his touch and all that comes with it. I know if I let him touch me, I’ll lose my resolve, even if something in the back of my brain begs that I keep it quiet just a little longer, because what if today is the last time he ever does? It’s something I don’t even want to consider, but I know that I have to.

And I can live with that, if it happens. Or at least, that’s what I’m telling myself. I did it once, right? Sure, it was shitty, but I got over it. Mostly.

You know it’s different now, my brain whispers.

And that’s the crux of it all. Aiden is no longer that faceless person who turned me on and whispered to me in the dark. Now, he’s this person who seems like so much more than I deserve, with his nice smile and his pretty eyes and his addictive laugh. Now, Aiden is dad jokes and forehead kisses (Sophie) and secret kisses (me) and sweet, filthy words whispered in the dark that are murmured directly in my ear rather than through my computer speakers. He’s real now, and that means it will be a thousand times harder to get over him.

I’ve been going over my speech in my head, trying to hammer out exactly what I’m going to say so that I have a fighting chance of convincing Aiden that I had no idea about our history before coming here, and that I’ve only kept it from him since learning about it for fear of how he might react. Surely he can’t fault me for that, right? It’s reasonable for me to react the way I did. It feels like it is in my own head, at least.

Fuck.

This is going to be a disaster.

My phone buzzes on the counter a foot away from where I’m pacing, and I’m so on edge that it actually makes me jump before I snatch it up. There’s a text from Aiden waiting for me on my lock screen, and I slide it open to check it as my stomach twists more into knots.

AIDEN

On my way back.

Even as nervous as I am, there is still a bit of fluttering underneath all the anxiety, because despite my determination to sabotage his plans, I’m still thinking about the alternative course of action where I just keep my mouth shut and let Aiden make good on his promise to fuck me on the countertop.

You have to tell him.

I really, really, hate doing the right thing.

After a round of wearing a Cassie-sized path into the living room carpet, I step over to the kitchen sink to run some cold water so that I can press it to the flushed skin at my cheeks and neck, trying to calm my nerves even as my heart starts to pound in my chest with building anxiety. I had thought about calling Wanda for courage, but I’m afraid that if I talk to anyone else before I go through with this, I might break down from the stress of it all. I reach for the towel hanging on the handle to the oven door to dry my face, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart.

I have no idea which part of this mild panic attack I’m experiencing causes me to miss the door opening downstairs sometime later—but it means that I actually jump when I feel Aiden’s arms sliding around me, pulling me back until my ass is flush with his hips and kissing my neck.

“Jesus,” I gasp. “You scared the shit out of me.”

He laughs against my throat. “Wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.”

His hands are already sliding up and over my waist, my lashes fluttering when he cants his hips, revealing that he’s already hard.

“Wow, someone is impatient.”

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you on this counter since the other night,” he murmurs, still kissing my neck.

I close my eyes. “I guess that’s what inspired the stakes you laid down for the Frisbee game you cheated at.”

“Catching the Frisbee isn’t cheating.”

“It is when you’re gigantic.”

“I’m sorry.” I feel his hand slipping under my shirt to palm my stomach, teasing the waistband of my shorts. “Can I make it up to you?”

My mouth tilts up slowly, getting lost in his touch. “Mmm. Maybe.”

Wait. No. This is what we wanted to avoid.

I turn suddenly, trying to put some space between us so I can focus but finding myself caged in by his arms now as he braces them against the counter behind me. “Aiden, actually, I—”

“Is someone trying to back out of our bet?”

Christ, he still thinks I’m playing around. Playful Aiden might be my kryptonite.

“No.” I press my palms to his hips, going for a gentle push but distracted by the brush of his cock against my thumb through his sweatpants. Be strong. “That’s not it—”

His head lowers, his lips feathering against mine. “Because I won fair and square, Cassie,” he utters sensually.

“I know,” I manage.

He only has to lean in a little so that the shape of him, hard and wanting, slots between my thighs, and a shiver passes through me.

“And I’m going to fuck you on that counter.”

I am not strong. I am so not strong.

I can sense it happening, can feel the way I’m forgetting all about what I resolved myself to do—losing my sense of focus when his mouth slants against mine. My eyes drift closed as his tongue slips inside, teasing me with its softness that is a stark contrast to the hardness between my legs. I slip into it so easily that I hardly even notice his hands finding my ass, hoisting me up against him in one fell swoop before spinning to set me on the kitchen island behind us.

And he never stops kissing me, not for a second.

Fuck it, I think distantly. I’ll tell him after.

I try not to think about the fact that that decision might make this the last time he touches me like this.

He takes me by surprise all over again when he spins me, maneuvering my body until I’m lying over the counter on my stomach, my toes pressing against the tile. His hands grip my waist to hold me steady, leaning his body over mine, his breath washing against the back of my neck.

“Hold on,” he says roughly, a satisfied growl tearing out of him when I reach to grip the edges of the countertop.

His hands slide over my hips, dragging my shorts down my thighs slowly—humming softly when he’s got me in only my pale pink cotton underwear that is covered in cartoon cats.

“More print,” he laughs quietly.

He grips me through the fabric, squeezing my ass roughly as I wriggle in his hold. His fingers slide between my legs, and I know he must immediately be able to feel how wet I am already. The cotton is practically soaked through even though he’s barely touched me, and he rubs his fingers there slowly as a soft moan slips out of me.

My legs are trembling when he finally drags my panties down my thighs as well, leaving me bare and waiting and so open for him. He pushes a finger inside, and then another, holding me by the hip to keep me steady, giving me just enough to work me up but not enough to completely satisfy.

“Aiden,” I hear myself whine. “Can you—”

“In a minute,” he mutters huskily. “I want to look at you.”

I’m completely exposed like this, maybe more than I’ve ever been with Aiden given that it’s the middle of the day in the middle of the kitchen at the fucking counter where we eat breakfast. But I still can’t seem to rustle up any embarrassment for my compromising position. Not with the slow slide of his fingers in and out of me, careful, like he’s memorizing the way I feel around then.

“You’re so pretty here,” he whispers reverently, pushing his fingers deep to make me gasp. “So soft.”

I turn my face against the granite to peer back at him, and his expression is heady, eyes transfixed between my legs as he continues to tease me. I catch it when he finally draws his hand away, slipping his fingers into his mouth, his eyes meeting mine to hold my gaze as he licks any remnants of me away.

I don’t think anyone would judge the way I’ve started to squirm needily, not with the way Aiden is looking at me.

I’m still watching as he pulls himself out, grabbing my hips to hold me still and sliding his cockhead between my folds. I’m struck again with the idea of how on display I am like this when he starts to push inside, warmth flooding deep into my stomach because I know that he can see everything like this. And he is watching . . . intently.

I can feel every inch of him pressing slowly inside, and through hooded lids I continue to watch as Aiden’s lashes flutter, his teeth pressing against his lower lip as he fills and fills until my ass is wriggling against his pelvis, my toes skirting along the floor as he holds me suspended.

I’m so full of him. It makes it hard to think.

He pulls out carefully, drawing it out, making sure I feel every inch as he goes. It’s a little faster when he pushes back inside, Aiden hissing between his teeth as he bottoms out just to repeat the process all over again, each thrust coming harder than the last. The way he has me bent at the waist means I feel each one even more so than usual, that each one hits just a bit deeper. It’s as frustrating as it is delicious.

“I can’t—” I feel breathless now, my eyes screwed shut and my mouth slack as I focus on the sensation. “I can’t touch myself like this.”

“Are you asking me to?”

“Aiden,” I pant.

He dips into me a little harder. “I want you to ask me,” he grunts. “Ask me to make you come, Cassie.”

“Aiden I swear if you don’t”—I cry out when he fucks me more roughly, my body jolting against the counter—“fucking touch me.”

“I will.” He chokes out a laugh, pushing up my shirt just a bit and sliding his hands over the smooth expanse of my lower back before leaning to kiss my spine. “I just want to hear you ask me for it.”

His fingers tease over the top of my thigh, tracing a line down the inside and lingering as he draws it back up inches away from where I need him. But my focus is suddenly zeroed in on the hand that strokes my back. My heart begins to pound for reasons that have nothing to do with his cock inside me, knowing that if he pushes up my shirt just a little more—he’ll see everything.

His fingertips skirt just below my bra strap, his other hand still teasing between my thighs even as he continues to stroke into me at a steady pace. “Ask me, Cassie.”

“Fucking touch me,” I grind out, my pulse pounding in my ears in both pleasure and fear. “Please.”

He hums against my skin, obliging instantly and dipping his fingers between my legs to find the little bud of my clit. I moan when he rubs it, my body practically sighing in relief when the palm at my back slides back down to the safer zone near the base of my spine.

Thank fuck.

He finally pulls it away altogether to wrap it around one of my hips, gripping me there as he works me steadily, as he fucks me unsteadily. He’s thrusting deep now, his body curling until his breath pants against my spine and his skin is slapping against mine. I can tell by the way his hips begin to stutter that he’s close, can hear it in the soft groans that escape him.

“It feels so good when you come,” he huffs. “So good.” He slides deep, rolling his fingers against my swollen clit. “It’s better than anything I’ve ever felt.”

His words wash over me, making me burn hotter, and I can feel that sweet pressure building between my legs, anticipating the moment when it bursts into an allover pleasure.

“Right there,” I breathe. “Don’t stop.”

His fingers are slipping against my clit with the way I’m soaked, but he keeps rubbing me in that same spot that makes me whimper for more. “Never.”

My fingers clench and unclench at the edges of the counter, and my back attempts to arch even though I have no room against the hard surface, and the sounds that leave my mouth are breathy, deep, needy—and then I feel it.

It starts with a trembling inside, a spasming of my inner walls that is only made more intense by his cock, which still continues to rock into me. He lets out a loud, guttural sound as he pushes deep one last time, and he doesn’t withdraw, doesn’t move—just sheathes himself and allows my quivering body to pull him over the edge.

His cock twitches heavily, filling me—filling me with his come, his warmth, him—and he’s too heavy to be covering me like he is, but I don’t mind it. He feels so good pressed against me, his big body molded against mine as his mouth wanders. My nape, my throat, my jaw—any bit of bare skin he can reach.

“Good thing you’re so bad at Frisbee,” he huffs against my hair.

I puff out a breath. “With stakes like yours, it didn’t matter either way.”

“True.” I catch his soft chuckle, and he shudders against me as his forehead rests against my spine. “I don’t want to pull out of you.”

“Sir, that’s how people get UTIs.”

He barks out a laugh. “Sexy.”

“Proper vaginal health is very sexy,” I stress. “Besides, if you don’t, I’ll be dripping all over the—”

We both freeze as the doorbell sounds, struck for a moment like maybe we imagined it. But then it rings again—and it’s like a switch has been flipped, Aiden pulling out of me with a hiss and wince as we both make a comically mad dash to make it look like we didn’t just fuck at the kitchen counter.

Aiden gives me a frazzled look as he pulls up his sweatpants. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” I scoff, situating my panties. “Are you?”

“I have no idea who that could be.”

“Maybe it’s the mailman.”

“Well, let me—” He tugs his shirt from the waistband of his sweats where it’s tucked inside. “Then I’ll—”

“Fuck.” I make a face. “I’m leaking.”

Aiden pauses what he’s doing. “I shouldn’t be turned on by that, right?”

“Not right now you shouldn’t,” I snort, waving him off. “Go get the door while I use the bathroom.”

“Give me a second, and I’ll come help you clean up,” he says with a sly grin.

“Go,” I laugh.

He turns to hurry down the stairs as the doorbell goes off again, and I make for the opposite direction to duck into the half bath just off the kitchen. I shut the door behind me and breathe out a heavy sigh, a laugh chasing after it as adrenaline rushes through me. I know that there’s an entire floor and a front door between where we were and whoever is waiting on the front porch, but the way my heart jumped into my throat when the doorbell rang felt like actually being caught, and my entire body is still thrumming with energy from the surprise of it.

I clean myself up quickly before Aiden can come in after me and make good on his promise to “help”—I’ve been exposed quite enough for one day, thank you—still laughing under my breath as I wash and dry my hands before going back out into the hall. I make it about five feet before I hear her voice, my laughter dying on my tongue as that same rush creeps back inside but darker, trying to brush it away as I remind myself there is no way that she could have any idea what we were just doing.

I see the face that matches the voice when I step back into the kitchen, Iris sitting on one side of the couch in the adjoining living room as Aiden sits tensely in the chair opposite it. She looks up when she sees me, smiling in a small but noticeable way, and that’s a good sign, right?

“Hey,” I greet, keeping my tone casual. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” she answers.

“Oh, sorry.” I try for a smile. “I was in the laundry room. Didn’t even hear the doorbell ring.”

I don’t miss the way Iris’s eyes move between Aiden and me, but I do my best to ignore it.

There’s no way she could know.

Her eyes cut to Aiden. “I was surprised you were both here. Don’t you work out in the mornings?”

“Oh.” Aiden shrugs nonchalantly. “Not every day.”

God. We are not good at subtle.

I pad over the kitchen tiles to the fridge, opening it up to grab a water bottle. “Did you want anything, Iris?”

“No, thank you,” she calls. “Actually . . . I just came to see you.”

I pause by the fridge. “Me?”

“Yeah.” She almost looks embarrassed. “I just remembered us talking the other day in the car . . . about those photos?”

“Oh!” I shut the door to the fridge hastily. “Right! The ones of you and Sophie and her mom?”

“Right . . .” She reaches into her purse, rifling around for a moment before pulling out a thick photo envelope. “I went ahead and ordered some prints of a bunch of random photos on my phone.” She holds it awkwardly for a moment as I make my way to the living room before finally turning slightly to offer it to Aiden. “And you, too, I guess. I don’t know. You might not have wanted this many.”

“No, this was so sweet,” I gush, reaching to snatch the envelope from Aiden, who still looks a little stunned. I open the flap and am met with a much smaller, much toothier Sophie, her cheeks round as a beautiful woman hugs her from behind. “Oh my God. Look at baby Sophie. She was such a little doll.” I pause, noticing Iris watching me. “Rebecca was beautiful.”

“She was,” Iris agrees.

“Oh, shit, sorry.” I hand the envelope back to Aiden, remembering myself.

He takes it gingerly, still looking a little out of sorts. “This was . . . really nice of you, Iris.”

“I can be nice,” she says tersely. Her lips press together before she adds, “Sometimes.”

Aiden actually laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Seriously, thank you for bringing them,” I say.

Iris shrugs. “I had time, and I was in the neighborhood. It’s no big deal.”

“Right,” I say with a smile. “Well, I’m sure Sophie is going to love going through these.”

Iris’s eyes soften, her lips turning up ever so slightly. “I hope so.”

“You know, you could—”

I’m interrupted by the trilling of a cell phone, and it takes Aiden several seconds to recognize that it’s his. “Oh. Sorry.” He pushes up from the chair, moving into the kitchen to grab it from the counter, where he must have tossed it earlier. He frowns at the screen before casting us an apologetic look. “It’s work. I’ll take this in the other room.”

I nod back at him before he disappears down the hall, presumably toward the laundry room, almost forgetting my train of thought before my eyes fall on the envelope of photos Aiden left in his chair. I move across the living room to settle into it, picking up the envelope and looking back inside to thumb through the pictures.

“Anyway,” I try again. “I was going to say that you could come back after school. When Sophie is home.” I peek up to gauge her expression. “If you wanted.”

I wonder if there will ever be a time that Iris isn’t taken by surprise by me trying to include her. “Really?”

“Aiden will be at work, so we usually eat something simple for dinner, but you’re welcome to join us. We could go through the pictures? I’m sure Sophie would love having you there to tell her about the ones she was too young to remember.”

“That would be . . .” She trails off, her eyes searching my face in a daze before she swallows. “That would be great, actually.”

“Good.” I flash her a smile. “Sophie and I usually get back around four . . . and dinner is usually between five and six . . . so, just whenever you want to stop by.”

“That sounds great,” she says again, still looking like she’s processing.

I nod. “Terrific.”

There’s a moment where we both just sit in silence—me holding the envelope and Iris looking at me like she’s trying to figure something out, but after a minute, maybe, she shakes her head as if clearing it, making a move to stand. “I’d better get to work,” she says hastily. Her voice is thicker than it was a moment ago. “I can probably be here around six, though, if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfect,” I tell her. “Sophie will be so excited.”

Iris looks up at me after gathering up her bag, a small, cautious smile at her mouth. “I am too.”

“Perfect.” I realize I’m just grinning like an idiot, and I shoot up from the chair. “Oh, let me walk you out.”

“No, it’s fine.” Iris waves me off. “I know where the door is.” She shuffles her weight from one foot to the other. “But I’ll . . . see you guys later.”

My tiny victories feel like they’re piling one on top of the other to make for one large one, but I tell myself it’s too soon to be getting excited. Iris is like a doe. You have to be careful with her.

She gives me a hasty goodbye before rushing down the stairs, and I don’t settle back into the armchair to start flipping through the pictures until I hear the door shut behind her. I don’t even realize for a bit that I’m still grinning.

“Did Iris leave?”

I turn to see Aiden coming back into the room, and I nod. “Just now.” I jut my chin out smugly. “But she’s coming back for dinner to hang out.”

“Seriously?” Aiden scoffs as he shakes his head. “How in the hell did you make best friends with Iris in like a month when we’ve been butting heads for a year?”

“I’m told I’m very charming.”

His lips twitch. “Are you?”

“How else would I ensnare a professional cook?”

He breaks into a full grin, rolling his eyes. “Hopefully this isn’t some sort of long con. I might wake up without a kidney and find out Cassie isn’t even your real name.”

It’s a joke, and I know that, but apparently that’s all it takes for everything to come crashing back. In all the excitement, I’d completely let myself push aside all my worries from this morning, let myself get wrapped up in Aiden’s touch yet again without coming clean.

And now we’re alone again, and I’m out of excuses.

If he notices the shift in my mood, he doesn’t immediately say, pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the time as my smile falters.

“By the way, Aiden, I wanted to—”

“Shit,” he mutters. “I’d better hurry.”

I blink. “What?”

“That was work that called,” he sighs. “Some sort of oven-related disaster happened during prep. I have to go see what the damage is.”

“Oh . . . boo.”

Try to sound more disappointed. Don’t make it so obvious that you’re relieved.

“I know.” He shuffles over to lean down, brushing my hair away from my face before pressing his lips to my forehead. “I’m starting to regret my career path.”

“But you love being a cook,” I say seriously.

This only makes him smile wider. “One of these days, I’m going to make you regret all the teasing.”

“Say less,” I laugh.

It’s still there, that worry in my stomach that comes with knowing that I should be spilling my guts right now, but I assuage my guilt with the reasoning that it would be a bad idea to broach this conversation when he’s got one foot out the door. Something like this will take more time to hammer out, I tell myself. It’s better to wait.

Although if this is for his benefit or mine, I can’t be sure.

“Oh. What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” I say after a beat, trying not to sound like I’m not sinking back down into an infinity pool of anxiety. “I was just wondering when you might be home tonight.”

“Hopefully not too late.” He ducks lower, his lips hovering near mine just before he kisses me. “Knowing you’re waiting up for me will make the night more bearable.”

It wouldn’t, I think. Not if you knew the bomb I’m going to drop on you.

“I’ll be here,” I murmur back.

Another quick peck at my mouth, like he can’t help himself. “I’m going to change.”

“Okay.”

I don’t exhale until I hear his footsteps fading up the stairs, left with a melting pot of emotions that are equal parts our present and our past and everything in between. I’m realizing now that the more time I wait to tell Aiden everything only means more time wrestling with the anxiety that comes with it, knowing I have hours ahead of feeling this way before I find out whether or not Aiden will hear me out or kick me out of the house once he learns what I have to say. And now I’ve added an extended visit with the aunt who is only just starting to warm up to me, realizing I will have to bottle all of this up until she’s gone.

I sink down into the chair with a sigh.

It’s not even ten in the morning, and I could already use a drink.