Bad Nanny (The Bad Nanny Trilogy #1)(101)

“Chicken pot pie, Smarty-Pants. I'm making us plates and we're watching the fucking Labyrinth. If you can't recognize Jareth at first sight, you've got some serious issues, kid.”

“Zayden,” I start, but then I have no idea what to say, curling my fingers over my knees, pressing my fingertips into my skin until the flesh turns a pale white. I glance up to find him standing at the counter, slowly spooning food into a pair of bowls. His movements are awkward and weird, but when he glances over his shoulder, he's smiling again.

“A musical from the eighties with puppets. Doesn't get much better than that, right?”

I stand up from the chair, letting the hoodie fall over my ass; it's so big, I'm swimming in it.

My arms slide around Zayden's waist and I rest my cheek against his bare back. With a soft sigh, he drops the serving spoon back into the glass pie pan and turns around to look at me, his eyes suddenly dark, his expression taking me in with a slow careful intensity.

When Zay drops his hand to my face and lifts my chin, I close my eyes, savoring the feel of his mouth against mine. As soon as our lips connect, the atmosphere in the room amps up considerably. Zay turns us around and lifts me with an easy motion, setting my ass on the edge of the counter.

With a frantic flick of his hands, he opens his jeans and then digs another condom out of his pocket. How many of those fucking things does he keep in there? I don't have a lot of time to contemplate that because Zay's yanking me forward and guiding himself to my opening, shoving hard and fast inside.

My pulse skyrockets, and I find my breath escaping in small, harsh gasps as he drags me forward and pins my pelvis against the curved edge of the linoleum counter. Unlike the trampoline or the bed, there's absolutely no give when he thrusts forward, hitting me hard and deep with the thick solid length of his shaft.

My head spins, my hands thrown loosely around Zay's neck as I press our foreheads together and he makes a sharp sound in the back of his throat. It's a wild noise, harsh and desperate, kind of like his frantic motions, like the whimper that builds in the back of my own throat.

When the friction of his body against mine sends me over the edge, Zay bites down on that curved space between my neck and shoulder and empties himself with a deep, quivering growl that I can feel all the way in my bones.

I lean back away from him, noticing that the glitter from my breasts has rubbed off all over his face.

“Holy sweet baby Jesus,” he whispers as he looks at me with some sort of awe in his face, blinking quickly and then sliding out of me, turning away while he removes the condom and fixes his pants. “You've got some sort of magic in you, Brooke Overland,” he says with a glance over his shoulder.

I smile, but I don't have a response to that statement.

“Puppets?” I ask because I'm shaking and twisting and falling inside. Falling for Zayden Roth.

Zay nods and lets his mouth curve up into one of his signature smiles.

“You got it, doll,” he says, helping me hop down from the counter.

We eat our food, watch the movie, and end up fucking through the last half of it.

It's seriously the best night of my entire life. Guess nothing can last forever though, can it?





Aww, man.

I am like totally crazy, head over heels fucking obsessed with Brooke Overland.

I never smoke. Seriously. Never. Unleeeeeeess, I'm having a day as shitty as this one.

“Dude, what are you even going on about?” Jude asks as I exhale and ash my cigarette into the wood chip area in front of the bay window. I keep checking over my shoulder to make sure none of the kids catch me out here. Uncle Zay is so goddamn cool if they see me smoking, they'll probably take it up like tomorrow. “You're in love with some twenty-two year old girl? That's gross. Why are you even sleeping with somebody seven years younger than you. Isn't that illegal or something?”

“Shut your fat trap, Jude,” I say as I take another drag on the cigarette and then cough. It feels really good to smoke once in a while, but also kind of gross. I feel this weird guilty pleasure as I savor the last cig I have left. I've kept it with me at all times for months, just in case of emergency.

This is so an emergency.

“I didn't say in love, did I?”

“Yeah, you didn't say the exact phrase 'in love', but you listed pretty much every symptom and consequence of being in love.”

“Like you'd know shit about that,” I say, wondering what he's doing while he's talking to me. He might be my boss, but I don't trust this guy for crap. One time, I found out he was actually getting his cock sucked while we had a conversation about my dead parents. That's just plain nasty if you ask me … althoooough I have been known to pick up my phone mid-coitus. Kind of like when Rob called me to ask about my driving up here. I should've let that shit roll to voicemail.