Never Bargain with the Boss: Chapter 20

Leaning back against the kitchen counter, Riley asks, “Tea? Or something else?”

Given the teasing slant of her lips and the innuendo laced into the question, she knew exactly what I was doing by drinking whiskey the night Grace went to Hannah’s. I won’t make that same mistake again, both being incapacitated if Grace needs me and not taking advantage of an empty house.

“Tea.” The single word lets Riley know exactly where my head is at. The slow uptilt of her smile and dancing light in her eyes tells me she’s thinking the same thing.

“Coming right up.” She spins, giving me her back as she lifts to her toes to reach into the cabinet for her favorite mugs. I fall back, needing the counter’s support as I simply watch her, my eyes tracing down her spine, across her hips, over the fullness of her ass, and down to her now-bare feet. She’s still wearing the ivory dress, and my fingers itch to slide the zipper at her back down to reveal her skin.

Skin I want to touch, taste, experience.

“Riley.”

I’ve reverted to caveman grunts of a maximum of one word to communicate. But everything I’ve pent up is in the two syllables of her name—all the need, the denial, the hunger, the guilt, the hope.

“I know,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. But unswayed, she continues her task, filling the mugs with water and putting them in the microwave. “But you’re a thinker, an overthinker, actually, and you have a pros and cons list in your head that you’re still weighing out. There’s no need to rush into something you might regret.” Though she turns around, resting against the counter again, her eyes drop like she can’t meet my gaze and the few feet between us feel like a gaping canyon.

Confused, I scowl at her. “I won’t regret anything.”

She sighs heavily, the enormity of what we’re talking about nearly visible on her shoulders. “I don’t want you to regret me. I can handle this. I live in the moment, and while you are not something I take lightly, I can take the experience for what it is. I’m not sure you can, and I don’t know if we should risk what we have now for it, unless you’re sure.”

Sure? Of what?

That I want to fuck her all night and into the morning? Yes, I’m certain of that.

But that’s not what she’s asking. Riley isn’t some casual hookup that I’m never going to see again. She’s going to be here tomorrow, making dinner with me and Grace, and the day after that, probably planning some weird outing to see a statue of a dog with a nose that’s nearly smooth from people rubbing it for good luck.

She’s here. She’s a part of us.

And I want her to be.

Is that what she means—can I fuck her tonight and still work with her tomorrow?

“I don’t want you to be a bang nanny.” I scoff, hating the word even as it leaves my lips. “That’s not what this is. Not to me, and if it is to you, then no, we shouldn’t.”

A laughing snort escapes her nose. “Holy shit, Cameron. I didn’t think you’d even know that term. And no, that’s not what I want either.”

I laugh, just a tiny huff of amusement and relief. “I’ve had other nannies… ahem, offer.” Riley gawks at me, her jaw fallen open and eyes wide, and I laugh more fully then. “What? Is that so shocking?”

Shaking her head, she says, “No, not shocking at all, honestly.” Her eyes lick down my body, her desire boldly written on her face. “What do you want, then? Just tonight?”

It’s a loaded question. For anyone else, they’d be asking ‘what are we’ as some sort of ‘we need to define our relationship’ checklist. For Riley, it’s different. I think she’d say she’s taking life as it comes, enjoying the one thing in front of her—me—while she can. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, torturing myself in the process, and it goes deeper than that. She lives in the moment, choosing to only focus on the present, not because she doesn’t believe she won’t get a future, but because she doesn’t think she deserves one.

I can change that.

I can’t promise forever. I learned that doesn’t really exist, and even if it did, I’m too broken for pretty words like that. But I can promise something else to Riley…

I take a step, closing the gap. “I want to be the reason you smile.” Another step. “I want to be the answer when someone asks why you’re happy.” Right in front of her, I push her hair behind her ear and whisper into the space beside the delicate shell, “I want to take care of you the way you take care of everyone else, because you, Riley Stefano, deserve the best this life has to offer.”

A shudder works its way through her entire body.

I lift her chin, bringing her eyes to mine so she hears me. “I am sure.”

The smile that lights across her face is one I think I’ll remember for the rest of my life. It’s pure in a way, unfettered by hopeful innocence but filled with surprise. I almost hate to ruin it, but I do by pressing my lips to hers.

I can feel her happiness, taste her joy, and I want more of both.

Urgency builds between us quickly, the prolonged denial of what we’ve both wanted washing through us, and she lifts to her toes, wrapping her arms around my neck. “There’s no rush,” I tell her between kisses, my voice rough with my own desire as I try to slow us both down. “I intend to take my time, worshiping you the way I’ve dreamed of every fucking day.”

“You dream about me?” There’s a playfulness in her grin that drives me wild.

“You know I do,” I growl, the reminder of how I touched her in my sleep echoing between us. “I dream about bending you over this counter, my hand in your hair as your pussy takes me so good. I dream about spreading you out on the couch upstairs and licking you until you scream. I dream about that mouth of yours wrapped around my cock. Yeah, Riley, you’re all I fucking dream about lately.”

A blush rises on her cheeks with every filthy word I utter, but she doesn’t seem offended. No, she’s excited. “Yes. Yes, to all of that.” She nods vigorously, pointing a blue-tipped finger at my mouth just in case I didn’t know what she meant.

With a glint in my eye, I press a kiss to the pad of her pointing finger and then order, “Turn around.”

She turns in place, folding herself forward over the counter to lay her cheek to the cold surface exactly the way I described. I groan at the vision before me—her profile as she looks back at me, the length of her spine, her hips rounded and stretching the ivory satin of her dress, and her ass begging to be grabbed. I trace my hands down her back, zigzagging here and there, delighting in simply touching her. “There’s a part of me that wants to shove this dress up and take you savagely.”

“Do it,” she whispers.

“There’s another part that doesn’t want to ruin this dress. It’s stunning on you.”

“This old thing?” she replies. And though she probably did buy it at a thrift store and tailor it to herself, the tease isn’t in her question. She’s too desperate for more to waste time joking now.

I carefully slide the zipper down, reveling in each exposed inch of her creamy flesh. When the zipper stops at her waist, she lifts to push the sleeves down and off, then wiggles the dress over her hips, stepping out of it with surprising grace. Standing before me in nothing more than white silky panties and her stacks of jewelry, she meets my gaze confidently, letting me absorb her.

“Riley,” I whisper reverently.

I draw a fingertip over her collarbone, dragging it down her sternum, working my way around her necklaces and between her small breasts. Her nipples are hard and a brighter shade of pink than I’d imagined. They’re perfect, and every fantasy I’ve had is instantly rewritten with the reality of her. Her hips flare out, begging for my hands, but I detour over a scar on her lower belly.

“Appendectomy when I was eleven,” she explains to my lifted eyebrow. “I got to stay in the hospital overnight, and the nurse snuck me a chocolate pudding and watched Wheel of Fortune reruns with me on her break.”

“Where were your—” I pause, ‘parents’ on the tip of my tongue, and quickly correct, “foster parents?” I can’t imagine anyone leaving a scared eleven-year-old child alone in the hospital after a major surgery.

Riley shrugs. “I don’t remember who I was living with then. The Johnsons?” She screws up her face, thinking. “Maybe the Baldwins? Who knows.” At the return of my previously constant frown, she swipes her thumb over my lips. “It’s okay. I survived. And the pudding is a good memory.”

I bend down, placing a gentle kiss over the faded scar, apologizing for not being there for Riley at the time, even though it makes no sense. She was a child… I was in grad school. But even that reminder of our age difference doesn’t scare me anymore. How could it? Riley has lived so much more life than the mere sum of her years on Earth. In some ways, she’s more mature than I am despite the chronological years I have on her.

“I’ll get you all the pudding you can eat,” I vow. I continue with a path of kisses, laying one after the other across her belly, getting progressively lower as her hands press heavily on my shoulders, encouraging me toward her center, where she wants me. It’s where I want to be too.

I slip my fingers into her panties and slowly drag them down her legs as I sink to my knees for her. When she steps out of them, I stop, taking in how she’s fully bare before me. Oh, she’s still wearing her jewelry, but it’s almost a part of her and I can’t imagine her without it. I’ve certainly imagined it every time I’ve dreamed about this… the musical jangle of her bracelets as she strokes me, the messy tangle of her necklaces as she writhes in ecstasy.

Her pink, puffy lips lay before me. I inhale her sweetness and tease the backs of my fingers over her softness. She moans, so responsive to even the slightest touch. “Jesus,” I groan, more of a curse than a prayer. Running my hands down her calves, I urge her to step her feet apart.

When she does, I reward us both by pressing a kiss high on her mound. Another shudder works through her, and she grips my shoulders for support to stay standing. There’s so much that Riley doesn’t think she deserves—kind words, pleasure, a future—and I want to show her that she can have them all. I’ll give them to her.

Looking up her body to meet her eyes, I flatten my tongue and give her a long lick, right through the middle of her lips and over her clit. “Yes,” she hisses, the word turning to a nonsense sound as her eyes roll and her head falls back.

I do it again, savoring her taste on my tongue, and give myself over to my hunger, devouring her sweetness. I suck her clit into my mouth, flicking my tongue slowly over the nub as I test to see what she likes. I want to learn it all, with her soft moans and movements as my guide.

I lick and suck and eventually use the gentlest edge of my teeth to hold her clit at my mercy while I batter my tongue over it, drawing a sharp gasp of pleasure as her fingers tighten in my hair. Gripping and releasing her thighs, I roughly massage my way up until I’m spreading her wide open so I can have fuller access to feast on her. Dipping my tongue into her, I lap at her juices, drinking her down before fucking her with my stiff tongue as my cock begs to replace it, straining and leaking in my slacks.

Riley first, I remind myself. And maybe second, if I can hold back long enough.

But given how on-edge I am, that’s a big demand. The devil on my shoulder suggests getting her off quickly, but no, I want to torture her the way I’ve tortured myself, not as punishment, but to make the reward all the sweeter.

You’d think I’d have learned by now that planning doesn’t matter. Life happens, regardless of whatever you plan, and when I move back toward her clit and slide the barest inch of my finger between her lips, she shatters instantly. Spasms rack through her, and I have to fight to keep my tongue on her as she desperately cries out for more.

I give her what she demands, fingering her deeper and faster. The sound of her slickness fills the room, her taste covers my tongue, and still she gives me more. I don’t know if she’s coming again or still coming, but I curl my finger forward, petting the spot on her front wall, and she jerks wildly. I push her back against the counter, one hand planted on her lower stomach to hold her in place, and flutter my tongue over her clit. The onslaught to her body sends a rush of fluid gushing over my hand and dripping to the floor beneath us.

“What…” she gasps, but I don’t stop. I might never stop.

“More.” This time, it’s my demand. My pleasure can wait, because I’ve become an instant addict to Riley’s.

Her legs are quivering, her feet shuffling, and she’s tapping my shoulder like she’s surrendering in the ring. I hold her securely, keeping her upright and keeping her lips spread open for me. Fuck, they’re gonna look so good wrapped around my cock. I press a soft kiss to the right and then the left, silently promising to take care of them after I fuck Riley roughly, because that’s all I’m going to be capable of. She’s driven me to utter madness and I want to rut at her like an animal.

I’ve never felt this way. With anyone. Ever.

Sex is great. It always has been. But this all-encompassing need to give Riley pleasure, to make her explode over and over before savagely filling her with my cock until the creaminess of my cum is leaking from her tight pussy is new.

No, it’s not.

The whisper in my mind makes me lose my rhythm as I lick her battered clit. The truth is, Riley has brought forth this primal side of me before—when I chased her in the back yard. It’s been building since then. Hell, maybe before then. Every fantasy I’ve had of fucking her in this kitchen, of smacking her ass and leaving my handprint on her skin, of claiming her mouth with my cum… it’s all images I’ve only ever pictured with Riley.

Gritting my teeth, I grunt. “Fuck, I need⁠—”

“You,” Riley breathes, finishing my sentence as she pushes me away and urges me to stand.

She’s nude and annoyingly, I’m still completely dressed. I rip at my shirt, trying to get it off instantly, and resort to slipping the button-up shirt over my head before throwing it God only knows where. While I’m jerking my belt undone, Riley’s hands explore my chest.

“I’ve wanted to touch you so many times,” she whispers. Her nails score over my nipples, bringing them to hard points, and she licks a circle around one, then the other. All the while, I’m struggling with both my shoes and my zipper. I slide my underwear down with my slacks, and as I step out of both, I rip my socks off too. When I stand up, Riley’s eyes are locked onto my cock, which is leaking pre-cum and purple-red with need. “I’ve wanted this.”

She wraps her hand around my length, and a groan rumbles deep in my chest at how good it feels. My eyes try to close, but I force them to stay open, wanting to see the reality of her hand on me as much as I’ve seen it in my mind. She gives me a slow stroke, tip to base and back again, and her bracelets make a musical sound that makes me smile. “Fuck, Riley. I can’t wait much longer,” I confess, feeling like it’s a shameful admission.

“Then don’t,” she purrs, hunger of her own in her eyes. “I’m protected.”

Honestly, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not the type who keeps condoms in his wallet, but I think there’s a box of them in a bathroom drawer. They’re probably expired and I hadn’t even considered going for one. I want Riley bare, want to feel her walls wrapped around me, and want to fill her with my cum.

But I don’t want another child. Not tonight. Maybe never. I’ve never considered it. Because I never dreamed I’d meet someone like Riley. She breaks down all my defensive walls, lets me see her trauma too, but makes the painfulness of the past seem like something we can let go of without succumbing to survivor’s guilt. She makes it not only acceptable, but expected, to smile again and welcome happiness.

For now, I’m glad that she’s thinking logically, because despite my usual proclivity for planning, I don’t have one at all beyond getting inside her before I come, which will be dangerously soon if she keeps stroking me with her soft hand and those bracelets keep clinking against each other. God, what has she done to me? I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs… one little jingle-jangle and I’m on the edge.

“Turn around,” I tell her again.

Reluctantly, she releases me and faces the counter, rising to her tiptoes as she folds forward over it. I run my hands down her back again, gripping her hips to lift her ass and bring her right where I need her. “I feel like I’m dreaming again, but I’m wide awake this time, aren’t I?” I murmur.

“Find out,” she answers, wiggling against my strong grasp.

I press my cock between her thighs, letting her juices coat me before I notch at her entrance. I pause for the barest second, enjoying the first moment that I admit she’s mine. Even if it’s only to myself. That’s probably the biggest admission. I think Riley already knows, has known for weeks, and was waiting patiently to see if I’d figure it out.

Sliding into her inch by inch, I relish the feel of her lips opening for me, her pussy taking me, her walls gripping me tightly.

How could I have ever doubted this? Doubted her?

She feels like she was made for me. Like inside her is where I’ve been meant to be. Not the younger me, who was innocent and believed in happily ever after, but the scarred me who understands that life is sometimes brutal and you have to take joy where you can find it.

I’ve found it. In Riley.

I groan, the last bit of my restraint slipping. “Riley,” I grit out, hoping she understands.

Like she instinctively understands exactly what I need, she looks over her shoulder, meeting my desperate eyes with ones of her own. “Fuck me, Cameron. I want you to. Please.”

With a growl from deep inside, I unleash on her. I pull back and slam into her, deep and hard. She gasps, but I do it again. There’s no rhythm, I’m just mindlessly pounding into her, taking pleasure and praying she’s receiving some too.

Eventually, I find some shred of control as I chase the release I’ve been on the edge of for months. “You feel better than I imagined,” I tell her between thrusts. “Like your pussy was made for me.”

“It was,” she breathes.

I grab her cheeks, spreading them wide to watch how my cock comes out covered in the sheen of her juices before disappearing again into her heaven. “This ass taunts me. Fucking haunts my dreams.”

“Smack it,” she moans.

I told her once that I dreamed of that, and she’s making my every fantasy come true. I lift a hand, first gently rubbing the globe of her ass, and she whimpers in disappointment like it’s not only my fantasy. “You want me to spank you?” I ask, feeling powerful when she nods against the counter. I lift my hand again and bring it down with a sharp slapping sound.

Riley cries out in pleasure and I feel her pussy clench me tighter. She likes it. I fucking love it.

I do it a little harder, testing both of us, and groan at the rush of fresh juices that flood between us. I’m done for. Any restraint, any guise of control I thought I possessed, flies away like dust in the wind.

I spank her again, simultaneously fucking her roughly, every slam of my hips against her ass another slapping sound in the quiet kitchen. It’s animalistic in a way I’ve never been. Maybe later I’ll regret my brutality, but right now, it’s all I can offer, and Riley doesn’t seem to mind. She even tries to buck her hips, fucking me back, but I pin her in place, rutting into her so hard that my balls bang her clit with every deep thrust.

“You want this?” I force out between gritted teeth. She gasps out a yes, but I want more. “You want me to fill your sweet pussy with my cum?”

“Oh, God, Cameron. Yes, I want it.”

I lean over, covering her back with my chest, and wrap my arm under her armpit to lift her chest so that I can put my hand at her throat. The hard metal of her necklaces and the softness of her skin feel equally good against my palm. My other hand at her hip, I force her to be still and take me as I piston faster and faster. I think she loses her footing at one point, but it doesn’t matter because I’m fucking her into the counter and there’s no way for her to fall when she’s impaled this completely on my cock.

Right on the edge, I press my lips to her cheek, the gentleness of the kiss and savagery of our fucking in sharp contrast. Blackness overtakes my vision, sparkles dancing like confetti against my closed lids, as my balls pull up and my cock somehow grows even harder.

I grunt her name, exploding inside her as I do. Pulse after pulse of cum fills her, and distantly, I feel her pussy squeezing me tight. I don’t know if she’s intentionally doing it to give me more pleasure or if she’s coming again too, and I’m too lost in the bliss of my own orgasm to figure it out. My only purpose is to keep pumping into her as long as I can.

But it can’t last. Eventually, we’re panting for breath, my spent cock softens, and her cries of pleasure turn to soft sounds of happy bliss.

“Holy shit,” she finally says.

Blinking away the flashes of light still lingering at the edge of my vision, I grin. “You can say that again.”

“Holy shit,” she repeats.

I can’t help but laugh a little. Despite it being exactly what I said to do, I didn’t expect her to actually repeat herself. When she giggles a bit too, my cock slips out of her, along with our combined cum.

She lifts from the counter, peering down at my cock and then the floor. “That’s not on my job duties list,” she says dryly, her grin full of tease.

“I think there’s a full kitchen disinfection in my future before we eat breakfast here tomorrow,” I inform her. “For now, let’s just take a shower.” I take her hand, leading her down the hall to my bedroom.

She looks around like she’s never been here before even though I know she has been. But it’s different this time. She’s here with me as Riley. Not as the nanny.

I don’t know exactly what that means, but we’ll figure it out. Together.