“Oh…sorry for marking you again,” he murmurs as he presses his lips gently on my breasts.
“Another one? Where?” I look down at my chest and only see the one spot that’s nearly gone now.
He shoots me a rueful grin. “Your ass has a pretty nasty bite mark.”
“Were you like…looking at my ass while I was sleeping?”
“It’s a great ass,” he replies with a wink before resuming his assault on my breasts.
I shake my head, fighting the urge to think he’s a creep while also feeling touched that he called my ass great. It’s a strange mental cocktail I should probably unpack with a therapist someday.
“Okay…” I moan loudly as Max thrusts himself deep inside me without warning. My head falls back onto the pillow, and I close my eyes as my body adjusts to his size.
He presses a soft kiss to my lips and mumbles, “Eyes on me, sweet cheeks.”
That he demands I watch him during sex is probably another thing that needs to be unpacked, but I’ll ponder over that after this late checkout.
My breath trembles as I trudge across the long stretch of lawn up to the Fletchpad on Monday morning. I should really stop calling it the Fletchpad. That label gives off bachelor pad vibes, and it most certainly is not a bachelor pad. It has a library…with a ladder! Not to mention a millionaire with a beautiful dick.
Okay, focus, Cozy. It’s Monday morning, the start of another week of being the GOAT summer nanny. You’re going to play it totally cool. Totally chill. Like you have sex with hot millionaires with pretty penises who have veins in places you didn’t know men’s bodies could display veins every weekend. This is just a typical workweek. You need to completely forget the fact that you fucked your boss on Saturday night and again on Sunday.
Honestly…I didn’t see that morning session coming.
When he said he wanted a redo, he wasn’t kidding. We were both sweating our asses off by the end of it. And somewhere in the middle of it, he put a pillow under my ass, and when I tell you that was a game changer?
Fireworks.
Twice.
That’s right…Max Fletcher gave me four orgasms this weekend. Not that I’m counting because I get orgasms from millionaires all the time.
And that looking thing he makes me do during sex?
“Eyes on me.”
It is the most intimate thing I’ve ever done with a guy. Even more intimate than ya know…just letting him put his dick inside me.
There’s an erotic ridiculousness to watching a man fuck you. Like…his sex face is kind of scary…but kind of awesome. Like a feral animal that you want to attack you.
I have no idea what my sex face looks like. I’m going to take a wild guess and say, not good. Probably a cross between a screaming banshee and a ram in heat.
Male sheep do this creepy upper lip curl whenever the female sheep want to breed. It’s so gross. My sister and I used to imitate the freaky expression and chase each other around the barn. God, that was such a weird life. I loved it, but I prefer to visit it now, instead of live in it.
I could get used to the millionaire life real quick. I know I’m not in the Fletchpad, but the tiny house gives me a taste of luxury living, and I have to say…I’m a fan. If only a person didn’t have to sell their soul to achieve this kind of success.
Steeling myself, I walk in the slider off the living room, the familiar scent of Max and Everly’s home like a warm hug after a long day. It’s almost six o’clock, so I tuck my Kindle under my arm and tiptoe over to the couch to resume my usual waiting for Everly to wake up pose.
The click of men’s shoes has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. “Morning,” Max’s deep voice says from behind me.
I turn to see him in the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee. He usually doesn’t have coffee here. He usually sprints out the door as soon as he lays eyes on me.
“Morning,” I reply, waving my Kindle at him and then facing forward again. Nice move, Casual Cozy.
Max’s footfalls approach, and I look up as he rounds the couch and lowers a mug of coffee to me. “What’s this?” I ask, shivering at the smell of his cologne that’s been freshly applied this morning.
Note to self…never wash tiny house sheets.
“Coffee,” Max answers, straightening his long black tie over his white button-down and charcoal suit.
I look inside the cup and see that it has creamer. “Did you—？”
“Is that not how you take your coffee?” His brows pinch together, and he points up to the second level. “Everly said that vanilla creamer in the refrigerator was yours.”