Page 17 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant (Shared by the Carter Brothers #1)

The orgasm hits me like a wave crashing against the shore.

My back arches off the bed, my thighs clamping around his head as pleasure pulses through me in hot, unrelenting waves.

I cry out his name, over and over, as he works me through it, not stopping until the last tremor subsides and I collapse back onto the mattress, breathless and boneless.

When I finally manage to open my eyes, Cole is looking up at me from between my thighs, his lips wet from my arousal, his eyes dark with desire. He presses a gentle kiss to my inner thigh before climbing onto the bed beside me.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he says, tracing lazy patterns on my stomach with his fingertips.

I laugh, breathless. “You really have been thinking about this.”

“For years,” he says quietly, and there’s something raw in his voice that makes my chest tighten. “Ever since your eighteenth birthday party.”

“No way,” I whisper, but the memory flickers to life—clearer than I expect.

It was a month before I left for college in Portland. My brother insisted on throwing me a party, even though I wasn’t really in the mood for one.

I’d curled my hair for the first time and wore a strapless plum dress—the same one I’d worn to prom—the kind that made me feel both grown-up and exposed. I even wore mascara, which promptly smudged from the summer heat. But for a few hours, I felt… seen.

I remember the glances—more than a few of them—from guys I’d known my whole life. Including Cole. He might’ve even said something nice to me that night. A compliment. A look.

But I didn’t pay much attention. I was too distracted—caught between excitement and heartbreak. I was leaving. Leaving Silvercreek. And leaving behind the one person I’d secretly wanted all through high school.

Caleb.

“Why do you look so shocked?” Cole asks, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Is it really so hard to believe? You were stunning that night.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, a lump rising in my throat.

I gaze at him, taking in the flush on his cheeks, the way his chest rises and falls with each quick breath. His erection strains against his briefs, a visible reminder that while I've found release twice now, he's still waiting for his first.

I reach for him, my hand sliding down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, to the waistband of his underwear. "My turn."

I tug at the waistband of his briefs and pull. I gasp at the sight of him—hard, thick, and longer than I anticipated. The need to touch him, to taste him, is suddenly overwhelming.

I sit up, shifting our positions so I can access him better. Cole watches me with hooded eyes as I wrap my hand around his shaft, feeling the velvet skin stretched tight over hardness. He's warm in my palm, pulsing slightly with his heartbeat.

"You don't have to," he says, his voice strained.

I look up at him through my lashes. "I have to," I say, my voice husky with desire. "It would be criminal not to."

Before he can respond, I lower my head and take him into my mouth. The weight of him on my tongue, the salt-sweet taste of his skin, makes me moan. I start slowly, exploring the ridge beneath the head, the sensitive spot just below, learning what makes his breath catch.

Cole's hand finds my hair, not guiding, just resting there as if to ground himself.

I take him deeper, relaxing my throat to accommodate his size.

It's a stretch that borders on painful, but the groan that escapes him makes it worth it.

His thighs tense beneath my hands as I establish a rhythm, taking him as deep as I can before retreating, my tongue swirling around the head before plunging down again.

"God, Ivy," he breathes, his fingers tightening in my hair. "Your mouth is incredible."

The praise spurs me on. I hollow my cheeks, increasing the suction as I move up and down his length.

My jaw aches from the effort of taking him, but I don't slow down.

There's something intoxicating about having this strong, confident man at my mercy, about feeling him throb against my tongue, about knowing I'm the source of the pleasure evident in every tense muscle of his body.

I could continue like this, bring him to completion this way, but the ache between my legs has become unbearable. I need him inside me, need to feel the stretch and fullness that only he can provide now. Reluctantly, I release him, pressing a final kiss to the tip before looking up.

"I need you," I say simply, my voice rough from the effort of taking him so deep.

Cole's eyes are nearly black with desire, just a thin ring of amber visible around his dilated pupils. He reaches into the nightstand drawer, retrieving a condom. I watch as he tears open the packet and rolls it onto his length with practiced ease.

He moves between my legs, kneeling there, his cock in hand. He slides the length of it along my folds a few times, coating himself in my wetness. The sensation makes me squirm, eager for more. When he positions the head at my entrance, our eyes lock.

"Ready?" he asks.

"More than," I answer.

Cole pushes forward slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size.

The stretch is exquisite—a burning fullness that borders on too much but never quite crosses that line.

I breathe through it, relaxing to allow him deeper.

When he's fully seated inside me, both of us pause, adjusting to the sensation.

A smile spreads across my face, mirrored by his own. "How is it?" he asks, his voice tight with the effort of holding still.

"Perfect," I whisper, meaning it. "Now, more, please."

"Needy girl," he says with a small laugh, and then he begins to move.

His strokes start slow and shallow, but soon he's picking up the pace, driving deeper with each thrust. I meet him halfway, lifting my hips to take him to the hilt each time. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the room, a rhythmic slapping punctuated by our increasingly labored breaths.

"God, I needed this," I gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside me.

Cole's laugh is breathless. "Lucky me," he says, his hands gripping my hips to angle me just right. "The most beautiful woman in Silvercreek in my bed."

I roll my eyes even as pleasure builds within me. "You know how to sweet-talk."

"Don't you love my sweet talk?" he asks, punctuating the question with a particularly deep thrust that makes me cry out.

"I do," I admit, "but I want dirty talk too."

His eyes spark with mischief, and he leans closer, his lips nearly touching my ear. "You want me to tell you how good you feel?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. "How tight and wet you are around my cock? How I've thought about fucking you like this for years?"

His words send a fresh wave of heat through me. I moan in response, unable to form coherent words as he continues to move inside me.

"Or maybe you want to hear how I'm going to make you come again," he continues, his breath hot against my neck. "How I'm going to feel you squeeze my cock when you do. How I'm going to fill you up after."

His thrusts grow harder, deeper, and I feel myself getting wetter with each filthy promise he whispers. The tension builds in my core, a tightening coil of pleasure that threatens to snap at any moment.

Cole's rhythm falters slightly, and I can tell he's close too. His cock seems to grow even harder inside me, stretching me further. The slight pain mingles with pleasure, creating a sensation so intense I can barely breathe through it.

"I'm close," I warn him, my nails digging into his back.

"Come with me," he urges, his voice strained. "Let go, Ivy. Let go with me."

His words, combined with a particularly deep thrust that hits exactly the right spot, send me over the edge. The orgasm rips through me, more powerful than the ones before it.

My inner walls clamp down on him as waves of pleasure crash over me. Through the haze, I feel Cole stiffen above me, his own release overtaking him as he groans my name.

For a long moment, we stay locked together, our bodies trembling with aftershocks. Eventually, Cole carefully withdraws and disposes of the condom before collapsing beside me on the bed. He pulls me against his chest, his arm a heavy, comforting weight across my waist.

I snuggle against him, my face pressed to the solid warmth of his chest, his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my ear. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, and I feel utterly content in a way I haven't in months, maybe years.

A strange thought occurs to me as I lie there in Cole Carter's arms: in all my daydreams and fantasies growing up in Silvercreek, I never once imagined myself here, being "Cocky Cole's" girl, even for a night. Yet somehow, it feels right. Natural, even.

I close my eyes, letting the steady rhythm of Cole's breathing lull me. Tomorrow, I'll worry about what this means, if anything. Tonight, I'll simply enjoy the unexpected perfection of being exactly where I am.