Page 30

THE WATCH KNOWS

Tyler

My brain is too fried. My skin too hot. My need too high. Every system is overloading, warning me to stop. But I don’t. I kiss her anyway.

I kiss Sabrina like it’s all I’ve wanted to do for months. Because it is.

I devour her sweet, pretty lips, sealing my mouth to hers. She tastes minty, with a hint of lip gloss, and it’s my new favorite flavor in the world. The orange blossom candle scent drifts past me, like a seductive perfume casting a spell.

Our lips hunt and chase. Our tongues skate together. My teeth clash against hers. It’s hungry and ravenous, a kiss powered by the jet fuel of months of lust. Of her living with me. Of me wanting her. Of the memory of the things she said in the hotel room in Cozy Valley.

I keep thinking about your beard.

Your arms.

How you could pin me down .

I wonder about your mouth.

She’s obsessed with my mouth. I’m obsessed with her. Especially the sweet, indulgent feel of her lips, and the way I can taste her need, deep and desperate. I know that feeling well—I’ve been driven wild to touch her, and finally, I am.

Touching her exactly the way she wants.

With the kind of kiss I wanted to give her the night of her wedding. The kind she deserves.

It’s hot and deep, a little rough, and all real.

I consume her lips, unable to stop, claiming every gasp with my mouth.

She rocks up against my hard-on, and every nerve ending crackles.

Lust spirals like a tornado, spinning higher, gathering strength and speed.

We kiss hard enough to hurt, and I don’t want to break this connection. Ever.

But…there is so much more of her to kiss. I wrench away from her captivating mouth and trail kisses along her jaw, nibbling, biting, making her moan and gasp.

“Oh god,” she murmurs, and I travel down her neck, inhaling her scent, letting it fry my senses. But I never forget my mission: give her what she wants .

My gaze swings down to her strong hands, digging into my arms. A wicked smile forms. Yeah, I know what this woman wants. I grab her wrists roughly, my intent clear.

I meet her eyes. They’re wild as she gives a fevered nod.

Her breath hitches as I stretch her hands above her head with a decisive move, pinning her down. My breath comes quickly as I rise up and look down at her. “You said you wanted me to pin you down,” I rasp.

She swallows, roughly, quickly. “I do.”

So I keep doing it.

Blowing out a harsh breath, I drag my beard against her face, my chest rumbling as I touch her this way.

She gasps, then squirms under me. “Again,” she demands—a sweet, sexy beg .

I rub my stubble against her other cheek. She arches against me and we grind. A hungry sway of hips, a press of bodies. A tremor works its way through me, dangerously, as my cock stiffens even more.

She pants, clearly feeling it—feeling me . She wraps her legs around my waist, hooking her heels over my ass. “More,” she says, as if she’s lost to the feeling.

I’m lost to her. With my hands still gripping her wrists, I dip my face, then meld our mouths together, my whole body throbbing.

It’s too much, too intense, all this white-hot magic.

I should jerk away, cool off. But instead, I press harder, need squeezing my chest to almost unbearable levels as we kiss like the world has spun off its axis.

It feels like it—because my world is reduced to her and me, and this yoga mat. To my body moving against hers. To the moans she makes. To the wriggling of her hands. She wants something, so I let go of the grip on her wrists.

Her fingers fly to my hair, and she breathes the sexiest sigh of relief. “I’ve wanted to do this so badly. Every time I see you, I want to touch you,” she says as she rakes her fingers through my hair, and I nearly die of desire.

Her words. Her need. Her beautiful lust.

“You have no idea how much I want this too,” I say, and at last—at long fucking last—I confess what I kept swallowed down back in the hotel. “It took all my willpower to walk away from you that night. I never stopped thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“All the time,” I say.

She licks her lips, then rocks her hips up against me as if she’s seeking out my length. I rock back, my mind spinning dangerously out of control.

Her words echo once more— I want you to take my real virginity.

Fuck .

They drive me on, even though I should pump the brakes. Instead, I travel down her neck, pressing a hot kiss to the hollow of her throat. Her breath snags beautifully as she arches into me more, grabbing my hair tighter.

A buzz of electricity shoots straight to my groin.

I want to give her everything, but I’m not sure I can survive the way this feels. The skitters along my spine. The pressure everywhere. The sparks of pleasure.

I remember everything she said that night. Every single thing. I move down her chest, kissing her warm, soft flesh, wanting to give her everything she craves in bed.

I reach the top of her tank top. Guilt lodges in my brain. Am I really doing this? Am I really pushing the boundaries?

But I can’t stop. And she doesn’t seem to want me to.

She thrusts up against me once more, whispering please, and that’s it—I’m lost.

I pull the fabric down, exposing her tits, and fuck me.

I had a feeling.

Her nipples are pierced, and they’re perfect.

I kiss one, sucking on the tiny barbell. She squirms and writhes. I kiss the other, flicking the metal with my tongue.

She gasps, then breathes out my name like a dirty prayer. “Tyler.”

I nearly lose my mind.

“That—do it again,” she says. She sounds high on this moment. Like she wants this. Like she needs this.

And I want to give it to her, even though my head says stop. Don’t go any farther. She’s your employee. She’s the nanny. This is reckless. A mistake.

I should back off. Stop myself.

But one look at her bruised lips, her hungry eyes, and all my restraint shatters.

Her tits are in my face, and there’s no place I’d rather be. I kiss and lick and suck as she holds me tight against her chest. We are a frenzy of desire. Unstoppable lust that’s been building inside these walls.

Her words flash through my head— I can’t stop thinking about how you might kiss me. Everywhere.

I want to kiss her everywhere.

My head is a fog. I’ve lost all sense of reason. And I don’t even want to find it.

I just want to find her.

I kiss my way down her body, over the soft, beautiful flesh of her belly. “You taste so sweet,” I say.

She murmurs. “Don’t stop.”

“I can’t stop. You’re too fucking delicious. Too fucking sweet.” I kiss her belly ring, and I’m close—very close—to the waistband of her leggings. To the way it dips in a little V. To the invitation of her spread legs.

She parts them more.

I inch down her body, wanting to taste her everywhere.

My hands toy with the waistband, and she urges me on, pushing my head, shoving me down. Making it clear that all systems are a go. And my cock seems to think so too.

I pull the fabric down an inch and kiss her waist.

She pushes my head harder. “I want you so much.”

“I fucking want you too,” I growl, grabbing her leggings to peel them off?—

Then my watch buzzes. Annoyingly. Persistently. With an alarm.

“Fuck,” I groan, jerking away. That has to be my morning skate reminder. But it’s not. It’s a phone call.

My watch tells me Parker’s calling. In the middle of a school day.

I bolt upright, hunting for my phone. Where the hell is it? I spot it, knocked off to the side of the yoga mat, and lunge for it .

“Hey, kiddo, what’s up?” I say, trying to clear the lust from my voice in record time.

“I forgot my star chart! The science fair is tomorrow, and we need to set up today. Can you bring it to me?”

“Of course,” I say, guilt slamming into me, sharp and cold.

Sabrina is already sitting up, adjusting her top, fixing her leggings, her gaze averted.

“Where’s your star chart?” I ask, shoving a hand through my hair, like I can finger-comb out the evidence.

“My desk!”

“I’ll drop it off on the way to morning skate,” I tell him, but one look at the time and—fuck—I’m already pushing it. Morning skate isn’t mandatory, but I never miss it. “Maybe I can drop it off after?”

Sabrina lifts a finger, mouthing, “ I’ll take it.”

My shoulders relax. “Thank you,” I mouth back. Then to Parker: “Sabrina will bring it to you now, buddy.”

“Thanks, Dad!” He sounds relieved too.

I hang up, and when I turn back, Sabrina looks at me—a disheveled mess, just like I am.

Flustered, she smooths a hand down her leggings, then twists her hair into a ponytail. “You get the star chart. I’ll take it to school,” she says, all business.

And I hate myself as I say yes.

I hate myself as I climb the stairs, a fading boner making the whole thing feel even more miserable.

I hate myself as I make it to Parker’s room, my pulse still rocketing, my body still buzzing from touching her. My heart slams against my chest so damn hard.

I’m sweating, and the lust hasn’t even fully left my body as I grab the star chart, feeling like a complete ass.

I should have remembered to tell him to take it this morning .

I shouldn’t have let things spiral out of control so badly that I nearly missed morning skate.

And I definitely shouldn’t have almost tongue-fucked the nanny.

Cooler heads should prevail.

When I make it downstairs, Sabrina is standing in the kitchen, a workout jacket zipped over her chest—not a Sea Dogs one. And somehow, that bugs me. But I get it.

And it’s also a reminder.

I hand her the star chart. “Thanks,” I say, and it hardly feels like enough.

“No problem.” She smiles as she tucks the paper under her arm.

“Sabrina,” I add, hating the sound of my own voice—and what I’m about to say. “That shouldn’t happen again.”

For a second—a split second—disappointment flickers in her eyes. But then it vanishes so fast it’s like it was never there at all.

“What shouldn’t happen again?” she says breezily, like she did over the summer, when we agreed to never speak of her 1001 confessions.

It’s a new truce. A harsh understanding. That we’ll both force amnesia to set in.

She sails out of the house, like it was nothing.

Like it didn’t happen.

Like I’ll have to pretend too.

And I know it’s for the best.