Nanny's Dripping Wet (Part 2)

Cathy's POV 

Every time he took another step up the stairs, my body clenched around him on instinct, and I tightened my grip on his shoulders.

“Keep doing that, and we won’t make it to the bed.”

I didn’t stop.

His bedroom door was already half open. He kicked it the rest of the way open, and the soft click of it closing behind us seemed impossibly loud in the silence. The room was dark except for the city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting gold and silver reflections across the walls. A massive bed dominated the room, its white sheets already turned down as though he’d expected us to end up here tonight.

He laid me on the mattress and followed me down without ever pulling out, the full weight of him pressing me into the sheets. The sudden depth punched a broken sound out of my throat. 

“Ou.." 

He swallowed it with his mouth, kissing me like he was still starving, like the first time in the kitchen hadn’t taken the edge off at all.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered against my lips, hips rolling in a slow, deep grind that made my eyes roll back. 

“Dripping down my cock. Did you get this soaked the second you saw me at the door?”

I couldn’t answer. My brain was short-circuiting on the thick slide of him, the way he filled me so completely I could feel him in my stomach. He didn’t seem to need words. He pulled almost all the way out—slow enough that I felt every ridge, every inch—then slammed back in deeply. The wet sound of it was obscene. My back arched. My nails dug into his shoulders.

“Answer me, Cathy.”

The use of my name in that rough voice undid me.

“Yes,” I gasped. “God—yes. The second the door opened.”

A dark, satisfied sound left him. He braced one forearm beside my head and started fucking me in filthy long, powerful strokes that shoved me up the bed with every thrust. The headboard knocked softly against the wall. My legs wrapped higher around his waist, heels digging into the flex of his ass, trying to pull him even deeper. He gave it to me. Harder. Deeper. 

“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes locked on where our bodies joined. “Taking every inch like you were made for it. So tight. So fucking greedy.”

Heat flooded my face, but my body only clenched harder around him. I was completely gone, lost in the wet slap of skin, the stretch, the way he kept hitting that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. One of his hands slid between us, two fingers finding my clit and rubbing tight, filthy circles in time with his thrusts.

I came with a broken cry, thighs shaking, walls fluttering and squeezing around him. He didn’t slow down. He fucked me straight through it, drawing the orgasm out until I was whimpering, oversensitive, tears pricking the corners of my eyes from pure overload.

“That’s it. Give it to me. Again.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” His mouth found the side of my throat, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. “You’re going to come on my cock until you can’t remember your own name.”

He flipped us without warning, still buried inside me, so I was straddling him. The new angle drove him impossibly deeper. My hands flew to his chest for balance. Broad. Hard. A light dusting of dark hair that tapered down toward where we were joined. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise and forced me down as he thrust up.

I cried out.

“Ride me,” he ordered, voice raw. “Show me how badly you want this.”

I did. God, I did. I rolled my hips, lifting almost all the way off him before sinking back down, taking him to the root every time. His eyes never left my face. One hand slid up to cup my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple, then pinching just hard enough to make me moan.

“Look at these pretty tits bouncing while you fuck yourself on me,” he murmured, almost reverent. “Knew the second I saw you that you’d look perfect like this. Flushed. Ruined. Mine.”

I moved faster, chasing the next peak, breasts bouncing with every drop of my hips. His hands guided me, helped me, forced me deeper when I tried to go too shallow. Sweat slicked our skin. The scent of sex was thick in the air—musky, intimate, addictive. I could feel another orgasm coiling low and tight, almost painful in its intensity.

“Damien—”

“Cum,” he growled, thrusting up hard. “Now.”

I shattered. The climax ripped through me so hard my vision whited out. I collapsed forward onto his chest, body trembling, walls milking him in helpless pulses. He held me there and fucked up into me through it—short, brutal strokes that prolonged the pleasure until I was sobbing against his neck.

Only then did he let go.

With a guttural groan he slammed deep one last time and came, flooding me with his cum again. I felt every spurt, every twitch of his cock as he emptied himself inside me. His arms banded around my back, crushing me to him, face buried in my hair while he rode it out.

For a long moment the only sound was our ragged breathing.

He didn’t pull out. He simply rolled us onto our sides, still joined, one heavy thigh sliding between mine to keep me open around him while his hand stroked slowly up and down my spine. 

My mind tried to catch up.

I was the nanny. I’d been hired less than twelve hours ago. I’d just let my brand-new billionaire boss fuck me senseless on his kitchen counter and then again in his bed until I came so hard I saw stars. And the most terrifying part was that I already wanted more.

Damien’s lips brushed my temple.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

I let out a shaky breath against his chest. “Hard not to.”

His fingers traced the curve of my hip, possessive. “I meant what I said downstairs. This isn’t stopping. You can walk out that door tomorrow if you want—Lila will still have a nanny, you’ll still have a reference—but if you stay, you’re mine at night. Every night. Understood?”

The words should have scared me. Instead they sank into me like warm whiskey, heating places that had been cold for a long time. How pathetic.

I tilted my head back just enough to meet those intense gray eyes.

“Understood.”

Something dark and satisfied flickered across his face.

Then we heard it—knocks. Soft at first. Then harder.

Lila’s voice came through the door, cl

ear and close: “Daddy, why do I hear Cathy’s voice? I’ve been knocking. Open the door. Now.”