My Babysitter

The first Taste

Matt heard the soft click of his back door at 1:17 a.m. and smiled into the dark.

Flora was getting bolder. Or more desperate. He wasn’t sure which he liked better.

He stayed where he was, leaning against the kitchen island with a glass of whiskey he had no intention of finishing. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. Moonlight slanted through the tall windows and painted silver stripes across the marble counters. He’d left the door unlocked on purpose. A test. A trap. She’d walked right into it.

Bare feet padded across the tile. He caught the faint scent of her first—jasmine and something sweeter, like the lotion she used after yoga. Then the rustle of fabric. She was in one of those little dresses again, the kind that barely covered her ass and made his hands itch.

Matt set the glass down without a sound.

She was at the pantry now, probably reaching for the glitter she’d threatened to dump in his car earlier that week. The prank war had escalated since the yoga incident. She’d filled his briefcase with pink sticky notes that morning. He’d responded by having her sit on his lap during a video call with the board, his fingers tracing idle circles on her inner thigh while she tried not to squirm.

Now she thought she could sneak into his house at night and get away with it.

He moved.

One step, then two. She gasped when his arm banded around her waist from behind and hauled her back against his chest. The glitter container clattered to the floor.

“Got you,” he murmured against her ear.

Flora twisted, all sharp elbows and hotter temper. “Let go, you—”

“Careful.” His free hand caught her wrists and pinned them above her head against the pantry door. “You break into my house, you don’t get to finish that sentence.”

Her chest rose and fell fast. The dress had slipped off one shoulder. Moonlight caught the flush creeping up her throat. She smelled like adrenaline and jasmine and the faint trace of the wine she’d probably stolen from her father’s cabinet.

“You left the door open,” she said, defiant even while her pulse fluttered under his thumb. “That’s practically an invitation.”

Matt smiled against her hair. “You always did have a smart mouth.”

He spun her around and backed her into the island instead. The marble edge pressed into the small of her back. Flora’s eyes went wide, then narrowed with that familiar spark of challenge. She tried to knee him. He caught her thigh and hooked it around his hip, pinning her open.

“Matt—Stoppp”

He dropped to his knees.

"Shhhhhh"

The movement silenced her faster than any command. Flora stared down at him, lips parted, breath catching on the edge of his name. Moonlight turned her skin to pearl. The hem of her dress had ridden up. He slid both hands up the backs of her thighs, pushing the fabric higher until it bunched at her waist.

No panties.

Of course not. She’d followed the rule he’d given her after the yoga session. His c**k throbbed behind his zipper at the sight of her bare and already glistening.

Matt looked up, meeting her eyes. “You came here to prank me. Now you’re going to stand still and take what I give you.”

She swallowed. “Or what?”

“Or I stop.”

Her fingers curled around the edge of the island. She didn’t say yes. She didn’t have to. The way her thighs trembled gave her away.

He leaned in and dragged his tongue through her folds in one slow, deliberate stroke.

Flora made a sound that was half gasp, half moan. Her hips jerked forward. Matt’s hands tightened on her thighs, holding her exactly where he wanted her. He licked again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her—sweet and slick and better than every filthy fantasy he’d carried for months. He circled her c**t, then sucked gently, and felt her knees buckle.

“Matt,” she whispered, broken.

He didn’t answer. He buried his face between her legs and feasted.

Every flick of his tongue was calculated. He learned the rhythm that made her thighs shake, the pressure that pulled those bitten-off little cries from her throat. When she tried to grind against his mouth he pulled back just enough to deny her, then gave her more. Her fingers found his hair and tugged. He let her. The sting only made him hungrier.

She was close already. He could feel it in the way her muscles fluttered, in the desperate little roll of her hips. He slid two fingers inside her without warning, curling them against that spot that made her whole body jolt.

“Come for me,” he growled against her c**t. “Right now.”

Flora came with a strangled cry, head thrown back, thighs clamping around his shoulders. Her inner walls pulsed around his fingers, hot and tight. He kept licking through it, drawing it out until she was shaking and trying to push his head away.

Only then did he rise.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and crowded her against the island again. Her eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed dark. The dress was twisted, one strap hanging off her arm. She looked wrecked and still ready to fight him.

Matt leaned in until their mouths were an inch apart. “Still want to sass me?”

Flora licked her lips. Her voice came out hoarse. “You’re… an arrogant asshole.”

He smiled, slow and dark. “And you taste like heaven.”

Before she could answer he kissed her, deep and filthy, letting her taste herself on his tongue. She moaned into his mouth and clutched at his shirt. He ground his c**k against her hip so she could feel how hard she’d made him.

When he pulled back her eyes were fierce again, that spark he loved.

“You’re not finishing this tonight,” he told her. “You’re going home with my mouth still on you. Tomorrow you’re going to sit at your desk and remember exactly how I had you. And if you’re very good, I’ll let you come on my tongue again.”

Flora’s chin lifted. “What if I’m not good?”

Matt’s hand slid down to cup her ass, squeezing once. “Then I’ll bend you over this island and show you what happens to little terrors who break into my house.”

He stepped back, giving her space to straighten her dress. She did, movements shaky but chin still high. At the door she paused and glanced over her shoulder.

“Night, Mr. Hale.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

Matt stood in the dark kitchen, the taste of her still on his tongue, and knew with absolute certainty that he was never letting her go.