My Babysitter

The Tease That Started War

Matt stood at the window long after the door clicked shut, one hand braced against the cool glass, the other still loosely gripping the towel that refused to behave. Flora’s scent lingered in the air—vanilla and something sharper, like the reckless spark she carried in those hazel eyes. It hit him harder than any memory of the four-year-old he used to tuck in.

He had watched her grow up from rooftops and rear-view mirrors. Every late-night party she thought she slipped past her father’s rules, he had been there in the shadows, removing the boys who got too close before she even noticed their interest. What started as a promise to her old man had curdled into something darker the day she turned nineteen and walked past his house in those yoga pants that hugged every curve like a taunt.

Now she was here. Close enough to touch. And the way her eyes had dropped to the front of his towel, the way her cheeks had flushed that perfect rosy shade, had made his c**k twitch so hard he almost lost the last thread of control.

“f**k,” he muttered, voice rough.

He let the towel drop. His hand wrapped around himself without conscious thought, stroking once, twice, while the image of her stuttering played on loop. Father made this for you. The words had come out breathless, her pouty lips parted, long hair swinging like a curtain he wanted to fist. She had no idea how many times he had imagined that exact look—shock melting into heat—while he handled business calls with one hand and himself with the other.

A subtle shift inside him whispered that she was thinking the same thing right now, across the lawn in her bedroom, probably pressing her thighs together and cursing his name. The thought made him harder.

Matt released himself with a low growl and turned away from the window. The eagle on his chest flexed as he rolled his shoulders, the infinity tattoo low on his abdomen catching the light like a brand he had earned the hard way. He had built an empire from nothing, survived the panic attacks that still clawed at him on bad nights, and kept every promise except the one that mattered most: stay away from Flora Reyes.

He was done staying away.

The first tease came easy. He pulled on low-slung sweats that did nothing to hide the outline of his still-hard c**k and stepped onto the porch. The afternoon sun baked the lawn between their houses. Flora’s bedroom window faced his side yard—perfect line of sight if she happened to glance out while “studying.”

He stretched, slow and deliberate, letting the sun highlight every line of muscle, every tattoo. He knew she was watching. Could feel the weight of those big hazel eyes like a physical touch.

Inside her room, Flora stood frozen at the window, one hand pressed to her racing heart, the other gripping the curtain so tight her knuckles ached. Stupid, she told herself. He’s just stretching. He was your babysitter, for God’s sake. But the memory of water sliding down that eagle tattoo refused to fade, and the low throb between her legs made a liar out of every denial.

Matt smirked without looking up. He rolled his neck, caught the leather band in his hair, and tied it back with deliberate fingers. Then he lifted his phone and typed a single message.

Matt: Next time bring dessert. I like sweet things that melt on my tongue.

He hit send before he could second-guess the line. Across the lawn, Flora’s phone lit up on her desk. She read it, cheeks flaming, and typed three different sarcastic replies before deleting them all.

He’s toying with you, her internal voice warned. The same man who used to make you pancakes is now making you wet with one text.

She hated how right that voice sounded.

Matt watched the three dots appear and vanish. His smile sharpened. He had spent years learning patience in boardrooms and back alleys. Teasing Flora would be the sweetest game he had ever played.

He sent one more message, just to watch her squirm.

Matt: Running away only makes me want to chase harder, little terror.

Then he turned and walked back inside, already planning the next move in a war she didn’t yet know had begun.

Flora stared at the screen until the words blurred. Her body hummed with equal parts outrage and something far more dangerous. She typed back before she could stop herself.

Flora: Keep dreaming, old man. I don’t run. I prank.

The reply came instantly.

Matt: Good. I like a challenge. Especially when the prize is you on your knees.

She dropped the phone like it burned. Across the lawn, Matt laughed low in his chest, the sound dark and satisfied. He could already taste the victory—and the girl who thought she could win a war against a man who had been quietly claiming her for years.

The game was on.