My Babysitter

SummerHeat

Flora stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above her bed and told herself, for the hundredth time that week, that she was not falling for Matthew Hale.

College had ended a fifteen days ago. The long, golden stretch of summer lay ahead like an open road, and she had sworn she would spend it anywhere but under the rules of the man who used to babysit her. Rules that had started with “no panties at the office” and had somehow evolved into late-night texts that made her thighs press together even now.

She rolled onto her side, the thin sheet sliding off her bare legs. The house was quiet. Her father was out of town again, and Mia had left three increasingly nosy voice notes asking why Flora’s cheeks turned pink every time the neighbor’s name came up. Flora had deflected with sarcasm and changed the subject. She was not falling for him. She was not.

Her phone lit up on the nightstand.

Matt:Tonight you wear nothing under that dress.

Flora’s stomach flipped. She read it couple of times, then a last time, heat already crawling low in her belly. The dress in question was the pale yellow sundress she had worn to dinner two nights ago—the one that barely reached mid-thigh and made Matt’s eyes go dark every time she moved. She hadn’t worn anything underneath then either. He knew that.

She typed and deleted three different replies before settling on the safest one.

Flora: Who do you think you're commanding_____Deleted

Flora: I am not gonna obey that______Deleted

Flora:Don't tell me what to do babysitter______Deleted

Flora:You’re assuming I’m even going out tonight.

The reply came almost instantly.

Matt:I’m assuming you’ll be in your room at eleven. Balcony door unlocked. Be on the bed.

Flora’s pulse hammered in her throat. She glanced at the clock. 10:42. She had eighteen minutes to decide whether she was going to obey or pretend she hadn’t seen the message.

She obeyed.

The panties and the bra came off. She left it draped over the back of her chair and climbed onto the bed wearing nothing but that dress and faint sheen of lotion on her skin. The night air drifting through the open balcony doors was warm, carrying the scent of cut grass and the distant hum of crickets. She lay back against the pillows, heart racing, and told herself this was just another game in their endless prank war. Nothing more.

At 10:58 the balcony door slid open with barely a sound.

Matt stepped inside like he belonged there. His chest was partially visible where the top button was undone. He closed the door behind him and locked it with a quiet click.

Flora propped herself on her elbows. “You could have used the front door like a normal person.”

“I like the view from the balcony,” "Or may be I'm practicing to climb the same way when your father will be home and I will be f*****g you right here covering your mouth with my hands."

He said, voice low like whispers. His gaze dragged slowly down her body, lingering on the marks he’d left on her breasts this morning in the conference room. They hadn't faded to faint even a slight. “And I like finding you exactly where I told you to be.” he smiled more like a smirky one.

He crossed the room in three strides and stopped at the edge of the bed. One hand caught her ankle and tugged, sliding her down the mattress until her hips were at the edge. Flora’s breath hitched.

Matt knelt.

His hands skimmed up her thighs after pulling her dress just above where he wanted exposed her breasts free, spreadingthose legs wider. The first brush of his fingers against her already slick folds made her bite her lip. He didn’t tease this time. Two thick fingers pushed inside her in one smooth motion, curling immediately against that spot that made her back arch off the bed.

“Matt—”

“Stay silent,” he murmured, eyes locked on her face. “You’re going to come on my fingers like a good girl, and then you’re going to do exactly what I tell you next.”

He set a relentless rhythm, fingers thrusting deep while his thumb circled her c**t. Flora’s hands fisted in the sheets. The summer heat pressed against her skin, making everything feel hotter, stickier. Sweat gathered at her collarbone and slid between her breasts. Every curl of his fingers dragged a broken sound from her throat.

She came fast and hard, thighs shaking, a soft cry escaping before she could bite it back. Matt didn’t stop. He kept working her through it, fingers slowing only when her body finally stopped trembling.

When he withdrew, his fingers glistened. He brought them to his mouth and licked them clean while she watched, cheeks burning.

Then he stood.

“On your back. Legs wider.”

Flora obeyed, heart still racing. Matt unbuckled his belt but didn’t remove his jeans. He freed his c**k instead—thick, flushed, already leaking—and wrapped one hand around the base. He didn’t push inside her. He simply pressed the head against her folds and dragged it slowly up and down, coating himself in her wetness.

“Touch yourself,” he said. “Two fingers. Show me how you’d do it if I wasn’t here.”

Flora’s face burned hotter, but she slid her hand down and pushed two fingers inside herself. The stretch was different from his—smaller, less filling—but the look on his face made up for it. Matt’s eyes were black. He stroked himself in time with the movement of her fingers, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room.

“Add another,” he ordered quietly.

She hesitated. “Matt…”

“Three fingers, Flora. I want to see you stretch for me.”

She added a third. The burn was sharper, the fullness almost too much. Matt’s breathing had gone ragged. He leaned over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other still working his c**k in long, slow strokes.

“Good girl,” he whispered in his husky voice. “Now curl them. Like I do.”

She did. Her own fingers brushed the spot inside her that made her hips jerk. Matt’s free hand came up to cup one breast, thumb brushing over the fading mark he’d left there.

“Faster.”

Flora’s wrist ached, but she obeyed. The wet sounds of her own fingers filled the room. Matt’s strokes grew tighter, faster. His gaze stayed locked on where her fingers disappeared inside her.

When he was close, he pulled back just enough to aim. Hot stripes of come landed across her bare abdomen, marking her skin in thick, white ropes. Flora’s breath caught at the sight—at the way he groaned her name like it was dragged out of him.

Matt stayed there for a moment, breathing hard, c**k still in his hand. Then he reached down and rubbed the come into her skin with two fingers, smearing it across her stomach and just below her navel like he was claiming territory.

“You’re not falling for me,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction. “Remember that.”

Flora lay there, fingers still inside herself, body humming, and wondered how long she could keep lying to herself.

Matt leaned down and kissed her once—slow, deep, tasting like summer and possession. When he pulled back, his eyes were softer at the edges.

“Clean up. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

He slipped out through the balcony doors as quietly as he’d come, leaving the scent of him and the mess on her skin behind.

Flora stared at the ceiling again, thighs still trembling, and whispered into the dark, “I am so fucked.” Why am I even obeying him.