A Nanny For The Professor

Camilla whispered, “Oh God...oh God, yes...” in labored breaths, writhing beneath Brock and digging her fingernails into his shoulder blades, a sting that only stoked the fire that was fueling his relentless thrusts.

“You’re mine, Camilla,” he grunted out, his gaze blazing with the truth of his words. “You’re mine.” He could feel the tightening of her core around his thick hardness, squeezing him and violently coaxing him closer to the edge of his release.

“I am.” No hesitation on her part. Nothing but submission and desire to be exactly that.

Her confession broke the last shred of his resolve, and his release raged through him, hard and fast. A low, guttural growl escaped his lips as he slammed into her tight channel unabashedly, desperate to deliver those last few thrusts that would send her careening over the cliff with him.

The sharp gasp that tumbled from her lips announced Camilla’s orgasm, and Brock had just enough wherewithal to clamp his large hand over her mouth before she screamed out his name and let her release crash through her body like a tidal wave. The tightening and clenching of her muscles, mixed with the throbbing and twitching of his erection, collided and then ebbed together, reducing them both to a series of sporadic shudders and tangled limbs.

“That was incredible,” Camilla sighed once her breathing started to even out. “You’re incredible.”

A playful smirk played on Brock’s mouth. “And you’re mine.”

She grinned at him lazily. “So, you did hear that confession, huh?”

“Oh, I heard it.” He leaned over and kissed her mouth, just hard enough to steal the breath away that she thought she’d regained. “And I’m going to hold you to it.”

Chapter Six

Brock

Brock had never been so reluctant to leave his house and head to the university the next morning. Not only had he had a very long, very sexy night with Camilla, but he found himself cringing at the thought of having to leave her there to take care of Rynn without him while he taught his morning class. Of course, it had to be a day where he taught two classes, one in the morning and one in the afternoon as well.

That only made him groan louder.

Brock loved his job as a professor, and he loved being able to teach his students about the greats amongst the world of English literature.

He found out last night that he also loved having Camilla under him, too. Under his body, under his tongue, everything.

But he was the one that was under her spell. Camilla captivated him like no other. There was no other reason he would have spent the previous day aching for her, having to rush home and take her the way he did. He hadn’t felt that kind of intimate pull from someone else in a long time.

He recognized it, though. And he couldn’t wait to re-enact last night’s steamy antics again tonight. Which was exactly why he didn’t want to leave the house that morning—he didn’t want to have to wait to have her again.

But, once again, they had to be responsible adults. He also wasn’t sure how to explain it to Rynn just yet, or if it was too soon to try to do that. Camilla was just as willing to make his daughter believe she’d arrived early, before Rynn had gotten out of bed, and they’d been careful to make sure the little girl hadn’t seen Camilla come out of Brock’s bedroom.

His classes at the university went by at a snail’s pace. He followed the curriculum set out for him, and he answered questions from the class both efficiently and expertly, but every time he let his eyes lower to the screensaver on his cellphone which showed a clock, he had to stifle the groan that threatened to bubble up in his throat.

The waiting was excruciating. His body was already buzzing with the wanting Camilla had left him with that morning, the desire that coursed through him and seared his veins from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes. The throbbing of his dick only seemed to escalate as flashes of vivid mental images from the night before attacked his mind.

A snapshot of Camilla’s splayed thighs. An audible clip of her moaning out his name desperately that sounded so real he was sure other people heard it, too. The ghost of sensual pressure on his lips, like he could still feel the warmth of hers as they melded together in passionate perfection.

Good God, he had to get the hell home to her as soon as he could.

***

By the time he made it through the front door of his house, he was so turned on by the intoxicating thoughts of Camilla that plagued his mind that he half-hoped Rynn had fallen asleep early, just so he could alleviate some of the intense desire that was causing his balls to ache so damn bad.

Half-hoped. He had spent the entire day away from his daughter, and those were the days that his heart ached to see her once five o’clock rolled around. Nothing could beat hearing an exuberant four-year-old jabber on about her day, even if that day was filled with mostly imaginary things she’d played and games that included faraway castles and other make-believe creatures and people.

He could hear his daughter tittering about a prince and his white horse, telling someone to just wait because he would be there soon to save her from the evil queen. At least, that was what he thought she said. Sometimes, it was hard to tell with her jumbled words and slight lisp.

The one thing he could tell for sure was that Rynn wasn’t talking to Camilla. He could hear Camilla’s voice coming from the opposite direction. She was in the kitchen, he thought. A smile erupted on Brock’s lips when he mused that Camilla’s incessant jabbering sounded a lot like Rynn’s, only she wasn’t discussing princes on white horses or castles. There was also no mistaking that Camilla had prepared an amazing meal. The mix of delicious s

cents wafting out from the kitchen couldn’t be bought from a takeout place.

He kicked off his shoes and padded his way across the floor into the kitchen doorway. He wasn’t trying to be quiet, but obviously Camilla didn’t hear him. Her back was to him as she paced slowly near the patio door, her cellphone tucked against her ear. Her hands waved expressively as she spoke, something Brock noticed she did quite frequently.

“It’s temporary, sweetie,” she said, sounding exasperated. “It won’t last.”