I want to be absorbed in his scent. If Drake saw me now, lusting and salivating over his scent, I would literally die of embarrassment. But the thought of him watching me makes me even hornier.
I collapse onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow again. This time, I don’t fight the heat spreading through my body. I surrender to it, letting it wash over me in waves. This desperate, clawing need makes my skin burn and my core ache.
Without thinking, I push my pajama pants and underwear down my legs, kicking them off impatiently. The cool air of the apartment hits my heated skin, making me shiver. I’m wearing only my oversized t-shirt now, and I pull it up as I squeeze one of my breasts. I have larger than average breasts, which I’ve always tried to hide with baggy clothes.
I close my eyes, breathing in Drake’s scent as my hand drifts lower, past my belly button, through the soft curls between my legs. My fingers find wetness there, more than I’ve everproduced before. I’m soaked, slick coating my inner thighs and dripping onto the sheets beneath me.
“Oh god,” I whisper, shocked at how wet I am right now.
I run a finger along my drenched pussy lips. Slick drenches my hand as I press my throbbing clit.
Oh,moons, it feels so fucking good.
Overwhelmed with the need for something to go deep inside, I slowly try pushing a finger into my wet pussy hole.
I’ve never pushed my fingers deep before, always too nervous about the pain, but I’m literally turning feral over Drake’s scent.
My finger meets the resistance of my hymen. My virgin wall. I pull back, not ready to break through it, not like this, not alone. Instead, I focus on the bundle of nerves above my entrance, the part of me that’s always brought the most pleasure.
I circle my clit with two fingers, my hips bucking involuntarily at the sensation. It’s so much more intense than usual, every nerve ending alive and sensitive. I moan softly, pressing my face deeper into the pillow while on my belly, breathing in Drake’s scent with every panting breath.
My fingers work faster, circling and rubbing as pleasure builds inside me. I imagine it’s his hand between my legs, his fingers teasing me, his voice in my ear telling me what a good girl I am. The fantasy makes me whimper, my hips rocking against my hand as I chase my release.
My body tightens, that coiling tension building faster in my belly. I’m panting now, my face pressed into the pillow, his scent filling my lungs with every desperate breath.
Rubbing harder and faster, the pleasure intensifies every second.
“Oh, Drake!” I cry out.
His name tears from my throat as my body convulses, pussy clenching and throbbing as waves of pleasure crash over me. Mythighs shake, my back arches, and slick gushes from my center, soaking the sheets beneath me.
I cry out again, the orgasm stronger than any I’ve ever experienced, leaving me trembling and gasping for breath. For long moments, I can only lie there, shuddering with aftershocks as my body slowly comes down from its high.
When I can finally move again, I roll onto my back, staring up at the cracked ceiling. I suddenly feel empty and hollow. My body is satisfied, but something deeper in me aches with loneliness. I just called out a stranger’s name while bringing myself to orgasm—a guy I’ve met twice, who broke into my home.Is there something wrong with me?
I sigh, pressing my palms against my eyes.
Loneliness surrounds me, heavier than before. I’ve never really wanted a pack of my own until now. Never really felt the lack of it. But suddenly, I can imagine how it might feel to be cherished, protected, and loved by alphas who see me as their heart, their home, and their queen.
“Stop it,” I mutter to myself, sitting up and reaching for my discarded pajama pants. “You don’t need a pack. You don’t need him. You’re doing fine on your own and are a successful nanny.”
But as I clean myself up, I can’t help noticing how empty the apartment feels, how silent. And I can’t help wondering what it would be like to have Drake here, holding me through the night and staying with me afterward.
Six
FRANCINE
Monday mornings have never feltthis nerve-wracking. A week later, I’m driving to my new clients’ home, staring at the GPS on my phone.
My ancient car shudders every time I go over a pothole, and the heat barely works, so my breath comes out in little puffs on the glass. The snow stopped yesterday, and now it’s just a steady, gray rain, icy enough that the windshield wipers stutter over it.
I shouldn’t be this nervous.
I’ve nannied for plenty of rich packs before. Some of them even had full-time chefs and in-home gyms, but this job is different. Carmen said the Silverwood brothers were the most high-profile clients Tiny Paws has ever had.
Which means I can’t fuck this up.
The GPS says I’m five minutes away, but all I see is a forest of pines and birch, the kind of place you’d bury a body if you were so inclined.
