Page 31 of The Billionaire’s Nanny

She had never once thought about this room. Gray walls, a gray bed, one dish of hairpins on the dresser and nothing else on any surface in it. Clara had had a cardigan over the back of a desk chair and a bird feeder somebody forgot to fill and eight hundred books stacked two deep.

Lucy looked around it exactly once from the middle of the floor and didn't say a word about any of it. Carrington stayed by the door and looked at her own room for the first time.

"Come here," Carrington said.

Lucy came, and put both hands up into Carrington's hair, and started taking the rest of it down.

"I can do that," Carrington said.

"I know," Lucy said.

Lucy worked slowly. She found a pin and eased it out and held it in her teeth and went after the next one, and it took a long time because she was doing all of it by feel. Twice she pulled too hard and Carrington's eyes watered, and both times she said sorry into her cheek and kept going. When it was all down, it was heavier than Carrington remembered and it came forward over one shoulder. Lucy took the pins out of her teeth and put them on the nightstand in a small heap.

"There," Lucy said.

Carrington got her hands on the buttons of Lucy's shirt and could not undo the first one. She tried again and the button went through, then the next two, and then she gave up on it. Her whole hand was going, and Lucy was watching it.

Lucy flattened her own hand over Carrington's and held it there against her stomach until Carrington quit trying.

"There's no part of this you have to be good at," Lucy said.

Carrington didn't answer that.

"Did you hear me?" Lucy asked.

"Yes," Carrington said.

Lucy finished the buttons herself. Carrington took the shirt off her shoulders and set her mouth against the base of Lucy's throat, and Lucy's head leaned back.

The sound Lucy made was small—barely a breath, more vibration than voice—and Carrington felt it against her lips before she heard it. Lucy’s skin was warm and thin over the pulse. Carrington didn’t kiss so much as press against it, open-mouthed, letting Lucy feel her heat.

Lucy's fingers came up and found the back of Carrington's neck, just below the hairline, and rested there. Carrington could smell coconut now, faint and warm, mixed with whatever soap Lucy used. The lamp threw the long line of her neck into the soft light and shadows.

Carrington moved down an inch, then another. She slowly traced Lucy’s collarbone with her lips, and Lucy's hand tightened on the back of her neck. Carrington opened her mouth against the hollow above the sternum and let her tongue move once, flat and deliberate, and Lucy's breathing deepened, as if she were making a deliberate effort to pull the air all the way down and let it out without sound.

Carrington pulled back enough to look at her. Lucy's eyes were half-closed, that particular expression she had when she was paying attention to an internal sensation. Lucy’s brown hair was down, and a few strands caught the lamplight and reflected copper. Her lips were parted. She looked, as she always looked, like she had nowhere else to be and no interest in hurrying toward anything.

Carrington gently pushed Lucy back until she was sitting on the edge of the bed and stepped in closer. She knelt on the floor beside the bed, between Lucy's legs. The rug was soft under her and the position felt natural in a way that surprised her. She hadn’t planned or rehearsed this, but now that she was here, her body knew exactly what to do.

She put her hands on Lucy's thighs, palms flat, and pushed her skirt up. Lucy lifted her hips, and Carrington pulled it to her waist, exposing her panties—plain, black, no decoration. She hooked her fingers in the waistband and drew it down while Lucy lifted again. Carrington dropped the panties beside the bed.

She looked at Lucy’s body. The lamp caught her pale inner thighs and the dark hair between them. Carrington could feel the warmth of Lucy's eyes on her and didn’t look up. She leaned in and put her mouth on the inside of Lucy's thigh, high, where the skin was softest, and Lucy's leg shifted, a small involuntary movement, and Carrington smiled against Lucy’s skin.

She worked her way up slowly, using her mouth and the edge of her teeth on the tender skin of the inner thigh. She could feel her heat before she got there. When she finally put her mouth on Lucy, the sound Lucy made was swallowed immediately, bitten back and pressed into silence from her hand coming up to cover her own mouth.

Carrington adjusted her position, settled in, and began. She was good at this but had expected to be nervous, to fumble, to feel the way she felt in most intimate situations: aware of her own inadequacy and performing a competence she didn't own. But her mouth found all the right places and her tongue moved with a slow, sure rhythm that she hadn't planned. Lucy's thigh under her right hand was trembling, a continuous vibration that Lucy was clearly trying to suppress. Carrington used her tongue in long strokes at first, then shorter ones, then circled around her clit once, twice, and felt Lucy's hips push forward against her mouth, small and contained but unmistakable.

Carrington kept going. Every so often, she varied the pressure, speed, and angle. She used the flat of her tongue and then the tip on the swollen nub, and when she found the spot that made Lucy's hand press harder against her own mouth, she stayed there. She could feel the pleasure building in the tension of Lucy's thighs, in the way Lucy's free hand came down and gripped the edge of the mattress, in the controlled shallow breathing that was the only sound Lucy was allowing herself.

Lucy came quietly. Her body went rigid for a moment—her thighs locking, her stomach tightening, the hand over her mouth pressing impossibly harder—and then she shuddered, a series of small contractions that Carrington felt against her tongue. Then, she was still. Her hand dropped from her mouth. Her breathing was ragged but silent.

Carrington stayed where she was for a moment, her mouth still against Lucy, feeling the aftershocks. Then she pulled back, slowly, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked up to find that Lucy was already looking down at her.

Lucy’s expression had changed into something clearer and more present. "Come up here," she said, her voice low, barely above a whisper.

Carrington stood. Her knees were stiff from the rug, and she felt the ache briefly. A second later, Lucy's hands were on her, pulling her forward, and then Lucy was standing too. Lucy put a hand flat on Carrington's sternum and pushed her backward onto the bed.

Carrington fell backward and sat up on the bed. Lucy pushed again, just a hand on her shoulder, and she lay back fully. The slate covers were cool through her clothes, and Lucy climbed over her, one knee on either side of Carrington's hips.