Nanny for the SEALs by Cassie Cole

13

Heather

This guy.

This fucking guy.

He thought he was so clever. Throwing on his clothes and walking away. Usually, I was the one who got the last word. But he had given me one final kiss and then left me sitting there on the bed, gawking after him.

I didn’t really mind. Not after the fun we’d had. I fell back on the soft sheets and sighed happily, clutching the pillow to my chest and inhaling the remnants of Rogan’s scent.

My sex life was fine. Just fine. Los Angeles was filled with gorgeous guys, maybe more than any other city on the planet. But here’s the thing about guys who were sexy and knew they were sexy: they were usually bad in bed. They had skated through life on their good looks and ostensible charm, never having to actually work for the women they took home. I’d been with enough of those guys to know how boring it could be. You’d get more excitement grinding against a cardboard cutout of Ryan Gosling.

But Rogan? Oh boy, Rogan was nothing like that. He was sexy to be sure, every bit as gorgeous as some of the actors and model guys I’d been with. But his charm was real. His intensity was palpable. The way he held me down on the bed, licking up the chocolate and then fucking me like he wanted to break his cock off inside me…

I shivered from the memory, still fresh and real in my head.

The only downside of our act was that I still had the sticky remnants of chocolate sauce on my skin. Rogan’s tongue was good, but it was no substitute for a shower. I took a quick one just to get myself clean, then got back into bed.

“Damnit, now I don’t smell like him anymore,” I said out loud. I hugged the pillow closer and breathed deeply, like a pothead trying to get one final drag off a joint.

As I drifted off to sleep, I realized I now had a bunch of reasons to take the nannying job. First there was the money. To put it bluntly: more money was better than less money. And the amount of money they were offering me looked like a typo on the contract. Yeah, that’s how much it was. I would do filthy, depraved things for that kind of money. Nannying was easy by comparison.

The second reason, obviously, was to help my career. Rogan’s company rubbed elbows with some big Hollywood names. In a lot of industries, it was all about who you knew, and Hollywood was definitely that kind of industry. There were plenty of young, talented actors in this town: the ones who got ahead usually had an in.

Oh, and helping Maurice’s career. It would be rude not to give him a ticket on this bullet train to stardom.

But now I had a third reason, more primal than the others: Rogan. Specifically Rogan’s big cock and the chiseled, muscular body attached to it. Maybe it was the sex endorphins talking, but I was more excited about seeing him again than I was about the other benefits.

Okay, maybe not as much as the money. But Rogan was a close second.

I slept like a baby in my big hotel bed. It helped that I didn’t have a roommate snoring five feet from me. I ordered breakfast from room service, but the guy who brought it wasn’t Timmy. It was a grumpy middle-aged guy. I still gave him a big tip. I knew how much the service industry sucked.

At least, I used to know. I had traded in my server job for a cushy nanny position!

I needed a change of clothes, so I took an Uber back to my apartment. It made me feel like Cinderella leaving the ball and returning home to the servant quarters. I climbed the stairs to our third floor apartment and wrinkled my nose. Had our building always smelled like this?

“One night of luxury and I’m too bougie for my own home,” I muttered.

Maurice was snoring softly as I slipped into the studio apartment. There was a larger shape under the covers spooning him. I smiled. The date had gone well.

I grabbed a change of clothes, went into the bathroom to get dressed, and then quietly put away my old clothes. When I softly closed the dresser drawer, Maurice bolted upright in bed.

“What, who is—oh. It’s just you.” Next to Maurice, his date rolled over.

“You can sleep through the chainsaw snoring noises you make,” I said, “but a drawer closing wakes you up instantly?”

Maurice rubbed an eye with his fist. “The manager is pissed at you for not showing up for your shift last night. What happened?”

“He can suck it. I’m quitting. But not until I’ve dragged him along for a few more no-shows. He deserves it after screwing around with my hours for the past month.”

Maurice’s jaw hung open. “You’re quitting? To do what?”

“I’m going to be a nanny.”

“Excuse me? Did they reboot that Fran Drescher show and not tell me?”

“Not The Nanny. A nanny. For kids. The kids of the guys who kidnapped me.”

“Kidnap… girl, none of those words made sense in the order you said them. Does this have to do with the hotel last night? Did you find yourself a sugar daddy?”

I looked at the time. “It’s too much to explain right now. Go back to sleep. Your bear looks cold.”

Maurice glanced over at the lump next to him in bed. For a moment he seemed to waffle on whether he valued gossip more than physical affection. In the end, the latter won, and he curled up against the other man.

“Don’t do anything Fran Drescher wouldn’t do,” he told me as I slipped out the door.

Normally I would balk at taking two Uber rides in the same day, but I didn’t have to worry about money anymore. That was a pleasant thought. I plugged in the address Rogan had given me, got in the car, and rode it back across town. It was near the Four Seasons, in a commercial park with new-age office buildings that were two and three stories tall. The driver pulled up to one such building and parked.

“Is this the right place?” I asked the driver.

He shrugged. “This is the address you gave me.”

I stopped worrying when I saw Rogan walk out the front door. He gave a little wave, and I got out and approached. He gave me a polite kiss on the cheek which left me wanting more.

“Welcome to HLS Security,” he said. “Our offices are on the first floor, with the residence above.”

He led me through the front door, which had the HLS Security logo frosted on the glass: a shield, comprised of a single line that wound inward like a maze. The entryway immediately split off: there was another frosted-glass door leading into the security offices, and next to it was a stairwell heading up to the second floor.

“I have to warn you,” Rogan said as we took the stairs, “the kids are extra wild right now.”

“I’ve dealt with little hellions before,” I replied while staring at Rogan’s ass. “I’ll be fine.”

Fine like that ass, I thought to myself.

Rogan opened the front door to the residence, which entered into a wide living room space. There were two full-sized couches and three leather recliners in one corner, facing a big TV screen. A dining room table was to the left, with the kitchen somewhere beyond. The ceilings were high, loft style, and the floor was some sort of hardwood or laminate substitute.

But it was tough to see the floor, because the place was a mess. Toys of all shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the room: Legos, action figures, dolls, bigwheel tricycles. Even bits of Play-Doh and splatterings of what looked like fingerpaint.

An animal-like roar announced two of the boys. One had a head full of black curls and the other was a carrot-top. The redhead was chasing the other, both of them screaming at the top of their lungs. The redhead hurled a little plastic cube at the other boy, which spewed a trail of brown sludge. I realized it was a pudding cup.

“Okay,” I said. “You weren’t kidding.”

“They’re demons.” Rogan pointed at the redhead. “That’s Micah. He’s mine. The brunette is Dustin, Brady’s boy.”

“I thought there were three.”

“Asher’s girl, Cora, is reading in the other room.” Rogan raised his voice. “Boys! Come here. I want you to meet your new nanny. Her name is Miss Hart.”

“You can call me Miss Heather,” I said.

The boys screamed and flailed their hands in what might have been a wave, but they were still too busy chasing each other to care. One of them—Micah, the redhead—grabbed the pudding cup and pulled back his arm to hurl it.

I snatched his wrist before he could. “What do you think you’re doing with that, young man?” I asked in my sternest voice.

His eyes widened and his mouth hung open. Clearly, he had never been scolded before. These boys were going to need a lot of discipline.

“This is food,” I said, taking the pudding cup from him. “In my house, we eat food. We don’t throw it.”

The shock on his freckled face twisted into defiance. “This isn’t your house.”

“It most certainly is. I’m the new nanny. Now if you don’t put this pudding cup in the trash, I’m going to put you in time-out.”

He took the plastic container from my hand sheepishly. I let go of his wrist and nodded. He was going to obey, which would make me look good in front of Rogan.

But then Micah launched the pudding cup at my chest from point-blank range. Chocolate goop splashed all over my shirt.

Micah roared with laughter and sprinted away.

“They, uh, don’t understand the concept of time-out,” Rogan said apologetically.

I looked down at my shirt. “Son of a bitch.”

“I’ll give you a stipend for clothes.” Rogan patted me on the back. “And watch that language around the kids.”

I clenched my jaw as I watched the two boys sprint around the room. I definitely had my work cut out for me.