I stand up. My leg puts up a strong protest. Agony streaks through me—not only the actual wound but through my entire body. I lean on the walking stick and make my way over to her. It’s inelegant in the extreme, the way I manage to kneel without blacking out from the pain.

None of that matters when I’m looking at her pussy.

It’s covered with her white underwear, which has gone damp.

“I think it did make you hot,” I tell her. “Oliver and Lucas touching you.”

“Maybe.” It’s a whispered confession.

“It’s okay. You have nothing to be ashamed about.” I’m the one who’s ashamed. For letting Zoey into this house, into my bedroom. For doing it to make Jane jealous. I didn’t fuck Zoey, but I let Jane think I did, and that’s the worst part. “They would have made you feel good. They’d have taken you back to their room and fucked you. They like it in both your pussy and your ass. Would you have given them that?”

She shifts on the leather, half uncomfortable, half turned on. “I don’t know.”

“You’d feel good in the moment. They’d make sure of that. Only after you’d be sore.” I tap on the placket of her panties. “You can, you know? You could have gone with them for the night. I don’t own this pussy. I don’t own your body.”

“It feels like you do.”

My cock flexes against my boxer briefs. It likes that idea. A lot. Tonight isn’t about my cock. “Yeah. You like being owned? Possessed? You like being told what to do?”

“Yes.” The word is almost a moan.

“You liked it when you had to rub your pussy on my shoe, didn’t you?”

“It was so wrong. So humiliating.”

“And it made you hotter than ever. Your mouth full of my cock. Your pussy juice covering my shoes. You were desperate to come, weren’t you? My good little nanny.”

I tug her panties down her legs and then push them apart. She’s so pink. So swollen. Fuck, she’d feel amazing around my cock. No. No, this is for her.

When I’m with you, I forget everything else. That’s what this is about.

Her bra covers her breasts. They’re not particularly large. Not particularly small. This middle size. This in-between that should be unremarkable. And yet, they’re perfect. A goddamn revelation. I push the fabric aside, so her breasts jut out. The bunched-up bra cups push her up, cup her the way my hands want to. I tweak her nipple, making her moan.

I press my face against the inside of her thigh. She jumps, still nervous about this.

“No one ever tasted you, did they?”