Chapter Five

Gray

“I’m going to miss you, Daddy,” Emery says as I say goodbye at the front gate. I kneel in front of her, holding her hands in mine. She gives me a big nod that makes me so proud but also terrified on some deep level as I realize that, far too soon, these days will be past us. “I know you have to work. I know you have to get money and do big and cool things.”

I smile, kissing her on the forehead. “I’ll be home later for dinner,” I tell her. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Daddy.” She throws her arms around me.

Standing up, I look at Callie. She’s wearing another of her summer dresses, the fabric pulled snugly at her breasts and hips. It’s like it was designed to highlight all her most perfect aspects. She’s got her beautiful hair down. Her expression seems carefully neutral. Did I come off as a creep, walking around shirtless with her? It didn’t even occur to me until after. I felt extremely comfortable with her like that.

“Big plans for today?” I ask.

“She has a playdate,” Callie replies. “And then I think we might explore the world of imagination. Reading, writing, inventing games. We might do some baking. I’ll keep her busy and challenged.”

“I’m sure you will,” I say.

That’s it. I turn and get into my car. What did I expect? Too much, clearly. Last night—or the morning, really—a dark look came over her face when I asked her why she didn’t sleep deeply. It was like she was reliving an entire movie of evils. Strangely, I wanted to pull her close to me, whispering that it would all be okay. I wanted to help her, save her. But from what? I couldn’t imagine. I’m also possibly reading too much into it for other reasons. Is this what a crush feels like?

Dammit, I need to get my head on straight. I need to remember that I’m twenty years older than her—that if I made a move and she rejected me, it’d ruin the relationship Emery is building with her. I’d been burned before, badly, and I promised myself I’d never let it happen again. I need to remember that a relationship with her cannot, under any circumstances, happen.

***

I stand at my office window, looking out upon the city. I’ve been working for around three hours, mostly brainstorming. Plus, I had a call with a modern art aficionado to discuss possible ideas. I enjoy modern art, but mostly in painting form. My client wants sculptures, so I decided to consult a professional.

My phone makes an alert noise. I take it out and press the camera notification. It shows Callie and Emery returning from the playdate, Emery skipping happily at Callie’s side. Seeing my daughter with a maternal figure fills me with joy, but I must remember. She’s just a nanny. She’s an employee .

Returning to my desk, I track their movements through the house. They go into the entranceway. Emery looks up at the camera. I switch on the audio in time to see her point and say, “Look, Callie. Daddy’s watching! Hi, Daddy! Say hi, Callie!”

This angle gives me a slight shot of Callie’s cleavage. Her cheeks are flushed, as if she’s been running around as much as my daughter, making her look irresistible.

“Hey,” Callie says with a short wave.

“Can I have a nap, Callie? Before reading time?”

“Of course you can. That’s a great idea. Let me make you a sandwich first.”

I return to work for around thirty minutes, but then I can’t resist the urge. I cycle through the cameras again. Emery is asleep on the couch. I see that Callie has set up the baby monitor nearby, which isn’t strictly necessary, considering our security, but it’s a nice added touch. My daughter sleeps soundly.

I keep moving through the cameras. When I see where Callie is, my shaft floods with heat. My head grows light. My body flares with an urgency I’ve never felt before.

She’s in the home gym wearing shorts and a tank top. The shorts give me a delicious look at her sweat-coated thighs as she works the squat rack. Fuck. Double fuck . I shouldn’t be watching her in there. The camera is facing her back, giving me a view of her ass, her thick mounds becoming shapelier with each rep. I switch on the audio and hear her let out what sounds like a moan with each breath.

She racks the weight and turns, stopping when she sees the red light on the camera. She bites her lip, stares at me, takes a step forward, and keeps staring. It’s almost like she’s challenging me, like she wants to say, Stop watching me . Or maybe she wants me to keep going.

“Hello, Gray,” she murmurs.

My dick stiffens, my tip aching, my heart pounding. I look at my office door. But nobody comes in here without my permission. It’s never happened. My balls feel so full and ready for a release.

I press the microphone button. “Hello, Callie.”

She bites her lip again. Is she doing it on purpose? Driving me nuts?

“Are you watching me for technique tips?” she says with a note of irony. “I’ve only started working out recently. I’m not very good.”

I clear my throat. It’s like we’re playing a game. “Maybe I could give you some tips.”

“Hmm…”

The hmm noise is again too close to a moan. It makes the tension even more challenging to contain.

“What exercise were you going to do next?” I ask.

“I was going to practice deadlifts. But without any weight. I just wanted to see if I could get the movement right. Maybe you could help with that?”

She says it so innocently, making me wonder if this is really only one-sided or if I’m just a savage, and she has no idea what’s going on. But there’s a lilt in her voice, almost a challenge, and I’m almost certain she knows. I’m almost sure she’s playing the same game I am.

“Show me what you got,” I say.

She faces me this time, then squats down. Her tits jiggle with each movement. She’s not wearing a sports bra, just a regular bra. I’m almost salivating, goddamn it. My mouth is watering. I’m hungry for her. If I were there, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from grabbing her, pulling her against me, letting her feel my rock-hard rod and the desire coursing through me.

“That’s good,” I say. “But try pushing your hips forward more. Keep your back straight—more upright.”

“Like this? Oh, oh.”

I ball my hand into a fist. She does another rep, moaning at the end. Conceivably, the moan could be a regular workout noise. It’s the same way I groan at the end of a rep.

“That’s better,” I say huskily, my voice trembling, my resolve threatening to crumble. I have to keep my hand tightly balled to stop from stroking up and down my length, to stop from jacking off in my office . The thought should be laughable. But it’s there. I can’t deny it. “Maybe if I record you,” I go on. “I can watch it later. I may think of something that doesn’t occur to me now.”

She stands up straight and arches one eyebrow sassily. Another challenge. She knows why I want to record this. She understands what I’m really asking her. Give me footage of your tits jiggling, your body covered in sweat, your hips thrusting forward as if your curvy body is getting ready for my shaft . “Record me,” she whispers. “Do it, Gray.”

I hit the screen record button to save this particular time frame. “Do another rep,” I say.

“Is that an order?”

“You’re damn right it is.”

“Hmm…”

There’s that noise again. I grit my teeth hard, my temples pulsing, my balls feeling so full I could explode. She kneels, thrusts up, kneels, thrusts up. Each time, she does it faster. It’s like she’s riding me. It’s like I’m in there with her, slipping my cock between her slick thighs, finding her haven, and pushing in hard, deep, owning her.

“Like—that?” she gasps.

“Yes,” I moan. “Keep going.”

She whimpers at the urgency in my voice. But all the while, I’m thinking, we have an excuse. We have a get-out-of-jail-free card. We can say this was innocent.

But then she sinks her hands into her hips and squeezes greedy handfuls of her flesh that are meant for me. I almost crack my phone, I’m holding it so hard. I’m shaking all over. She’s bouncing on the spot, shaking, trembling, moaning.

“Gray?” she moans.

“I’m here.”

“Am I doing it…”

“You’re doing it,” I growl. “Jesus, Callie, you’re doing it, all right.”

“Good.” All breathy, sweat sliding down her chest, between the tempting valley of her cleavage. “It feels… so good.”

“It looks perfect.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she moans. “Are you still recording?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

My hand strays under the table. I stroke my palm along my shaft through my pants. But when I reach for my button, I snap back to reality. It’s like I see myself from a third-person point of view —a man sitting at his desk, dry-humping himself, staring at his nanny.

“I have to get back to work,” I tell Callie. “But your technique really has improved.”

She suddenly stops. She looks hurt and confused. It pisses me off. I don’t want to play with her emotions. Her eyes look from side to side as if she’s replaying the last few minutes, wondering if it’s possible it was all about the workout.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Really…” I breathe heavily. “Good. Good, uh, job.” What am I even saying? “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later, Gray.”

I close the feed, standing up, pacing. I grab my phone, go to my videos, and hover my thumb over the delete button. This is what I should do. I know that if I don’t, I’m going to jack myself off to this video at some point. I’m going to tear off my pants and wrap my hand around my throbbing dick, stroke my precome up and down my length, stare at her quivering body, listen to her moans, maybe with headphones on so I can hear better.

Quickly, I delete it. Then, before I can save it, I remove it from the recycling bin. I regret it almost instantly, wishing there was a way to get it back. But I did the right thing. In the end—after initiating steaminess. After letting myself get hard over her. After flirting. After playing games.

Yeah… I should give myself a pat on the back.