Because after that, I was fucked.

My dick was hard as a rock. My adrenaline was pumping. My willpower had disintegrated.

I stumbled backward onto the couch and set her on my lap so she straddled my thighs. My hands stole underneath her shirt and hers slid into my hair. She sighed softly, pleadingly, as I covered her breasts with my palms and stroked her nipples with my thumbs. Her head fell to one side, and I moved my mouth down her throat, tasting her skin. My cock twitched, trapped between us.

She took my head in her hands and brought my lips back to hers, rocking her hips, rubbing herself against me.

Oh, God. This was getting precarious. Another minute of her grinding on me like that and I was going to embarrass us both by going off like a rocket, and I really didn’t want to do that.

“Frannie.” I put my hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back. “We have to stop.”

“Because of the kids?” she asked breathlessly.

“Because this is wrong.” Actually, I’d forgotten all about the kids, which was yet another sign that this was not a good idea. It was killing my brain cells. “Because you’re my co-worker and babysitter. Because you’re my boss’s daughter. Because I’m so much older than you. And because if you don’t stop moving like that, something is going to happen.”

“I don’t mind.”

“In my pants.”

She laughed a little. “I knew what you meant. But it doesn’t have to happen like that. We could …” She hesitated, and when she spoke again her voice was softer, shyer. “We could go to your bedroom.”

I groaned. “No. We can’t.”

“But I want to. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“Fuck, don’t tell me that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

I shook my head, vowing to stay strong. “No.”

“But—”

“No.” Summoning up every ounce of willpower I had, and some I didn’t, I lifted her up, set her down beside me, and stood up. “No buts.”

She looked up at me. “You don’t want to?”

“Christ. Of course I do.” In fact, my hard-on was refusing to give up, and I had to adjust myself in my pants.

Her expression was amused as she watched me, her eyes taking in the obvious bulge at my crotch. “Then what’s holding you back?”

“All the things I just said!” It was a struggle to keep my voice down. I was angry and wanted to yell—not at her, exactly, but just in general. At the situation. And definitely at myself. I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, Frannie. I shouldn’t have kissed you. This is my fault.”

She sighed resignedly and shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

“It is.” I could barely look her in the eye, but I forced myself to. “I had one job—put the fucking pillowcase on the pillow and go to bed. Instead I took advantage of you.”

She surprised me by rolling her eyes. “Please, Mack. You did not take advantage of me. If I hadn’t been dying for you to kiss me, I’d have stayed upstairs until I was positive you were in your room. Or at least kept my pants on.”

“You probably should have.”

She nodded and looked down at her knees, which were pressed together. “Sorry.”

I tried to take the edge off my voice. “You’re too young, Frannie. And if we’d let this go any further tonight, we’d both have been sorry.”

“Too young! I’m twenty-seven.”

“And I’m thirty-seven.”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t care about the age difference.”

I struggled with how else to communicate what I was thinking. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

“Don’t,” she said tightly. “Don’t say that. I’m so sick and tired of being denied something I want for myself and being told someone is doing it for my own good. I’m not a child, Mack. I don’t need your protection.” With that she angrily grabbed the pillow, stuck it at one end of the couch and lay back, throwing the blanket over her legs.

I was simultaneously sad to see them disappear and glad they weren’t visible any longer.

“Goodnight,” she said, pulling the blanket up to her chin and closing her eyes.

Accepting the fact that there was no way to exit this situation gracefully—especially not with a massive, stubborn erection—I switched off the lamp and left the room.

Inside my bedroom, I shut the door and sat down on the foot of the bed, hands propped on my knees.

“Fuck,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. Why was my gut churning? Hadn’t I done the right thing? Hadn’t I put my own urges aside? Hadn’t I done exactly what I’d have wanted another man to do if Frannie were one of my daughters, years from now? I flopped back on my bed and threw an arm over my eyes.

Christ. I didn’t want to think about my daughters in the future. I didn’t want to think about them now. And I didn’t want to treat Frannie like she was one of them—because that’s not how I saw her at all. But it was wrong to want her this way. I couldn’t get past it.

Eventually, I dragged myself off the bed and into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Then I undressed down to my underwear, pulled on some sweatpants, turned off the light, and crawled beneath the covers alone, which I would probably do for the rest of my fucking life.

Except … I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those bare legs beneath the hem of my shirt. The taste of her kiss. The scent of her hair. The hard little tips of her breasts beneath my palms. The way she straddled my body and moved above me.

My dick was so hard, and it would feel so good to be inside her. My body was desperate for the release. And she’d wanted it too, hadn’t she? Maybe she was just as lonely as I was. Maybe she was only looking for a little companionship. A little fun. A connection.

I found myself wavering. What would be the harm? We were two consenting adults, weren’t we? Maybe once would be okay. Maybe we could have this one moment of insanity, and then go back to normal. Maybe all I needed was to get this out of my system.

And I was so sick and tired of feeling like my entire purpose in life was to be a Responsible Person. I used to be unpredictable. I used to be bold. I used to take risks and act on instinct and say fuck the consequences.

My feet touched the floor, and before I knew it, I was opening my bedroom door and moving through the dark.

Frannie

I stared at the ceiling in the dark, alternately angry and humiliated.

He’d wanted me, hadn’t he? Of course he had—I’d felt it between his legs. And he’d kissed me first! He’d put his hands all over my skin! My breasts ached as I recalled his touch, and the unrequited longing in my body refused to ease up. I was restless and irritated, with him and with myself.

Although it was kind of nice that he was trying to be noble and heroic about the whole sex thing. I understood his point—he worked for my dad, so technically, yes, I was the boss’s daughter. And his part-time nanny. And ten years younger.

But dammit, I’d been harboring this crush on him forever. I didn’t care about those other things. I wanted to be with him.