The Live-In Temptation (Steele Brothers of Starlight Cove #2)

by Brighton Walsh

Shaking the thoughts from my head, I straightened and plastered on a smile that was entirely fake. Nothing to see here, boss man! Definitely not your brand-new nanny picturing her hand wrapped around your third leg.

Eventually, things would level out. She’d settle into the job, I’d get used to her being here, and my body would stop reacting like a hormone-addled teenager every time I caught a whiff of her shampoo.

Chloe said. She was leaning over the kitchen island, wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of skintight leggings, her hair piled in a ridiculous mess on top of her head, and goddammit. Goddammit. All I could think about was bending her over that island while I stuffed her full of my cock. Or laying her out on top of it while I feasted on her cunt until the evidence of just how much she loved my tongue dripped down my chin.

It would be so goddamn easy to lean in. To crowd her against the cabinets, brace my hands on either side of her hips, and kiss her. I could lift her onto the counter, slip those tiny shorts to the side, and sink inside. Could bend her over it and fuck her from behind. Could sink to my knees and feast on her like she was my last meal. I could⁠—

Chloe: SOS I need a distraction Preferably one that involves tequila, battery-powered friendship, and zero proximity to Chief DILF Do you need help hawking flavored lube again? Mabel: Oh honey, I always need help hawking flavored lube. Chloe: Thank god My resolve is dangling by a thread And that thread is wrapped around Xander’s towel (Which he was wearing when I LITERALLY ran into him on Monday) I have to GTFO before I dry hump my boss with nothing but Emma’s stuffed unicorn as witness Mabel: I’m not sure I see the problem… Chloe: MABEL!!!!!!!!!!!! Mabel: Fine, fine. Distress call answered. You, me, and three pleasure parties this weekend. Tonight, we’ve got a birthday girl who just turned 69. Tomorrow’s a church basement full of horny PTA moms. And on Sunday, we’re crashing Bev’s divorce party. The woman is in need of a high-speed come-to-Jesus courtesy of our Pussy Destroyer. Chloe: Sounds like an experience Mabel: The parties or the PD? Chloe: Yes Mabel: Right on both counts. Meet me at my house in 20. I’ve got a trunk full of orgasms, a matching set of penis tiaras, and a fresh batch of pot brownies with your name on them.

I didn’t like it because it was messy and disgusting and, yes, because Chloe insisted on putting glitter in every-fucking-thing she possibly could. Yesterday, I found sparkles in my goddamn boxer briefs. How the fuck they’d gotten there, I had no idea. Because no one—glitter-laden or not—had been around my dick in a very, very long time.

infuriatingly hot, infuriatingly grumpy, infuriatingly rude single daddy who also happened to be my boss.

If there was one thing that could melt my indignation, it was seeing a big, stoic, grumbly, shirtless man like Xander protecting his little girl like a knight in flannel-bottomed armor.

He stood a few feet behind me, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a faded Fire Department T-shirt, hair mussed from his post-shower towel-dry. And Jesus tap-dancing Christ riding a unicycle, he should not look that good. Not at eleven o’clock at night. Not when my ovaries were still having a parade over the sight of him sleeping in Emma’s room.

That T-shirt fit him like a second skin, reminding me of every inch I’d come eye-to-chest with my first day on the job. And those joggers? They might as well have had huge letters across the waistband reading, Here’s Your Dick in a Box for how well his substantial package was presented in them.

Despite the fact that we were oil and water. Despite the fact that we couldn’t seem to exist in the same space without nearing combustion. That didn’t matter right now.

I couldn’t do anything but stare at his profile—at those ridiculously long eyelashes and the short beard I wanted to feel on my thighs and those lips I so desperately wanted to lick and suck. Okay, wow. Simmer down, libido. This is not that kind of show. I needed to get out of this room. Immediately. Or I was going to do something incredibly ill-advised—like shove him down on the couch, climb up, and ride that beard until I came all over those lips I was just admiring.

“Hey, Chief. You want some?” I knew she was talking about the cookie dough. I knew that. My cock, however, did not. Or chose to ignore it entirely.

I dipped my head toward the spoon she held out for me. Her gaze flicked down to my mouth, that slow, seductive brush of her tongue against her lower lip nearly enough to buckle my knees. Send me to the floor right here, grip her waist, and beg for what I really wanted to eat.

I wanted to slide my fingers into that mass of hair, tip her head back, and capture those lips with mine. Slip my tongue inside her mouth. See if she tasted as sweet as I knew she would. See if she was a moaner or a whimperer when she had the hell kissed out of her.

I stepped in close—too fucking close, considering I was her boss—and inhaled deeply. I didn’t know if it was her shampoo or her body wash or just her, but her scent nearly did me in. Something soft and fresh. Sunshine, somehow, even in February.

Her hair was thick and so fucking soft. I couldn’t help but think of it gathered in my fist while I guided her mouth over my cock. While I fucked her from behind.

“You’re turning out to be different than I expected,”

I said, breaking the silence.

She lifted a brow as she star...

“Is that a good...

No, it fucking wasn’t a good thing. Because it had been a hell of a lot easier to deny this pull I felt between us when I’d been able to put her squarely inside a neat little box labeled in bold, permanent marker: TRAINWRECK. Instead of saying any of that, I braced my hands on the counter on either side of her hips and leaned toward her, the magnetic draw between us too much to ignore even a second longer. She pressed a hand against my chest, and though I was sure she was going to use it to push me away or pause my descent, she didn’t. Clutching my T-shirt in her fist, she tugged me down toward her mouth and lifted onto her tiptoes to meet me halfway. And then, suddenly, we were kissing, her lips under mine and her little body tucked up right against me. It started soft. Slow. Tentative. But the second her tongue swiped across my lower lip, all...

“Xan...

she breathed, my name on her lips like a fucking prayer I was ...

What the hell was this woman ...

When she wrapped an arm around my neck and tugged me down, I couldn’t stop myself from satisfying her unspoken plea. Closer. Without breaking the kiss, I reached down, gripped her waist, and lifted her onto the counter. Then I stepped between those th...

Her pussy was so hot, I could feel the heat of it through her pajama shorts and my joggers. But I wanted to feel it. Wanted to reach between us and see if she was as wet as I was hard. Wanted to sink my cock inside her until she thought she couldn’t take any more and then coax her to take the rest. I wanted to hear my name on her lips a...

“Da...

Emma called from upstairs, and I jerked away from Chloe as if I’...

First—that was the hottest kiss of my life. Second—and more importantly—that was a mistake. A colossal fuckup I couldn’t afford.

“Okay, first—” Luna held up a finger. “We are definitely coming back to the whole ‘made out’ thing. And second, she didn’t tell the whole town. Just us. She said you needed a vent session and a blocked exit to keep you from, and I quote, ‘ghosting like a horny little Houdini.’ So, we’re here.” “We?” As if on cue, in strolled the rest of my little girl gang. Quinn glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t even think about running.” Sutton hummed in agreement as she picked up our special of the month—a tentacle vibrator, complete with textured ridges down the shaft and vibrating beads at the base. “You might be quick, but I’m quicker. If I can dodge projectile vomit in the ER, I can tackle you without breaking a sweat.”

She was a sin-soaked fever dream in the flesh.

An image slammed into me like a freight train. Bending her over the bar top, flipping up that little skirt, pulling her panties to the side—if there were any—and then fucking her through those goddamn fishnets. Fucking her until she came all over me. Until she begged for more. Until she said my name the way she had last night in the dark. Only, this time? She’d scream it.

Eli pressed a hand to the small of Chloe’s back and brought his mouth close to her ear to tell her something. Something that made her toss her head back and laugh. And why the hell did it feel like a meat grinder was working its way through my insides?

“Good girl. Tell me what you’re reading and why it made you slip your hand between your thighs and touch that sweet little pussy.”

“There’s my dirty girl. Slide your hand inside your panties. Tell me how wet you are.”

“Don’t. Don’t hide from me. I want to see it all. Wish you didn’t have those fucking cocktease shorts on that you’re always wearing. Wish I could see exactly how deep you’ve shoved your fingers inside your sweet little pussy. Now tell me how many you’ve stuffed inside.”

her other hand slipping under my hoodie and going straight for the tits I wanted in my mouth.

I was close—so fucking close—to coming undone with nothing more than a zipper pressed tight against my dick. And I had no hope of stopping this runaway train now.

“Jesus Christ. Look at you. Even covered up so I can’t see a damn thing, you’re still a fucking wet dream, aren’t you? Still the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

She snapped her legs together, her head dropping back as she softly cried out my name. Her hips rolled beneath her hand, her fingers buried in the pussy I’d give anything to feel as she came undone. And, like I was a goddamn teenager all over again, I went right over the edge with her, shooting off in my jeans as if I had zero self-control.

I wasn’t replaying the way his eyes had heated when they’d landed on me. Or the rough sound that had come from his throat. Or how his entire body was tensed as he stood there, his knuckles white on the doorframe as if holding himself back. Or how out of character it’d been for him to do, well, any of that.

“He’s not sparkly enough.” Emma propped her hands on her hips as she stared at our ridiculous masterpiece. “No? I think he’s got just the right amount of sparkle. Really accentuates his green nose.” “He needs more.” Without waiting for a response from me, she grabbed the container of iridescent edible glitter and upended the entire thing over Captain Sparklepants’s head. So much for subtlety. “Well, he’s certainly luminescent now. And perfect,” I said, brushing snow off my mittens and admiring our creation.

She had changed and blossomed so much in the few short weeks I’d been here. It was hard to believe this girl next to me with rosy cheeks and vibrant eyes and a smile big enough and bright enough to light up the whole sky was the same girl who’d been hiding behind a pillow the first time we’d met.

He reached up—slow, as if I might flee—and brushed a snowflake from my cheek with his thumb. My heart didn’t just stutter at the touch or his soft voice. It flatlined completely.

Did I love that everyone would know I’d made out with my nanny while grinding my cock against her like I was trying to start a fucking fire? Not particularly.

Across the table, Atlas sat while Laurel had her head bent low over his hand as she painted his nails. Painted Atlas’s nails. Atlas. As in six-foot-six former professional tight end and the man people around Starlight Cove referred to as “the big mean one.” He sat with the resigned patience of a man waiting for his turn at the DMV while Laurel decorated his rough, scarred hands with a color called Cotton Candied Clawz.

“Come on, Daddy Pants Growly Chief!” Emma said, earning a laugh from Laurel. And even my stoic, imposing older brother cracked a smile.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered with awe. “Like a fancy dragon.” Atlas choked on his beer, and Laurel snorted. And me? I didn’t know whether I wanted to immediately wash it off or capture this moment so it was frozen in time forever—my daughter beaming up at me like I was Superman and her beloved stuffed unicorn all rolled into one.

“Okay. Well.” I cleared my throat. “Once upon a time, there was a, uh…dragon.” Emma perked up, her eyes going wide as she glanced up at me. “Was he big?” “Very big.” “Did he breathe fire?” “Sometimes, but only when someone messed up his routines.” She grinned up at me, her eyes bright and curious as she hung on my every word. “Anyway, this dragon lived in a cave. Alone. Far away from his family. His cave was exactly how he wanted it—all the rocks just so and no glitter anywhere.” “That sounds sad, Daddy.” I huffed out a laugh. “Pretty sure only you and LoLee would think no glitter was sad.” “What about the dragon? Was he sad?” “He didn’t think so. Not then anyway. No one bugged him. No one moved his stuff. He was fine.” “But wasn’t he lonely?” My throat got tight, and I had to clear it a couple times before I could continue. “Yeah, he was. But he didn’t know it. At least not until one day when a little dragon wandered into his cave. She looked like him, except she was way cuter and her scales shimmered in the sun. She was quiet but curious, and so full of questions, she talked through every one of the dragon’s naps.” Emma grinned up at me, her eyes heavy. “What was her name?” “Her name was…um, Doodle. She didn’t mean to get lost, but one day, she was all alone. She didn’t know much about big, grumpy dragons, but from the second she walked into that cave, she decided he was hers.” “Did the grumpy dragon like having her in his cave?” “Very much,” I said, hugging her to my si...