The Babysitter

The days that followed our first night together were a slow burn, a deliberate dance of stolen glances and knowing smiles. I kept it cool—casual, even—letting the tension build like a coiled spring. Angelina would blush whenever our eyes met across the kitchen, her cheeks flushing that deep, beautiful shade of mahogany that made me want to pin her against the counter and taste her all over again. I wondered, sometimes, if she'd ever done anything like this before. The way she'd looked at us that first night—wide-eyed, trembling, utterly overwhelmed—suggested she hadn't. But she'd taken to it like a natural, and that only made me want her more.

By the third day, I had a plan.

I waited until Harry was asleep, then slipped out of bed and drove to the adult store on the edge of town. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I walked through the aisles, past the racks of lingerie and shelves of lubricants, until I reached the section I'd never dared to explore before. Straps. Harnesses. Silicone cocks in every shade and size imaginable.

I stood there for a long moment, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Can I help you find something?"

I turned to find a woman behind me—mid-thirties, with kind eyes and a nose ring, wearing a black apron that read ASK ME ABOUT TOYS. She smiled, and something in her expression put me at ease.

"I'm... looking for something for my husband and me," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "For another woman, actually. Our babysitter."

She didn't blink. "First time with a strap-on?"

"God, is it that obvious?"

"Lucky guess." She led me to a display case, pulling out a harness made of black leather and a silicone cock that was thick and curved, with a base designed to hit just the right spot. "This one's popular with couples. The base has a pocket for a bullet vibe, so you get stimulation too. And the curve—" She angled it toward me. "—hits the G-spot like a dream."

I ran my fingers along the silicone, feeling the weight of it. It was roughly the size of my husband's cock—maybe a little thicker—and the thought of fucking Angelina with it made my thighs clench.

"Perfect," I said.

She also directed me to a high-quality lubricant—water-based, silky, designed for exactly this kind of play—and I grabbed it without hesitation. By the time I got home, the bag felt heavy with possibility.

Harry was waiting in the living room, a book open in his lap, his glasses perched on his nose. He looked up when I walked in, his eyes dropping to the bag in my hand.

"You said you were out buying stuff. What did you get?"

"Just a few things." I set the bag by the stairs, keeping my voice casual. "Angelina can come to the meeting tomorrow night, right? I want to do it in the study."

I'd always wanted to fuck in the study—the big oak desk, the leather chairs, the shelves lined with books we'd never read. It felt illicit, somehow, like we were defiling something sacred.

"Course. Already talked to her." He marked his page and set the book aside. "She seems happy to be working here. Told me she wants to continue."

I smiled, a slow, wicked thing. "Good. I'm glad."

The next day crawled by like molasses in January. I went through the motions—breakfast, emails, a conference call I barely paid attention to—but my mind was elsewhere. It was on Angelina's lips, on the sounds she'd made when I'd eaten her out, on the way her body had arched beneath mine. It was on the bag hidden in the study closet, waiting.

By the time Lily was fed, bathed, and tucked into bed, I was vibrating with anticipation. I grabbed the bag from the closet and carried it to the study, setting it on the leather ottoman by the window. Harry was already there, nursing a glass of whiskey, and he patted the seat beside him when I walked in.

I settled onto the couch, and a moment later, Angelina appeared in the doorway.

She was wearing a sundress tonight—light blue, with thin straps that showed off her shoulders. Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves around her face, and she'd put on just a touch of lip gloss that made her mouth look impossibly kissable.

"There you are." I reached out, caressing her cheek. "I've missed you."

"We both have," Harry added, his hand finding her knee.

She blushed, that beautiful dark flush spreading across her cheeks. "That first time was... something."

"Oh?" I tilted my head, studying her. "How so?"

She looked down at her hands, then back up at us, her eyes shining with something between shyness and hunger. "Well, I keep having these thoughts about both of you. I want to do that again, Ginny. And later..." She bit her lip. "I want to know what it's like to feel you."

Harry and I exchanged a look—a silent conversation that spoke volumes.

"It's why I have this," I said, reaching into the bag.

I pulled out the strap-on, the silicone catching the lamplight, and set it on the ottoman beside the bottle of lubricant. Angelina's eyes went wide, her lips parting in surprise.

"Oh my gosh."

"You interested?" I asked, my voice dropping to a purr. "You did such a good job last time, and you've really helped us with our daughter. We'd love to give you this reward."

"Yes," Harry said, his hand sliding up her thigh. "And if you'd like, you can also have a taste of me as well."

She looked between us, her breath coming faster, her chest rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of her dress. I could see the war playing out in her eyes—the uncertainty, the desire, the fear of crossing a line she couldn't uncross.

"Are you sure?" she finally asked.

"Course." I leaned in, my lips brushing hers. "I get to have fun with you. So if you'd like, you can have fun with us."

I kissed her then—deep and slow, my tongue sliding against hers in a familiar rhythm. She melted into me, her hands finding my waist, pulling me closer. Harry's hand moved between us, rubbing her through the fabric of her dress, and she moaned into my mouth.

When I finally pulled back, she was breathless, her lips swollen and wet.

"I want this," she whispered.

"Really?" I traced a finger down her collarbone, watching the goosebumps rise. "I want to hear you beg for it."

The blush that flooded her cheeks was exquisite. She looked down, then up, then down again, her fingers twisting in her lap. I waited, patient, enjoying the way she squirmed under my gaze.

Finally, she took a deep breath and met my eyes. "I-I want both of you."

I reached out, caressing her cheek, my thumb brushing across her lower lip. But it was Harry who moved first, leaning in to press his lips to hers in a kiss that was surprisingly tender. I smiled and moved behind her, my lips finding the shell of her ear, my tongue tracing the delicate curve.

She was putty in our hands, trembling and eager, and as Harry deepened the kiss, I let my hands wander down her body, mapping every curve, every shiver.

Tonight, we would take her apart piece by piece.

And I couldn't wait to begin.