Babysitter's Club Alyssa Read online

  Babysitter’s Club Alyssa

  Jordan Silver

  Copyright © 2018 by Jordan Silver

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

  1. Alyssa

  2. Alyssa

  3. Alyssa

  4. Alyssa

  5. Gage

  6. Gage

  7. Gage

  8. Gage

  9. Gage

  10. Gage

  11. Gage

  Epilogue

  Alyssa

  The way he looks at me makes me so hot it should be illegal. Just one of his looks can make me cream myself. I'm in a constant state of need whenever he's around, which of late has been a lot.

  The man should come with a warning. There should be billboards plastered around town: Warning, hot sexy male with smoldering panty dropping eyes on the loose.

  If only he meant something by them though, those panty melting looks. But I knew that was just his way, he couldn’t help that he was extremely gorgeous with eyes that made women turn into puddles at his feet.

  I wish I could jump on that like my girls would say but I can't. It's just not in me, I'm not that bold, but yum. I’m pretty sure none of the boys I know will ever add up, but I can always dream.

  Some days though I just wish…Oh well, you know what they say about wishes. Besides he would never want me like that. He's this big time football star; he could have any woman he wants why would he want me?

  I’ve seen and heard the way the women of this town talk about and try to lure him in and if they were on his tail, I didn’t stand a chance. At least that’s the way I see it in my eighteen year old mind.

  But boy, if given half a chance, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d lay down for him anytime anywhere, no questions asked. Why? It’s not because I’m a bubble headed bimbo without a working brain cell.

  It’s because for the past two years that I’ve worked for this family, I’ve gotten to know him. I’ve seen him with his children, and even with his wife when he had one.

  He’s truly a one in a million kind of guy. I remember the first time he made my pussy weep just by brushing his arm against mine.

  Nothing sexual, he was just reaching for a glass and I happened to be in the way. He hadn’t even noticed, while I’d been left standing there at the sink with my neck and chest red and wet panties.

  Or the time my womb actually clenched, yes, that’s a thing, when I watched him nurse his little girl through a fever. I think that’s the day my lust turned to love.

  From that day until now, I’ve seen him through dreamy eyes. Some days it’s hard to be around him, those are the days when I know there’s no hope of us ever being together.

  But the more I tell myself to stay away, the more I’m drawn to him. I wonder if he ever feels my eyes on him whenever he’s around? If he’s ever caught me out the side of his eye.

  I would be so embarrassed if he did because I’m pretty sure I’m drooling most of the time. I do go into a comatose state if I’m around him for more than ten minutes so it could be.

  I shook off my musings and got back to what I was doing, or tried to. “Did you need anything else sir?” Like me spread out on your desk? I’m here to serve. If only!

  “I told you about that sir shit, and the answer’s no sweetheart.” He had his head buried in the paper he was reading over so he missed the way his endearment made me blush, and squeeze my thighs together.

  Not to mention the reminder of what had happened the last time I called him sir. My body tingled and grew flush at the memory that had lived in my dreams for days afterwards.

  It was just after his divorce was final and I guess he was in a mood. I’d asked him a question pretty much like the one I just did. But instead of the mild mannered, even tempered response I’d expected from the usually sociable heartthrob. I’d gotten a gruff, “Only women I take to my bed call me that little girl.”

  I’d been stunned into silence, not just at his words, but the look in his eyes when he said them. I was left standing there staring after his departing back. Unsure of what to do next.

  There’d been a whole myriad of emotions running through me on that particular day. As someone who’d been secretly crushing on him for some time, the fact that his divorce was final was huge.

  It feels a lot better lusting after an unmarried man, someone that didn’t belong to someone else. I’d had butterflies in my stomach all day because I knew I no longer had an excuse for not making a play for him. I never would’ve while he was married, no matter how he made me feel.

  Then those words and the way he’d said them had sent my mind travelling far and wide and my imagination went wild at the implications.

  It started me wondering if he played games in bed, those stupid role play things you read about in some magazines that makes you blush if you’re with company.

  I’d lived off of that fantasy for a while. Imagining myself tied up somewhere for his pleasure while he used my body any way he wanted while I called him sir and begged him to fuck me.

  It’s sad when your fantasy life is richer, fuller, better, than the real one. But it was only in my head that such a thing could ever happen. That he’d one day look at me with want.

  It’s not that I’m ugly, far from it. With my dark auburn hair with red and gold natural highlights running through it, hair that falls down the middle of my back to just barely graze the top of my ass, and piercing green eyes that I’ve been told are very hypnotic.

  All this on top of my killer ex-cheerleader body, I know I’m a knockout. I’ve certainly heard it enough. But for some reason I was born in the body of a sexpot and given the backbone of a slug and the sexual aptitude of a vestal virgin.

  I’m known as the goody two shoes in my circle believe it or not, when most, including them, say I’m the hottest one of the bunch hands down.

  I do get the most compliments and guys are always drooling over me and my tits wherever I go. But they never hang around too long after they get to know me. Which usually takes about a few seconds.

  I’m the kind of female people make up their minds about just from taking one look at my body. Or the pouty lip smiling face I always seem to have. But a few minutes in my company and they’re running for the hills.

  Some of the more enterprising ones may see my shyness as easy prey, but my intelligence soon dispels them of that notion. Besides, I’ve never been interested.

  From the age of sixteen I’d given my heart to one man. He didn’t know it, and it was hella wrong at the time, but there you have it.

  I’d never done anything to alert him to the fact that he could have me any which way he wanted. In fact I usually get tongue tied whenever I’m around him.

  So although I’d love nothing better than to have him. The fact that he was first married and now way out of my league, assures me that it’s not gonna happen.

  Of course that changes from day to day. Some days I wake up and tell myself that today is the day I’m going to let him know how I feel. That usually happens after I believe I’d caught him checking me out the day before.

  Then there are the days when I have every doubt in the world plaguing me. Those days when I’m roaming around his house seeing the images of his life from high school to the Pros.

  He’s enigmatic, and somehow in my eyes, bigger than life. And I’m just a small town girl with mediocre dreams. And then I compare myself to his ex-wife and know that we’re not even in the same hemisp
here.

  She’s blonde, trim, statuesque. All the things you’d expect the wife of someone like him to be. While me, I had to drop out of cheerleading because my breasts decided to go from a B-cup to a DD in one summer.

  My legs though long, only hold up a five foot four body, while he had to be six-two to her five-ten. So you see, always beneath my lustful dreams was the knowledge that it would never be.

  Lately though I’ve come to believe more and more that he just might be interested. His eyes follow me more than usual and sometimes out the side of my eye I catch him studying me as if I were an enigma.

  Almost like he’s seeing something that was in front of his eyes the whole time, for the first time. If he’d ogle my overly large breasts like the immature goons at school do on a regular basis, then I’d know for sure. But he’s too sophisticated for that I suppose.

  I’ve even played around with the idea of wearing something totally inappropriate to catch his attention, but with the uproar over the divorce pretty much still in high gear, I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.

  Today had been one of my bolder days. Last night when I’d put the kids to bed and turned to leave, I’d caught him watching me from the doorway of his daughter’s room.

  I hadn’t even known he was there, hadn’t heard him come up the stairs and down the hallway. He hadn’t looked away or pretended that he hadn’t been staring. Instead he’d looked into my eyes boldly, fiercely. Until I thought I would pass out from excitement.

  His eyes had fallen to my rising and falling chest and I thought for sure he was going to lick his lip or bite into it. He did neither.

  Just dragged his eyes back up to mine for a good long stare, before turning and walking away. Leaving me standing there, glued to the spot with a racing heart and wet panties. Again!

  So you better believe that I was feeling bold and confident when I set out for his place a little earlier than usual. Of course I chickened out when he opened the door and I lost my breath.

  There was just something about his dark rugged looks that gets me every time. His black hair and those mesmerizing blue eyes that looked like sparkling gems with or without the sunlight shining in them.

  Then there’s that cleft in his chin that matched the two in his cheeks, and most of all the body that had been plastered over every sports magazine cover for the past couple years.

  At twenty-eight he was ten years older than I, but I didn’t care. His age just made him that much sexier. I knew that whether it were him or someone else, I’d never be with anyone my age.

  Anyway, he’d opened the door and smiled at me if a little bit uncertainly, no doubt at the fact that I was way too early. And I’d lost every thought in my head.

  He was dressed in loose fitting sweats and a tank that showcased his broad tanned shoulders and those powerful arms that play prominently in my dreams sometimes. Oh to feel them wrapped around me. Oops! Looks like it’s going to be another panty ruining day.

  I’d made an excuse and bypassed him into the house hoping that my true thoughts weren’t showing on my face. I made myself busy, all the while kicking myself for being dumb enough to think that I would ever have the nerve.

  Why can’t I be more like my alter ego? That brave no nonsense girl who knows what she wants and takes it. The girl who dares to touch herself in the darkness of night, while whispering his name out loud. I call her Ariel.

  That brings us to here and now. I’d brought him a sandwich since it looked like he was busy and hadn’t had time to make himself lunch.

  He’d been appreciative but distracted. That is until he picked up his head from what he was doing and looked at me with that intensity that makes me want to do, be, give, anything just to be with him.

  Then I’d asked the question for lack of anything else to say under such intense scrutiny, forgetting in my discomfort the aforementioned conversation about calling him sir and who’s allowed that privilege.

  The doorbell rang, saving me from myself and he got up to answer it with a sigh. Did he brush his arm against me purposely, or was I hogging too much of the doorway?

  No matter! That little thrill of electricity that ran up my arm and straight to my nipple will last me about a week at least.

  I headed for the laundry room on shaky legs and with a quivering stomach. It occurred to me not for the first time, that I’ve never looked forward to doing laundry, or any of the other menial chores I do around here as much as I do now.

  Somehow washing his clothes and keeping his home neat didn’t seem as awful as when mom made me do the same at home. Maybe because here I can lose myself in daydreams, pretending that he’s my husband and I the little wife keeping house.

  I cut off my thoughts when the tingle between my legs turned into full blown sexual arousal. It never fails. Just a few minutes in his company and my body takes over, leaving me horny and messy between my thighs.

  Alyssa

  In the beginning it was easier because he wasn’t here as much. But now, in the last few weeks since the divorce became final, he’s been hanging around here more and more and my poor heart can hardly take it.

  This is the best babysitting job I’ve ever had. It paid well, was easy, and I had the best boss. I’d landed it through sheer luck a few years ago and was still the envy of all my friends.

  I’ve had to practically beat them off with a stick to keep them from bomb rushing the man’s house everyday, just to stare at him.

  Though he didn’t mind them being here, and had even given me permission to have them over to use the pool sometimes when I wasn’t busy with the kids.

  Not because he was a perv or anything, he was just a really nice guy. That’s why I hated what had happened to his life, and for the whole world to see no less.

  "Tanya, for the last fucking time no, I don't want to fucking hear it, it's done, never to be revisited, so stop trying." His voice reached me in the laundry room where I’d been standing in front of the washer daydreaming again.

  I shook myself and thought, uh oh the witch is at it again. She ought to be ashamed of herself, the way she throws herself at him after the fact. I mean really, how stupid can you be?

  You screw around on your husband of ten years, a husband who by all accounts including your own was great to you, took care of you and your kids like royalty and you expect him to do what when he finds out?

  I really shouldn’t be listening in, but I couldn’t help it. Besides, they were being loud, which was good for me because I need to know if he ever changes his mind about taking her back.

  The thought makes my stomach churn. I hope not. I’d rather he chose me, but since that’s not happening, I’d almost wish he’d choose anyone else but her.

  She wasn’t exactly nice when they were married and I always wondered why he’d been with her. Of course they say opposites attract. But she was so opposite as to be a different species.

  Now with the divorce final she’s been hounding him, begging him to take her back. Sometimes I just want to pop her one, but again, I have that lack of boldness issue.

  I guess she was finally realizing that it wasn’t going to happen because I could hear her tearing into him, and sweetheart that he is, he was just listening to her rip into him.

  I wonder what he ever saw in her. Maybe at one point she was actually something to look at, but you couldn’t tell it by looking at her now.

  Maybe the local gossip brigade was right and she’d lost her looks from being so damn evil. Or maybe without his money she could no longer afford to hit the salon on a weekly basis to keep herself together.

  As a female I should have more empathy for her, but not after the nasty shit she’d done. Women like her make it hard for other females if you ask me. They never appreciate a good thing until it’s gone.

  My chest burned with all the things I wished I could walk in there and say to her in defense of him, but it wasn’t my place, and again, I had that issue.

  I gloated just a little at her
predicament when I remembered how she’d treated me, like I was somehow beneath her. Like she’d forgotten that he’d elevated her status too.

  Everyone knew the story of the local girl made good. How he’d dated her since high school and when he made it big had come back for her.

  They lived in the biggest house in town, drove the fanciest cars, even fancier than their neighbors’ in the swanky community they lived in.

  For years she’d been the envy of all who knew her and she’d ridden that wave through two pregnancies, millions of dollars worth of jewelry, and all the luxury a doting husband of means could provide.

  She’d lost everything now though, because she apparently couldn’t resist a hanging dick. Now she was back here constantly trying to regain what she’d so callously thrown away.

  I always knew she was a stupid shit, but damn not that stupid. The divorce has been final for a few weeks now and she had turned up the heat. I wonder what made her think he would take her back after all this time.

  "Gage you have to give me a chance; think about the children."

  "Why don't you think about them and get the hell out of here before the school bus shows up?" Oh he sounded pissed.

  "They're still my kids Gage, I have the right to see them." I could just imagine her face as she says that. That’s always her trump card, the children. Somehow I was always hoping it didn’t work.

  "Not according to the judge, and not according to them. They don't want to see you anymore than I do. So please vacate my premises before I have you physically removed."

  "How dare you? Those are my kids, you...you, fucking bastard." Oh crap, she’s in one of those moods. Maybe I should hide out upstairs or in the basement.

  But when she gets like this I’m afraid to even make a move lest she hears me and goes off. For some reason the sight of me in her old home sends her into a tizzy, even though she’s the one who’d hired me originally. I confess to not giving a shit one way or the other.