Kingpin’s Nanny: a Spicy Age Gap Grumpy-Sunshine Romance

Christmas Eve

I’m fizzing with excitement, waiting for the start of my first camshow, to an exclusive audience who has paid an obscene amount of money to buy out my whole evening. But it’s not the show, or the fact that I’m going to reclaim my sexuality that has me thrilled. Nope, it’s the screen name that has taken up all my attention since I saw it: YourBoss.

Could it really be Mr Knight? There’s no picture to give me a hint, but that also means my imagination is running wild.

When I set it up, I accepted the OnlySantas suggested start time, which was seven o’clock. And he always has finished putting Ivy to bed by then, so… Maybe? I hope bedtime is going well. I’m sure it is. I left lots of detailed instructions.

I’ve been preparing for an hour, fussing nervously over the cute and sexy Santa outfit I bought this morning, and getting my phone in just the right place in my room so it captures me at a flattering angle and in good light, but doesn’t show anything that might be identifiable. I don’t want my boss finding this and sacking me for compromising his house or something.

The anticipation builds in me, and when I log on a few minutes before the appointed time, I’m a tiny bit sad that my patron isn’t waiting. But if it’s Lucas, he’s still doing his precisely timed evening routine, isn’t he?

I watch the clock, and the seconds tick like trudging home in the rain on a dark winter afternoon.

It gets to seven, and I hold my breath.

He’ll be here. YourBoss. He has to be. It has to be him. He paid an obscene amount of money for an exclusive show.

It’s only one minute after seven. That’s nothing.

Two minutes.

My chest is full of contradictory feelings. I’m still excited, and nervous, but something cold and dreaded is congealing in my stomach. They don’t want me? YourBoss hasn’t logged on, despite the eye-watering cost.

I can’t hold this cute pose with the skirt and a little smile much longer. Another minute ticks past.

My arm begins to shake.

It’s been five minutes, and I break my Santa girl character, allowing myself to pout. The status dot of YourBoss remains grey. He’s not watching.

I wanted to feel desirable, to have eyes on me that admired me, and I’m stuck with nothing except the knowledge that YourBoss isn’t who I dreamed it was, and whoever they are, they don’t want to look at me.

My boss is always on time. He’s precise. Yes, he’s grumpy, but the very idea that he wouldn’t put his niece to bed at exactly seven o’clock is ridiculous. I’ve seen him kiss her forehead at that exact time for six months. With anyone else, I could believe he was incompetent on his own, and that without me there to steer it, bedtime was late.

But not Mr Knight.

I have to accept facts. After twenty-five minutes, there’s no question.

It’s not Lucas. If it were, he’d have logged in at seven o’clock exactly, after closing the door to Ivy’s bedroom.

But whoever it is has paid for my time, and doesn’t intend to take me up on the offer to use it.

That I know of.

Never mind. I can still do what I intended this evening. I lean over my phone and poke through the settings of OnlySantas. Surely I can stop the exclusive booking and have a public show instead?

But when I find the cancel button, it’s greyed out. The information pop-up politely informs me that since the payment has been confirmed, and the performance started, there is no way for either party to reverse the transaction now, and the sale is final. There’s also some warning language about how going outside of OnlySantas is not allowed for my own protection, blah-blah-blah.

I sit back.

If I’m honest with myself, I didn’t really want to perform for strangers. There is only one pair of steel grey eyes I want on me: those of a man with silver and black hair, black stubble, and swirling black tattoos I wish I could touch. But Santa was never going to bring me Lucas Knight for Christmas.

Without YourBoss’ consent, I can’t even turn off the camera. And his active status remains stubbornly grey. He’s not online.

And suddenly, I’ve got the solution.

I get back onto my position on the bed, arrange my sexy Santa dress, which is red velvet with white fluffy trim and a black belt, smooth my Santa hat, and look straight into the camera.

“This is for you, boss.”

Given my lack of experience, what he would look like as he watched is a bit hazy in my imagination, but I keep my gaze on the camera as though it were Lucas’ grey eyes.

“I want you,” I say softly. “I’ve wanted you since we first met.” I trail my fingers over my velvet-covered breasts. “And I hope you want me too.”

Slipping the straps off my shoulders one at a time, I imagine that it’s his rough hands doing that, grazing my skin.

I’m channelling every sexy thing I’ve ever seen. Ads, movies, late-night television, and that slutty girl at school. I should have asked her for tips. I watch myself in the camera preview for OnlySantas, and try to ignore that YourBoss’ activity indicator remains stubbornly grey.

“Do you like what you see, boss?” I push the neckline down and add, “Would you like to see my legs?” I drag up the skirt of my dress with one hand.

“Or my bottom?”

I shuffle around on the mattress. I can almost hear his deep, dark, severe voice telling me that he can’t see me properly.

“Should I take off my knickers?” I blush.

It feels indulgently naughty as I nudge the cotton down, exposing my bottom, and my pussy too. When the fabric is over my knees, I replace my hand so I’m on all fours again, and I breathe through the embarrassment.

“Am I okay? Is this right?” I’d never dare to ask Mr Knight this, but in my mind, he tells me, “Yes, that’s perfect. Good girl.”

“I’m delulu,” I mutter, but I shiver with arousal. Closing my eyes, so I can’t see that there’s no one watching, let alone the man I want, I turn onto my back. The dress is rucked around my midriff, so I wriggle it over my head. On a whim, I press the hat onto my head again, then recline on the pillows, totally naked now.

In the dark behind my eyelids, I see Lucas above me. I can’t remember the exact pattern of his tattoos from that day at the beach, and I wish so much I’d had the guts to somehow get a photograph so I could examine and memorise him.

I run my hands over my breasts and cup them, then pinch my nipples daringly. It’s not his hands—mine aren’t big enough—but it’s nice as I skim lower. My knees fall open.

When I reach between my legs, I’m not surprised to find I’m wet. Soaked, in fact. Thinking about my boss always does that.

“I wish you were here. I wish it were your fingers. And then, I wish it were…” My god, where does the bravery to say this come from? “Your cock. I want you to be my first. And my only.”

There’s a little shock of pleasure as I brush my clit. I wriggle back into the bed covers and imagine Lucas Knight’s severe gaze on me. He’s so grumpy, but at heart he’s kind. I’ve seen it time and time again with him. He could be cruel—it’s expected even, after all, what’s an uncle if not wicked, or a mafia boss if not mean—but he’s not. He’s dark and growly in his tone, but his behaviour is always considerate.

Apart from my lack of days off, of course. But that hasn’t been such a hardship, to be honest. If it weren’t for my sexual frustration boiling over, I’d happily never have a day away from him.

“Please. I’m so empty. I need this.”

My hand is moving of its own accord now, circling over my clit.

I’m certain Lucas would have the experience and maturity to make it spectacular. “I want you to teach me to pleasure you, and make me come.”

Saying the words aloud makes it more real, as though he’s listening in. The ecstasy mounts and I give my clit more pressure.