More Than Her Nanny

Pixie stands near the door like she always does when Rachel walks in. Right away she starts gushing about how easy the kids were, how everybody ate dinner without complaint. Rachel drops her bag, says she's finally got the next two weeks booked in Cabo. Silence for a split-second, then she blurts out, "You should come with us." Pixie's cheeks flame. "Shit, I— I want you." Rachel stares at her. The noise in her head is louder than the traffic outside. "Say it again," she says quietly. Pixie repeats it, softer, but no less hungry. They step closer, words melting. Rachel palms the girl’s hips; Pixie's fingers curl behind Rachel's neck. Without deciding, they kiss. Then mouths open wider, wet, loud in the empty hallway. Rachel shoves her against the banister while Pixie drags down her zipper. The same blouse Rachel wore all day is yanked open; Lacey bra exposed. She tugs Pixie’s tank top over her head and buries her face between small tits, tongue circling one hard nipple then the other. Pixie works Rachel’s pants to the floor, drops to her knees, and eats like she’s starved. Rachel clutches the railing and lets out a throaty moan, thighs trembling. Before long she pulls the girl up, hoists her, and walks her to the sofa so she can spear her open on two slick fingers, thumb rubbing the hood of her clit till Pixie arches and cries out. They move slowly after the first shock subsides. Mouths taste every inch. Rachel bends Pixie over the arm of the couch, sinks into the soaked heat of her with a strap, hips snapping long and steady. Pixie pushes back greedily, skin smacking skin in a steady rhythm. Closer, deeper; Rachel leans forward and bites Pixie’s shoulder while she drives harder, then reaches beneath them to thumb her clit again. Just before they both fold, Rachel flips them. Pixie straddles her lap, riding fast, sweat running between her breasts. Rachel drinks in every catch of breath and stuttered fuck falling from the girl’s mouth. Their spasms crash at once—Pixie soaking the base of the strap, Rachel groaning against Pixie's collarbone until they both float down, skin catching and sticking, still hungry but warm. Rachel draws circles between Pixie’s shoulders. They linger until laughter creeps in. "Guess that means you're definitely coming to Mexico." They dress half-heartedly, brush knuckles, steal one more kiss. Dinner can wait.