Chapter 2
She approached closer, still standing by the crib, and then looked at me in a way that made my heart race. Her eyes examined me with a curiosity that bordered on disrespect, as if I were as transparent as the window glass.
“And are you single?” The question came direct, without beating around the bush, catching me off guard.
I froze for a second, my mind trying to decide if that was a joke, a provocation, or just teenage curiosity.
“No, I’m married,” I replied, trying to keep my tone firm, as if that simple statement were an impenetrable barrier.
She didn’t avert her gaze, not at all embarrassed by my response.
“And where is your wife?” she asked, with the same naturalness as asking about the weather.
“Traveling to see a friend.” My voice came out drier than I intended, and for a moment I felt guilty. I didn’t want to seem distant, but the situation was making me uncomfortable.
The silence that followed seemed to last an eternity. The only sound was the soft breathing of the baby, who was still sleeping in the crib beside us. I thought about changing the subject, asking if she wanted a glass of water or if she’d already eaten, but the question that escaped my mouth was another.
“And you? Do you have a boyfriend?”
I surprised myself with the question. What the hell was I thinking? She was an eighteen-year-old babysitter, for God’s sake.
She looked at me with a sly little smile, her dark eyes narrowing as if she’d heard exactly what I didn’t say. She took a step closer, almost imperceptible, but enough for me to smell the fresh scent of the soap she’d used in the shower.
“No…” she began, adjusting the damp strands falling on her face with a casual but clearly calculated gesture. “You know how it is, guys my age are all jerks. They only care about parties, drinking, those stupid things. I prefer older guys…” she paused, letting the words hang in the air a second longer than necessary, her eyes fixed on mine “…but those don’t want anything to do with me.”
My heart gave a dry thump, my face heated up, and I tried to disguise the discomfort by moving to the other side of the crib, as if checking the baby’s breathing were the most urgent thing in the world at that moment.
“Older? How much older?” I asked, my voice coming out a few tones higher than normal, a desperate attempt to sound casual, as if I didn’t know exactly where this was going.
She tilted her head, the smile widening like that of a predator sensing fear in its prey.
“Like… your age, more or less,” she replied, her gaze piercing me like a spark jumping from the fireplace onto dry carpet.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my face neutral, but the tension in the air was palpable. I didn’t know whether to laugh, change the subject, or make up an excuse to leave the room. But somehow, I couldn’t look away from her.
Fuck. I’d never been good at flirting, and now, married with a child at home, the situation seemed even more dangerous. One wrong move and I could end up in jail or, at the very least, destroy my marriage. I’d heard stories of scammers who seduced men just to blackmail them later. It was a cliché, but this seemed exactly like the start of one of those stories.
But that demon in woman’s form could drag me into the abyss with a smile, and I knew it. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that’s exactly why I couldn’t avoid it.
She flopped onto the sofa, right in front of the TV, as if she already owned the place. She sat with her legs spread, the shorts riding up almost revealing more than they should. If I tilted my head at the right angle, I might see what she was hiding under that thin fabric.
I tried to distract myself with the program on the screen, but the image of her beside me seemed more interesting than anything the TV could show. And that’s when she caught me.
“Are you looking at me?” she asked, without even taking her eyes off the screen, her voice laced with veiled provocation.
I froze for a second, my heart pounding so loud I was sure she could hear it.
“No, what? Of course not…” I replied too quickly, my voice sounding artificial even to my own ears.
She finally turned her face to me, her eyes half-closed, her mouth curved in a half-smile that made me even more nervous.
“You were. I saw you looking at me.” She adjusted her legs, spreading them even wider, as if giving me the chance to look again, to see what I was pretending not to want to see.
“No, girl, you got it wrong. I wasn’t looking at you,” I retorted, trying to keep my tone firm, but my voice came out shaky, almost choked.
She laughed, a short, low sound that made me shudder.
“You’re the type of guy who has a fetish for babysitters? You can tell me, I won’t tell your wife.” The provocation was direct, almost cruel, her eyes now piercing me with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.
“No… it’s not that.” My words came out in a thin voice, and I tried to laugh, but the sound died in my throat.
She leaned her torso forward, her breasts pressed against the thin t-shirt, her eyes fixed on mine, challenging.
“You can look at me, I allow it. I like it.” Her voice came low, almost a whisper, but each word seemed to scratch me from the inside.
I swallowed hard, feeling my face heat up.
“You like it?” The question escaped before I could hold it back, and I immediately regretted it.
She bit her lower lip, tilting her head to the side, and held her breasts in a way that made them move.
“Yes, you’re a pretty girl,” I replied, trying to sound casual, trying to ignore that she was holding her own breasts, but my voice came out strange, almost thin.
She laughed, that short kind of laugh that makes the blood rush to your face and your heart beat faster. Her eyes sparkled with a mischief I didn’t expect from someone so young. She leaned in a little more, her firm breasts now more on display, pressed against the thin t-shirt she was wearing, as if she wanted me to see every detail.
“No, I asked if you like them,” she retorted, and then, to my surprise and complete despair, she squeezed her own breasts again, cupping them with her hands, pushing them up toward me, as if challenging me to look.
I froze. My brain completely locked up. What the fuck was happening? It hadn’t even been an hour since this girl was in my house and she was already offering herself to me, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I was incredulous. The kind of situation that seemed like a movie scene or a story from some lying friend at the bar. Surely I’d fallen into some scam. It couldn’t be real. No one acts like that. I needed to get out of that situation, needed to set a boundary before everything went to hell.
But for some reason, my body wouldn’t move. I could only look at her, at the way her fingers squeezed the soft flesh, at the nipples marking the thin fabric, provoking me, calling me, testing me.
“What do you intend, girl? I’m too old for you and I’m married,” I managed to say, but my voice came out lower than I wanted, almost a nervous whisper, as if I myself was doubting the seriousness of those words.
She looked at me, her lips curved in a slow, almost lazy smile, but one that carried a dangerous promise. Her eyes gleamed with a confidence that was frightening for someone so young, as if she’d played that game many times before and always won.
“I love married men…” she replied, the words coming out with a venomous sweetness, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
And then, without giving me time to react, she pulled the shirt off her body with a quick, almost fierce movement that caught me completely off guard. Her breasts bounced out, completely exposed, perfectly white, firm, with nipples in a pinkish-red shade I’d never seen in my life. They were round, high, with an almost cruel symmetry, as if youth had concentrated there, sculpting those curves with disconcerting perfection.
My breath caught. For a second, the air seemed to vanish from the room, as if all reality had frozen in that moment. I felt my heart hammering in my chest, my face burning, and the low sound of the TV in the background seemed to come from very, very far away.
Instinctively, my eyes moved to the crib, where my daughter slept peacefully, oblivious to the silent chaos unfolding just a few steps from her. A part of me felt filthy, dirty, as if I were betraying not only my wife but the innocence of my own home.
But even so, I couldn’t look away. Her skin seemed to glow under the soft light of the room, her untouched breasts, youth pulsing in every curve. My body responded before I could think, my fingers instinctively sliding to my lap, squeezing my cock over my pants, already hard, throbbing, denying all logic, all morality I should have had in that moment.