18. Berg
Chapter eighteen
Berg
C aro didn’t have to say she needed time and space. I sensed it. I must have crossed a line the other night. A touch on the hand is innocent at face value, but there was intimacy in each of my movements, and she felt that. I’ll have to reign in the feelings I’m having toward her, because they must not be as reciprocal as I thought. The girls are on a Sunday afternoon playdate and the house has been quiet without them. I tried blasting music and catching up on housework and even called my sister to chat. But there’s not a distraction in the world that will help me forget Caro is right downstairs. And while I know I shouldn’t be on her doorstep, I find myself wandering there anyways. I’m drawn to her presence, despite my better judgement, and that’s how I find myself on her doorstep with a brush in my hand. I knock and wait, running the bristles over my palm while I shift my weight anxiously.
I’m no better than my daughters. I’ve explained to them that Caro has days off. I’ve even had to mark Saturday and Sunday on the calendar so that the girls know to leave her be on the weekends. Yet, here I am, unable to go a single day without seeing her smile. When she answers, comfort washes over me. Her curls are wound into a blue scrunchie on top of her head. Tight leggings skim over her curvy thighs that lead my eye to her bare feet with those damn pink toenails that match my daughters.
“So, you do know how to knock.”
Amusement lights her eyes.
“I’m working on it.”
I clear my throat, remembering why I came down here in the first place.
“Are you busy?”
She gives me one of the smiles that hits me square in the chest.
“What would I be busy doing, Berg?”
“You could…you could be having a date,” I suggest.
“A date?” She gestures to her outfit and laughs.
“Yes. Girls your age date.”
And when they do, it’s usually not a forty year old dad of two.
“Probably overdue for one. You want to come in and help me swipe? ”
My hand clenches around the pink plastic, the bristles leaving impressions on my skin.
“You have those apps?”
The idea of a stranger from the internet showing up to hang out with Carolina makes me sick with worry. Jealousy sparks in my chest at the thought of another man holding her in his arms and kissing her goodbye in the morning before work.
“Don’t you?” she counters and I stammer.
Clicking her tongue when I don't answer right away she says, “Guess you should have checked when you had my phone.”
I’m reminded of the messages from the guy I’ve never heard her mention. Is he someone from an app?
“ Women my age do date, Berg. But, alas, I am not currently on one. How can I help you?”
“I want to learn how to braid.”
Dean’s admission that braiding was ‘easy’ rubbed me the wrong way. If he can learn, so can I. Her facial expression morphs until she looks like she’s just witnessed a newborn fawn in the wild.
“Yeah, I can teach you how to do that. I mean, I’m not an expert. I’m sure Anna could teach you fancier braids than I can.”
“Fancier?”
“French, Dutch, fishtail.” She lists the options on her fingers.
My face falls flat .
“But basic works too!” she says, sensing my overwhelm. “You want me to come a few minutes early tomorrow morning so that I can walk you through it on Natalie? Louisa is pretty wiggly.”
The tips of my ears heat.
“I thought…I thought maybe I’d surprise them. Do you think you could show me on your hair?”
Caro swallows a squeak, a hand touching her bun. “Mine?”
This was a stupid idea. The literal last thing in the world either of us needs is me running my hands through her hair. But we won’t have Carolina forever, and it’ll only be a few years before the girls know how to do these things themselves. As much as having Caro has improved our lives for the better, there are small rituals in my day that I’ve had to leave behind. Learning how to do something that will make them smile is well worth it. But, if Caro doesn’t want to do it, I’ll ask Anna. She’s a literal stylist, after all. I take a step back, ready to retreat, but Caro shoots her arm out and clutches my bicep, squeezing it a bit harder than necessary. I resist the urge to flex.
“It’s really sweet, Berg. I want to help. C’mon.”
She tugs me across the threshold, and all I can do is follow and pray that I have a shred of self-control.
***
“Make yourself comfortable,” Caro says when I hover awkwardly in the front entrance .
“What? You only barge in here when I’m naked or you’re wearing a tool belt? Sit.”
Caro jerks her head toward the leather recliners and I smile, recalling all the times Chris and I hung out on these. They’re so bachelor it’s not even funny. When I think of Caro I imagine an overstuffed couch and pillows and something she can really curl up under a blanket on. God knows I like to sink into my couch after the girls run me ragged.
Reluctantly, I sit down in the chair on the right. An episode of Jeopardy! plays on the television, the show only beginning.
She points at the brush in my hand. “Is that all you brought?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure what you’d say,” I admit.
The last thing I wanted was to come down here with an armful of supplies and have her turn me down.
“No problem, I have stuff. Be right back.”
Caro pads down the hall and I listen to her opening and closing drawers in the bathroom.
“So, I grabbed some elastics, a better brush, and some detangling spray.”
Caro walks around the recliner, peels off her hoodie, and sinks down onto her knees on the floor in front of me. My throat gets tight at the sight of her below me like that. It’s not unlike the mystery woman I usually imagine while I’m blowing off some steam in my shower. Except, lately, that woman has been looking a hell of a lot more like my nanny.
“What are you doing?” I ask, hands clutching my thighs.
“How are you going to reach me if I’m standing? ”
“Right, right,” I say.
If that self-control could show up soon, that would be great.
She works the scrunchy out, shaking her head and rubbing her scalp with the tips of her fingers.
“First, you’ll use the detangler, and then you need to split it into three equal parts. But, I could do that bit for you, if you want.”
I clear my throat. “No, I could use the practice.”
I’ve detangled the girl's hair countless times. I can do a pretty sleek ponytail if I do say so myself, but the little lie slips off my tongue at the thought of extra time with Caro. Of extra touches.
She settles down in front of me to face the television. “Be my guest.”
Wiggling until she’s comfortable in a cross legged position, I spread my thighs and scoot forward ever so slightly. If Caro leaned back, she could rest against my thighs.
“I miss curling up on a couch. There’s nothing like wedging yourself into a couch corner with a blanket and a movie, you know? I thought about moving the tv to the bedroom, even.”
I could move a television. If she wanted me to. And I knew Caro well enough to know that these dumb recliners aren’t enough for her. Her confirming it makes me want to pump my fist in the air.
“I have a comfy couch,” I say.
Caro cranes her head to look at me.
“I know,” she says slowly. “I sit on it all week.”
“Smart ass. Turn around.”
I pull the lever on the spray bottle, misting the length of her hair. The night I barged in after her shower it was wet and nearly twice as long.
Separating the curls into smaller pieces as gently as possible, I use the wide toothed comb from the basket to brush it out, transfixed at the way it glides through her shiny hair. A vision of all those curls splayed across my chest pops into my mind, unbidden.
The television eats up the silence as I finish smoothing the last of the tangles.
“Three pieces?” I check as I do my best to separate them equally.
“Mmm hmm.”
Her soft voice doesn’t help me keep my thoughts on the task at hand. My cock twitches in my shorts. She shifts, relaxing her posture so she leans back against my parted legs. I suck in what’s supposed to be a calming breath through my nose, but all I get is the fruity scent of her shampoo, and the pressure in my pants increases. I should turn the damn spray bottle around and squirt myself to cool off.
With the three pieces in my hand, I begin to cross the outer ones over the centre one, just like I’ve seen in tutorials.
“Wait.” I frown at the sagging strands. “That doesn’t look right. ”
I undo my work and try again. But I’m too distracted, and within a minute I’ve made the same mistake and it’s a hot mess. I sigh in frustration.
“Remember, cross over.”
“I’m doing that.”
Well, I think I am. It looks like…something. I lick my lips, shaking out my cramping hand. Her hair slides through my fingers, soft and thick against my skin. That sweet scent wafts out of it again and whether I want to admit it or not, I’m hard. She needs to keep her eyes focused forward so that I don’t look like a creep.
“I don’t think I’m good at this,” I admit defeatedly.
She reaches back and tangles her fingers in mine. “Don’t give up.”
“Caro…” My voice is hoarse, but I make no efforts to separate our fingers.
I look down, all four of our hands blended together, her shoulders settled between my legs as they rise and fall. My own chest is heaving with the effort of not taking this further, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough for that. She’s right here with me and she’s been driving me crazy for weeks. But I want to learn this for my daughters. It’s important for me to know how to do everything. They’ll have all the same experiences any other child would. I’ll make sure of it.
“I’ll try again,” I say, undoing everything to start from scratch.
She scoffs. “Let me show you this time. ”
Caro reaches behind her head again, brushing my inner thigh by accident as she does. The sight of her fingertips on my legs is enough to make me clench my jaw.
“No, I can do it. I want to figure this out on my own.”
She inspects the half finished mess of a braid with her finger tips, and she’s only making it worse as she pokes around.
“Caro, get your hands out of the way.”
“You need to do it tighter,” she tells me.
“Well, I don’t want to pull it,” I reply, surprised at how hard this is and frustrated that my body isn’t listening to me.
“And I’m saying that you might have to pull it a bit to get the result you want.”
“Let me try again.”
“Practising it wrong over and over isn’t going to teach you anything.”
“I can do it.” I grit out, heart pounding. “The outside sections are loose, that’s all.”
“Oh my god,” she cries, turning her head over her shoulder to glare at me.
I place one hand on the crown of her head and direct it forward with a grunt.
“Why are you so stubborn?” She continues her tirade. “Why can’t you accept some help? You asked me to teach you something, and I’m telling you that you need to pull the pieces a litt–”
Caro yelps when I tug on my mess of a braid with force, the high pitched sound hitting me right in my groin. My grip is firm as I lean forward, her head tipping back so I can stare directly into her teasing, hooded eyes.
“Is that tight enough, do you think, Carolina?”
I’ve probably taken things too far, and I’m ready for her to tell me to leave. Instead, she fucking shakes her head slowly from side to side, keeping her gaze focused on me. I don’t know why her response surprises me, it really shouldn’t. In comparison to the first, my next tug is gentler, but it brings the back of her head even closer to my crotch.
“How about now?”
Her voice is throaty. “Now you’re getting it.”
It’s not lost on me that I might gather her hair up with one hand for other purposes as well. For activities where her mouth would be much more occupied.
I trail my fingers down her soft cheek, thumbing her full lower lip when I reach it.
“I don’t know how to ask for help because I’ve never had any before. Not in a long time. You know that asking you to nanny for me was hard.”
I watch her throat bob as she swallows and I adjust my knee to support her head so her neck won’t ache.
“Why me?”
Why her what? Why did I ask her for help?
“Because I trust you.”
Her eyes become glassy and I release my grip. When I do, she sits up slowly, and shuffles around to face me. She’s on her fucking knees again. Elbows on my thighs and looking up at me with her chin propped up in her hands. I’m so fucked. Because I don’t know if I can finish this little lesson.
“You shouldn’t.”
I run my hands over the mess I made, tucking pieces behind her ears.
“I hate when you say stuff like that. Stuff that makes it sound like you don’t think very highly of yourself.”
She shrugs, her indifference about such an important topic wounds me. I want my girls to have all the confidence in the world. I want their cups overflowing with it. And Caro’s confidence cup? It seems woefully empty.
She leans into my touch. “Please don’t stop.”
Who am I to deny her? I’m only a man. And tonight I’m weak.
I brush my knuckle across the nape of her neck. The fine blonde hairs there stand on end, goosebumps rising at my touch. I’m breathing heavily as I indulge my desire and stroke a finger tip down her throat once more. Slowly, she rises, climbing into my fucking lap.
“It’s too much, Caro.” My voice is husky, my words in opposition with my body.
“It’s not enough,” she moans, sinking all her weight down on my lap, thighs wedged between my hips and the padded leather arms of the recliner. She focuses her eyes intently on me, tipping her pelvis, gauging my reaction. I groan at the pressure, and the delicious feeling of her in my arms, and Caro grins .
“Not enough,” she breathes, as she rocks against the bulge in my athletic shorts.
Unmistakable heat soaks through her thin leggings and I can’t help but wonder if she’s already wet. I rake my hands along her scalp, pulling her head down against mine. Our foreheads touch, breath mingling, noses brushing as everything fades away. My only focus is the proximity of her lush lips and the eye-opening realisation that I'm not strong enough to resist them. Our lips brush, and the needy noise that falls from her mouth makes my cock throb in a way it hasn’t in far too long.
She rolls her hips again and another sexy sound accompanies the movement.
“We can’t do this.”
“How come?”
So many reasons. None of which I want to speak aloud, all of which are becoming increasingly flimsy as the seconds tick by. My fingers wander down her ribs, settling around her hips. I keep my touch light, trying to convince myself that I’m innocent in this exchange. Like I’m not the one who came down here on her night off. Like I’m not providing her with a rock hard erection for her to grind on. Her breath hitches, cheeks glowing pink as she finds a spot she likes. My heart thumps fiercely as I glance down. I can see the outline of my cock straining toward the waistband of my flimsy shorts, Caro’s spread thighs, and her pussy perched right on top .
My muscles burn with the effort to sit still and not launch us both out of this damn chair and up to my bedroom. Hell, I’m not certain I could even make it that far.
“I think I could come like this, Berg.”
Holy shit.
“Like…now?” My composure crumbles. “Fuck it.”
All those reasons? Those were just excuses.
“I know you can, Caro.”
My fingertips sink into the soft flesh on her hips as I tug her further up my lap so the most sensitive part of my cock is nestled against what I hope is her clit. Caro cries out, confirming that I’ve got the right spot, and it makes me feel like the fucking man.
“You look so pretty up there. Using me to make yourself feel good.”
The words pour from my mouth, but I’m not sure where they’re even coming from because my brain is in a thick, Caro induced haze.
“Stay right there.” Her voice is breathy and desperate as she drops her head against my shoulder.
“Where the hell else would I go?”
Having Carolina fully clothed and writhing in my lap is a high I’m not interested in coming down from.
Her quickening breaths fan over the pounding pulse point in my throat.
Letting her set the pace, I keep my movements gentle, predictable. With every slight circle she makes, my balls draw up a little more. If I blow in my goddamn shorts before she does I’ll never forgive myself. I grit my teeth, trying to think of something other than what colour panties she’s wearing under those curve hugging leggings. What if she’s not wearing any at all?
“God, this is better than…”
She doesn’t finish her sentence because she cuts herself off with another gasp of unbridled pleasure.
“Better than what?”
I have to know how Caro usually makes herself feel good.
“Than that shower head.”
I swear under my breath as she rocks herself side to side, front and back, seeking out her orgasm. When I’m in my bedroom I can hear the water running in her shower. Was she spraying it between her legs the night she cut her hand?
Matching her movements, I crush her against my chest. I might not be able to feel what her pussy does when she comes, but I’m sure as hell gonna hear her. And soon.
“Berg!” She sucks in a breath then holds it.
Oh, she’s so close.
“Let me see you come, Caro. I can feel how hot you are. There gonna be a damp spot when I finally lift you off my lap? Hmm?”
“Oh, my god.”
I grin. “I don’t need to check. I can feel how wet you’ve made us already. If these clothes were gone, I’d be coated.”
If Caro wasn’t so far gone, I bet she’d be dirty talking me right back. For now, I’m happy to take point.
“I’m coming, I’m coming…” she chants against my heated skin while she quivers in my arms .
Her sweet moans are both a relief and a tease.
She takes all of ten seconds to recover before she’s tugging at my waistband. But I grasp her wandering fingers before she can get her hands on my dangerously sensitive cock.
“No, Caro. That was enough.”
For now, at least. We both need a breather.
“We could make each other feel even better,” she suggests.
Fuck, I want to give her what she wants. To throw away the remaining caution and worry, but my girls rely on all that judgement. I kiss the corner of her mouth, then her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and forehead too. She leans in to each kiss. I know that if I press my lips against hers straight on I’ll lose my head. She sighs like she’s steeling herself for rejection. God, this is anything but. I’m not denying her, I’m denying myself. It’s because I want her so much that I have to leave.