WARNING: This story contains mature, sensitive, and explicit content unsuitable for young or sensitive readers. Reader discretion is advised.
MARIMAR OQUENDO'S POINT OF VIEW
His hands found me before I could fill my lungs. Warmth spread from his broad palms, which spanned the full curve of my breasts. "W-Wait, Levi!" I gasped, the sound snagged in my throat as fabric shifted and tore away. Cool air pricked my skin the instant my chest was bare; my nipples tightened, hard and sensitive against the sudden chill.
His blue eyes widened, bright with the wonder of a child, and he clapped once—sharp, clean as a snap of twigs.
"Yay! Cocomelon!" He reached for me again, his touch light as he squeezed and lifted. Soft flesh jiggled beneath his fingers, and heat bloomed low in my belly.
I bit my lip, watching him hover above me. I was propped against the headboard, pillows digging into the small of my back, while his frame—lean and solid as carved stone—blocked out the lamplight. Questions spun through my mind, fast and sharp as broken glass: What have I signed up for? How do I always land in these places? Is this really the work that will put food on my family's table?
A gasp tore from me when his mouth closed around one nipple. His tongue swirled slow and warm, then a light nip made me flinch. His eyes stayed locked on mine the whole time, as if every flicker of my eyelashes, every tight line in my jaw, was a lesson he needed to memorize.
"Yummy?" he mumbled, his breath hot against wet skin between licks.
Good heavens, Lord. The thought settled heavy in my chest. Is it right to feel this way—aroused by the man I'm paid to care for? A man whose mind lives in a place I can never reach?
"Ahh—w-wait, Levi!" My voice came thin as paper, but he did not pause. His lips held fast, his gaze never breaking.
I let him. Better this than the screaming, the flying objects, the hours spent calming him when he did not get what he wanted. And god, it felt good—even as shame coiled sharp as a thorn in my gut. I was his nanny. That was all I was supposed to be.
"Milk! I want milk! Mommy's milk." He pulled back, his eyes big and wet at the corners like a puppy denied its favorite treat.
I pressed my teeth harder into my lip, tasting copper on my tongue. Why does he have to look at me like that? Why does his handsomeness make this harder than it already is?
"T-There's no milk, b-baby," I panted, my chest rising and falling in quick, shallow waves.
Sir Psikh would flay me alive if he heard his brother call me that. Would they lock me away? Accuse me of taking advantage?
"But I want your milk!" His voice sharpened with frustration, tears spilling over his cheeks. I cursed under my breath, swiping at my own damp forehead.
How can I give him something my body cannot make? I have never carried a child—never even come close.
I was still wrestling with the thought when his hands slid down my sides, warm and firm against my thighs. I swore as he lifted my legs, folding them gently but firmly against my chest.
"Hey! Levi, stop—please, this is not a game!" I reached for him, fingers tangling in his long hair, trying to pull him back.
"Milk! It's wet! It's milk—mommy's milk! Hehe!" He laughed, bright and unselfconscious, staring down at where my legs were pressed together.
"That is not milk—ahh! Ummph! W-wait—!"
His fingers found the waistband of my panties, tugging them down in one swift motion. Then his lips and tongue were on me, hot and soft and sure, and every muscle in my body went loose as honey. I gave in, letting the sensation wash over me—sweet and deep and wrong.
Where did I lose my way? They said "house helper"—not caring for a man who looks like a dream but thinks like a little boy.
"You're mine, nanny" he murmured against my skin.
—
And so this became my life. I was nanny to the youngest son of a dead tycoon—Levi, whose mind was broken in a way no doctor could fix, they said.
No one guessed he would ever be whole again. When he woke up clear-eyed and sharp, I ran. I fled from shame, from the way he had looked at me like he knew every secret I had tried to hide. I took the life growing inside me—the price of every moment I had let myself give in—and I ran as far as I could.
I tried to forget I had ever been his nanny.
LEV DMITRI ROMANOV'S POINT OF VIEW
The air here tastes like rain and diesel—same as it did the last time I stood on this soil. How many years have passed? How long since I watched her face crumple, tears cutting through dust on her cheeks as she ran from me?
I cannot count the days. They blurred together while I worked for my father, side by side with my brother Psikh. We were tools—sharp, cold, made to cut through anything that stood in our family's way. I became exactly what they wanted me to be, just to prove I was worth keeping.
When I woke up—when the fog in my head finally burned away—the first thing I saw was her. She was beneath me, her skin slick with sweat, her mouth open as she moaned my name. I did not understand every piece of what was happening, but I knew I could not stop. I pushed into her, and the feeling of her around me was so intense it felt like coming home.
"Confirmed, Boss Dmitri. The new hire is Marimar Oquendo."
My jaw tightened, teeth grinding together. I had thought I was seeing ghosts—watching her move through my bar in a silk dress that clung to every curve I had spent years trying to forget. But there she was, pouring drinks, her hands steady as she smiled at customers. The woman who had held me together and then vanished the moment I could stand on my own.
"Good. Triple her pay this month." I ended the call without waiting for a reply, my fingers wrapping around the glass in front of me.
I tracked her across the room—how she tucks her hair behind her ear when she is focused, how her hips shift when she leans over the bar. Every line of her body was etched in my memory, but seeing her in the flesh made my blood run hot.
She was right there. I could walk over and say her name. But I will not.
A smirk touched my lips as I tipped the glass back, letting liquor burn down my throat. "Hide well, mi amor."
You can start over and run free. You can find another man and pretend that the two of you are meant to be, Marimar.
But once I return and our paths cross again, you will not escape my leash a second time, mi amor.
Since the very moment I tasted your blood and innocence, you have been mine—mine and mine alone.
And you cannot hide the fact that you once were this ruthless and merciless mafia's nanny.
"You were always mine," I whispered to the empty air.