Nanny for the Don: An Age Gap, Billionaire Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)
Nanny for the Don: Chapter 3

I wake up to the morning light streaming into my room, a big, goofy smile plastered across my face as the realization hits—I still have a freaking job.

I half-expected to replace my things packed up with a polite-but-firm note asking me to leave after last night’s close call, but nope, here I am. Willow, officially still employed. I check my phone and blink in surprise; I’m up a full thirty minutes before my alarm. Score.

With a little extra time to spare before I need to get the twins up, my mind—traitor that it is—drifts immediately to Mr. Conti. Nico. Shirtless. Gray sweatpants hanging low, sculpted chest still damp. I practically shiver, remembering how absurdly good he looked, the image permanently seared into my brain. And did he realize how perfectly those sweatpants outlined his… assets?

A thrill shoots through me, and just like that, I’m turned on. Again.

Biting my lip, I slide my hand down, slipping it underneath my panties. My fingers replace their way to my clit, and I close my eyes, letting the memory of Nico flood my mind—shirtless, powerful, with that intense gaze that made me feel completely bare. In my fantasy, I’m back in his room, caught in the act. Except this time, he notices.

He catches me staring at him, a wicked smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

“Like what you see?” His voice is low, teasing.

I nod, barely able to replace my voice. “Yes,” I whisper, my throat dry.

In one swift movement, he’s in front of me, closing the distance between us in an instant. His hands grip my waist, pulling me against him, his body radiating heat, his thick cock pressing hard against my stomach. Before I can react, his mouth is on mine, kissing me with a hunger that leaves me breathless. I clutch his shoulders, melting into him, helpless against the force of his desire.

He pulls back just enough to whisper, “You know I have to punish you for last night, don’t you?”

A thrill shoots through me as I meet his smoldering gaze. “What kind of punishment?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes my hand and leads me back to the bed, shutting the door behind us with a decisive click. His eyes are dark, intense, and I know I’m in for it.

“Get on your knees,” he commands, his voice a low growl.

I sink to the floor without question, heart pounding as I watch him grip the waistband of those sweatpants. He tugs them down, and there it is—thick, hard, everything I’ve been craving. My mouth waters, and I look up at him, waiting, needing his approval.

“Go on,” he murmurs, nodding. “Show me how much you want it.”

I lean forward, my lips wrapping around him, savoring the salty, masculine taste as I start to move, slow and deliberate. His hands thread through my hair, gripping tight as he watches me, his jaw tight, eyes dark and hooded. He looks like a god, standing over me, his body tense with control, every inch of him radiating power.

In reality, my breath catches as the climax builds, my fingers moving frantically to finish myself off. And when it hits, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out, the pleasure crashing over me like a wave. My body trembles as I ride it out, panting, hand clamped over my mouth, trying not to moan too loudly.

Finally, I lie there, completely spent, feeling a mix of bliss and shock. That man is dangerous, I think, a thrill shooting through me at just how real he feels in my fantasies.

But I’m snapped back to reality by my alarm, its shrill ring jolting me out of bed. I roll out, get dressed, and make my way down the hall to the twins’ room, still buzzing from the morning’s private… activity.

As I open the door, a smile tugs at my lips. The girls’ room is straight out of a fairy tale, all pink walls with tiny white stars, a cloud-shaped rug, and shelves overflowing with stuffed animals that look like they’re in a perpetual tea party. And there they are—Giulia and Lucia, snuggled up in their little beds, completely oblivious to the chaos of yesterday.

They look so peaceful, their faces soft and angelic, curls spilling over their pillows. For a second, I almost feel bad waking them. But I’ve got a job to do, and it’s time to get these little whirlwinds up and ready for the day.

I walk over to Giulia’s bed, gently brushing her shoulder. “Good morning, sunshine,” I whisper, trying to sound as cheerful as I can. She stirs, mumbling something incoherent as she burrows deeper into her blankets.

I remember Ms. M’s little trick for telling them apart—Giulia has a tiny smattering of freckles behind her left ear. Sure enough, there they are, my tiny lifeline in the world of identical twins.

“Giulia,” I whisper softly.

She opens her eyes, blinking up at me with those big, dark eyes that remind me so much of her dad. There’s a striking resemblance, the same intense gaze even when she’s barely awake.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I say, smiling as she rubs her eyes.

“Hi,” she mumbles, her voice all sleepy and soft.

“Hi yourself,” I grin, giving her a gentle pat. “Time to get up, kiddo. We’ve got a big day ahead!”

Giulia nods sleepily, and I move over to Lucia, who’s still fast asleep. I try the same gentle shake on her shoulder, but she just pulls the blanket over her head with a grumpy little grumble.

“Come on, Lucia! Rise and shine! The day’s not gonna start itself!” I tease, tugging the blanket down just enough to see her pouty face.

“Nooo,” she whines, clinging to the last remnants of sleep.

“Oh yes,” I say, chuckling as I pull the blanket off her. “Time to wake up, princess. We’ve got all sorts of fun planned today!”

Lucia lets out an exaggerated sigh, finally giving in as she stretches her little arms. “Fine,” she says, her tone overly dramatic, and I can’t help but laugh.

We start with brushing our teeth, and I make up a silly song about sparkly teeth and chasing away sugar bugs, which has them in giggles as they try to sing along.

“Brush, brush, brush those pearly whites!” I chant, dancing around like a goofball. “Make the sugar bugs run for their lives!”

By the time we’re done, their teeth are gleaming, and they’re in fits of laughter. We move on to getting dressed, and I go over the basics of bed-making with them—Ms. M said they were just learning, so we make a little game out of it.

“See? Just like this,” I say, demonstrating as they eagerly try to copy me. The results are… well, let’s just say “neat” is a work in progress. But the proud look on their faces is worth every lopsided blanket and slightly flattened pillow.

With the beds passably made, I turn to them with a grin. “Now, who’s ready for breakfast?”

“Me!” they both shout, practically bouncing.

“Alright, what do you feel like?”

“Pizza!” Giulia says confidently.

“And ice cream!” Lucia chimes in like it’s the most obvious breakfast choice ever.

I shake my head, laughing. “Nice try. How about pancakes instead?”

Their eyes light up. “Pancakes!” they cheer, and we head to the kitchen.

As we make our way downstairs, I can’t help but glance around, relieved to replace no sign of Mr. Conti. It’s probably better for my heart rate if he’s nowhere in sight this morning.

On the way down, I ask, “So, does your dad ever decorate for Christmas?”

Lucia shrugs. “We don’t know.”

“Can we get a Christmas tree?” Giulia asks, her eyes sparkling.

“Absolutely we’re getting a tree!” I declare, already imagining this place decked out in holiday cheer. Whether Mr. Conti likes it or not, these girls are getting Christmas magic.

In the kitchen, I pause for a moment, taking in the morning light streaming through the big windows and the dusting of snow outside. “Alright, pancakes coming up!” I say, rubbing my hands together. I spot a fancy espresso machine on the counter and feel a pang of longing. “Too bad I have no idea how to use this thing…”

Giulia’s eyes light up. “I know how!”

I blink, surprised. “You do?”

“Uh-huh! I watch Daddy all the time,” she says confidently.

Before I know it, she’s guiding me through the steps, standing on her tiptoes as she instructs me to load the coffee, tamp it down, and press the button. Sure enough, the espresso pours out perfectly, and I’m seriously impressed.

“Wow, little miss barista!” I say, ruffling her hair. “You’re a coffee pro.”

“Daddy says coffee is ‘really, really important,’” she says, giggling.

With espresso in hand and the girls laughing, I feel ready to tackle the day. We grab ingredients for the pancakes, and I enlist the twins’ help, which quickly turns into a kitchen circus. Giulia tries to crack an egg, but it ends up all over the counter.

Lucia spills milk, and somehow, flour explodes into a cloud, coating us all in a fine layer of powder. I try to laugh it off, but honestly, I’m questioning my decision to make pancakes with two enthusiastic little sous-chefs.

“Okay, no worries!” I say, keeping my voice upbeat as I swipe flour off my forehead. “This is just… extra fun!”

The girls giggle, their faces dusted white, looking like tiny bakers in training. We finally manage to get a decent batter mixed, and I pour the first dollop into the pan. But as I turn back to check on them, I catch a whiff of something burning. My heart skips as I realize I’ve left a dish towel too close to the burner.

I snatch it up, toss it into the sink, and douse it with water just as the smoke alarm starts blaring. The twins shriek, covering their ears, and I fan the air frantically, praying this isn’t going to wake up the whole household.

As if on cue, Ms. M walks into the kitchen, her eyes widening as she takes in the chaos—the flour-covered counter, sugar everywhere, pancake batter splattered on the cabinets, and me, looking like I’ve survived a food fight.

“What on earth is going on here?” she asks, hands on her hips but with a smile tugging at her lips.

I stand there, caught red-handed, flour and milk all over me. “Uh… pancakes?”