Sinful Temptation

BRIGGS

My house wasn’t nearly as soundproof as I thought. And the decision to put the nursery directly above my bedroom? Fucking stupid.

Almost as stupid as hiring a twenty-year-old girl to who I was attracted. Layla was young enough to be my daughter, for fuck’s sake. And she was the boys’ aunt. She was completely off-limits.

“Try telling that to my cock,” I muttered as I stared up at the ceiling.

Back to my stupid idea about the location of the nursery. One of the perks of employing two nannies was sleeping through the night.

So why the fuck was I awake at two in the morning? Because the nursery was above my bedroom, and the triplets were having a rough first night at home.

I climbed out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before stumbling out into the living room.

The light over the kitchen sink hurt my eyes. I blinked as they adjusted to the light. One of the nannies must’ve left it on when they came down for bottles.

I hurried toward the stairs, turning when I heard a noise coming from the far corner of the room. Layla was asleep on the recliner, with one of the babies nestled against her chest.

And she wasn’t wearing a shirt! Just a plain beige bra that was too small to contain her full breasts. Creamy flesh spilled out of the thin, threadbare cups.

What the fuck?

Her eyes popped open, embarrassment and fear eclipsing her face when she saw me standing there, ogling her tits like a horny teenager.

Her eyes darted to her shirt draped across the arm of the sofa. There was no way she could reach it without disturbing the sleeping baby and exposing herself further.

I covered my eyes with one hand, and grabbing the throw from the back of the couch, I walked over and held it out.

“Thanks,” she whispered, covering herself and the baby.

“I’ll take him so you can get dressed,” I offered.

“If you wake him he’s all yours,” she warned. “It took me an hour to get him settled. That’s why I came downstairs. To let Mary put the other two to sleep.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

She transferred the baby into my arms, treating me to a close-up of her voluptuous tits before she yanked the coverlet over herself.

“Who is this?” I asked, handing her shirt over before turning my back to give her privacy.

“Harris.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“It’s not hard,” she sighed.

“It is for me,” I muttered, holding my son against my chest.

He felt so warm, and he kept making the cutest little sounds of contentment while he slept. A wave of emotion washed over me as I bonded with him, vowing to be the best dad possible.

My triplets may have been conceived from a manipulative criminal act on the part of a devious woman, but the timing was perfect. I had time on my hands now.

I could put all my energy and focus on the boys, and my first order of business was learning to tell them apart.

“Do you want me to take him?” Layla asked.

“No. He’s happy with his dad for now.”

She smiled as she returned the throw to the back of the couch, taking the time to arrange it neatly.

“Can you explain why you were half-naked in my living room?” I asked as I settled in the recliner. It was still warm from her body, the smell of her coconut shampoo lingering in the air.

“Babies like bare skin,” she explained, chewing on her lower lip while her eyes darted nervously around the dark room.

“Breasts,” I chuckled.

“Excuse me?”

“Babies like breasts.”

“I should probably take him upstairs,” she said.

“Stay down here for a bit,” I suggested. “Sit.”

She lowered herself to the couch, perching awkwardly on the edge. I thought we’d moved past this after hanging out the night before. But she was acting like a frightened mouse again.

“Relax, Layla,” I whispered. “I don’t bite.”

“I’m fine.”

“Will you please tell me how you know which baby is which?” I begged. “It’s kind of important.”

“They aren’t identical twins.”

“They all look the same right now.”

“They won’t stay that way for long.”

“I know,” I said. “But I wanna be able to tell them apart now.”

She turned away, but not fast enough. I saw a devilish grin flash on those plump, kissable lips.

“Layla,” I warned. “I want to know. Now.”

“Nail polish,” she whispered.

“Nail polish?”

“Bernice did it. It’s non-toxic. They do it all the time with multiples. It’s just a tiny dab on their big toenail. They had ankle bands on at the hospital, but we cut them off earlier when we gave them their bath.”

“My boys are wearing nail polish?”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll get some remover tomorrow and take it off.”

“No! Don’t do that!”

“Harris is blue, George is green, and Jerome is black.”

“Well, at least they’re manly colors,” I conceded. “But as soon as they’re easily recognizable, that shit needs to come off.”

“Yes, sir.”

I groaned inwardly, very inappropriate thoughts filtering through my brain. And they all included Layla calling me sir in situations where I ~wasn’t~ holding a baby.

I shifted in the chair as I silently ordered my cock to stand down. “You’re really good with the boys,” I said. “Did you babysit?”

“No.”

“I guess you’re just a natural.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, with a shy smile.

“You’ll make a great mother someday.”

Her smile vanished. She cleared her throat, glancing at the stairs. I could’ve let her go to bed. But I was enjoying her company.

She’s here to care for the triplets, not you, asshole.

“Do you want a big family, Layla?”

“I’d love that, but it’s not on the cards,” she said sadly.

“Why not?”

“PCOS.”

“What?”

“I have polycystic ovarian syndrome. My doctor said I would have a hard time getting pregnant.”

“I’ve heard of that,” I said. “One of the WAGS had it. They did it in vitro. They have three daughters; all conceived that way.”

“What is a wag?”

“Wives and girlfriends of professional sports stars,” I explained.

“I’d never be able to afford in vitro,” she sighed.

“Never say never, sweetheart. There’s a man out there somewhere, just waiting to spend his millions on a deserving girl like yourself.”

She threw her head back, laughing softly while I admired her long, sexy neck, imagining my lips on her delicate flesh while she moaned beneath me.

Harris let out a tiny cry, squirming against my chest as if he knew I was entertaining dirty thoughts about his nanny.

That’s right, Briggs. His nanny. His aunt. Not ~your fuck toy.~

“It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered, rubbing his back. “Daddy’s here.”

“I think I know what his problem is,” Layla giggled, wrinkling her nose.

“Oh, Harris,” I groaned, the pungent odor of baby shit reaching my nose. “That’s not cool, buddy.”

“I’ll take him up and change him,” she offered.

“I can do it.”

“Do you know how to change a diaper, Briggs?”

“No, but how hard can it be?”

She rose from the couch, shaking her head. “C’mon. I’ll help you.”

I followed her up the stairs, her pert little ass right in my face. I prayed that Mary was still up, not trusting myself to be alone with Layla any longer. Fatigue and horniness could easily lead to bad decisions.

The nursery was dark, the other two boys were sound asleep in their bassinets.

Mary had suggested they should sleep in separate beds for safety reasons. I knew nothing about babies, so I went along with whatever she said. She was the resident expert, having nannied for twins.

Layla flicked on the light over the changing table, turning the dimmer as low as it would go. “Lay him down,” she instructed. “Then undress him.”

Harris sucked on his soother, happily kicking his legs while I removed his sleeper.

“Ugh,” I groaned when I got shit on my hand. “It’s coming right out of his diaper.”

Layla chuckled as she handed me a wipe.

“Does he always shit this much?” I grumbled.

“Poop,” she hissed. “No swearing in front of the babies. Mary made a swear jar.”

“They’re babies. What does it matter?”

“Because we need to develop good habits now,” she whispered in a fake British accent. “Now, get that poopy diaper off. And make sure you put a face cloth over his penis.”

“Do we have any rubber gloves?”

“No!”

“Fine,” I muttered, holding my breath while I wrestled with the diaper. By the time I managed to free it from his body, I had shit up my arms. And then he pooped again. Right on the fucking change mat!

“Oh c’mon!” I wailed, laughing out loud. “What are we feeding this kid?”

“Shh!” Layla hissed.

But it was too late. Jerome and George let out simultaneous cries.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

She glared at me. “Why are you whispering now?”

I shrugged.

Harris let out a howl. I turned back to him just in time to get a stream of piss in my eye.

“Fuck!” I yelled.

“That’s why I told you to keep it covered,” Layla said, shaking her head.

“I’ve got piss in my fucking eye!”

“Go rinse it out with water.”

“What is going on in here?”

Mary stood in the doorway, hands on her hips as she took in the chaotic scene in the nursery. What the fuck was that on her head? It looked like a nightcap that the women wore on Little House on the Prairie.

Yeah. I’m old enough to remember that show. Not because I watched girly shit like that. I have twin sisters. And they controlled the TV remote.

“I was trying to teach Briggs how to change a diaper,” Layla explained.

“It appears as though you were unsuccessful,” she huffed, stalking up to me with her long nightgown trailing behind her. “You’re dismissed, young man. Go clean yourself up and get to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered, moving toward the door with my head down as if I was a scolded child—not the boss, father of the children, and owner of the house.

The real Mary Poppins was fun and easygoing. This woman wouldn’t know fun if it bit her in the ass.

I glanced at Layla. Her eyes danced with mischief, her face the color of a ripe tomato as she struggled to hold in her laughter.

“What’s the matter, Layla?” I asked, inching toward her. “You seem to be in some kind of distress.”

“I’m fine,” she choked out.

“Really?” I whispered. “Your face is awfully red.”

“Just go, before we get in more trouble,” she hissed.

Mary had her back to us, the escalating cries of three babies drowning out our whispered exchange.

I reached for Layla’s waist, digging my fingers into her sides. But I underestimated just how ticklish my young nanny was. With a high-pitched squeal, she wrapped her slim fingers around my wrists, trying to pry my hands off her body.

“Please,” she begged, giggling as tears cascaded down her cheeks. “Please stop. I hate being tickled.”

“Why are you laughing then?” I chuckled, sliding one of my hands up to her armpit and accidentally grazing the side of her breast.

She froze, her eyes going wide as I backed away and cleared my throat.

“If you two are finished, I could really use a hand,” Mary said.

“I need to go clean the shit off my arms and flush the piss out of my eye,” I mumbled.

“When you’re finished, you need to put two dollars in the swear jar,” Mary ordered.

I headed to my bathroom and stripped out of my shit-covered clothes.

My cock throbbed with need as I recalled the feel of my hands on Layla’s sexy body, the softness of her breast under my fingertips.

I turned the shower knob to cold and stood under the punishing spray until my erection dissipated.

A smart man would’ve stayed in his room. But when I heard someone in the kitchen, my feet had a mind of their own. They were probably in cahoots with my cock.

I walked down the hall, peeking around the corner while the sensible me hoped it was Mary. You know what the horny me was hoping.

Layla had her back to me as she prepared bottles. Why did she have to wear yoga pants? She had an ass that wouldn’t quit, and I wanted to tap it.

Seriously, Briggs? ~You’re thirty-eight years old. You’ve tapped more than your share in your lifetime. Leave the girl alone.~

“Hey,” I said.

She spun around, her hand on her chest as she heaved a sigh of relief.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I just came down to make bottles.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. I crossed the line when I tickled you.”

Her cheeks flushed. “It’s okay,” she said quietly, turning around to gather the bottles.

“No, it’s not. It was inappropriate.”

“It’s forgotten, Briggs.”

“I wish it were that easy,” I said, moving across the kitchen so I was standing directly behind her. My hand found her hip, caressing it softly. She stood completely still.

I don’t even think she was breathing.

“I should probably get these bottles upstairs,” she stuttered, ducking around me and bolting for the stairs like a rabbit running away from a fox.

Good job, asshole. ~You scared the nanny. Now she’ll probably quit.~