The Babysitter's Secret Temptation: Age Gap Taboo Romance

The rain hammered against the bay windows of the Henderson estate, turning the manicured lawns of the upscale suburban neighborhood into shimmering mirrors under the streetlights. Twenty-two-year-old Emma Chen pulled her Honda Civic into the circular driveway of the modern colonial mansion, her heart already hammering a nervous rhythm against her ribs. This wasn't her first time babysitting for the Hendersons, but tonight felt different. Tonight, Marcus Henderson would be home early—and his wife wouldn't be returning until morning.

Emma checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her burgundy sundress. The neckline plunged lower than what she typically wore to babysitting jobs, but she'd told herself it was just because of the summer heat. That was a lie, and she knew it. The truth was far more complicated, far more dangerous. She'd been fantasizing about Marcus Henderson for months—his silver-streaked dark hair, his broad shoulders that filled out his tailored suits, the way his deep voice sent vibrations through her core whenever he spoke her name.

At forty-three, Marcus was everything her college boyfriends weren't: commanding, successful, mature. He ran his own investment firm and carried himself with the kind of quiet authority that made Emma's knees weak. The age gap between them—twenty-one years—should have been a deterrent. Instead, it fueled her most private fantasies. She wanted him to teach her things no boy her age could possibly know.

She grabbed her bag and dashed through the rain to the front door, knocking softly before letting herself in with the key they'd given her months ago.

"Emma, perfect timing." Marcus emerged from his study, loosening his tie with long fingers. He looked tired but still devastatingly handsome in his charcoal suit. "Claire just texted—her flight got delayed until tomorrow. Conference ran long."

Emma's pulse quickened. Claire Henderson, Marcus's wife of fifteen years, was a corporate attorney who traveled frequently. Usually, Emma only babysat their eight-year-old daughter Lily when both parents were out. Tonight was supposed to be different—Marcus was supposed to be going out too, leaving Emma to put Lily to bed and study for her summer classes until he returned.

"Is everything okay?" Emma asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she hung her damp cardigan on the coat rack.

"Better than okay." Marcus smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in that way that made Emma's stomach flip. "I decided to stay in. Work can wait. Lily's already asleep—fell asleep watching a movie in the media room. I was just about to pour myself a drink. Join me?"

Emma should have said no. She was the babysitter, not a guest. She was twenty-two, barely out of college, and he was her employer. But the invitation in his dark eyes made her mouth go dry, and she found herself nodding before her brain could catch up to her impulses.

"Just one," she whispered. "I'm driving."

Marcus poured two fingers of scotch for himself and a glass of wine for Emma—red, full-bodied, expensive. They settled onto the leather couch in the living room, the fire crackling in the stone fireplace casting dancing shadows across the room. The rain continued its symphony against the windows, cocooning them in privacy.

"How are your classes?" Marcus asked, his arm draped casually along the back of the couch, his fingers inches from her shoulder.

"Good," Emma said, swirling her wine. She was taking summer courses to finish her psychology degree early, trying to get ahead before applying to graduate school. "My abnormal psych professor is brutal, but I love the material."

"Psychology." Marcus's gaze lingered on her face, then drifted down to where her dress had ridden up slightly on her thighs. He didn't look away. "Analyzing people's deepest desires. Their hidden motivations. Their secret fantasies."

Emma's breath hitched. There was something loaded in his tone, something that suggested he wasn't just making small talk anymore. The air between them had shifted, becoming charged with an electricity that made the hair on her arms stand up.

"Do you have secret fantasies, Emma?" he asked quietly, his voice dropping an octave.

She should have deflected. She should have laughed it off, changed the subject, remembered that this man paid her to watch his daughter and that crossing this line would destroy everything. But the wine had loosened her inhibitions, and the way he was looking at her—like she was a woman, not a college student, not an employee—made her brave.

"Maybe," she breathed. "Do you?"

Marcus set down his glass. The crystal clinked against the marble coaster, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room. He turned to face her fully, and Emma could see the conflict warring in his expression—the responsible husband, the protective father, the professional man who knew better. And beneath all of that, the hungry male animal that wanted her just as badly as she wanted him.

"Emma," he said, her name rough in his throat. "You have no idea how many times I've thought about you. How many nights I've lain awake imagining what you taste like. What sounds you'd make if I touched you the way I've wanted to since the first day you walked into my house."

Emma's wine glass trembled in her hand. She set it down before she could drop it. "Show me," she whispered, the words barely audible but ringing with desperate clarity. "Show me what you've imagined."

Marcus moved like a predator who'd been given permission to feast. One moment he was across the couch, the next his hand was cupping her jaw, his thumb tracing her lower lip with devastating gentleness. Emma's lips parted on a gasp, and he took the invitation, leaning in to capture her mouth with his.

The kiss was devastating. Marcus kissed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how to get it. His tongue swept past her lips, tasting of scotch and dominance, exploring her mouth with thorough possession. Emma melted into him, her hands finding his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

"You taste like sin," Marcus growled against her lips, his hand sliding from her jaw to tangle in her dark hair. He pulled slightly, just enough to arch her neck back, exposing her throat to his mouth. He kissed down her jaw, nipped at her pulse point, sucked a mark into the sensitive skin that would surely bruise by morning. "Like everything I've been denying myself."

Emma whimpered, her body flooding with heat. She could feel herself growing wet between her thighs, her panties already damp with arousal. "Please," she begged, not even sure what she was asking for, only knowing she needed more, needed everything.

Marcus's free hand found her knee, his palm hot against her skin. He traced upward, pushing the hem of her dress higher, his fingers grazing the sensitive inner thigh. "Tell me, Emma," he commanded, his voice rough with barely controlled lust. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to fuck you like the dirty little babysitter you've been teasing me into wanting."

The crude words should have shocked her. Instead, they sent a jolt of pure arousal straight to her core. "Yes," she moaned, spreading her legs wider, inviting his touch. "Yes, I want it. I've wanted it for months. I touch myself thinking about you, Marcus. I imagine it's your fingers inside me, your cock filling me up."

Marcus groaned, a feral sound that vibrated through his chest. His fingers found the edge of her panties, pushing the soaked fabric aside to stroke through her folds. Emma cried out, her hips bucking into his touch. She was embarrassingly wet, dripping for him, and the way his eyes darkened with satisfaction told her he loved it.

"So fucking wet," he murmured, circling her clit with expert precision. "Is this all for me, baby? Did you come here tonight hoping I'd touch you like this? Hoping I'd bend you over and claim this tight little pussy?"

"Yes," Emma sobbed, her head falling back against the couch as he worked her clit with relentless pressure. "God, yes, Marcus. Please don't stop."

He didn't stop. He played her body like an instrument he knew intimately, varying the pressure, the speed, reading every gasp and tremor to learn exactly what made her wild. Emma had never been touched with such confident expertise. Her college boyfriends had fumbled and rushed, eager for their own pleasure. Marcus took his time, savoring her reactions, building her orgasm with torturous patience.

"Come for me, Emma," he commanded, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder against her swollen clit. "Let me feel you fall apart. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

The orgasm crashed through her like a tidal wave. Emma screamed, her body convulsing, her thighs clamping around Marcus's hand as pleasure radiated from her core to her fingertips. He didn't let up, milking her through the aftershocks, his fingers gentling but not stopping until she was a trembling, whimpering mess against the leather.

"Beautiful," Marcus whispered, withdrawing his hand and bringing his glistening fingers to his lips. He sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers, and Emma felt another surge of arousal at the erotic display. "You taste like honey and temptation. I need more."

He stood, scooping her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Emma wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her through his trousers. He was thick and impossibly hard, and the thought of taking him inside her made her dizzy with need.

"Where—" she started to ask.

"My study," Marcus growled, carrying her down the hallway. "I want you spread out on my desk. I want to fuck you in the room where I've jacked off thinking about you more times than I can count."

The confession sent a fresh wave of heat through Emma. She'd had no idea—no idea that while she was putting his daughter to bed, reading bedtime stories and tucking her in, Marcus was in this very room, stroking himself to fantasies of her.

He kicked the study door shut behind them and set her down on the edge of his massive mahogany desk. Papers scattered, a pen rolled to the floor, but neither of them cared. Marcus stepped back to look at her, his gaze raking over her flushed face, her heaving chest, her spread thighs.

"Take off the dress," he ordered, his voice thick with desire. "I want to see what I've been fantasizing about."

Emma reached behind her, unzipping the burgundy fabric and letting it fall from her shoulders. She wore a black lace bra and matching thong underneath—underwear she'd chosen specifically for tonight, hoping against hope that somehow, impossibly, he might see them. The way Marcus's jaw tightened told her she'd made the right choice.

"Fuck," he breathed, stepping closer to trace the edge of her bra with one finger. "Look at you. Perfect tits, perfect curves. You're a wet dream come to life, Emma."

He unhooked her bra with practiced ease, and Emma shivered as the cool air hit her nipples, already hard and aching for his touch. Marcus didn't disappoint. He cupped her breasts in his large hands, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks, rolling and pinching until Emma was arching into his touch, begging for more.

"Please," she whimpered, her hands fumbling at his belt. "I need to feel you. I need you inside me."

Marcus helped her, tearing at his clothes with the same desperate urgency that was consuming her. His jacket hit the floor, followed by his shirt, and Emma had to pause to appreciate the sight of him. He was magnificent—broad chest dusted with dark hair, defined abs that spoke of hours in the gym, powerful arms that she wanted wrapped around her while he took her hard.

"Keep looking at me like that and this is going to be over before it starts," Marcus warned, shoving his trousers and boxer briefs down in one motion.

His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, veins pulsing along the shaft. Emma's mouth watered at the sight. He was bigger than she'd imagined—long and thick with a flared head that was already leaking precum. She reached for him, wrapping her hand around the hot, hard length, and Marcus hissed through his teeth.

"Careful, baby," he warned, his hips bucking involuntarily into her grip. "I'm already on the edge. Been dreaming about this tight little body for too long."

Emma stroked him from base to tip, spreading the bead of moisture over his head, marveling at the weight and heat of him in her hand. She wanted to taste him, wanted to drop to her knees and worship him with her mouth, but Marcus had other plans.

He pushed her back onto the desk, her spine meeting the cool wood as he loomed over her. He grabbed her thong and ripped it—actually ripped the delicate lace from her body, the sound of tearing fabric making Emma's pussy clench with need. She was completely bare for him now, spread open and vulnerable, and the way he looked at her like she was the most exquisite thing he'd ever seen made her feel powerful and desired.

"Last chance to stop," Marcus said, though his voice was rough with the effort of restraint. "Tell me to stop, Emma, and I will. But if you don't, I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight. I'm going to fill this tight pussy with my cum and make you scream my name so loud the neighbors will hear."

Emma reached up, pulling him down for a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperate need. "Fuck me," she commanded against his lips. "Fuck me like you own me, Marcus. Make me yours."

That was all the permission he needed.

Marcus positioned himself at her entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against her slick folds. He pushed forward slowly, groaning as her body resisted for a moment before yielding to his invasion. Emma cried out at the stretch, the delicious burn of being filled so completely. He was bigger than anyone she'd ever taken, and the sensation bordered on overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that had her nails digging into his back.