Maddie had that kind of body that made people stare — even when she was just wearing jeans and a fitted tee. Slender waist, long legs, and heavy breasts that seemed to defy gravity. Add to that her soft Southern drawl, glossy blonde hair, and sweet-as-pie smile, and you had the kind of woman wives didn’t want around their husbands.

Which made her new job a little… complicated.

She’d been hired as a live-in babysitter by the Whitmores — upper-class couple in the suburbs, picture-perfect on the outside. Rachel, the wife, was organized and coldly polite. Nate, the husband… well, he was the kind of man Maddie noticed right away. Early 40s, handsome in that quiet, strong way. Fitted dress shirts that clung to his toned chest, a tired but still hungry look in his eyes. A man who hadn’t been looked at in a long time.

Maddie was nothing if not observant.

She played her part well — sweet and helpful during the day, effortlessly winning over the kids, never stepping out of line. But at night? She wore silk shorts and tank tops without a bra, walking softly down the hall to grab “a glass of water” while Nate sat up late in the living room.

She felt his eyes follow her every time.

One night, after the kids were in bed and Rachel had gone out for a “girls’ dinner,” Maddie padded into the kitchen barefoot in nothing but a tank that barely covered her breasts and those tiny shorts riding high on her hips. She reached up for a glass, her back arched just enough to make her ass pop.

Nate was at the counter, nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes locked onto her.

“You always dress like that for water?” he asked, voice low and thick.

Maddie turned, tilting her head with a sweet little smile. “You complaining?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared. And Maddie walked closer.

“You’re always so quiet around me, Mr. Whitmore,” she said softly. “But I see you watching.”

“Maddie,” he warned, voice strained.

She stepped right up to him, so close he could smell her soft vanilla perfume. “You want me to stop?”

He said nothing — but the way his hand clenched the glass told her everything.

Maddie reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against his chest. “It’s okay,” she whispered, eyes locked on his. “I won’t tell.”

The kiss was sudden, rough, and hungry — years of frustration pouring out in one reckless moment. He gripped her waist, pulling her against him as she melted into the kiss, her hands sliding under his shirt to feel the muscle beneath.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he breathed against her mouth.

“Oh,” she whispered, grinding against him. “I do.”

He lifted her effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, her legs wrapping around his waist. Her tank top was pushed up, exposing her perfect, full breasts — and he took her in his mouth like he was starving, one hand tangled in her hair, the other sliding under her shorts.

Maddie gasped, breathless, clinging to him as his fingers worked her open — slow, deep, and filthy.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he growled.

“You already are,” she moaned. “Now don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

After that first night in the kitchen, nothing was ever the same.

Nate tried to keep his distance at first — guilt clinging to him like a second skin — but Maddie made it impossible. She was always just there… soft and warm and wickedly tempting. Wearing clingy loungewear, bending over just a little too far when picking up toys, licking the spoon while baking cookies with the kids.

And when no one was looking? Her fingers would graze his, her body brushing just close enough to make him remember how tight, how wet she’d been on the counter that night.

The affair was a slow burn — until it wasn’t.

It happened again two nights later. Maddie tiptoed into Nate’s office after everyone was asleep, wearing one of his old button-downs she’d “accidentally” grabbed from the laundry. It hung loose off her shoulders, the top buttons undone, revealing a sliver of bare skin and the swell of her breasts.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered, slipping into the room like a dream.

Nate looked up from his laptop, jaw clenched. “Maddie…”

“I just want to sit with you,” she said, walking closer. “That okay?”

He couldn’t say no. Not when she sat in his lap, straddling him, her thighs warm and bare against his jeans. Not when her lips found his neck, soft and teasing. Not when her hips started to grind, slow and deliberate.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he growled, lifting her shirt over her head.

She smiled against his mouth. “That’s the idea.”

They didn’t even make it to the bed. She rode him right there in the office chair, his hands clamped on her hips as she bounced on his lap, whispering filthy things in his ear, telling him how much she loved the way he filled her.

That became their routine — late-night sessions stolen behind closed doors, quickies in the bathroom while Rachel ran errands, his hand sliding under her sundress while she washed dishes. Once, she slipped into the laundry room just as he was loading the dryer, dropped to her knees, and made him lose all control in under a minute.

The danger made it hotter. Every whisper, every risk, every time they heard footsteps upstairs and had to pull apart with breathless, guilty smiles.

But the closest call came on a quiet Sunday afternoon.

Rachel had taken the kids to a birthday party. Nate and Maddie were supposed to be “organizing the playroom.” Instead, she was on her knees in front of him behind the couch — her lips around him, one hand stroking, the other tugging at his belt, making him groan through clenched teeth.

Suddenly — the front door handle jiggled.

They froze.

“Maddie? Nate?” Rachel’s voice called, just outside. “I forgot the gift!”

Maddie pulled away fast, wiping her mouth and ducking into the hallway, straightening her shirt as Nate zipped up and threw himself onto the couch like he’d just been napping.

Rachel stepped in moments later, eyes narrowing slightly as she spotted Maddie walking down the hall.

“You look flushed,” she said.

Maddie laughed, all innocence. “Just picking up toys — those kids never stop.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She grabbed the gift bag from the counter and walked out.

As the door shut behind her, Nate exhaled hard, still rock-hard under his jeans.

Maddie peeked back around the corner with a wicked smirk. “Close one.”

“You’re gonna get us caught,” he muttered.

She licked her lips. “You love it.”

And he did.

The Whitmores had booked a full week at a beachside resort on the Florida Gulf Coast — the kind of place with white sand, private balconies, and rooms just close enough for secrets to get risky.

Maddie had her own adjoining room next to the master suite, supposedly for “space and privacy.” But the walls were thin, the doors unlocked, and temptation had never felt so sun-soaked.

The first morning, Maddie stepped out in a barely-there black bikini — her curves on full, unapologetic display. She walked out onto the patio with a towel over her shoulder, her golden blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, sunglasses hiding the look she gave Nate.

He choked on his coffee.

Rachel was preoccupied with sunscreening the youngest, but Nate couldn’t take his eyes off Maddie. Her full breasts bounced slightly with every step. Her toned stomach, her long legs, her perfect hips — she looked like something out of a fantasy. And when she bent over to adjust her chair cushion, giving him a view of her ass practically swallowing the bikini bottom, his grip on the coffee cup nearly shattered it.

Later that afternoon, the kids were down for naps. Rachel took her book out by the pool for “a little peace and quiet,” leaving Nate alone in the room, trying to cool off — in more ways than one.

A soft knock at the adjoining door.

He opened it — and there was Maddie, wrapped in a towel, droplets of water still clinging to her smooth skin.

“I forgot my lotion,” she said sweetly. “Mind if I borrow some?”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped aside.

Once inside, the door clicked shut. The towel dropped.

She was naked.

“Jesus, Maddie—”

“I saw how you were looking at me,” she said, walking to him, her skin warm and damp. “And I’ve been aching for you all day.”

He grabbed her, pulling her into the bathroom, locking the door behind them.

The moment he lifted her onto the counter, she wrapped her legs around him, gasping as he buried himself inside her, one hand clamped over her mouth to keep her quiet. She was so wet, so tight — every thrust harder than the last as he fucked her against the sink, her moans muffled and her eyes wild with need.

They moved fast, desperate, knowing every second was borrowed. Her body bounced with each thrust, breasts spilling over his hands as he gripped her hips and slammed into her with reckless hunger.

She came first, nails digging into his back as her body spasmed, muffled cries echoing off the tile. He followed seconds later, biting down on her shoulder to keep himself from shouting her name.

They collapsed against the wall, breathless, sweaty, still tangled together.

“I want you again tonight,” she whispered, kissing his jaw. “On the balcony. While she’s asleep.”

Nate nodded, still panting. “You’re insane.”

She grinned, biting her lip. “You love it.”