Silver Fox Grump: a Smutty Dad's Best Friend Stalker Romance

not quite daring to look at Maisie even as I bring our joined hands to my lips and kiss the back of her hand. “I’ll ask your daughter about the second thing. I hope she’ll say yes.”

Maisie blinks, then nods eagerly.

“In return I’ll pay you for that laundering you do for me,” Wes says between gritted teeth.

“Good of you.” I’m grinning, because I’m winning all the way here. I’m stupidly, improbably happy.

“Don’t hurt her.” Wes turns and faces me down.

“I won’t.”

“If you break her heart, I will personally skin you alive, then dip you in acid.” Right now, Wes is not my friend. He’s not a mafia boss. He’s a protective father. “Be good to her. Keep her safe.”

“Dad!” Maisie protests.

“I will treat her like the princess she is, but not because of any threat from you,” I reply with the simple truth.

Wes narrows his eyes.

“I’ll love and spoil her as she deserves because doing anything that harmed Maisie would be far more painful than your torture.”

“Fine.” Wes grimaces, but doesn’t enlarge on that.

Wes might be my best friend, and he’s an important ally for Morden, but he’s making my girl nervous.

She goes to hand him the mug of tea, and he says something right at that moment and she jerks in shock. Tea splashes over the edge of the mug, and onto her hand.

Like the last time she was hurt, I’m on my feet in a second.

The primal part of my brain is sounding a shrill fire alarm. It’s all I can do to not race to Maisie’s apartment.

On the screen, Maisie thrusts her hand under running water and clears up the spilt tea as best she can with one hand.

Wes is talking to her, and my frustration with not knowing what’s being said mounts with my craving to look after my wounded girl. How bad is the burn?

And what the fuck did Wes say that has her slumping over the sink, her shoulders up around her ears and her head bowed.

They continue to talk, and I’m caught, a fly on a sticky trap. I have to go to her, but I can’t just turn up for no reason.

Wes is looking increasingly irritated. Finally, he crosses his arms.

Then I notice Maisie’s shoulders. They’re vibrating. Lifting up and down. For a moment, I don’t understand why. Then she turns and there are tears streaming down her face as she says something to Wes.

Watching her fall off the table is nothing, nothing compared to this.

I don’t hesitate. I’m out of the office, punching the elevator call button, and swearing.

If Maisie is crying, I’m going to her. There’s nothing in my head but that single, primal need to get to my girl and comfort her. Protect her. Care for her and dry her tears.

Destroy anything that has upset her, even if he’s my best friend.

We are friends. More than friends, too. He’s my boss, my forbidden lover, my stalker. My teacher.

But he is also my friend.

And he doesn’t let my hand go. No, he traps it beneath his, like a cat that has caught a bird that it shouldn’t have, and cannot eat, but must keep and play with all the same.

We’re so close. I can almost taste the truth between us. He’s as lonely as I am. He wants a family like his brothers have, and I crave that too. We’ve worked together for two years, and I know this man’s stormy moods better than the familiar London skyline out of my office window.

“Sir.”

My head snaps up and I jerk my hand back guiltily, but Sev holds on, and my heart springs into my throat like a bouncing baby animal.

“Espresso and tiramisu, enjoy.” The waiter sets the cream, coffee, and chocolate dessert down in front of me, and a tiny cup of coffee in front of Sev, then his gaze snags on our joined hands for a beat. I bite my lip. But Sev isn’t letting up. He doesn’t let me escape, and the waiter retreats wordlessly.

And when Sev calmly lifts his coffee to his lips as though this is what we do now. Like he only has one hand available, and so do I, and who needs two hands? Overrated.

“Eat,” he orders when I just sit there in shock. Because this isn’t normal for my boss.

I pick up my spoon and dig into the layered dessert. It explodes on my tongue, but I can’t really taste how delicious it is. How decadent.

Because in the silence, Sev begins to stroke his thumb over the back of my hand, gentle and insistent, and my insides melt.

The girl who holds my heart, or my best friend. Even as she becomes so much more than a lifelong friend. “I’ll still have her working for me. She’s near, and safe.”

That has to be enough.

Maybe I can even teach her one last time. A farewell kiss.

“That’s it, good girl,” he says between licks. “Come for me.”

His fingers go demanding. A curl, a beckon. His mouth claps onto my clit and my orgasm is dragged out of me.

I completely lose it. I’m barely aware of who I am, or where we are, as the pleasure cascades through me in pulse after pulse.

Sev is my rock in the storm as bliss tingles right down to my fingertips and toes, radiating out from where he’s touching me.

His blue eyes are the first thing I see when my mind and body begin to recover.

His hand is over my mouth, and his middle finger is over my tongue like a pacifier. He’s watching me intently, and his lips and cheeks are wet. From licking me, I realise, and a fresh wave of arousal sweeps down my spine.

He breathes heavily through his nose as I lift my skirt up.

And up. And up. He’s so big, it’s intimidating revealing myself at his command. Then it’s at my waist, and I can’t go further.

“Good girl.” The praise reverberates through me like a long high note in a song. His gaze sweeps over my plain white cotton panties, his gaze going dark. Then he grasps the lace elastic of the waistband. Dragging it down, he rasps, “Lift.”

I shuffle my bottom as best I can to let him pull them off.

He slides them efficiently off my legs and stuffs them into his pocket.

“Your next lesson is to take what I give you and be very quiet, so we aren’t caught.” He grips my neck and pulls my face to his, his breath ghosting over my lips. “Do you understand?”

I nod eagerly.

“Spread.”

I hesitate. That’s so embarrassing. So bad. So naughty.

“Now,” he grunts. “We don’t have much time before my nosey brothers come looking for us.”

My muscles almost creak as I part my thighs.

“Yes. More.” Then he’s dropped to his knees before me and pushes my legs wider apart, until I’m completely open and exposed.

And I would feel terrible, ashamed, my face heating, but Sev looks at the slit between my legs as though it’s food, water and shelter, and he’s a man starving after a month alone in the desert. A year. More. A lifetime.

“Maisie,” he groans. “So beautiful.”

Before I can reply, he’s pressing kisses all the way around my core, so passionate that any denial dies in my throat.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well.”

We’re kissing in earnest now, and she’s doing what I can’t. Pulling us together, wriggling and shifting closer, looping her arms around my shoulders.

“I can’t breathe without you,” I confess hoarsely.

This might be all I ever get, and although it’s more than I’ve dreamed Maisie would be interested in, I’m just a man. My cock is so hard it’s straining against my belt, and I’m pretty sure the leaking pre-come has soaked through my boxers.

All from one kiss.

“Sev,” she whispers, and I’m undone.

The intercom buzzes. Nathan’s trying to contact me.

I ignore it and grab Maisie’s waist—so small—with my free hand and in a second she’s fully on my lap. At the back of my mind, I know there’s a reason this is wrong.

Forbidden.

But with Maisie—finally, finally—in my arms, I can’t think over the sheer rightness. I kiss her harder, torn between running my hands up her sides, and holding her possessively. Tight, like I might never let her go. She moans, rubbing her thigh against my cock, shooting pleasure all the way through me.

“Mr Blackwood.” There’s a rapid knock on the door, then the muffled sound of Nathan’s raised voice. “Westminster is here to see you. He’s a bit ahead of time.”

Fuck. How could I have forgotten about that meeting with Westminster of all people?

We break the kiss, both breathing heavily and our gazes meet. Maisie’s pupils are blown wide, and a rapid pulse flutters at her throat. She shifts on my lap, her thigh pressing onto my cock.

My entirely hard cock, that jumps at the touch, even through layers of our clothing.

I was wrong. This is going to kill me. Stopping now, when all I want is to continue until my come is leaking out of her and she’s liquid from multiple orgasms

Her flicky little skirt teases around her legs as she rounds my desk and takes her place beside me, placing the stack of papers on the low table.

“What now?” She glances up through her long dark lashes.

This is going to kill me. She’s slight, soft, curved, and small compared to me. The scent of raspberries and cream fills my senses.

I look into her eyes. Up close, they’re endless shades of brown, as though her genetics got over-zealous as a mafia boss buying a present for his wife, and gave her every colour imaginable, all mushed together.

“Your first kiss, huh?”

“Yes.” She leans in to press her lips to mine hurriedly.

“Uh!” I’m not having that. An awkward, quick kiss that leaves her as unsatisfied as me. My hand finds her waist, and holds her.

“What?” She pulls back reluctantly, hurt in her expression.

“I thought you said you wanted to be taught?” I rumble.

She nods, her eyebrows puckering together.

“Then let me teach, sweetheart.” The endearment falls out of my mouth far too easily. “First you need to set up the cause for the kiss,” I murmur. “Look at this with me.” Picking up a paper from the coffee table at random, I place it between us. “See here?”

“I don’t see,” she replies, a bit confused.

“Come closer then. Lean in.” I’m a monster luring his soft little prey.

“You see the point I’m trying to teach you?” I put one finger onto the page. “Just here?”

“This one?” She puts a fingertip next to mine.

There’s the thud of my heart, the wind outside, and someone talking downstairs.

“That’s right. A bit closer.”

“Do you mean…” Her finger brushes over mine as she indicates another place on the page.

The lurch of my stomach is almost painful. This smallest of all touches is the most I’ve had in two years.

That seems to jolt her, and she blinks. Then my innocent girl licks her lips. “Mr Blackwood, I need your help.”

Adrenaline surges in me. She needs me? I’m there.

If this is about a photocopier, I’m going to be really disappointed.

“Something to do with work?”

“Sort of.” She gives a half giggle, nervous and breathy.

There’s no chair on the other side of my desk, because I don’t encourage my visitors to stay too long, as a rule. So I have the torture of seeing her shift from foot to foot. I’d like to make her comfortable. Instead, I have this mask of sour temper and callous disregard for anyone’s feelings, but since she’s been in my life the mask itches and chafes, and part of me wishes I could remove it.

She closes the door and smooths her skirt down nervously. She’s wearing a fussy little blouse and a flicky skirt in a deep-blue.

It’s pure torture to see and not peel those clothes from her body. What makes it even worse is watching her choose the outfit in the morning and put it on, then wear it never knowing I’ve seen it already, and see her take it off again. All without touching her.

Maisie comes to stand before my desk and I—as ever—think of bending her over my desk and fucking her until she’s come at least three times, and we’re both exhausted.

I manage to restrain myself.

Another successful day as a stalker.