7. Sev
7
SEV
“Miss Matthews to see you,” my assistant, Nathan, says when I pick up the phone.
Shit.
It’s been over a week since Maisie has been indulging in self-love and posing semi-naked every evening, and I’m beginning to wear thin on restraint, so I’ve been avoiding her at work.
My brow furrows.
This is fine. I can keep control of myself.
Probably.
“Send her in.”
“Mr Blackwood?” A few seconds later, she timidly peeks around the door as though I might turn her away.
I don’t return her bright, hopeful smile, and just flick my fingers to indicate she should enter.
“It’s about the report on the Parkside development. I printed it and brought it to you.”
My brain is so taken up with the fact she’s in my office looking fresh and beautiful as a summer day that I only nod at the spurious pretext. I hate reading on paper, and always have things emailed.
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.
“What can I do for you?” I ask mildly. I sit back and don’t quite look her in the eye, like she’s the sun. “Something to do with your father?”
It’s good to remind myself of why she’s so off-limits; that she could be wrapped in that white and red plastic caution tape that says “do not enter”, “danger of death”, and “these orgasms will literally kill you”.
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.
Not with her. I can’t take off the mask with Maisie. I can only be the beast. The stalker. The bad man hiding in the shadows.
Just like loneliness doesn’t wash off, the mask of indifference can’t slip.
“Go on,” I say, when she hesitates.
“You know my father doesn’t allow me to go out?”
I give a single nod. A totally reasonable rule.
“I want some experience of life.” She looks up at me with those doe eyes and I can feel the slippery slope argument.
“Mmm.” What has this got to do with me?
“And since you helped me with a job, I thought you might help me with this too. I’m not asking you to let me go out in London, or anything like that. But you could do this. Yourself.”
“What is ‘this’, Miss Matthews?” I rumble. But I know. The sight from last night is tattooed onto my retinas as surely as the symbols of Morden are tattooed onto my skin.
My girl is horny.
Still, I hold my breath.
“I’ve never been kiss?—”
“No,” I respond before she even finishes saying the word.
She’s never been kissed? My cock responds to that with the inevitability of a cartoon character running off a cliff then looking down.
She’s not kissing anyone when she’s under my protection, because it’s me, or no one.
So it’s no kisses for the girl with lips meant to be kissed and used for sin.
“Absolutely not,” I add when she doesn’t reply, licking her bottom lip with that soft pink tongue.
“Please,” she says, in a breathy little pant. “I’ve been feeling restless recently, and I can’t think of anyone I trust more, Mr Blackwood.”
“No.”
“Just one kiss?” she wheedles. “I really need a lesson. An experienced man to teach me how to kiss.”
I’m dizzy. This isn’t happening, and yet, it is. First, she played into all my fantasies by revealing herself to me on camera—unknowingly—and now she says she wants me to introduce her to kissing?
“Your father would kill me if he finds I’ve given you kissing lessons.”
“No one ever needs to know,” she says, as though it’s that simple.
“Your father trusts me.”
“That’s why you’re the perfect person to help!” she insists. “I trust you too, and you’re old enough to know what you’re doing.”
I should say no. Me giving kissing lessons to Maisie is like a tiger teaching a rabbit how to cook a steak. She’s too tempting.
This will end in disaster.
“Or should I ask someone else at work?” she suggests innocently. “Who do you think? Maybe the young guy in?—”
“No.” My fists clench. “No. That isn’t…”
That’s not acceptable because Maisie belongs to me.
“I have a duty of care to all my employees,” I say. “If someone is going to be killed for kissing you, it’s me.”
That’s a convenient excuse that conceals that I would murder anyone else who kissed Maisie myself.
“Great!” She gives me that distinctive sunny smile. I don’t return it because I think my heart might beat right out of my chest. “How do we start?”
Now?
Fuck, obviously now. But I need a bit more time to emotionally prepare myself for life-threatening acts like having my dream of the last two years come true.
“Over here, Maisie.” My voice is hoarse. I push my chair back and pray that my erection doesn’t cause too many issues as I rise and walk to the sofa on the side of my office closest to the window. It looks out over Morden, high enough to see but not be seen from any other building. Sinking onto the yielding leather, I beckon her with one finger.
“Yes, Mr Blackwood?—”
“Sev. My name is Severino.” I drag in a shaky breath. “If I’m going to kiss you, you should call me by that name.”
“Sev,” she repeats softly.
My brain helpfully conjures up the image of the sound of her saying my name as I sink into her soaking pussy.
She skips over towards me, though it’s not exactly a skip—she’s not five years old—but there’s a spring in her step like this is a delightful, cute activity like collecting wildflowers and singing innocent songs.
Not approaching her grumpy and obsessive stalker boss.
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’s it. Clever girl.” Miraculously, my voice remains calm. Unaffected, even. “But I think you’ll find…” I shift and run my index finger down hers. She’s smooth and warm and it’s the strangest contradiction. I’m having difficulty controlling myself and want to yank her onto my lap, shove our clothes aside, and take her. But at the same time, I’m relishing this perfect moment we’re creating.
It’s so good, I’m almost fooled by it myself.
And the danger is undeniably hot. The unlocked door—even if Nathan knows better than to enter unannounced, or allow anyone else to—is precarious. We could be caught, and it makes the excitement of our age gap, and the forbidden nature of this all the hotter.
“Sev,” she whispers and looks up at me.
“Good, now tilt your chin up in an invitation. Offer me your lips.”
She makes a soft whimper as she does as I say.
“Now open your mouth for me, just a little.”
Her dusky pink lips part.
“Good girl.”
My cock throbs so intensely I might pass out from lack of blood in my brain. That’s clearly the reason I’m doing this. Toying with a risk that will result in death from my best friend.
But I don’t care that he’s my best friend now. I can’t understand why she’s my employee. She’s my obsession, and my inner monster has already claimed her as my wife. All the rest is details that will be sorted out in time.
Or not.
“I’m looking at your lips because I want them crushed to mine,” I say hoarsely.
“Should I look at your lips too?” she asks, a little shy.
“You can.”
Seeing her eyeline drop sends a surge of anticipation through me. As though she craves this as much as I do.
It’s just a lesson, I remind myself.
“The tension that is undeniable,” I whisper. “Feel how inevitable it is that we’re going to give in to the scorching attraction between us.”
Nathan answers the phone on the other side of the door, muffled and indistinct.
“Can you feel how the taboo makes it hotter? The sounds of Nathan just a layer of wood away, and the risk of getting caught?”
“Mr Blackwood,” she whispers, and leans in further, our lips only inches apart now.
Who is seducing who here?
Wait, no. I’m supposed to be teaching her.
“Do you like that I’m your boss? Does it make you feel powerful that I want you? That despite billions in the bank and a small army for the Morden mafia, I’m looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, and I’m tortured by not being able to have you?”
I don’t mention her father. That shimmers between us without words.
“Because you’re so young, Maisie. I shouldn’t kiss you.”
“You should,” she whispers back, and her breath is warm and sweet on my lips. “You can take whatever you want.”
I groan. “Don’t say that.” I don’t think I can hold it together if she says things like that. I might believe her. “Say that you’d like a kiss. Just one, to be taught.”
“Sev, kiss me. Please.”
Touching a finger to her jaw I shift closer. Her scent—raspberries and cream—fills my senses.
“I shouldn’t, Maisie. I’m twice your age. I’m your boss.”
“Please.” It’s a broken little word, and it breaks me too.
I groan and guide her mouth to mine, giving her a butterfly of a kiss. The sort of kiss that is an expression of lust and longing in the form of a carefully deniable brush that could have been an accident.
Her cheek is so soft. She’s delicate and small and I try to be exactly the sweet first kiss that she deserves. I drag my lips over hers and everything in me tightens when I hear her needy little gasp.
“What should I do?” she murmurs. “I don’t know how to do this right.”
“We should stop,” I say, but I don’t. I catch her lower lip, and venture the tip of my tongue against her lips.
“Sev,” she gasps.
“Open your mouth more,” I instruct her. “And angle your head.”
She does exactly as I say. And despite all the reasons to hurry, I tempt and lure, still holding her cheek lightly as though it’s not costing me my sanity.
“Now slowly, use the moments between my lips moving, and repeat what I do.” It’s taking everything in me to keep up the pretence that I’m her impassive teacher.
I’m not. I’m a monster.
I deepen the kiss by fractions, drawing her in bit by bit. And she responds with all the innocent understanding of the girl meant to learn from me. She’s a quick study, turning my tricks on me and nipping at my lower lip when I allow a tiny break in my domination of the kiss.
I keep her at a careful distance, even as I begin to plunder her mouth, my hand moving to the back of her head. Her hair is black silk, just as I always knew it would be.
“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.
“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute,” I say, loudly enough to be heard through the solid door.
“That’s…” She wriggles slightly on my lap.
I bite back a groan. “That’s what happens when you kiss a man.”
“Me?” There’s awe in her tone, and she’s going to break me. Teaching this girl? Pretending that I’m just kissing her because she’s asked me to and not because I crave her? Impossible.
“You have no idea the danger you’re in, sweetheart,” I mutter as I lift her off me and onto her feet, ensuring she’s steady before I let her go.
I force my gaze from her and rearrange my trousers to make my hard-on less obvious.
“How do I look?” she asks anxiously, smoothing her hair and clothes down, and adjusting her top. She touches her bee-stung pink lips.
Fuckable.
Like she’s been kissed and is wet between the legs, and ready.
Perfect. Beautiful.
Except there’s a stray tendril of hair sticking up from when I plunged my hand into it like I want to thrust my cock into her sweet cunt.
I reach out and unhook it, then run my fingertips down so it’s neat. I long to tell her that she looks like she should be my wife, and stay by my side as I talk mafia politics, and come to my bed every night all soft and warm.
Instead, I fold my arms and turn away.
“That’s the end of your lesson.” It’s physically painful, as though my heart is suspended in mid-air, bloodied and torn from my chest by her being further from me. “We can’t risk anything getting back to your dad.”
I sit behind my desk, roll my shoulders, and then force myself to do the one thing I most don’t want to do, that is usually natural to me: sound like a grumpy, uncaring bastard.
“Open the door, and go to leave,” I say softly, meeting her eyes.
She nods, still looking like a girl who has been well-kissed. My gaze drops to her arse as she walks across the room, away from me for what I know should be—will be—forever.
When Maisie is about to step out of the office, I set off the trap.
“Miss Matthews.”
She halts in the doorway, instinctively obedient, and glances over her shoulder.
“Don’t forget your report. Do I need to call Nathan to help you carry it?” I point at the stack of documents she brought to my office as a pretext. “Next time, save the trees and email me your typo-ridden ramblings. Upholding quaint out-of-date traditions like print doesn’t make you seem older, or credible. It’s just a fucking waste.”
“Harsh,” Westminster says, audible through Nathan’s office.
For a second I see her hurt, and confusion.
That’s it , I urge her with my eyes. Get annoyed. Make them think that pink in your cheeks is because you’re angry. Or humiliated. They won’t even notice how you’re scurrying from a private meeting looking as though you’ve been ravished .
But instead, she does the one thing I don’t expect.
Maisie tilts up her chin, just as I taught her to invite my kiss, and smiles. “Yes, Mr Blackwood. Thank you for that, Mr Blackwood.”
Then she grabs the report, and sashays away from my office to Westminster’s slow clap.
No one suspects.