Page 3 of Silver Fox Grump

I’d never realised until now how brave it is to smile. How being happy and positive is leaving yourself so totally vulnerable. I’m probably twice her age and three times her size, and I don’t let people in by smiling like that.

She’s just standing in front of a man who scared and threatened everyone in this room, and instead of bowing her head or looking as nervous as she should be, she’ssmiling. As though it’s easy.

I admire it.

“Cupcakes.” Her voice is high but lyrical. “Would you like one?”

I am not a cupcake sort of person. I am not a person for sweet treats. I like whisky that tastes like burnt Scottish soil having a reunion in a morgue.

Apparently, now, I likeher.

It’s not that she’s young and beautiful, although that definitely helps. It’s that I’m suddenly achingly aware that taking care of this girl would fill a need I had no idea about. A gap in my chest that I hadn’t even recognised was in the space that I always assumed had my withered, charred excuse for a heart.

I don’t know how to love her as she deserves. I haven’t a clue how to make her love me. Both those things feel very important, and I can’t believe I’ve neglected them as skills.

There’s a pause while I’m flummoxed by unfamiliar feelings, and I’m still scowling. Which is maybe why a young guy pushes in from the side.

“This is Mr Blackwood.” He pronounces my name like it’s “God”. “He doesn’t want your pathetic little cakes.” He’s barely more than a boy, and wears a shiny suit that likely cost him more than he can afford.

She jolts like he’s smacked her, and her smile falters.

“Of course not. I didn’t think he would.” She begins to pull away, her expression going from sunny to hurt in a second.

I’m so busy looking at her, I don’t anticipate the disaster.

The man’s elbow connects with the girl’s, and her tub upends. Instantly, the cakes topple out, smacking onto the floor and rolling off, leaving smears of pink icing.

She watches in horror, and the man laughs.

Anger flares through me.

“Oh!” She sounds like she might cry and goes to fall to her knees.

“No.” My hand shoots out. I grab her wrist where she’s holding the plastic tub, then just as quickly let it go. But that split second of contact tingles. Soft. So soft and breakable. “Leave it. I want…”

I thankfully manage to not say more.You. Everything. Your sweet pink pussy that I bet tastes even better than anything you have there.

She’s mine.

Instead, I just take the remaining cupcake from the tub and bring it to my lips. She watches, and my cock responds, thickening in my boxers as the paper case peels from the cake. It’s borderline erotic, as though I’m removing that prissy little blouse from her warm skin.

It feels good. Really good. I can’t remember the last time I got turned on from nothing. I feelalive.

I take a bite of the cupcake, and flavour and texture explode in my mouth. Sweet, soft butter icing, moist, crumbly smooth vanilla cake that melts and a flare of sharp raspberry sauce. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted, and I’m floored.

Shocked.

Devastated. Where has this been my whole life? And I don’t think it’s actually the cake. I think it’sher. I regard the girl, with her straight black hair, so innocent and yet… I want her.

Ineedher.

“How is it?” she ventures, smiling again.

“Very…” I stop. Orgasmic is an inappropriate reply. “Nice”, or “tasty” is utterly inadequate. I opt for, “Sweet.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, as although she nods in agreement, her eyes lose that spark. Fuck. Should have said, “orgasmic”.

I’ll destroy her enemies in lieu of being eloquent.