Page 39 of Silver Fox Grump

14

MAISIE

He kisses me like there’s nothing else he desires. As though kissing is an end in itself, and his cock isn’t rock-solid against me.

His lips on mine are soft and patient, coaxing and tender, just as they were when he taught me how to kiss.

Below the waist it’s a different story.

We’re grinding against each other. Or rather, he’s bearing down on me, and I’m writhing helplessly, trying to get closer. I have an empty feeling in my lower belly. The ache is absurd, but no less intense for that. It’s as though my body recognises that we belong together, and every second we’re not joined, the need increases.

His clothes are deliciously rough on my bare skin, and my fingers grip his hair. That hair I’ve looked at so many times over the years since he’s been my boss. And he wanted me all that time, just as I did him. It’s almost too good to be true.

My hands slide down, and I’m gripping his neck as he rubs his cock between my legs where I’m slick and desperate. Then I’m hampered in my exploration by his shirt collar.

“Sev,” I gasp. “Take it off.” It’s hard to get the words out between his lips on mine, but I tilt my jaw, and he shifts to rasping his stubbled chin over my neck and I moan.

I had no idea I was sensitive there. It feels so good, I almost lose my grip on what I was asking, because Sev isn’t listening, he’s devouring me.

“Later,” he mutters.

“Now.” He’s big, and I’m trapped beneath him, but I try to get at his shirt first, attempting to undo his buttons.

“Have to see you,” I pant. My brain isn’t working fully. Half my brain cells are between my legs and the other half intent on seeing Sev’s body.

He groans. “Such a demanding little thing, aren’t you?” He presses his lips to my throat. “I don’t think I can, Maisie. I can’t move even an inch from you.”

“I have to see and feel you. All of you. Please,” I beg.

And that’s what causes my huge, scary, determined man to stop. He levers himself up, and his blue eyes are dark, the pupils massive as he gazes down at me. His hair is messy where I’ve been stroking it, and he looks wild. Feral.

“The things you do to me, Maisie.” Then he rears up onto his knees, grabs his shirt in both hands and rips it open. Buttons ping and fabric tears, and I squeak in shock.

He’s bare to the waist.

My mouth falls open. Sev is everything I dreamed he could be. His chest is muscled, with defined pectorals and abs, and a smattering of dark hair that makes a discontinuous “T” shape, leading downwards, and that definition of muscles at his waist that makes a “V”.

He’s covered with tattoos. There isn’t an inch of his torso and arms that isn’t inked, all the way up to his neck. There are religious symbols covering his arms. Over one shoulder is a lion, eyes staring right into me. It’s surrounded by foliage, but native English leaves and flowers, not tropical ones. In the centre of his chest, there’s a large “M”.

“M for Morden,” I say, tracing my finger over the letter, and he huffs.

“Guess again.” His eyes crinkle with mirth. “I had that done only two years ago.”

I shake my head, not understanding.

“My sweetheart,” he says fondly. “M for Maisie.”

That steals my breath, and I stare in disbelief. “You got a tattoo for me?”

“You may have noticed,” his tone is wry, “I am a little obsessed.”

A grin spreads across my face. He is amazing.

“What about the others?” I reach up to indicate his crescent, a cross, a six-pointed star, and the lion.

“Those really are Morden,” he replies with an edge of impatience. “Have you looked your fill? I have things I want to do to you.”

“For now.” Later I want to examine every line on his body.