Page 7 of Maid For The Mafia Informant

All those thoughts evaporate once I hear her squeal from the bathroom. The sound of those damned pipes banging before they squirt all over her.

I drop everything and rush to her, make sure she’s alright.

I should have warned her about those pipes, the plumbing.

She looks plenty alright to me.

Those thick, pebbled nipples making themselves clearer now, her white blouse a wet T-shirt contest for my own amusement.

My own immediate satisfaction at seeing just that little bit more of her.

The whole of her I want to own as soon as I can. It’s decided on the spot.

I feel my dick harden even more. I don’t think it’s even gone softer since I laid eyes on her, only harder.

The sudden thought of claiming her as my own, of having those large breasts on either side of my meat as she heaves them up and down, making me this hard until I fill her from behind. Fill her with my seed.

The thought makes perfect sense.

It’s like waking from a recurring dream.

Knowing she’s mine, that I’ll have her.

I ask her if she’s hurt, but she doesn’t respond until I hear the words echo off the tiles, what I’ve really just told her.

That she’ll do.

Perfectly.

Her whole body shivers as she staggers a single step forward before her feet go out from under her.

I have her right where I want her, where I need her in a second. In my arms, our faces so close I can feel the heat of her breath on mine and I smile, watching her eyes dilate in a way that only tells me one thing.

She’s mine. I know she is, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

“You’re all wet,” I observe, noting her flush a deeper shade of red, embarrassed.

“It’s alright,” I comfort her. “We can get you cleaned up.”

“There’s no towels,” she says, helpless as she strains to wipe water from her eyes as I remember.

There’s no nothing in this damned place.

Just me? I could cope with that for a while, but I make a low and annoyed growl, vowing to pin that fuck Partridge to the wall so he can have this place at least fitted out with some towels and linens, and proper food. “God damn it, Sophie.” I mutter, “I’m sorry, we’ll get things set right around here. C’mon into the living room then.”

I help her back into the living room, grateful I moved my files after all. She really is dripping wet.

I want to scoop her up, to hold her properly, but the twitching in my pants would only want to take her right back to where we just came from.

Back to the bedroom.

Maybe where we both belong right now.

I feel her shivering against me, she’s not cold either.

It’s a different kind of shudder she’s got going on, and the more she leans into me, the more our heavy breathing starts to match up as I slowly ease her towards the couch, settling her into it and keeping as close as I can as I sit down next to her.

“I’m so clumsy,” she stammers. “So stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” I correct her, not wanting to hear her talking down about herself like that. Not ever.

“You got wet, it’s those damned pipes,” I tell her, clenching my jaw again as I remember how damned trapped I really feel here.

How I wished I’d handled this my own way from the get go instead of being roped in by the feds.

I scoff under my breath with irony. If I’d done things my way, I’d have been the one breaking the law.

But Sophie hears it differently. “Something funny?” she asks, embarrassed again but sounding more hurt.

I squeeze her shoulder with my arm a little. “I was thinking about something else, honest,” I promise her, taking a sharp breath in as her cool, soft chest presses into mine.

Soft against hard. It feels so natural to be this close to her and I can’t help but think about getting way closer to her.

“I should really keep working,” she says absently, trailing off, shivering again.

“It’s only water,” she observes, and against all my control I can’t help but look down at her chest again.

The wet blouse clinging to her body so tight, it leaves nothing to my imagination.

White blouse, white skirt… even a damned white lace bra and panties.

This girl knows how to push buttons I never even knew I had.

But it’s not just what she’s wearing.

It’s her.

Her body, her face. Her nervous smile.

But most of all it’s just her. The feeling I get when she’s near me like this.

I chuckle to myself again, not believing how my morning has gone from one thing to another so quickly.

How soon it’s been from first seeing her that I want to do nothing but have her close to me, protect her.

Protect her from what? From myself?

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