Maid For The Mafia Informant: An Instalove Possessive Alpha Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  Satisfied.

  Content.

  Like that feeling I get when I know I’m just about to win an impossible case and it feels like the whole world exists just for me.

  She’s watching Partridge take something from the trunk, which he passes to her and I can tell straight away she’s the new hired help.

  Partridge has this way of making people feel real special, real quick.

  I feel my eyes narrow and my whole body tense. Suddenly jealous of her so close to any other man, even if it is only Partridge.

  The clouds of condensation on the glass tell me I’m breathing like a maniac, I can feel my heart singing in my ears, but most of all it’s this damned hardness.

  I haven’t been this hard since?

  Since ever.

  They all move out of sight, making for the building and I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself and arrange my thoughts.

  Fuck, I stink.

  Jesus, I’m so hard.

  Christ, did you see her just now? Did you fucking see her!

  I stand in the middle of the room, totally unsure of anything for the first time in my life.

  If she’s coming up here, that changes everything.

  Pull yourself together, Ben. You’re Ben Slade, not some intern who’s still wet behind the ears.

  After a while, I’m jolted to my senses. I can hear the electronic door click loudly as Partridge unlocks it, murmuring to the guard in the hall.

  I launch myself into a chair in front of the blank plasma television screen, snatching up some papers and covering my tent pole hard on with one while pretending to read the others.

  My back’s to the door but I can feel her. She’s here.

  The sound of a plastic trolley and Partridge spouting off about something all sounds like it’s coming from far away, underwater even.

  All I can sense is her and every instinct I have is telling me to turn around and look at her.

  But I can’t, I won’t let Partridge know I’m interested. He fucking hates my guts and would delight himself by doing anything he could to ruin my chances with her.

  Whoever she is.

  “Alright,” I hear Partridge instructing her from across the room. “There’s the cart with all the supplies, the vacuum is in the closet over there. You can take as long as you want, but remember the rules,” he says solemnly, motioning silence by zipping his own lips and tossing an invisible key away.

  I can see his shape in the shadowy black reflection of the television screen, but not hers.

  I can only sense her, and my dick is already twitching at the thought of how much better she must look up close.

  My mouth is so dry, I make a hard sound as I try to swallow, catching Partridge’s attention.

  “Ah, the man himself. Ben… uh, this is Sophie. Come to clean up around here.”

  I stay still, not daring to look at her for the first time while that prick Partridge is here.

  I grunt absently instead, rustling a paper or two, crossing my legs and letting out another low sound as I feel fabric stroking me, suddenly wanting her hands in its place instead.

  “I got you some shirts, a change of clothes. Deodorant,” he adds, grunting himself as I wave a hand absently, shooing him away.

  Wishing he’d fucking leave so I can see my prize.

  “Well. I’ll be off,” he finally says, adding, “Sophie? The door will remain locked at all times, from the outside. When you’re done press the button, here. This will tell the agent on the other side to let you out, like this.”

  I hear the buzzer and the door clicks open again.

  “He’ll have your check and we’ll be in touch when and if we need you again.”

  I feel a stab of pain in my heart. I haven’t even seen her yet and he’s already talking about taking her away from me.

  “No!” I call out harshly, growling like a cornered beast but still not facing her.

  “This place is a god damned mess, I want it cleaned every day. New sheets on the bed, fresh towels. I can’t live like a bum, Partridge.”

  “We’ll be in touch,” he clips to Sophie.

  Sophie.

  I close my eyes and hear her name a hundred different ways in the few seconds it takes for Partridge to leave.

  Once the door snaps shut, I can feel the tension in the room.

  But it’s not an awkward or bad tension.

  It kind of feels like it matches the tension in my pants.

  I strain to hear her, still aching to turn and see her, but my heart’s beating so loud I can’t hear myself think.

  It feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest.

  I look up from my papers, and there she stands right in front of me.

  The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my whole life.

  I feel my eyes widen, focusing on hers. A deep blue so clear I can see the whole room and the world beyond reflected in them.

  The full figure that caught my eye from ten stories up makes me gulp again.

  She’s perfect.

  Gnawing her lips, I can see she’s nervous,

  She’s trembling for god’s sake.

  Her own breathing sounding as hard and frantic as mine, and I have to wonder if somehow all the oxygen hasn’t been sucked out of the room.

  My eyes move from hers, and down her whole body. I watch her as she tenses, feeling me scan her, broadcasting a sudden feeling of embarrassment, almost shame.

  I want to study her tick chest, those child-ready hips, but I don’t want to stare if it’s making her feel-

  “Do you always read pages upside down?” she asks, suddenly breaking my train of thought as my eyes snap back into focus on hers.

  A slight smile plays on her lips, and glancing down, I can see what I have in my hands is upside down, as well as back to front.

  I don’t dare move the other file though. What’s underneath that I’m not sure she’d find so funny.

  Or would she?

  There’s a light in her eyes, playful and mischievous. And something else.

  I don’t have time to cross-examine her, she’s caught me out, and although I’d usually stand, I stay seated and motion towards the chair opposite.

  I have to work up some saliva, finding my mouth too dry to even speak properly.

  “I’m Ben Slade,” I tell her, watching her, planted to the spot, ignoring the chair and seeming to sway a little at the sound of my voice.

  “Sophie,” she squeaks, suddenly looking like a lost child, her mischievous eyes filled with-

  It couldn’t be. I’ve only just met her.

  I know that look though.

  I think I remember it.

  Chapter Three

  Sophie

  I feel myself starting to sway. If Benjamin Slade was damp-worthy in his photographs, the man in real life is a flooding torrent between my legs.

  “Sit down,” he commands firmly, eyeing the seat nearest me again, shifting in his own so we’re face to face.

  Keeping his upside down papers over his lap, he studies me with his dark, brooding eyes.

  They’re as intense as the rest of the man, and although he’s sitting down, his presence is huge.

  Massive.

  Broad shoulders and a V-shaped torso cut through the tight fitting fabric of a suit that, although creased from a few days of wear is still taught over his muscular frame.

  Three days of stubble and the open neck of his shirt, coupled with what I can only imagine is a real man’s actually scent, I’m suddenly grateful to be sitting down.

  My own legs cross and I involuntarily start to pump my foot, pressing my legs together, making me gasp.

  Aching to relieve the sensation between my legs.

  This is the effect the real life Ben Slade has on me.

  A million times more potent than any photograph.

  Noting my reaction, he cocks a brow and lets out a low sound. Like an animal sizing up its prey as his gaze continues to shamelessly scan me.


  I should be offended, upset. But it’s the way he’s looking at me that tells me he’s not like the rest.

  He’s a man who knows what he wants and by the looks of things, he likes what he sees.

  I unhook my legs, I have to. The feeling I’m giving myself in such close proximity to the man is too much.

  I’ve never touched myself. Not like that anyway, only ever to wash and maybe do some landscaping.

  As I unhook my legs though, his eyes bore down onto the tiny swatch of my panties I know he catches a micro-glimpse of from under my white skirt.

  Again, I should feel embarrassed, ashamed that he’d even look.

  But his low growl and narrowing eyes as he shifts in his seat again only make me wish I could be pressing my pussy together again.

  For him.

  What the hell is the matter with me? This is supposed to be a job, and here I am, literally about to-

  Well, who knows what I’m about to do, but it feels freaking awesome.

  “Maid, huh?” he rasps, suddenly catching my attention, dragging it from the stack of papers on his lap that I suspect is hiding more than just some expensive pants.

  His look is penetrating, suddenly not so interested in what I thought. Maybe suspicious instead.

  He leans forward, his eyes fixed on mine.

  “Why should I trust you to go through my things?” he asks accusingly, making me flush with embarrassment now, clutching my neck and squirming in my seat for a new reason.

  I feel hurt. If only he knew. If only I could just tell him.

  I lie awake at night thinking about your mouth on me, wishing I wasn’t so uptight so I could touch myself when I think about you?

  Maybe it’s best to leave that one out for now.

  “I’ve been checked out by the agency,” I say, watching his brow again as I hear the defensive tone in my own voice.

  “Plus… Plus I’m a very good maid. Maybe if you’d just let me show you?” I start to say, trying to get up but feeling my legs go to jelly again as he considers me all over again before waving his hand absently.

  “Sit down,” he murmurs. “I trust ya. I trusted you the moment I saw you down in the street,” he adds, his lip curling as he takes in another view of my chest, which I only realize now is so hard, almost painfully arousal I can feel my nipples scratching through the fabric of my blouse.

  He seems to collect himself, puffing out air from his cheeks and glancing around, as if someone might overhear us.

  “What do the papers say, Sophie? They won’t let me see ‘em in here. They’ve limited my internet too so I can barely do my work.”

  I feel my face screwing up, remembering what agent Partridge said, about telling anyone anything.

  “Good,” he finally says to himself, newly satisfied as he leans back. “Partridge has told you to keep your mouth shut, even to me.”

  I take a breath, wanting to explain, but think better of it as he holds up a finger, which he then presses to his own lips.

  “So, clean. Go ahead,” he says finally, his voice sounding weary, tired, but his eyes still moving over me as I get up and move towards the closet to find the vacuum, stepping over piles of papers and take out bags.

  If it were anyone else, I’d be annoyed, but somehow even the prospect of cleaning up after Benjamin Slade feels like an honor.

  “Not those!” he suddenly exclaims, leaping up from his chair and snatching a bundle of papers from me.

  I look down at my feet, noticing my hands are wringing and trembling too.

  “I guess all I can say is I’m putting together a case against some pretty nasty people, Sophie,” he says more gently, looking down at me apologetically.

  “I’ll scoop up my papers if you want to start with the rest,” he adds, turning quickly and bending over.

  But not before I get to see what he was covering with all those other upside down papers.

  I shudder a breath in again, feeling my legs starting to go.

  I’ve never kissed a boy, let alone seen a real life-

  Needless to say, I think I know a hard cock when I see one. Even through his clothes; and from the small glance I get of it before it’s replaced with his fine ass bending over in front of me, Ben Slade is all man in the downstairs trouser department.

  Good God, it’s huge.

  My own fantasies suddenly seem inadequate when faced with the real thing, even from under his clothes.

  I do my best to focus on starting to clean, noting again just how messy the place is and still not knowing how long I really have to do the job.

  Taking a huge empty trash bag, and I quickly scoop up everything I know really is garbage and within half a minute the place looks better already.

  I want to ask if they’ve been making Ben eat only take out too, knowing he must eat better than this in his real life, but I bite my tongue, making my way to his bedroom to find more trash.

  The other rooms of the suite are a mess, but Ben’s kept his bedroom immaculate, only the double bed turned down on one side, looking like he’s hardly slept in it anyway.

  Same for his bathroom, there’s no real mess there either, and I get the distinct impression he’s been working around the clock on his case for days.

  The linen press is empty, and I check everywhere I can think of, but it’s useless.

  No towels, or no sheets.

  What kind of a place is this?

  I suddenly feel for Ben, sensing his sophistication and his own habits. I wonder just how he’s holding himself together being cooped up like this.

  I can still feel his eyes on me as we both move around the suite. It’s big enough for one person, but it’s certainly not huge. Not the type of place I imagine he’s used to either.

  A couple of times I get a start, gasping when I look up and see those dark eyes studying me in a mirror as I move between rooms.

  I’m getting nowhere with my cleaning fast, so I decide to start with the bathroom, and work my way back.

  There is a mop and bucket in the closet, next to the vacuum cleaner and I set about adding some chemical to it, making sure I keep my head down before making my way back to the bathroom to fill it.

  If there was tension when we first met, it’s almost to a fever pitch as I try to fill the bucket using the faucet in the bath.

  I turn the faucet and nothing happens, making me wonder if there’s even hot running water in this place.

  But before I have a chance, the whole wall next to me groans, shooting a sudden spray of water against the side of the bucket and all over me as I lean over the tub.

  Closing my eyes and shrieking from the sudden blast, I somehow manage to shut it off.

  But I can feel it all over.

  I’m drenched.

  As soon as I manage to get it shut off, I realize I’ve made more of a mess than the one I’m supposed to be cleaning.

  Hearing Ben’s low growl behind me, I spin around, my eyes filled with water still, but I can see he’s more than happy with my cleaning attempts so far.

  “Oh, you’ll do perfectly,” he says to himself, licking his lips as he studies my chest, making me gnaw my lip as I wonder how I can make this right.

  Taking a step forward, I skid on the wet floor and land straight in his thick, powerful arms.

  Chapter Four

  Ben

  I don’t mean to be hard on her.

  I do mean it when I tell her I trust her, but can I really?

  Can I trust anyone?

  The De Falco family is ruthless, and having them send me a maid that makes me so fucking hard I can’t think straight is something that sounds right up their alley.

  I trust her. She’s the one person I’ve ever met who I not only trust on sight, but I feel like I could actually tell her anything.

  Everything.

  But not yet.

  I trust her, but maybe not the sources who brought her to me, not even Partridge. And especially not that district attorney, Daniella Fellini. I know she
’s in on the whole thing, been trying to tell Partridge all week.

  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.”