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I nip at her ear. “Is that what it feels like when I fuck you until you’re shaking and screaming beneath me?”

“Connor!” Mary swats at my chest. “Stop.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” I step back. “For now.”

My eyes drop to the bottle of red wine in her hands. No doubt a gift for my father. She’s trying so hard to make agood impression when the truth is she already has. And after this, she will be my family in every sense of the word.

The drive to my father’s house takes us 30 minutes.

In front of the door, Mary fidgets with the hem of her sweater, smoothing imaginary wrinkles, and I reach over to still her hands. “He’s going to love you.”

“You keep saying that. But what if he doesn’t?”

I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re the woman I chose. That’s all that matters to him and to me. Besides, he’s been wanting grandkids for years now. Once he sees us together, he’ll jump at the chance.”

“Grandkids? We can’t do grandkids. At least not—”

“Relax, Blue. You’re going to be fine,” I say. “Just be yourself.”

“Right.” She squares her shoulders. “Be myself. I can do that.”

“That’s my good girl.” I press another kiss on her hair. “Ready?”

“Okay, let’s do this, my stalker.”

Her stalker.

I like it when she calls me that.

It’s like our little inside joke, except it’s not really a joke at all. I have been stalking her, watching her every move, hacking into her devices and accounts. I know everything about her, from her favorite coffee order to the way she taps her chin with a pen when she’s concentrating on something.

And I fucking love it.

But there’s a part of me that wonders if she truly understands the depths of my obsession. Does she know that I would do anything for her, that I would kill for her if I had to? Does she realize that she’s mine, now and forever?

Sometimes I worry that she doesn’t. But then she calls me her stalker… She understands the twisted nature of our relationship and my obsession, and she accepts it.

Accepts me.

And fuck, it turns me on.

I press the buzzer.

After a few moments, the intercom crackles to life, my father’s gravelly voice filling the air. “Connor, that’s you?”

“Yeah, Dad. Got someone special I’d like you to meet,” I say.

Mary clutches the bottle of red wine to her chest, her eyes downcast. I give her hand a gentle squeeze.

The door opens, and my childhood nanny, Margaret, envelops me in a hug, a wide smile on her face. “Connor, dear, it’s so good to see you.”

I return the embrace. “You, too. How have you been?”

She pats my cheek fondly. “Oh, keeping busy, as always. But never too busy for my boys.” Margaret’s eyes fall on Mary. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

“I’m Mary. It’s nice to meet you,” Mary extends her hand. “Connor has told me so much about you.”

“Has he now? All good things, I hope.” Margaret envelops Mary in a hug, which seems to catch her off guard, but she returns the embrace tentatively.

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