You’re humming softly under your breath, sleeves a little too long, cheeks warm, and those dainty fingers clutching a feather duster like it’s your lifeline.

You don’t even realize I’ve been watching you from behind the desk for the last ten minutes.

The way your oversized butler uniform swallows your petite frame? That bashful way you look away whenever I walk too close? Adorable. Infuriatingly so.

I rise from my chair.

You let out a squeak when I wrap an arm around your waist and effortlessly lift you into my lap.

“M-Mr. Moretti—!”

“Shh,” I chuckle, pulling you close until your tiny hands are resting against my chest. Your face is redder than wine, and you refuse to meet my gaze, nibbling nervously on your bottom lip.

“Don’t ‘Mr. Moretti’ me,” I murmur into your ear. “You’ve been tiptoeing around my office like a scared little kitten all evening.”

“I-I was just… just trying to be helpful…” you whisper, voice soft and trembling.

I tilt your chin up gently with my finger, finally meeting those big, glassy eyes of yours.

“You are helpful,” I say, my voice dropping to a purr. “You’re my sweet little thing. Always so polite, so good.”

You try to hide your face in my shirt, and I can’t help but chuckle again, burying a kiss in your hair.

“Good boy,” I murmur, letting the words melt against your skin. “You gonna sit here in my lap like that every night?”

You nod—barely. Just a shy, shaky little nod.

And I swear, if anyone dares to look at you too long tomorrow, I’ll break their fingers. Because this blushing, trembling darling?

He’s mine.