My Bestie's Dad Likes Me Wet-Chapter 17 Mole For The Ratels

GRANT POV

Ivin had been clearing his throat in the background since I started my gym session, which meant he wanted to talk.

Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t in the mood to talk. Not unless he had a warm cunt on standby and the guarantee she wouldn’t start clinging afterward.

Since I’ve known Ivin, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him with a woman. Maybe he’s into men. Maybe he’s married to his damn guns. I don’t care. My thoughts are already stretched thin.

One of my major tech firms is spiraling.

I despise when things slip out of my control. Chaos always drags me back to places I don’t want to remember. Places I’ve buried so deep the sun couldn’t touch them.

Now, someone inside is leaking information to my rivals. Not minor crumbs but major incriminating blueprints, passwords and files that are more than enough to crack the very foundation I’ve built with all my life.

I’m a self made multi millionaire in the legal world but if I should merge that with my underworld dealings, I’m a billionaire and I shouldn’t have to bring my mafia ties into this. I’ve built walls to keep my legal empire from colliding with the shadows I crawled out of. But this rat has forced my hand.

His days are numbered.

Ivin cleared his throat again. Stubborn bastard. I hit pause on the treadmill and looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

"Spit it out."

"A man was sniffing around for information on Miss Nova."

My laugh was sharp, was that all he think matters at this crucial moment if my life?

"I don’t care. She’s nothing more than a temporary distraction. A warm body to use, not a woman worth worrying about."

"Sir... the man had a Ratel tattoo."

I froze. My pulse slowed, but my mind sharpened.

"Find out how she connects to them."

I’ve never been lucky with the sexual partners in my life, they have always been liabilities. Pretty faces hiding claws. Clingy ones who start stalking. Greedy ones who want money. Stupid ones who sell me out to my rivals.

And the Ratel Don, my one time friend turned arch enemy, works harder than the devil himself.

Always sniffing around my empire. My downfall has been his dream for years and he keeps trying to bring that dream to life.

"She’s clean," Ivin said carefully. "But her parents... maybe not."

"Her file says they’re dead."

"Cause of death unknown. The Ratels... hover in her background, Boss."

I inhaled slowly, like I was drawing the tension into my chest just to keep from exploding.

"The leaked documents... were they under her tasks?"

"Yes, but routed through robotics."

My thoughts connected the dots faster than code.

"If she’s the snitch," I muttered, "I’ll kill her myself."

I dismissed Ivin, no longer in the mood for the treadmill. Or the gym. Or anything but whiskey and smoke thick enough to drown out the irritation clawing at me.

That’s when I heard it.

Why is Nova Screaming?

At first I thought she had the TV blasting, some ridiculous drama she drowned herself in.

But no. The pitch, the unmistakable break in her voice, it was hers.

"Harder... Grant—"

My name spilled out of her throat, ragged, breathless and erotically sinful.

I stopped mid-step.

What the fuck is with this girl and her moans? She looks like an angel, head bowed over her books, lips pink and innocent. But underneath that quiet mask? She’s a goddamn nymph.

My nymph. My traitorous Nymph.

The sounds got sharper, and softer like a dog whimpering. Then sharper again. Like waves breaking, building toward something reckless. Against every reasonable bone in my body, I followed them.

Her door was locked. It didn’t matter because I always carried the master key.

I slid it in and pushed the door open—

"Grant... Grant—"

She was sprawled across the bed, lost in sleep, sheets twisted low on her hips. Her pajama bottoms clung awkwardly, her shirt riding up to reveal the bare curve of her waist.

Her body arched, trembling. A whimper bled into a moan before her head dropped back, face softening into peace. A dangerous peace.

Because she had just screamed my name like I was inside her. And my cock was straining, heavy and hard enough to make me grit my teeth.

"Nova."

My voice was low, rough. Her lashes fluttered. She blinked, eyes unfocused, then snapping into clarity. Realization hit her cheeks red.

"I heard you," I said. "Screaming."

Her lips parted, but no words came.

"Why were you screaming ’Harder, Grant’?"

I mimicked her moans, dragging them out, watching her squirm like I was running a blade over her skin.

"Don’t tell me..."

I brushed her hair back, slow, deliberate, like I was taming something fragile.

"You came in your sleep dreaming about me before I even had the chance to really fuck you."

She jolted upright, almost tripping on the sheets. Panic written all over her face.

My grin curved wider. Watching her scramble, clumsy and flushed, was almost sweeter than fucking her. Almost.

The bathroom door slammed. I could hear the sound of water gushing.

I peeled off my gym shirt, tossing it carelessly, leaving only my shorts. My cock was an ache now, a demand.

Suspect or not. Intern or not.

She’s still a woman.

And tonight, I’m getting what I want.

Fuck the consequences

#%^*}{]_*>£¥¥

NOVA POV

I had slammed the bathroom door so hard the mirror rattled. My hands shook as I twisted the knob on the faucet, letting the water rush out just to drown the pounding of my own heart.

Harder, Grant.

The words still echoed in my ears, my own traitorous voice, broken and needy. I had screamed it in my sleep like a shameless slut.

I wanted the ground to swallow me. How was I supposed to face him after that?

I splashed cold water on my face, but the heat inside me didn’t fade. My skin tingled, my thighs clenched, and I could still feel the ghost of the dream pulsing between my legs.

The dream had felt too real Grant’s mouth on me, his hands pinning me, his voice a low growl ordering me to take more, to beg harder. I had woken trembling, my body betraying me.

The door creaked.

My head snapped up, heart thundering.

Grant stepped in like the room belonged to him. He was shirtless, muscles carved and damp with sweat, gym shorts slung low enough to make my stomach flip. His eyes were dark, sharp and hungry, Fixed on me like a predator that had finally cornered its prey.

"Grant—"

I stammered, backing up. My wet palms pressed against the sink.

"I—I didn’t mean—"

He shut the door behind him with a click, sealing us in.

"You were screaming my name," he said. His voice was calm, too calm. That dangerous calm that made my knees weaken.

"Begging in your sleep like you’d already had me inside you. And now you’re running from me? No, sweetheart. You don’t get to run."

He stalked closer. Every step made the air thicker, hotter, like the bathroom was shrinking.

I opened my mouth to argue, to deny, but his hand caught my chin, tilting it up until his eyes locked with mine.

"Say it," he demanded. His thumb brushed my lower lip, slow, deliberate. "Say what you were dreaming about."

Shame scorched my skin.

"I don’t—"

"Don’t lie to me." His tone sharpened, an edge of command that went straight to my core.

"Your body knows the truth even if your mouth doesn’t. Do you want me to show you how bad you’ve been craving it?"

My thighs pressed together helplessly. He noticed, of course. Grant noticed everything. His smirk darkened, satisfied.

"Here’s how this works," he murmured, lowering his mouth close enough for his breath to feather over my ear. "When you’re under me, you don’t get to hide. You don’t get to run. You do what I say. Understand?"

I swallowed hard, my pulse fluttering. "Grant..."

"Answer."

The command licked through me like fire. My voice came out barely a whisper.

"Yes."

His smile was wicked. "Good girl."

He spun me around before I could breathe, my hips pressed into the counter, the mirror reflecting my flushed, wide-eyed face. His body crowded me from behind, heat and muscle pinning me in place.

"Look at yourself," he ordered, his voice rough in my ear. His hand slid up my stomach, beneath my damp shirt, dragging the fabric higher until my bra was exposed.

"Look at how wrecked you are just from a dream."

My breath hitched as his palm closed over my breast, squeezing firmly. The reflection showed his dominance, the sheer size of him caging me, my own body arching into his touch, shameless.

"Grant—"

"Quiet," he growled, tugging my hair so my head tilted back against his shoulder. "When I touch you, you don’t speak unless I let you. You obey. Or I’ll make you."

The sharpness in his tone made my knees weak, but the wetness between my thighs told another story.

He dragged his free hand down my stomach, past the band of my pajama bottoms, slipping beneath the fabric like he owned me. His fingers brushed my clit and I gasped, jerking forward only for his grip in my hair to yank me back into him.

"Stay still," he warned. His breath was harsh against my cheek.

"You’ll learn to take it the way I give it. Not the way you want."

His fingers moved deliberately, slow circles that had my legs trembling. The mirror caught my reflection, eyes glazed, lips parted, Grant’s hand buried between my thighs.

"You see this?" His voice was silk wrapped in steel.

"This is mine now. Every sound, every shiver, every filthy little dream. Mine."

A cry tore from my throat as he pressed harder, faster, pushing me to the edge but never letting me fall.

"You’re going to beg for release," he murmured darkly. "And when I decide you’ve earned it, you’ll thank me for breaking you open."

And God help me... I wanted exactly that.