Page 19 of Forbidden Fruit
And I have a place that’s empty. It has its own entrance, kitchen, bathroom and a small bedroom. She could use it until she gets back on her feet. We’ll have to set some clear boundaries for the kids, but I can’t let her be homeless or sofa surfing.
That wouldn’t be charitable of me.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where do you live?”
Jade crosses her arms over her chest and stares me down with a fierce protectiveness. I’m glad Vanessa has such a good friend in her corner. Though my hackles raise as though I should be the one doing it.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss this with customers, Lino.”
My voice turns stern and cold. “I have a place I could rent to her, Jade. That’s what I’m asking. Now tell me.”
“I’m not a switch nor a sub, Lino. Your dom voice doesn’t work on me.” She smirks then picks up her phone from where she has it tucked into a garter belt under her skirt. “I’m texting her to expect you. If she hasn’t called me in an hour, you’re a dead man. I know people.”
“If by ‘people’, you mean Alana, I doubt she’d do you that favour.”
“You’d be surprised what women do to protect each other.”
With that ominous threat, she scribbles her address on a napkin. My whisky abandoned, I almost leap to my feet and run to a decrepit building off the city centre. My jaw clenches in displeasure at knowing she’s been living in these conditions.
That’s probably why she was so exhausted all week.
She deserves better than this rat hole. Jade does too, but I’ve heard she’s already sorted with somewhere to live. My hand itches, dreaming of tanning Vanessa’s ass for being so careless and not having a plan B, or C, or D, in case of trouble popping up in her life.
My cock jerks to life at the image that surges behind my eyelids. Spanking always gets me this way. It has nothing to do with the recipient. I suck in a deep breath through my nostrils and will myself to calm down.
My heart is in my throat as I knock. A dishevelled Vanessa opens the door in nothing but tiny shorts and a sports bra, skin glistening with sweat.
ELEVEN
WHAT TO DO WHEN YOUR BOSS FINDS YOU IN A SKIMPY OUTFIT?
My boss is here.
My boss is here and his parted lips and blown out pupils make my skin prickle. My nipples harden under the thick sports bra and I thank whoever invented double padding.
The air hums between us, heavy with unspoken words and his anthracite gaze roaming over me. A muscle ticks on his set jaw and I track the movement with hungry eyes, devouring the tiniest reaction from him.
I’m not a prude. I’ve always felt good in my own body but, even as sheltered as I was, I know it’s not a good look to be half naked in front of my boss. I shouldn’t like his attention as much as I do. I should cover up, but instead, I cock my hip and square my shoulders. After all, he interrupted my yoga session like he belongs in my life outside of work.
He doesn’t.
I can’t even think about why he’s here on a Sunday. And how did he know where to find me? Is he here to fire me? The sweat chilling on my skin cools me down faster than a bucket of ice water.
“Can I help you, Mr Marquesi?” My voice comes out high pitched and distressed, but I don’t flinch under his watchful gaze. The sooner this interaction is over, the sooner I can pack and settle in a motel, if I can find one. I try not to dwell on the fact that it will take my entire salary. My throat closes as dejection settles like lead in the pit of my stomach, my mouth turning downward.
“May I come in, Vanessa?” He speaks as though I’m a wild animal who’ll flee at any moment. I feel like that, too. The grey of his eyes is back in his irises and I miss the look he had a few seconds ago, like I caught him doing something he shouldn’t.
“Just one moment.”
I close the door and turn, searching frantically for anything to throw on. I refuse to get fired while looking so vulnerable.
Wearing an oversized t-shirt I found, I open the door again. Mr Marquesi hasn’t moved a muscle, but his body has grown tighter somehow. As if his muscles coiled in preparation to force my door open.
I invite him inside and point to the beaten-down grey couch and lower myself on one of the two white foldable chairs next to the round dining table by the window. I hide my hands under my thighs to prevent me from fidgeting and wait for him to speak.
But he doesn’t.
He looks at me like I’m a puzzle, then down to my naked legs, before pulling his attention to my suitcase that sits on the floor still filled with my worldly possessions.