Page 39 of Forbidden Fruit

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Page 39 of Forbidden Fruit

“Yes, Daddy.”

He groans, then his lips are on mine in an all-consuming kiss that shatters me. Pleasure erupts from my pussy and travels up my spine in a detonation of ecstasy. I ride his leg for as long as I can, prolonging my orgasm and this moment between us.

But too soon, it ebbs away and I’m left with the realisation that, one, my boss just made me come. Two, I called him ‘Daddy’, and he seemed to like it.

And three, I’m kissing my boss and I don’t think I can stop.

Lino breaks the kiss and straightens up, his eyes still dark with desire, his cock still hard between us. It’s as if his hands on my body are the last thing that tethers me to him. I know once he drops them, we’re done. I’ll never feel him again, never let myself go like this. If I’m lucky enough to keep this job, our interactions will go back to distant and cold. I know it from the way he clenches his jaw. That’s his tell when something isn’t going according to his carefully crafted plans. And I’m not part of the plans.

I tell myself it doesn’t hurt. It’s better this way, especially if I want to keep working and saving up to put myself through school and live the life I want. I don’t know exactly what that will look like, but being a nanny for an unfeeling hot and cold sex-god isn’t it.

Before I can talk about what just happened between us, a crying wail comes from Livia’s bedroom and I startle.

“Babbu!Babbu,” she calls out for him.

Panic washes over me until I can barely breathe. This was reckless. What if one of the kids sees me here?

“I should go,” I squeak and turn around to leave.

“Wait,” Lino demands, but this time, I don’t obey. I leave the bedroom, walk downstairs silently and slip away into the night back to the comfort of my studio.

I fucked up.

I fucked up epically.

And tomorrow, I’ll face the consequences of my actions. Despite everything, I can’t help but think it was worth it. And how pathetic is that?

TWENTY-TWO

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

Vanessa disappears in the shadows, and I don’t follow.

What is wrong with me?

I should have known that after the workshop, Vanessa might have been horny. I certainly was.

Ropes have a way of letting buried emotions rise to the surface, and despite the very platonic nature of our time together this evening—before the bedroom incident—bondage can be very sexual.

And I took advantage of that.

She showed up in her little negligee, her body barely concealed by the cardigan she wore. And I just stopped thinking. It’s been such a long time that I’ve felt so attracted to someone who doesn’t go to the club. There, everything is transactional and though a few play partners have invited me to take things outside, I’ve always refused.

With Vanessa, it’s different. I know how kind she is. I know what she does on school nights and weekends. She has this calming presence I’m drawn to, this sunshine I want to bask in. She’s amazing with my kids and even my parents are starting to carve out a place for her in their hearts. I know the truth of who she is, and now I know what she looks like when she comes.

Andmy God, when she called me ‘Daddy’ I could have come right there and then. I swipe a hand to my face and go to my children’s bedroom.

The nightlight sends stars and moons to the ceiling. Livia sits on her bed, clutching her brother’s teddy to her chest, tears streaming down her face. Anton is half-asleep, mindlessly patting her hand and giving words of reassurance. The wails that break my heart stop as I enter the room and make my way to them.

It’s a daily ritual by now.

I kiss my son’s brow and he falls back asleep immediately, then I lift Livia into my arms. I squeeze her body to my chest, trying my best to give her enough comfort and reassurance that I’m not going anywhere. Her tiny arms and hands link around my neck, strangling me with the force of her panic. I don’t mind it. I’ll be whatever she needs me to be.

Livia’s been having nightmares ever since her mother left and I don’t need to be a child therapist to know what they are about.

As I settle into the lounge yellow seat that Monica used to nurse her in, I hum a lullaby. Livia’s favourite.

O ciucciarella, nun sai quantu ti adoru,




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