The Filthy One

“Do you have terms you wish to discuss with me?” Smug asshole rests his chin on his fist and continues to watch me struggling to contain myself.

Deep breath in through my nose, deep breath out through my mouth. I’ve got this.

Maybe one more deep breath in and out…

“Okay, safe words. Oh… mmm… And we’d need to seriously discuss color and style options… mmm. Shit.” I refuse to look around at the semi-busy restaurant, keeping my moans low enough that, to anyone else, I probably just look like I really need to pee. Shuffling around, trying to adjust where the love-egg is hitting so I don’t straight up orgasm on this chair, I maintain eye contact with the smug asshole opposite me.

“No wig.” He raises a brow and taps a button on his phone, intensifying the feelings inside my pussy and against my clit.

“Yes! To the wig… I always wear…” Another deep breath out through my mouth. “A wig.” I’m so close, the pressure is building inside me, and I don’t think my deep and concentrated breathing is going to stop it.

“Oh look, the waiter is bringing our dinner, Dolcezza.” Tap, tap.

Oh shit. It’s coming… I’m coming.

My moans are escaping of their own accord now, I’m helpless against the sounds coming from my mouth as I try desperately to contain myself.

“Per favore, cameriere.”

The waiter’s face is full of concern as he places my plate in front me.

“Are you all right, Signorina?”

“Mmmhmm. Si. Yep. Fantastic. Yes!” I turn my pending orgasm into some kind of over-enthusiastic compliment, which doesn’t remove his confused expression, but he does nod his head and walk away.

“You’re an asshole. Oh holy shit.” It’s happening. And I’m powerless to stop it. I lean back in my seat, stand up, sit back down, stand up again and rest my hands against the table as it hits me. The tingling from my clit spreads throughout my body, and I squeeze my lids closed to breathe through it, keeping my voice as quiet as possible.

“Eyes on me, Dolcezza.”

Argh, this man! Defiantly, I open my eyes and glare at him as the aftershocks continue until I’m finally able to sit down again. The love-egg has stopped vibrating now, and Marco’s eyes are on mine, the steel-gray almost black with an animalistic desire.

“Did you enjoy that, asshole?”

“Very much so, but the evening has only just begun, River Fox.”

CHAPTER FOUR

RIVER

Marco’s car drops me off just after nine-thirty and instead of going on his merry way, the driver waits for me to walk up the stoop, say hello to my favorite human, and pretend that I’m walking inside. I watch as he slowly pulls out of his space along the sidewalk before I walk right back outside and plop down next to Mr. Bobby.

“It’s nice to see some men are still gentlemanly.” He points his chin to the place where the car was sitting only moments ago.

“Nah, it’s his driver, so he’s paid to make sure I walk right in and am safe from the dangers of the big, bad, city. Pfft.” Pulling one shoe off, I rub my aching toes as my head falls on Mr. Bobby’s shoulder.

“Everything all right, sweet girl?” He pats my hand as he brings his cup of tea to his mouth and takes a dainty sip.

“Yeah, I just… I don’t know. Adulting is hard and I have decisions to make. So many decisions.” I repeat my toe-massaging ritual with my other foot and enjoy the rare moment of complete and utter silence.

“Try me.” Looking up at Mr. Bobby, I’m certain my confusion is written all over my face because he quickly elaborates. “Tell me about your decisions and I’ll tell you what I think. I’m old and therefore wise.” He chuckles like he’s making a joke, but I do believe he’s the wisest of all New Yorkers, and he’s my friend. The angel that sits on the opposite shoulder from my devil. A devil that suspiciously looks more and more like Marco Mancini.

“Well, I don’t want to shock you. My life isn’t exactly pure and angelic.” A smile forms at the corners of my lips, imagining how outraged Mr. Bobby would be if he knew what I do for a living.

“Sweet, sweet, child. I have seen too many things in this lifetime to be shocked about any of it. There’s absolutely nothing you can say that would change my opinion of you.” I can hear him taking another sip and for a moment I consider that maybe… just maybe… I could confide in him.

“Centuries of societal norms say otherwise.” Pretty much sums it all up.

“All right, then. Let’s pretend I don’t know that you’re not a… what’s that you call it? A life coach?” My eyes were beginning to droop from the sheer fatigue of my last two days. Or two months. Hell, maybe I’m just exhausted from the last eight years. But his comment gives me a shot of adrenaline throughout my entire body. Lifting my head from his shoulder, I look up at him and try to read his features. He’s completely stoic, his eyes staring straight ahead, his mouth an unwavering line. Until, that is, he turns slightly in my direction and raises a brow.