“Marco, this is Mr. Langley, the lawyer.” The bald-headed lawyer stands and holds his arm out to shake hands with Marco, both giving each other a light nod as they do. His glasses rest on the tip of his bulbous nose like an old school teacher.
“Welcome, Mr. Langley. This is River Fox.” Marco gestures to me, and Mr. Langley’s eyebrows raise slightly, as if he’s surprised to see me.
The nerves I was feeling before all come flooding back, but I do my usual, sliding my mask into place as I politely shake his hand with a smile.
“Grazie, Enzo. You may go, call me with any updates.”
The tall man doesn’t speak as he leaves, he doesn’t even look my way. I don’t think he even looked at me once, the whole time. Rude much?
“River, sit.”
Oh my fucking good God. Does this man have no limits?
“I’m not a dog, Marco,” I mutter just loud enough for him to hear as he stands beside me.
He sighs before placing a hand on my lower back and pushing me toward the large chair behind the fancy mahogany desk, his other hand on my hip. Just as I think he’s about to sit me down in what is obviously his chair, he sits himself, and pulls me onto him. He holds me there with one hand resting on my stomach, and the other on my thigh.
Completely inappropriate for this kind of meeting, but again I’m thankful for the distraction for what I know is about to be a difficult conversation.
“Mr. Langley, please begin.” Marco rubs small circles on my thigh with his thumb and fingers, and I feel like I’m holding it all together really fucking well right now.
I want to fight him and push him away from me. I want to avoid this conversation forever and a day. I want to erase the last year of my life and make new decisions. But then, I wouldn’t be me.
The universe only deals out what it thinks someone can handle.
Though, I’m beginning to think the universe has misjudged me completely.
* * *
The note from Mr. Bobby that the lawyer handed over is staring up at me from the desk in front of us. Mr. Langley left a few minutes ago, and the office has been silent since. I’m in shock more than anything. The little Mr. Bobby had—his apartment and everything inside it—has been left to me, and his funeral is already paid for. He bought himself a plot next to his wife so they could be together in the afterlife.
All I have to do is agree to the date for the funeral and turn up on the day. But I can’t leave it at that. Mr. Bobby deserves more than just me at his funeral. I need to do more for him.
My mind is swirling with sadness, regret, guilt, and I want to curl up in a ball and feel sorry for myself for a while.
“Dolcezza?”
Shit. I forgot he was there. Fuck knows how. I guess his small distractions have actually been a strange kind of comfort, allowing me to feel relaxed even though I want to break.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. I’m working now. I’m being paid to do a job, and I’m thinking of the big picture.
I stand and turn to face Marco, sliding my hands down his shirt-covered chest, across his stomach, over his tenting pants, squeezing his thighs. I’m ready to get on my knees and allow myself to forget all the shit going on and just concentrate on doing what I do well.
Marco has other ideas. His eyes turn feral, his scowl full of desire as he grabs my hips and places my ass on the desk in front of him.
I’m getting fucking sick of people turning me down when I’m trying to forget my own mind. Leaning back on the desk, resting on my palms, I look to the ceiling, exasperated at the situation.
A low growl brings my attention back to Marco, and he grabs my knees, roughly spreading my legs in front of him.
Okay, so, I’m not being turned down. I smile at him, a real, genuine smile as I lean forward and place my hands on either side of his chiseled face, pulling his lips to mine for a rushed kiss with all the tongue. It’s messy, and heated, and full of angry desire.
Marco’s hands roughly massage their way up my bare thighs, pushing my deep-green tea-dress up as he goes. When he reaches my hips, he growls again as he tugs at the waistband of my lace thong.
He leaves my underwear behind as his hands move from my hips, up my sides, his thumbs pressing into my nipples before coming to a stop on either side of my face. With one final, hard suck of my tongue, he pulls away and pushes me backward with a hand on my chest, his fingers against my throat.
I fall back on my elbows as his hands and mouth work their way down my body. He stands from the chair and leans over me, squeezing my breasts in each hand. Sliding my dress down my shoulders, he frees my nipples, immediately taking one into his mouth and biting down hard enough to draw blood. It hurts, but at the same time, he’s moved my thong to the side and is thrusting two fingers inside me, and a breathy scream escapes my throat at the pleasure-pain combination.
“You’re so wet for me.” He stands again, fingers still inside my pussy and his other hand tweaking at my nipple.