21. When in doubt, call him “Daddy”
TWENTY-ONE
WHEN IN DOUBT, CALL HIM “DADDY”
I imagined him.
I did not just come in front of my boss.
This is not happening.
There is a ten per cent chance my imagination conjured him up. Okay, maybe just a two per cent chance.
I groan.
Fuck , I’m so getting fired.
I scramble from my place on the couch to close the curtains, and sure enough, Lino’s just entering his house, the porch light illuminating his dishevelled hair, like he’s run it through his fingers too many times.
I never thought he’d be in the garden at night, never mind close to the place I’ve called my home for the past three months. There isn’t any logical reason for him to be here. Unless he wanted to talk about the workshop. I’ve come to know Lino well over the past few months and he thrives on knowing what to expect. What happened at the workshop is not what he expected.
Before I can think too much about it, I put on a long black knitted cardigan that covers me to the knees over my threadbare pink hand-me-down cotton nightgown and walk to the front door of the main house. I don’t want the children to wake up, so I use my keys and let myself in.
The living room and open kitchen lights are off. I was hoping they wouldn’t be. I tread carefully to the office, but the door is open and once again, no lights are on. The only light comes from upstairs, radiating an orange glow like a beacon. And like a moth to a flame, I follow.
I’ve never been to Lino’s bedroom. The door is always closed and I have no reason to enter. My brain has clearly left the building because, despite all the signals telling me I should be anywhere but near my boss’s bedroom, I push the ajar door open.
Lino’s naked chest greets me as I take him in. He’s… magnificent. Hard muscles dusted with salt and pepper chest hair, a commanding presence with his clear-rimmed glasses sitting on his high nose as he reads a book. His legs disappear under a thin beige sheet.
A floorboard creeks underneath my feet and I have no time to move, to flee. Lino’s head snaps up and his eyes widen but he’s quick to react while I’m frozen in place. He gets up and marches up to me, pyjamas pants that look so soft, hanging low on his hips. He pulls me into the room and closes the door. My back hits the wood with a soft thud.
“What the hell are you doing here? Do you realise what it would look like if Anton or Livia saw you?”
Lino never swears. ‘Hell’ isn’t that bad, yet it’s a good indication of his state of mind. I instantly regret coming here, though a small part of me is delighted that I’m the reason for his loss of control, which I decide to ignore. I can blame my sex-craved brain and heightened emotions due to what transpired tonight.
“I… I’m sorry. I thought… You…” I can’t fucking put a sentence together like a pathetic groupie. Taking a deep breath in, I square my shoulders before grabbing the bull by the horns. I came here to set the record straight, so that’s what I need to do. “I thought you’d want to clear the air. After… Well, after you crashed my workshop, then watched me come like a peeping Tom.”
We’re so close there’s barely any air circulating between us, and I feel it. Every breath I take is more shallow, more difficult. It doesn’t help that I can smell his cologne or see his perfect body, even as my eyes stay fixed on his.
He scoffs. “A peeping Tom? It’s my home, is it not?”
“Are you really gonna play this card, Lino?”
He moves forward. How is it possible to be so close and yet not touch? “Oh, it’s Lino now. What happened to ‘Mr Marquesi’?” His taunts stroke the indignation inside me, and I throw caution to the wind. If he wants to be an asshole, I don’t have to treat him any better.
“You tying me up then catching me at my most vulnerable grants me the right to your name, Lino .”
He makes a sound in his throat, half frustrated sigh, half groan. It’s giving me whiplash. I’d love to take a step back, to clearly explain I just need this job and tonight will never happen again, but I have nowhere to go. He’s caging me in with his body. And I don’t want to move.
“You didn’t hide,” he says, his voice a low whisper that sends a shiver down my spine, his eyes starting an inferno of heat on my skin.
“What?”
“You didn’t hide when I caught you at your most vulnerable, Vanessa .” My name rolls on his tongue like he’s savouring a delicacy. His left hand lifts and hovers over my cheek in an absent caress I can feel all the way to my toes.
“Tell me, zitella , did you imagine it was my fingers in your pretty pussy?”
Words melt on my tongue, my thoughts fading to dust as sensations take over. The logical reason for my presence in his room evaporates with my pride, and I breathe the truth. “Yes.”
His eyelids flutter close, his body taunt with restraint, but when he opens them again, his eyes light up with resolve and steel, the grey turning gunmetal and pulling me under. Lino lifts a hand to my jaw, his fingers resting on the side of my neck that feels too warm, his thumb gently caressing my cheek, coaxing my blood to the surface of my skin. I barely breathe as the digit traces a path to my lips, then moves back and forth with agonising slowness.
“I know, zitella . Because it’s my name you called when you came all over your hand.”
Wetness pools at my core and he’s barely touching me, setting me on fire with mere words. I burn with the need to plaster myself to him, to push this connection further. It’s been so long since anyone touched me so reverently. The power is heady and I succumb.
I stand on my toes and press my lips to his. Tentatively at first. Then, when his hand moves to land at my nape, it spurs me on. My tongue traces his lips, and his hand tightens in a fist in my loose hair. I moan as he opens for me, tasting a faint trace of alcohol on his tongue, the menthol of mouthwash and something distinctively him. It’s warm like cinnamon, delicious and decadent.
My breasts press against his chest and I wish I was naked too so I could feel the heat of his body without any barrier between us. As his other hand settles on my hip and clutches me to him, mine link around his neck, grasping soft locks of dark brown hair. His hard cock strains against my stomach and I moan at the feel of him, at knowing I have that power over him. That I’m not alone in my delirious want.
I lose myself in the heat of the moment, in the perfect softness of his lips that clashes with the ruthlessness of his kiss. He invades my space, my senses, and dominates me with every lash of his tongue and nip of his teeth.
My lips feel swollen when his head dips down so he can create a trail of open-mouth kisses on my neck. My eyes flutter close as I tilt my head to give him better access. I’ll let him devour me whole. As long as he keeps making me feel alive, as long as the need pulsates in between my legs.
“Lino,” I moan. I’m not sure what I’m pleading for, but he knows. He pushes a thick thigh in between my legs, giving friction to my swollen clit. I whimper, and the hand that held my head lands on my mouth. My eyes open wide and the smirk on Lino’s face is blinding.
“Be quiet for me, zitella .”
I nod.
Even if I could speak, I wouldn’t be able to. All my cognitive functions are focused on Lino and the pleasure he’s wringing from me. Nothing else matters but making him proud, and getting rid of that nasty ache that keeps building at the apex of my thighs.
I give a slow roll of my hips. My eyes roll back as pleasure sparks against my pussy. I bite down on my lip under his hand to stave off the cry that wants to escape.
“That’s it. Be quiet and take what I give you.” Lino’s voice is barely above a whisper, but I can almost taste the darkness in his words. He’s getting high on the control he has over my body and I, on letting him do whatever he wants to me.
When I look up at him, his eyes keep darting between my face and my panties. I’m sure he can feel how wet I am through the thin fabric. I’m making a mess of his pyjama pants but I don’t give a shit. His lips part in what looks like awe as he watches, attentive to my every reaction.
I pick up my pace and he helps with a heavy hand on my hips. I’m panting, my chest heaving, my body heated. Lino removes his hand from my mouth to place it at the base of my throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just rests it there, the tips of his fingers at my pulse point, obviously feeling how erratic my heartbeat is.
His lips are tipped up into a lopsided grin as he whispers against my mouth, “Come on, zitella , make a mess of me.”
“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?