9. Cassie
9
CASSIE
It’s dark when I wake, but my mind is full of last night.
All of it. Every embarrassing mistake is technicolour in my poor brain. I wish I had amnesia. In fact, I am not ruling that out as a strategy. Because not only am I in my boss’ bed wearing nothing but his shirt, I am not sure where he is. Tentatively, I feel around me. Nothing. I open my eyes, and they gradually adjust to the low light. I pick out shapes in grey against the black.
I asked my boss to take my virginity .
And he said, no .
Oh god. How am I ever going to face him again? I’ve never had a morning after the night before, but I feel confident this level of embarrassment could be the end of me. He made me orgasm, sure, but he’s not in bed with me, is he?
Crap.
That lie about him being my boyfriend is enough to make me crease like a soda can in absolute cringe. And my kind boss went along with it. And the condoms. Strawberry flavour ribbed condoms.
I press my head into the pillow.
I’m going to go to a hypnotist and have them remove these memories. Admittedly, that would get rid of the magical part when Vito made me come, but… Okay, instead could I learn hypnotism and make my boss forget?
Ughhh…
Sitting gingerly up, I look around the room. It takes me a second to see Mr Blackwood, sprawled in a chair. He has his long legs stretched out, casually crossed at the ankle, one hand on his knee and the other draped over the chair arm, and his head thrown back. His eyes are closed and his long dark lashes fan onto his cheeks and he’s breathing deep and even. Every line of him is like a sleeping panther.
I’ll let fate decide. If I can leave without him waking, I will. If he opens his eyes, I’ll stay and face the most awkward conversation since Noah had to deal with the gay King Penguins boarding his arc.
In the darkness, I creep to where I left my dress, bra, purse, and shoes. I flush when I think of my white cotton knickers discarded somewhere downstairs.
It’s a physical ache to unbutton Vito’s shirt and push it from my shoulders. It smells like him: citrus and sandalwood. I take a long sniff before I hang it next to his jacket.
My dress is still a bit sticky and artificial smelling compared to the delicate, sophisticated scent of Vito’s shirt. Instantly I’m less comfortable.
Gah. Welcome to the rest of your life, Cassie . Nothing will ever be as good as Vito’s hands on me.
I look at my sleeping boss, and even in the dark, he’s as beautiful as ever.
My feet take me to his side, to watch him like the psycho I am.
“’Bye,” I breathe, and allow myself the indulgence of touching my lips to his cheek in the ghost of a kiss.
I’m almost disappointed he doesn’t wake. But this is the right thing. Admittedly, also the cowardly thing, but trying the patience of mafia bosses is not something people who want to live do.
It takes me a couple of wrong turns through his enormous house, but eventually I make it downstairs into the hallway. Has my heart always been this loud? The sounds of the city are very faint, and my footsteps echo as I walk to the front door where we entered.
It’s only as I try the handle that I realise my stupid error. This is the house of a mafia boss. Of course, the door is locked.
But as I glance across at the window and consider climbing out of it, there’s a whirr and snick, and as though this is a fairy castle keen to eject its unwelcome guest, the door swings open.
I blink. How…?
Must be on a motion sensor of some kind, and anyone inside is allowed out. Maybe a fire safety thing?
I step into the cool, fragrant night air, and drag it into my lungs in a shaky gasp. I’ve left. I don’t have to face my boss’ kind brush-off in the morning, or do my first walk of shame in the daylight.
Pulling out my phone, I order an Uber as I walk to the front gate—also open. I don’t even have to wait, as there’s one available just around the corner and a sleek black SUV pulls up at the curb almost as soon as I’ve pressed the button.
The driver is an older woman with a polite smile, but even so, I feel worse and worse as the distance increases between Vito and me. Guilt and regret curdle in my stomach. I’m not even sure about what. Last night? Or leaving like a little thief?
But this is the right thing to do. I’m saving both Mr Blackwood and me a lot of discomfort in the morning.
I keep telling myself that, all the way home, and in bed when I can’t sleep.
I’m brave. I can do this.
Or rather, I am fuelled by an obscene number of tubs of ice cream, some tears, and pecking out a resignation letter, an apology, a love letter, a horny confession, and finally another resignation letter.
The weekend was exceptionally long and miserable.
Vito didn’t message. He didn’t call.
I should have stayed for the humiliation of him being awake in the morning, because between soggy tissues and ill-fated writings where I said all the things I didn’t know I felt, I realised I’ve fallen in love with my boss.
This weekend he didn’t make any demands of work I should do, and I missed that. I need his attention more than orgasms, but I’m also strong enough to be honest: I made a fool of myself on Friday night, and there isn’t any option but to move on, tend my broken heart so he doesn’t realise I ever gave it to him.
Because however kind he is, he’s my boss, a billionaire, and cared for me in a fatherly way last night. I think.
The signed resignation letter is tucked into my handbag as I enter work on Monday morning. Mr Blackwood’s door is closed, and his secretary isn’t in yet, and I tell myself this is fine. Vito probably won’t be in for hours, and I have time to compose myself.
My office phone rings before I’ve sat down, and my pulse spikes. It’s still early. There’s only one person who calls outside of office hours.
“Hello.” My voice quivers as I answer, and my arm isn’t steady holding the receiver.
“Come to my office, Miss Meadows.”
My throat goes dry, and I fail comprehensively to say anything.
“Now.” Then he puts the phone down before my powers of speech return.
Snatching up my bag, I hurry to Mr Blackwood’s door.
Oh god I am not ready for this.
There are prickles behind my eyes as I knock. I don’t even understand Mr Blackwood’s answer—it’s just his customary bark—but I walk in with as much dignity as I can muster, and pin a smile on my face.
“Good morning, Mr Blackwood.” My smile falters as I take him in. He looks tired, and all of his forty years. His usual pristine blue shirt is rumpled, and despite it being first thing in the morning he’s not wearing a tie, or a jacket. There are dark circles under his eyes as though he slept about as much as I did this weekend, and he’s scowling. The personal raincloud is back, hovering six inches above his head.
He’s beautiful.
Seeing Vito again after thinking of him all weekend turns my brain into a bowl of soggy breakfast cereal, but the milk in this analogy is hormones, and cereal is longing. That makes no sense, but I am not logical. It’s all I can do to not throw myself onto my boss’ desk and beg him incoherently to call me his good girl again.
“Close the door, Miss Meadows,” he says, low and deep.
The snick of the catch is loud in the otherwise silent room. We’re the only people on this floor, probably in the whole building. My shoes tap as I walk over to his desk with more confidence than I feel, my heart trying to vibrate out of my chest.
“What’s this?” he asks as I place the letter on his desk.
I press my lips together and link my fingers in a death grip behind my back.
He reaches one big, dark hand across the shiny wood and pulls the single sheet towards him and all I can do is remember how that hand felt on me as he bows his head to read. How he clasped me to him, and played my body as though it was an instrument tuned perfectly to him. How he made me feel special and wanted and whispered in Italian as I broke apart from his touch.
A sob rises in my throat as his brows lower further and further. I’ve ruined everything with my ridiculous lie about him being my boyfriend. I could have just adored him from my office next door if I hadn’t been so stupid.
He tosses the resignation letter away and it floats to the floor, catching under my toes.
Raising his eye line, he shakes his head. His blue eyes are hard as glass. “No. I’m not accepting your resignation.”
“But—”
“I’ll make you co-CEO.”
I gape like a fish.
He shrugs one careless shoulder at my unspoken question. “Name your price for staying and working with me. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen. But you are not leaving.”
Will my mouth ever close again? Doubtful. I’m so shocked I am full meme territory. This isn’t going how I thought it would.
He leans forward, bracing his hands on the desk. “Why did you describe me when you talked about your boyfriend?”
Because I’ve been thinking about you since we met. Because there’s something about you that compels me . Because I think I love you, and on Friday night when you were so kind to me I think I fell …
Oh crap. I love him. I really, really love him.
I cannot say that.
“Why did you go along with it?” I whisper miserably. I still don’t understand that. He’s always cross with me. What made him suddenly change? Why did he have to be so good that my respect and physical attraction deepened into love?
He laughs cynically. “Ah, si.”
Standing, he paces back and forth, and I watch, my heart in my throat. I don’t know why.
He stops as abruptly as he began, and turns those violently blue eyes on me.
“I went along with it because I love you.”
What? My chin jerks up.
“I said you were my fiancée because I want that more than anything else in the world,” he continues matter of factly. “Except perhaps, for you to be my wife.”
I’m struck dumb. Am I hallucinating?
“I’d do anything for you. I can’t resist you.”
“That’s not possible,” I say faintly.
He raises one, familiarly wry, eyebrow. “I assure you it is, amore mio dolce.”
“But you’re always so critical of me.”
“What?” He steps back as though I’ve struck him. “When?”
Heat flushes up my neck. I’m an idiot. “Nothing.”
“ When ?” he repeats more firmly.
“You criticise my posture,” I mutter.
He creases his face in confusion. “I tell you to sit up straight because I don’t want you to get back ache.”
“You chastise me for snacking at my desk.”
“You need to take breaks.” He takes a step towards me, eyes softening. “You deserve to have a proper break.”
“ Do you really need another mint, Miss Meadows ,” I mimic, and he shakes his head.
“Sugar between meals is bad for your teeth.”
He has a point on that. I am a sugar addict. “And the sandwiches you objected to?”
“That is not food.” Vito’s expression is affronted. “I lived in Italy for twenty years. If you want bread, it should be of excellent quality. The sort of food to give you a long, wonderful, healthy life. Not cheap packaged sandwiches.”
Have I misinterpreted everything about this situation?
“You told me off for fidgeting.”
“Because I wanted you to be taken seriously by the rest of the team, as you deserve to be, and it made you appear nervous.” His voice has gentled too, and he’s standing right in front of me now.
I sway towards him, drawn in by his magnetic pull.
“Everything I said, I said out of love. Because I adore you, and I want you to be healthy and happy until at least a hundred so the world can have the blessing of you in it. And me. I want you in my life forever, and the thought of you having a bad back is unbearable to me. What else have I growled at you about, amore mio dolce?” His mouth twitches with a tug of amusement.
“You snapped at me for working late when it was you who insisted I redo all the numbers and so I had to stay late,” I add. Final damning evidence.
I didn’t mind the late night with him, but did he really have to be mean about it?
The laughter drops from his face, and he looks down at me with something like regret.
“Forgive me.” He reaches out and brushes his knuckles over my cheek then rests there, blunt fingers on my jaw, stroking his thumb on my face. “I needed to see you. I craved being with you. I was out of my mind, and the only way I could think of for us to spend time together was to give you more work. But I also knew that you had to go home, and rest, and not be with me because you’re my employee and I’m a grizzled kingpin old enough to be your father. I was trying to care for you the way you deserve.”
Oh my heart. Is he going to continue saying things like this? I feel like my life has just been upgraded to First Class where I expected Economy.
“I don’t care about your age. In fact, I…” Am I really going to confess that his grey hair and air of authority turn me on?
“Continue,” he murmurs, sliding his other hand over my hip as he pushes his fingers into my hair to hold my head still.
“I like it,” I admit. “I like that you’re older and experienced. And you’re my boss.”
“Does it make you hot to have your older boss wrapped around your little finger?” He pulls me to him and the hardness of his erection presses into my belly, making excitement spiral through me. “I like that too, but if you’d prefer, you can be my barefoot, pregnant wife.”
“Vito…” I breathe, and reach for him, looping my wrists at the back of his neck and standing on tiptoe.
“Now tell me, Miss Meadows.” His voice drops to a hoarse whisper, and he leans down so our mouths are almost touching. “Tell me why you described me when you talked about your boyfriend.”
“Because I wanted it to be true,” I whisper, gazing into his blue eyes that are sparkling sapphires.
I only get a glimpse of his smile before he gathers me to him, his lips find mine, and he’s kissing me.
And all my fears dissolve with the strength of how he holds me, and how right he feels. His grip tightens in my hair, shooting pinpricks of pain into my scalp that far from hurting, enhance the pleasure of his mouth.
Vito’s passion matches my own. I try to climb him like the big dark cloud leading to heaven that he is. His kiss is bruising, powerful, and yet also sweet, even as he pulls me closer and closer, as though trying to meld us together.
“Mine. Cassie, I need you.” He lifts me off my feet and carries me easily backwards until my bottom hits his solid desk. “You’re mine, and I must have you. It’s already been too long.”
He pushes my cardigan off my shoulders as he kisses my neck, sending delicious shivers down my back.
“Bella. I’ve been dreaming of this, Cassie.”
I’m so drunk on him that I don’t protest as he tosses my purse aside and removes my clothes piece by piece, exploring with his hands and murmuring Italian words that sound like praise and appreciation as he presses his mouth to every revealed patch of skin. Nope, I revel in it. I arch and squirm and when he gets to my bra, I’m not even embarrassed by how large they are because he groans and cups both my breasts. And with his big hands on them, they don’t look too big, they look just right. Then I look on, entranced, as he lowers his head and sucks one nipple into his mouth. The flare of pleasure pulls a cry from me, and he responds with a purr of delight.
He runs his hands down my sides until he gets to my trousers, which he undoes with indecent haste. And I help him. I don’t point out that we’re in his office, with the sun rising over London and the enormous windows letting in creamy morning light and that other staff could arrive, knock on the door, and enter at any moment. I just give in to whatever my boss wants, and apparently that’s to undress and greedily touch every part of me.
I don’t even care when after he slides my knickers off, I’m totally naked and he’s still fully dressed, his only bare skin the triangle revealed by his undone collar and his strong forearms framed by rolled-up sleeves.
“Here.” He crowds me against the desk, grabbing my thighs and lifting me while distracting me with a deep kiss.
There’s a crash.
I turn just in time to see him sweeping everything off his desk, including a very expensive computer.
“Vito!” He takes my hands from where I’m holding his shoulders and lays me back. “What about?—”
“Doesn’t matter.” He’s on his knees, gripping my thigh and throwing it over his shoulder, before I can say more, his mouth is licking up my sex. I cry out, putty in his hands. “Fucking delicious,” he tells me before licking me as though it’s his religion.
I close my eyes and give in. I haven’t touched myself all weekend. Since he made me come the urge has awakened, tingling even as I’ve been sad. But all that has been washed away and all that’s left is sheer need.
“Give it to me.” The demand is muffled by the fact he doesn’t move his lips from my folds. “Come for me.”
I nod frantically, even though Vito has his head between my legs, and can’t see. He’s licking with an intensity I’d have never believed if you’d told me only a few days ago. I need this man, and he needs me. My body knows this feeling now, and reaches for it, or rather, accepts what he pushes me into. Pleasure.
His tongue is different from his fingers from the other night, softer but no less determined. More so, perhaps, because he doesn’t ease me into this slowly as he did on Friday night. It’s a chase, and he’s powerful and quick. I’m no match for him, and I claw at the table as the pressure mounts faster than I could have believed.
“Vito,” I choke out. “I’m going to…”
“Now.” He shoves a finger into my passage, and I scream. I split on that finger, my orgasm shuddering through me, the light of morning staining my eyelids and refusing to be dark as I convulse.
“That’s it. Good girl.” His voice rumbles into my bones as he eases me down from the peak. “Amore mio dolce.”
“What does that mean?” I ask as I open my eyes. I gasp as I find him over me, his wet tongue replaced with the shift of his fine fabric hips on my inner thighs.
“My sweet love.” He has his hands on either side of my head, and when he rocks against me his erection rubs hard over my clit, causing heat to flare up again. “It means my sweet love.”
His sweet love? The endearment soaks into my skin, seeping into my heart. He called me that plenty of times on Friday. It feels warm and true.
Holding himself effortlessly on one hand, he reaches down and in seconds has freed his cock. Framed by his clothes, it’s intimidating. Long and thick, with a vein pulsing and a bead of moisture on the tip that makes my mouth water.
And makes me tremble with both need and something like fear.
He’s huge.
He angles his length and touches that throbbing, silky tip to where I’m aching for him.
“I need you now.”
I nod eagerly. This is all my dreams come true. He wants me. He’s turned on, and while he was a gentleman on Friday night, today he’s feral. The evidence of his desire slowly breaches me, stealing my breath.
“That’s it,” he murmurs and lowers to press a kiss to my mouth. “Take my cock. Take it all.”
Grabbing his shoulders, his muscles are warm and firm beneath my fingers as the sharp pinch eases, until he pushes again, and it hurts in the best way as he opens me up.
“You’re being such a good girl for me.”
“Make me yours,” I plead against his lips, grappling with him, holding his shoulders and wrapping my legs around his waist until I realise leaving them wider gets him deeper. I don’t care that it stings. I need him inside me. I want to be filled by him. “Please, Vito. Please.”
“I’m going to look after you so well. You’ll be utterly delirious with pleasure every moment of your life.” He withdraws and slides back in, filling me even more. I’m stretched, and my god he’s so big. I love it.
“Hush, hush. Breathe. You have to breathe through it.” Vito strokes my cheek and it’s only then I hear the unearthly noise from my throat. “Nearly there. I’ve got you.”
Another withdrawal and I miss him immediately, but then the swollen head of his cock is at my entrance, and he feels so good as he drives far deeper this time. Until I can feel him under my ribs, and he pulls me up, wrapping one arm around my waist and the other my shoulders and kissing me so my head is forced back by his assault. His thick, long cock is wedged right in, and his hips are flush with mine, our chests pressed together from pelvis to neck.
“That’s it, amore mio dolce,” he murmurs against my lip. “That’s it. You have everything now. Such a good girl. You’ve done it.”
Then, he begins to move, holding me to him. I dig my fingers into the muscles on either side of his spine, because he feels incredible. He kisses me dominantly, his tongue in my mouth, as he starts slow. His hips piston forward and backwards with more speed, spiralling the pleasure higher with every movement of his hardness into where I’m soft to receive him.
His chest is pressed into mine, and just his hips are moving, him thrusting into me with a solid rhythm as he groans and shakes. This is the most intimate thing I’ve ever done in my life.
“You feel so good.”
I haven’t got the voice to reply. He’s overwhelming. Pleasure swirls where we join. Each stroke of his body into mine feels like we’re more together. More in sync. He moves like he can’t get close enough.
I press my face into his neck, the dark stubble rough on my lips as I kiss him. My legs wrapped around him, I inhale his citrus and man scent, and wriggle my hips to try to get him deeper.
“Are you close to coming again?” he pants into my neck, sounding a bit on edge.
“I don’t think so,” I confess in a whisper. I didn’t think women came just from sex? Those memes show women as really complicated, and while this is delicious and tingly and wonderful, it’s not the same tension as when Vito made me come. “But you take what you need. Come inside me.”
He groans incoherently, and then sucks in air, drawing back and looking me in the eyes. My in-control boss is back. “That won’t do, Cassie. I need you to come on my cock, even if it takes until the sun sets. I’ll wait, and fuck you until then.”
“But I’m good! I’ve already come!” I protest as he peels my hands off his back and lays me back onto the desk, spread out, and the cool air hits my nipples, making them pinch.
“I won’t breed you until you come for me.”