Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
ENZO
Oh. Shit. Is that Lola?
I just got home from the bar, and holy fuck, what a view.
I'm so glad I decided to come here tonight and haven't turned on the lights.
Having a place in Park Slope, I spend most of my time there, but since taking over Barwon, I have taken advantage of this place occasionally.
I had fun with Vi and Cade.
The fucker wanted to see Lola. Hell, Vi wanted to see her, and she judged her worthy, but the look on Violet's face...
I grimace.
It said she wasn't sure if I was worthy.
"Not about worthiness on either side," I repeat to myself the words I said to her and her stupid soft heart and romantic notions.
I mean, shit, I always knew Cade had a soft center, one surrounded by kickass hardness. But I don't. And I'm not looking for a thing.
This is not anything like a romance.
Of course, I didn't tell either of them about Alex and Lola's flirting, which has gotten deliciously out of hand.
Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with soft feelings. Any I had are long gone.
Sex is where it's at, and I'm not planning to do anything but look and flirt.
Harmless.
I lean back in the rich leather that is dark wine color. Old school, probably timeless, and utterly my fucking father.
This room is the only one that reflects his personality. It is big enough that he can have a few cronies in here to smoke cigars, talk crimes and money, and who they are going to destroy next or take over.
But Dad usually uses this for other purposes when he needs to, and he has found it handy to have a Manhattan townhouse that can host myriad people who might want somewhere to stay in New York.
I do know Lyndall has eyed this place, but she is a kid, and she is with Dad, probably arguing about going back to school until the end of the semester.
Scratch that. They are probably arguing over her staying at his place during the break.
She hates it. So does he, but he forces her anyway.
When I have time, Lyndall often stays with me during those breaks.
And guilt aside for not having more time in my life, I have her over as often as I can.
It pisses me the fuck off that this man, who people fall over themselves to impress—someone I once fell over myself to impress—can sail through life ignoring those who should be important.
He would fucking oust me for doing half the shit I do.
He would definitely cut me off in every way if he knew I was dabbling in Lola Mancini waters.
He won't even mention her father.
I'm betting he fucking danced the day he heard Mancini had killed himself.
I pick up my scotch and sip it, flipping to the next screen on my computer that is on my lap.
The only reason I even keep things quiet and away from Lyndall is that if Dad found out I was in contact with Lola, had protected her over the years, and was doing the same now, he would make sure I never saw Lyndall again.
The fucker would use her as a pawn and make her life so miserable I would die a little inside. Maybe a whole lot.
Fuck.
I look at my phone, which hasn't lit up after my last text to Lola before she left the bar.
There are a few houses around here that have swimming pools, but I was hoping and praying she would come here.
There was a chance she wouldn't. A chance she would pick another house or even chicken out.
But here she is...
I'm in the shadows, looking through the window, and my body is reacting just as if I were right next to her.
"Real caveman there," I mutter. "Call HR and report yourself, Enzo."
By the grand scheme of things, what I do and have done is so G-rated, so tiny it shouldn't make me tremble and hold my breath. It shouldn't make my dick hard and my temperature rise. And it shouldn't make every second I watch her so full of anticipation.
Because sure, she might run any second, but I shouldn't be on the metaphorical edge of my fucking seat.
She swims back and forth, looking around every few seconds.
And I follow her from side to side, wanting to be right there with her.
Me
I'm betting you're on the train, heading home.
She jumps, looking at the bag she left by the poolside, and swims toward it, taking out her phone.
Lola
Ha! I'm having a blast swimming.
Me
I don't believe you.
She holds her phone away from her and takes a photo.
Me
All I can see is your head. How can I be sure you are fully complying with the dare requirements?
Lola
I'm not taking a picture of me naked. You will just have to believe me.
Me
Then you have to show me something other than just your head. As far as I know, you just got inside fully dressed, took a picture, and left.
Lola
Maybe you will get lucky later and I'll decide to take another, but for now, that's all you get.
I don't need another picture to get any proof. I can see she is naked. Besides, I have cameras focused on the pool, and I already know I will be watching all the footage later, but for now I watch her in the flesh. And again, the urge to step outside and join her overwhelms me.
My heart leaps and spins as she swims to the pool bar, reaches inside, and takes out a bottle of hazelnut liqueur and a glass.
She fills it with the horribly sweet liquid, downing it. She shudders, shrugs, and fills it up again.
I stay quiet and still. I need her to think she is here alone, that she can do what she wants.
Lola's eyes keep scanning the yard as she takes her glass and sets it down on the edge of the pool.
She lies down in the water and starts floating.
I take a chance and silently slide the window less than an inch open. Just enough that I can hear her splashing around.
I can't see her face at the moment, but I catch the moment when she sighs. "This is the life."
If only.
I love my place in Park Slope, but while it is nice, it is also a world away from this. From the basement and the waiting room down there, to the kitchen and then up to my bedroom, it is a timeless modern. But this is nice enough as well, I guess, even if it is not home for me.
Then she gets back up, and my mind goes blank.
She is gorgeous.
Her hair now running down her back, a wild and determined light in her eyes, water drops down her shoulders and collarbones.
My cock gets harder, and I'm thinking I'm gonna need the shower attached to this room.
Shit.
And there is a moment of disappointment when she submerges to her shoulders again. She swims to the edge of the pool and picks up her phone again.
She snaps a photo.
Lola
I better not get caught.
I study the photo. I can see that cleavage I have seen before and the bare shoulders.
Me
You won't. Still can't tell if you're naked or just teasing me.
She giggles.
Lola
I told you, I'm not giving you proof by taking a picture of me fully naked.
Me
Spoilsport.
Lola
Perv.
She drops the phone and goes under before stepping out of the pool.
My mouth dries up as she gets out, water streaming from her, and holy fucking hell. Her nipples are calling for me, and if I pan down, the lips of her waxed pussy—
"Oh, my God." I breathe the words, not quite daring to stroke my cock because I'm pretty fucking sure if I do, it will be over in seconds.
Lola is Venus in my backyard.
She walks to the edge at the deeper end of the pool and then plunges.
When she resurfaces, she smiles and moves in the water, which makes the view of her delicious body muddy at best.
She swims back to where her phone is, picks it up, and poses.
My Alex phone buzzes.
It is ambiguous, and it is full body...full body in the water, and though I can't see much at all, it is perfect. It is clickbait, it is crack. It is a teaser I will be front row and center when the full show is released.
Her face is a little pale, and it hits me.
She is unsure.
But her fingers slide over her screen, and the Alex phone buzzes once more.
Lola
Your turn.
Me
A photo?
Lola
Yes, dumbass. A photo.
For a moment, I think about being cute, sending a photo of my shoes, but who the fuck knows if she paid attention to what I was wearing at the office?
Instead, I strip down to my boxers, then I slide them off, my dick springing out, hard, dripping pre-cum, my balls aching for release.
I go to the closest bathroom, the most generic room. Angling the phone, I keep my head out, making sure not one speck of my distinctive tattoo shows.
It is a computer code and thorns design, a stupid thing I got done when I was eighteen, that coils around my left bicep.
The photo is of my torso, pubis, the beginnings of my cock but not enough to be totally obscene. It is generic enough that if it gets out, someone who knows me very intimately and very well just might be able to recognize me if they are lucky.
I send it to her.
As I reach the window, I note she is blushing, and she is so fucking cute I could come without touching myself.
Cute doesn't usually do it for me. But then again, my tastes run more to the statuesque Ruby than Lola. Usually.
It seems my life has turned into a host of unusual.
The fact I shouldn't be doing this barely registers.
I don't give a fuck about the right thing and the wrong thing when it comes to pleasure. Or getting a job done. Well, maybe with certain morals.
I don't care about laws.
But this?
I will make exceptions for any questionable morals with this.
Lola
I'm certainly wet now...
Little fucking minx.
I go back to the bathroom and turn on the surveillance monitor we have hidden behind the mirror. Then, I turn on the shower, and angle the screen so I can see her, bringing her into tighter focus.
Me
In more ways than one?
Lola splashes up, and I get an eyeful of perfect tits, hard nipples, rose-red areolae, and fuck, do I want to suck, lick, and kiss those soft mounds.
She is not stacked, but she doesn't need to be. Tits like hers are just delicious, and I want them.
Now.
No. I want them as my hand slides beneath the water to stroke between her thighs, testing just how hot she is inside...
Shit.
Lola
I'm in the water.
Me
Did the act of getting naked make you wet? Or was it the sight of me?
Lola