Page 4 of Claimed By the Mobster
My girl was reading pure unadulterated smut while sitting opposite me. The book had an older hero and a virgin heroine. Knowing she reads that really doesn’t help the constant hard-on I have when she’s around.
I’m my own worst enemy.
This whole, spending the afternoon together, thing was at my instigation. At first Anwyn arrived just before ten o’clock and went straight to bed. It was good to have her safe under my roof, but far from enough. I suggested hot chocolate, and we stood around in the kitchen drinking it. Soon we were sitting in the library for two hours, spinning out the tepid drinks while we talked. When she accepted biscuits eagerly, I enquired about whether she’d eaten.
Suffice to say I was furious to discover she’d only had a snack since lunchtime. I shouldn’t have demanded she arrive in time for dinner the next week, it was a step too far. But she arrived at seven and a light casual pasta supper the first time turned into three courses with one glass of wine—only ever one—coffee and chocolates afterwards.
“More plant genetics?” I ask as she goes to her usual place—the leather sofa adjacent to my desk.
“Yeah.” She opens a textbook onto her lap. No girl porn reading today, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed. It’s a warm evening and she’s wearing a pair of cut-off denim shorts with a blue T-shirt that matches her eyes.
She’s so adorable my palms itch.
I click my mouse around, pretending to work, as I covertly watch her. Having Anwyn here has the weird effect of relaxing me as well as putting my whole body on high alert. “How did your exam go?”
“I got ninety-two per cent.” She says it cautiously, like that might not be enough, but raises those blue eyes to mine to drown me. “Top of my class.”
Never thought I’d be entranced by a girl half my age, and absolutely never imagined she’d be incredibly smart as well as beautiful.
“Good girl. I’m proud of how hard you worked for that.”
She glows under my praise, shoulders lowering and wriggling into the sofa, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet under her to get comfortable. “Thanks.”
So pretty. I’d love her to snuggle into me like that.
I guess she sees me as a father figure, caring and asking about her work. I even scold her a little when she doesn’t do well on a test because she didn’t spend enough time studying. This dynamic we’ve fallen into is part Sugar Daddy, part friend, a smidge of mentor.
I enjoy all of that. I just wish we could add,lover.Husband.
The time before dinner was introduced by Anwyn, and it has crept up. She used to arrive just before food, letting herself in with the key I gave her. About two months ago I was firefighting a territory issue with Lambeth and couldn’t leave my office. She tiptoed in, and I murmured that she should entertain herself while I finished up. And that’s how we began to spend half of Saturday together.
She studies and I clear some emails for an hour—how mafia bosses still get emails I don’t know. I should just shoot anyone who asks questions I’ve already answered, but I don’t because Westminster has legitimate aspects to the business, pretending to be law-abiding. Can’t murder people; we have to disappear them.
Deniable. Westminster is all about the veneer of respectability over absolute power and wealth. That’s one of many reasons I cannot act on my desire for this young woman.
“Ready to eat?” I ask when a respectable amount of time has elapsed. Anwyn nods eagerly, and I have a sudden vision of her on her knees, eating something else. Taking my cock in her mouth. Heat flares and the thought is closely followed by the image of her on my desk, legs spread, my own personal buffet. I’d gorge myself on her.
What a fuck up. I’m rock-hard from the smallest fantasy of her.
She’s your son’s ex-girlfriend, you arsehole, I remind myself. The dignity of Westminster demands I keep my needs to myself, subtly hiding my erection as I stand.
My chef has excelled herself this evening, and I resolve to give her a raise when Anwyn falls on the aperitifs with a happy sigh and exclamations of how tasty the food is. Now we’re officially not working, she chatters about her week when I prompt her. We eat and talk, and I allow myself to enjoy her company.
This is bad. Painful, in a literal sense because I have to keep my aching cock under the table and away from Anwyn’s curious gaze, when what I really want is her touch.
But it’s only the beginning of my suffering, I’m aware that the worst is yet to come.
Once she leaves in the morning, that’s when the feeling of emptiness sets in. It’ll be a whole week without her before she’s under my roof again, giving me that shy smile, her caramel hair laid on her collarbones and her scent—roses—surrounding me.
It’s once she’s left to return to her student life, young and brimming with potential, that I’m stabbed with how alone I am. My son has turned his back on the mafia. There are my staff around me, but none of them see past the severe looks or the sharp suits. They don’tseeme. Not like she does. I’m utterly alone without her and it’s agony for those hours until the scouring pain eases.
And every Sunday morning, like she’s my fucking religion, it’s the same worship. She says she’ll go. I insist on her eating first. We have breakfast in the light-filled kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar side by side. She talks a lot on Saturday nights, but during our Sunday mornings there’s easy silence, with her stealing glances at me while she nibbles at the croissants and jam that are her favourite. I think it’s comfortable for her, anyway. For me, it’s a wrench, forcing myself not to spin out her company any longer. I repeat in my head she will never want me the way I crave her, and this has to be enough. It must be, because I cannot scare her away with the depth of my longing.
“I really have to go,” she says once I’ve scowled at her for refusing a third pastry, and we’ve irrefutably finished our coffees.
“Have a good week.” I don’t say that I’m insane without her and I miss her when she’s not here like she’s my frontal lobe.
When George has phoned me on the return journey and confirmed that she’s safe, I give in. I get into the shower, turn the heat to scalding, and jerk myself off to the fresh image of Anwyn.
