Thirty-Nine
945 Words
Manon
I grumble, cursing him under my breath.
I don't know him. Whatever. Nothing he says will detract from the simple fact that he doesn't know how to love anyone else.
I sit there, staring at the case file. If I do this report, which is overdue, then what happens to him?
Why should I care?
I sit there, debating, unsure.
Mr. Starling knocks, then came in.
“Good morning, Mr. Starling.”
He smiles. “I didn't see your report.”
I look away quickly. “I don't think I can do this one Mr. Starling.”
He stares at me. “And why not?”
What can I say? I've been sleeping with him for a year? No. So I just conceed, telling him I'll get on it right away.
Thankfully, there isn't too much known about him.
I do some research, which was mostly fruitless, and go back to a hotel.
I do that for about three days—go to work, and go back to a hotel. I know he's probably at my house, so there's no way in hell I'm going back there.
I come into work, sitting at me desk. I work tirelessly, avoiding that article, until lunch. That's when things started to go south.
He comes into my office.
Niccoló, larger than life, pressed suit, enraged look on his face. He shut and locked the door behind him, approaching me menacingly.
“W-what the hell are you doing here?" I demand.
“You thought you could run? From me? I thought you knew me.”
He wipes everything off my desk, making me moan in annoyance.
“I have to clean all that up, you know!”
He glares at me, setting me on the desk, prying my legs apart.
He stands between them, pressing our cores together.
“How dare you run from me, pulchino?”
I look away from home, my hands going to his shoulders automatically.
“I don't know what you mean, but I need you to leav—”
I squeal, unable to finish my sentence, as he pressed his lips against mine firmly.
“Shut the hell up,” He hisses, nuzzling my neck. He sucks on the tender flesh, makinh me flinch.
“I waited for you, for three days. I'm a busy man, pulcino. You never came home.”
I push his head, but it does no good. His strong arms are wrapped around me, keeping my body trapped against his.
“Niccoló, let go—”
“Never,” He hisses, pushing his hardness against my core.
He seals my lips with his own, laying me down, his tongue dancing with mine.
My legs wrap around his waist, and my fingers tangle in his thick locks, as he rocks my body.
“Manon—”
Uh-oh.
He freezes. “I thought you locked the door,” I hissed.
“I thought I did too,” He whispers back.
Well, it's obvious he didn't. Because in front of me is my Father, Mother and the man they wanted me to marry since I was twelve.
“What the hell!”
***
I push Niccoló off of me. “Baba, Mama I can explain—”
My father is pissed and my mother is about to faint.
“You better start,” Baba swears.
Niccoló clears his throat, stepping away from me. He puts his hand through his hair, giving it a semblance of order, before extending his hand to my father.
“Signore Bordeaux, I'm Niccoló Vitale. I've been seeing your daughter for about a year.”
My father reluctantly takes his hand. Niccoló shakes it firmly. I'm stuck on the fact he's introducing himself to my parents.
What the hell does he think he's doing?
“Signora Bordeaux, I see where Manon gets her beauty,” He kisses my mother's hand making her blush and look away.
Can I just say it again? What the hell is he doing!
“Oh, my, what a charmer,” She says shyly.
I frown.
“Manon speaks of you often but she never mentioned a brother,” He zeroes in on Dylan, his charm rippling with his scrutiny.
Dylan quirks his brow. “That's because I'm not her brother. I'm her betrothed.”
Niccoló frowns and I know exactly what he's thinking as he shoots a look back at me.
Not another one..
“First, no one says Betrothed. Second, that's not even true, dylan.”
He gives me a boyish grin, sticking his tongue out. “It is so!”
I chuckle at his childishness, which Niccoló doesn't take kindly to.
I.change the subject.
“So what brings you all by? Unexpected?”
“Uninvited,” I add under my breath.
“Dinner,” Baba says gruffly. “I told you she would forget,” He complains to my mother.
Right. Dinner.
“Well, I'll be there at six.” I say, trying to usher them out the door.
Baba goes along, letting me push his stout figure. “Bring the pretty boy,” He states.
“I don't think that's—”
“I would love to come. I'll bring wine.”
I shoot him a look he ignores.
When I've hustled my family out of the door, I glare at him. He grins.
“Why so pouty, pulcino?”
“You're supposed to be disappearing from my life, remember?”
His grin dropped. “No. I don't. I'll see you at dinner, pulcino.”
He kisses my head, leaving the room.
My mind is swirling. This is going to be horrible for at least one reason: I forgot to mention Dylan is a police officer.
- Writer
