Gianni
"That's it, baby. Open up and let me see just how eager you are. Show me what I desire."
Damn it. A low, involuntary sound escapes me as the fantasy consumes my thoughts. No matter where I am or what I'm doing, right now, I'm at my desk getting ready for a meeting in thirty minutes. But the meeting—about the status of several new cargo planes for our shipping expansion—seems insignificant compared to the overwhelming distraction in my mind.
This plan has been in the works for months and has required countless hours of research, vetting, and inspection. We’re close to finalizing the deal with the current owner of the small air fleet, and somehow, all I can do is sit here and do everything in my willpower to resist the ache in my cock.
She’s sitting in front of me, her thighs spread wide to reveal the pink, shining slice of heaven between them. Fuck, business is the furthest thing from my mind, my tongue craving each drop of sweet nectar that will inevitably leak from her perfect pussy by the time I’m done with her.
Caterina. You have no idea how much more difficult you’ve made my life.
A sharp knock at the closed door is the equivalent to pouring a bucket of cold water over my head.
I clear my throat, sitting up straighter before calling out, “Come in.”
The door opens, and Roger walks in, his steps heavy. His face is masked, cold. A mask worn as armor, I suppose. He has a habit of letting no one see too deep inside, even if parts of his mask are cracked and chipped.
“I assume everything is in place for the meeting?” I ask, chastising myself for letting my thoughts roam yet again. I cannot afford to fuck this up. There’s far too much time and money invested in this. My head needs to be clear. I need to be conscious and alert, not dreaming about fucking someone completely out of my reach.
“I sent the link to the parties involved, and everyone has copies of the contract.”
“Excellent,” I praise, though I’m hardly surprised. If there’s one person I can count on, it’s my most trusted second-in-command. I’ve known Roger since he was a little boy. His mother begged me to take him under my wing, and he’s been by my side ever since. There are few men I trust with my shit and even fewer with my daughter. He’s proven himself to be a valuable asset.
Which, of course, reminds me. He’s had a special assignment as of late. “Do you have any information to share?”
If he finds anything strange about me ordering him to keep tabs on Caterina, he shows no sign of it. I’m sure after working together for so many years, he’s learned to expect the unexpected.
He presses down into the leather chair across from my desk and unbuttons his suit jacket, settling in. “She’s moving. I’m not sure where, but she spent the day taking boxes up to her apartment and then loading them into her car.”
“She’s moving?” I tap my jaw with my finger.
“Yes. She broke up with her boyfriend the other night at the club. They were talking about it when I took them back to her place, and when I say talking, I use the term loosely. It was more Tatiana telling her she deserved better, that the guy was a twat for cheating on her, and that it wasn’t her fault. Caterina started crying, and it got worse from there.”
A sudden flash of white-hot rage threatens to consume me before I get a hold of it. What a stupid bastard. Someone that dismissive of the perfection he was so fortunate to partake in doesn’t deserve her. He tossed a diamond in the garbage for a piece of trash. I want to beat the hell out of the fucker, but there’s no point. His punishment is losing her and watching her find happiness elsewhere.With me.
Suddenly, my thoughts drift to an uncomfortable place. I remind myself that this situation means nothing and shouldn't affect me, but the crumbling barrier in my mind keeps intruding. I lift the glass of water to my lips, trying to ease the dryness in my mouth.
"Are you sure she's moving?" I ask, striving to keep my genuine curiosity hidden. Fortunately, I’m adept at masking my true feelings, even from those close to me.
"From the number of boxes, it looks like she’s moving out. Or she could be decluttering, but I doubt it. When I delivered the boxes, she asked me to check if the place was clear before she went inside. It was pretty empty. I’ve had Mark change the locks just in case her ex shows up."
Good. This unexpected urge to protect her presses against my temples. It's not a paternal instinct. My thoughts about Caterina are far from fatherly; they’re more about desire and possessiveness. I want to shield her from everyone, but especially from myself.
"Okay, so we don't have concrete information on her new place. Has Tatiana mentioned anything?"
"No, but I’ll keep an eye on it."
I dismiss the concern with a wave of my hand, though inwardly, I’m very concerned. I feel an intense need to know everything about her—where she’s moving, if she’s safe, what she can afford right out of college, and if she might move back with her father. The thought of him makes me bristle. It’s not my business, and logically, I shouldn’t care, but I do.
Roger’s expression remains neutral. "Should I be worried? I can have someone else handle the surveillance if you prefer."
His intuition is as sharp as ever, though he’s missed the mark. "There’s no immediate concern, but if that changes, I’ll let you know."
Roger nods, and thankfully, we’ve finished talking because the door to my office flies open. There is one person in this world, only one, with the balls to barge in on me unannounced, and that would be my daughter. Tatiana saunters into the room, a leather tote bag slung over one arm, her phone in the other hand. She’s beautiful, courageous, and sassy. The one and only perfection in my life. She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder and scowls at the sight of Roger sitting across from me.
Sneering, she directs her words at Roger. “I need a minute with my father.”
He remains in place, an unmovable boulder, as he gestures a hand for her to continue. “By all means. Speak.”
A heavy sigh escapes her, and she folds her arms across her chest, a flash of impatience in her eyes. “Alone. Without you in the room.”
Roger remains sitting, and I can feel the tension between them. Their interactions are strange enough, but I don’t have the time to look deeper into it. Knowing Tatiana, she’s tired of dealing with Roger’s shit. He’s been her bodyguard since she was a teen.
Shooting him a look, I murmur, “Give us a minute.”
He makes a point of glaring at her as he stands, buttoning his jacket once again. It’s like he wants to make sure she knows he’s leaving because I told him to and not because she did.
“What’s going on? Why are you still here? I thought you would be on your way to the airport by now.”
“That’s the nice thing about flying privately. The plane can’t leave without you.”
She knows I don’t appreciate her flippancy when it comes to the ease my wealth has awarded her, and I growl my disapproval.
“But seriously, there was one more thing I had to do before I left.” She plops a ring of keys down on the desk. “My house set.”
I lift a curious eyebrow. “Do you plan on staying in France? Isn’t this something we should have discussed before now?”
She treats me to a patented eye roll before explaining. “They’re for Caterina.”