“It was you who comforted me. It was such a relief to talk to someone who wasn’t more concerned about money and appearances than they were about the life that had just been lost.”
“Dalton was a fun friend. He’ll be missed.”
Watching Gregory closely, I waited to see if he understood my message. To say a great friend would have implied more of a relationship, an intimacy. Fun was casual and noncommittal. And of course, my emphasis on the word friend was too obvious to be mistaken.
Gregory stroked the side of his thumb across the back of my hand.
Message received.
“You still make me feel like I should be giving more to charity or something,” he said with a chuckle.
“I could recommend a few worthy causes if you like,” I offered.
Saint Vincent’s Charity for the Poor and Deserving of Wealth.
Gregory dipped his head, focusing on our interlaced fingers. “Maybe… you could… over dinner sometime this week? That is if you wanted… I mean….”
I squeezed his hand. “I’d love too.”
Gregory breathed a sigh of relief. “Great! That’s… really great. Should I text you later to set something up?”
“Sounds good. But I do have to run for now,” I said as I rose. Always leave them wanting more.
As I turned to walk away, Gregory called me back. “Okay, you’re going to think I’m crazy or desperate or I don’t know… but I don’t want to wait. How about tonight?”
I smiled. Perfect.
“Sounds good,” I said casually. “Text me where you want to meet.”
Gregory reached out his hand to shake mine.
“I’m really glad I met you, Vincent,” he said sincerely.
“Fortune smiled on us both that day.” I gave him a wink and strolled away.
Chapter 4
“You’re super late. I don’t even know why you bothered clocking in.”
I barely spared a glance in Oscar’s direction as I headed past the rows and rows of copy machines to my station.
The familiar smell of warm ozone and ink was already seeping into my clothes. Thankfully, I had changed out of my only suit into a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt.
Reaching into the filled wire bin on the table next to me, I selected the first interoffice, manila envelope on top. Reading the sharpie-scrawled instructions from the law office above us as I unwound the thin, waxy red string securing the fat envelope filled with documents, I programmed the copier for the correct number of collated copies.
I had worked at this thankless job for the last three years.
Located in the basement of a massive law office, it was my job to make copies of the piles and piles of legal documents they churned out on a daily basis.
Wills, lawsuits, depositions, mergers.
It all passed through my fingertips at one point. Despite the computer age, the law still liked ink on paper when it came to signatures on important legal documents which meant they needed copies. Lots and lots of copies.
Of course, the only reason why I took this job was to gain access to insider information. I knew when a company was merging before Wall Street. I knew if a CEO was about to be indicted, sending their stock plummeting or who was in a will… and who wasn’t. It had been my plan to use this information to play the market and make my fortune.
Unfortunately, I quickly realized that the old adage was true. You needed money to make money, at least the kind of money which would satisfy me. I would never get rich investing the paltry sums I could afford after rent and expenses.
So, I’d needed a new plan.
That was when I decided to research the different family fortunes and trusts managed by the law firm. Day after day, I covertly reviewed documents, searching for clues, little nuggets of information which would point me in the right direction. That was when I found the Ranauts… Dalton Ranaut to be specific. Confidentiality agreements to keep scandals hushed up. Letters to different creditors settling large debts for bespoke suits, expensive wine and extravagant trips. Withdrawals from his extensive trust fund.
I had found the perfect mark.
Too bad for him he hadn’t played along.
“I saw in the paper about Dalton Ranaut,” said Oscar as he sidled up to the copier closest to me.
Ignoring him, I reached for another manila envelope. Pulling the stack of documents free, I edged around Oscar to the next copier in line.
Oscar followed.
“Did you hear me? I said I heard about Dalton Ranaut’s suicide… or should I say death.” He said the last word in a conspiratorial whisper.
I remained silent.
It was usually my experience that people who tried to play coy would usually give up and tell you what you wanted to know if you simply kept your mouth shut and waited.
Keeping my gaze focused down, I programmed the copier to make twenty-five of the fifty needed copies of the two-hundred-page corporate merger before stepping to the right to start a second copier on the project.
“Wasn’t that the man you were dating?”
I looked up.
Damn him.
That had gotten my attention.
I could see the light of triumph gleam in his eyes; he knew he had hit his mark.
Quickly returning to my task, I feigned disinterest, all the while keeping my ear trained on what he would say next.
How much did he know?
I was careful never to discuss my personal life with anyone at this godforsaken job. I was absolutely certain I’d never discussed Dalton.
How had Oscar found out? Had he seen us together? Heard something?
My mind flashed to the police.
Was there an investigation into Dalton’s death after all?
Had someone been here asking questions while I was with Gregory this morning?
My body stilled as I forced myself to wait for Oscar to continue talking.
“You didn’t know I knew about the two of you, did you?” he needled as he twirled the thin red string to my discarded envelope around his index finger.
Still I waited.
“I heard you mention his name when you were making New Year’s plans on the phone last week.” Oscar’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “Judging by that dreadful photo in the Tribune, he wasn’t that cute. I thought you liked them… with more… muscle,” he finished suggestively as he leaned a hip against the copier I was using.
Regretfully for Oscar, he just went from a minor annoyance to a major problem.
He was an unanticipated loose end. Sure, his information didn’t amount to much, definitely not enough to link me with Dalton or to turn the police’s suicide ruling to murder, but I couldn’t take that risk. Oscar was the type of snake that slithered out from beneath a rock years later when I was settled and enjoying all that Gregory’s money would buy me.
That was unacceptable.
Looking over my shoulder, I made sure the massive, low-ceilinged room was mostly empty. It was already close to quitting time, and most of the staff had a habit of leaving early. People who took this job were not exactly motivated.
Turning my attention back to Oscar, I grabbed his upper right arm and hauled him to the front of the copier. With his back to me, I pressed my hips against his ass, forcing him against the warm machine. Leaning in close, I growled into his ear, “You’re right. I like them brawnier with a little more fight in them.”
Oscar leaned against me. I fisted the fabric of his t-shirt and pushed my knuckles into his lower back as I pressed in closer. I knew from personal experience, the heated vibration of the copier as it spewed out sheet after sheet would send subtle, teasing tremors up his cock as I forced it against the warm plastic.
I ran my teeth along the delicate shell of his ear. “You think you could take me on, Oscar?”
He croaked out an unintelligible response. I watched as he licked his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed against the thin skin of his neck as he nervously swallowed. “Yes,” he rasped.
/>
Releasing his now wrinkled shirt, I ran my hand around the curve of his waist to dip lower. My palm scraped against the brass zipper of his jeans as I stroked it up and down over his already engorged cock. “You willing to let me bend you over and fuck you senseless?”
Words failing him, Oscar could only nod as I gripped his cock through the thick denim fabric.
“You’ve wanted this for a long time, haven’t you?”
Again, Oscar nodded.
“Wanted my cock deep in your ass.”
“Oh god,” groaned Oscar.
Oscar was shorter than me with the kind of muscled physique that only comes from an unhealthy obsession with going to the gym. It would be so easy to overpower him.
“Leave work now. My place is close by.”
Oscar turned in my arms. “This isn’t some kind of trick?”
I stroked a knuckle down his cheek. “We’ve been flirting around this attraction long enough.”
His breath came out in an excited burst. “I knew you liked me! Just give me a minute to grab my bag from the break room.”
As I watched him leave, I formulated a plan.
Chapter 5
“Your place isn’t as nice as I thought it would be,” observed Oscar as he walked around my small studio apartment.
Every penny I earned after expenses went towards keeping up the appearance of wealth. I had no interest in wasting money on nice furnishings or artwork.
Grabbing him by the front of the shirt, I kissed him roughly, then rasped. “Did you come here to get fucked or to give me decorating tips?”
Oscar took a step back and ripped his t-shirt off. Running a hand over his tan, muscled abs, he licked his lips. “Fuck me.”
Digging my fingers into the waistband of his jeans, I ordered, “Take these off.”
I watched as his thumbs skimmed his exposed hipbones before hooking his waistband and pulling the jeans and his boxer shorts down. His cock bounced free from the confining fabric. I quirked an eyebrow. This wasn’t going to be so bad after all. He had an impressive nine inches with some nice girth. I told him so as I reached out to fist his shaft.
Oscar closed his eyes and leaned his hips back, forcing my hand to pull harder on his cock.
“Bend over the arm of the sofa,” I commanded.
Oscar reached out to stroke the front of my jeans. “Don’t you want me to suck you first?”
I slapped him.
Oscar’s head snapped back. He raised a fist. I raised my own.
“That’s it. Fight me. Do it,” I taunted. “Make me force you to bend over.”
Oscar swung. I easily grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back. Ignoring his cries of pain, I shoved his face down into the sofa cushion.
Leaning against his back, I growled, “Is this what you want?”
“Oh god, yes!” he pleaded.
“Then do as I say and don’t question me again.”
Giving the back of his head a sharp push as a warning, I straightened.
With his face turned away from me, I pulled my t-shirt over my head and twisted the thin fabric into a tight rope. Keeping both ends in my left hand, I pulled open a drawer in a nearby table and took out a bottle of lube. Sparing a glance for the drawer’s only other contents, I left it open and within easy reach as I turned my attention back to Oscar.
He was lying obediently prone over the sofa arm. His ass a pathetic pale white compared to his tanned torso.
“Reach back and spread your cheeks.”
Oscar whimpered. I knew it was in anticipation.
As his fingers pried open his ass cheeks, I flipped the cap and turned over the bottle of lube. Squeezing a generous portion out, I watched as the viscous clear gel slid down his ass crack and over his puckered hole. Keeping him waiting as the gel cooled on his skin, I unzipped my jeans and pulled my already hard cock free. Tipping the lube bottle into my palm, I then fisted my shaft and ran my hand up and down for a few pumps, coating it.
Placing the bulbous head of my cock at his asshole, I shoved my hips forward, thrusting deep.
Oscar’s body bent upwards as he howled in pain from the blunt, forceful intrusion.
“Say you want it.”
“I want it! Harder,” he begged.
Digging my fingers into his hips, I ruthlessly pounded into him from behind. After several thrusts, I grasped my t-shirt between my hands. Leaning forward, I wrapped the still tightly wound shirt around his throat, securing the ends behind his head.
Oscar shifted, his arm reaching up to pull on the restraining fabric.
I slapped his ass. “Put your arm down. You don’t do anything without my permission.”
“Just not so tight!” complained Oscar.
I pulled back on the t-shirt ends to prove to him who was in charge right now. His back bowed as his head was forced back. I could feel his sphincter muscles tighten around my cock as his body tensed from the inherent danger of our breath play.
Shifting my grip of the t-shirt into one hand, I reached behind me to the still ajar drawer. Lifting the pill bottle inside up to my mouth, I popped open the cap. I looked down at the small white pills inside. Oxycodone.
Spilling the contents onto the top cushion of the sofa, I picked up the first pill and swallowed it with no water.
I grit my teeth, looking forward to the warm rush of euphoria I would feel once the pill dissolved and spread into my bloodstream. I thrust harder into Oscar’s vulnerable ass as the anticipated pleasure caused my cock to harden to the point of pain.
Stretching my arm out, I palmed at least six more pills. Leaning over Oscar’s slick back, I breathed into his ear, “Time to take this to the next level.”
Pulling harder on the t-shirt, I watched from above, as his head fell back, his mouth slack. I placed my palm over his open lips, pushing the pills in.
Oscar began to choke and struggle.
Using my thumb and forefinger, I pinched his nose closed as I held my palm over his mouth and increased the pressure on the t-shirt rope around his throat. “Swallow it! Swallow it all!”
His hips bucked as he tried to dislodge me. The movement only spurred me on. Keeping my grip on his head and mouth, I kept fucking his ass. The more he struggled, the harder I thrust.
Finally, I released my grip, letting him suck in a desperate gasp of air. With a wrenching cough, he spit out one of the pills. Reaching past him, I picked it up. “Guess we’ll do this the old-fashioned way for this last pill.”
Pulling out, I used my finger to push the wet, slightly disintegrated, pill into his slack asshole before once more pushing my cock in.
Oscar began to sob. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
“Because you weren’t part of my plan.”
Slowly his struggles weakened. I watched as his arms stretched forward, clutching at the sofa cushions as if he were trying to desperately crawl away from me.
Away from the danger he was too late in recognizing.
Finally, his body went slack.
I thrust several more times before pulling free. Gripping my cock, I came into my hand, not wanting to leave my cum deep in his ass for a coroner to find.
Walking over to the kitchen sink, I washed my hands before re-zipping my jeans.
Turning back to the sofa, I looked down at Oscar’s limp body. His eyes remained open as his tongue hung loosely past his lips.
At that moment I knew true regret.
I should have thought to fuck Dalton as I bent him dangerously high over the balcony railing. What an amazing rush it would have been to cum into his fear-tightened ass the very moment he realized I was going to push him over the side.
Who knew death could be so arousing?
As I contemplated the best alley to dump Oscar’s overdosed corpse, there was a knock then a greeting called through the closed door.
“Vincent? It’s Gregory. Are you home?”
Chapter 6
“Vincent?”
Taking a deep br
eath, I opened the door—just not all the way.
Standing there looking slightly embarrassed, Gregory held up two plastic bags by way of explanation. Through the opaque white bags, I could see the outline of several Chinese take-out boxes.
“It seemed like a fun impulsive idea at the time. I got your address from Google. I’m so sorry for barging in like this. Oh god! You’re probably not even alone. This was so stupid. I’m sorry. I’ll go!” he rambled as he turned to leave.
“Don’t be silly. I love it!”
“Really?”
“Really.”
We stood there for a moment. “Are you going to invite me in?” asked Gregory.
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh,” said a crestfallen Gregory. “I… I understand.”
I reached out to run my knuckles down his cheek. “I have a much better idea. There’s a quiet park across the street. It’s a beautiful night; why don’t we eat al fresco?”
Gregory nodded. “That sounds perfect.”
“Wait right here. I’ll grab a shirt and a bottle of wine.”
“Yes, to wine. Only if you must to the shirt,” teased Gregory.
Knowing it would be awkward but unable to avoid it, I closed the door, leaving him in the hallway.
Walking past Oscar’s sprawled, lifeless form, I grabbed a clean shirt from the laundry basket and a bottle of wine from the counter. Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon 2016. It was from one of the most expensive wineries on the planet. I stole it and several other desirable bottles from Dalton’s cellar.
Grabbing two glasses and an opener on my way out, I carefully closed and locked the door behind me. Taking the bags of food from Gregory, I handed him the bottle of wine.
“Screaming Eagle? That was Dalton’s favorite wine too,” observed Gregory.
“You don’t say? What a coincidence! I thought it would pair well with the Chinese take-out,” I offered innocently.
“You sure you don’t want to save it for a special occasion?”
I wrapped my arm around his back as we exited my building and crossed the street to the small piece of grass and weed-filled flower beds that passed for a park in my neighborhood. “This is a special occasion.”
Devious Resolutions Page 7
