by Sarah Thorn
''That's enough for today,'' he said. ''We can do some more tomorrow. After college.''
''I thought you said you couldn't help me,'' she smiled. He winked at her and pointed to his nose, in a keep it secret gesture.
That evening Peter lay in bed and tried not to fantasize about Marcella, but it was impossible. Never before, not even when he'd first met his wife, had he felt so hopelessly in love. He was fearful he wouldn't have the strength to keep his hands from her. He hoped she'd change her mind and find a younger man.
*****
A week passed. A week in which Peter and Marcella spent late afternoons and evenings working on the sculpture. Only the caretaker saw them, and he had no idea that Peter wasn't supposed to be helping her. There were three days left until submission day, and the sculpture was finished.
Marcella smiled, sat back and stretched her arms above her head. She looked at Peter. ''Thank you. For all your help.''
''Do you know you saved me?'' he said.
''From what?''
''Alcoholism and myself. You gave me my motivation back.''
She got up and hugged him. It was a hug like the others had been. An innocent thank you. But it burst the dam Peter had built. He thought he'd managed to prevent his feelings from smashing through, but when she wrapped her arms around him, it all crumbled.
He leaned down and kissed her. Full on the mouth. He lifted her up and sat her on her desk as they continued to kiss passionately. He wanted her to tell him to stop. But she didn't. They were in a rush. She pulled his shirt from his trousers and unfastened his belt while his fingers undid all the buttons on her blouse. He slid her skirt up to her waist and tugged her panties down. She pulled his trousers and shorts down and reached for his penis. She gasped when she felt how hard he was.
He tried to stop. In his mind, he was in a meeting with the Dean. He was being fired for gross misconduct. When she felt him pulling away, she pulled him back by his penis and placed it at her entrance. ''No going back. I need you inside me. Push into me.'' He did. She gasped and threw her arms around him.
There were no frills, no preliminaries. Just raw passionate sex. An outing of sexual tension that had simmered for days and finally boiled over. The force of his thrusts threw her across the desk, and he had to pull her back to him. She clung on, breathless, as he took them to the summit. When Marcella reached orgasm, she bit into his shoulder to prevent herself from screaming. Her pleasure turned into his, and she slapped his buttocks when she felt him flowing into her.
*****
The Earl spat the toast out of his mouth. His wife gave him a disgusted look. ''What on earth are you doing?''
''Having a bloody heart attack. Look,'' he said holding up the Daily Record.
Charlotte read the headline.
Earl's Daughter Sculpture Queen.
He began to read the article to her. ''This year's National Sculpture Competition has been won by Marcella Horner, daughter of the Earl of Harwood. Never in the history of the competition has the prize been won by a unanimous committee vote. However, Miss Horner managed to convince all twelve judges, that her bronze statue of an owl, was of such a high technical standard, that none of them voted for any other entry. Miss Horner is a student at the National Academy of Arts in London.''
The Earl put the newspaper down and looked at his wife. ''You're a fool,'' she said. ''An old fool. Go to your daughter and beg her to forgive you.'' He nodded.
*****
The Dean's office was plush. It was almost like stepping back into the Victorian era. The Dean sat behind a large mahogany desk and scowled at Peter. When Peter looked at the walls, he felt the eyes of many former Deans looking in a disapproving fashion at him.
''Peter, do you know why I called you to see me today?'' He leaned forward, peering at Peter over his reading glasses.
''I'm not really sure, no.''
''What is your relationship to Miss Horner?''
''I am her tutor, and I must say our relationship is cordial.''
The Dean put his hand to his temple and rubbed. ''Cordial,'' he repeated. ''I will tell you what I know, and you will then have the chance to deny or confirm it. Someone saw you having sex with Miss Horner. In your classroom, of all places. What do you say to that?''
Who'd seen them? They'd been careful. How did he know? ''Who told you that?''
''It doesn't matter. All I want to know is whether it's true or not?''
''Miss Horner and I are in love. And yes we had sex in the classroom. In fact all over her workbench and it was bloody fantastic.'' The Dean's eyes widened. He'd expected Peter to deny it. To play for time. He hadn't expected such an outing of honesty.
''You know what that means don't you?'' the Dean asked.
''I assume you're going to suspend me and then fire me.'' The Dean nodded. ''Well, you'd better get on with it.''
When Peter left the Dean's office, he called Marcella. When they met at the Blue Boar on Chester Street, Peter took hold of her hand across the table. ''I've been suspended, and I'll be fired soon.''
''Someone saw us?'’ she asked. Peter nodded.
''I was bullish in front of the Dean, but now I'm scared. I don't have another job to go to. I'll be broke soon.''
''You know since I won the competition, I've been inundated with commissions. It seems the whole world wants a Marcella Horner sculpture. Just before we met, the Times called. They want to do an interview for the Sunday magazine. My phone's red hot.'' Peter beamed with pride. ''I want you, Peter. Maybe some people disapprove, but we're both adults.'' She squeezed his hand and leaned across the table to kiss him. He closed his eyes and felt himself getting hard at the smell of her perfume. ''Come with me to my barge and stay. It looks like I'll be able to keep us both for a while. Why don't you start sculpting or writing?''
Marcella sipped her wine and wondered why Peter was only drinking water. Peter didn't want to drink alcohol again. He’d been dangerously near the edge, but now he had something more important in his life than booze.
''Shall we go?” Marcella asked.
He whispered to her. ''Only if you promise to take me to your bedroom and wear me out.''
''That's exactly what I had in mind.''
After the most strenuous love making session Peter had ever known, he pulled her to him and put his arms around her. Her hair fell over his chest, and he loved the feel of it. She was covered with perspiration, and he leaned down and licked her neck. She giggled. ''Salty,'' he joked.
''Jesus,'' Marcella cried.
''What?''
''My father.''
''Where?''
''Outside. I just saw his face through the porthole.'' She jumped out of bed and put on a robe. ''Stay here. I have no idea what he's doing here. He never comes here.'' Of all the times, he would have to show up now, she thought.
''Hasn't changed at all,'' the Earl said, looking at what used to be his mother's boat. ''You know she bought this barge after father died. We all thought she'd gone mad. But she loved it.''
Marcella handed him a cup of tea. ''What do you want?'' she asked.
He looked at her. She was beautiful, as beautiful as his wife. ''I want to say sorry.''
Marcella swallowed hard. ''You want to say sorry? That's not at all like you.''
''I read about your success in the newspaper.''
''Ah, now I'm successful you're interested all of a sudden? Well, it's too late.''
''I was wrong. I don't know what else I can say.''
''How about I love you. I've never felt loved by you.''
The Earl looked shocked. He wasn't able to show his love for her; he never had been able to. But he did love her. He'd had some misguided notion that she should enter a profession. He'd ignored her feelings. ''I do love you. All I wanted was the best for you. Now I can see I was wrong.''
''You were,'' Marcella wasn't going to let him off very easily.
''Why don't we start again?'' he asked.
''I don't need to try. You do.
''
He laughed and turned his cup around. ''Okay. Will you let me start again?''
Marcella wanted to hurt him more, but she wasn't able. A grin came over her face. ''Alright, daddy,'' she said. She hadn't called him that for a long time.
''This is for you,'' he handed her a white envelope.
''I don't need your money now.''
''I know you don't. Open it.''
Marcella read the letter inside. ''Really? It's not a joke?'' she asked.
''No. The Marcella Horner Foundation of Sculpture is something I came up with. I hope you don't mind.''
''Mind? How could I mind?''
''I've managed to get charitable status for it, and I've bought a building in Ealing. I thought we could give disadvantaged kids the chance to learn to sculpt. All the smaller details need finalizing, but I've put a million of my own money into the fund to get you off to a start. We'll need a manager.''
''I have just the right man in mind,'' she said.
Peter had fallen asleep by the time the Earl left. When he felt Marcella's naked body slide next to him, he woke, rolled over and kissed her.
''I've got a great job for you,'' she whispered. ''Something you will enjoy more than anything you ever dreamed of.''
''What?''
''I'll tell you later. Make love to me again.'' Peter wondered whether he could, but Marcella was very insistent, and his body responded to her soft touch.
*****
THE END
MAFIA Romance – Owned and Protected
''I can't do this. I really can't,'' Cassy said. The house was full of floral tributes to her late father.
''You can Cassy. Be strong for Michael. He really needs you now.''
Cassy smiled at Judy. ''You're the best friend anyone could wish for. Thank you so much for supporting me today.''
''And you are the best person I have ever known. Come on, let's go.''
At St Michael's Church, Pastor Jeffries was waiting for the funeral cortege at the church gate. He hadn't seen Cassy for a while; she didn't come to church as often as her mother and father had done. Her late parents, Douglas, and Wanda, had showered the church with generous financial donations, and he wondered, now that Cassy was head of the family fortune, whether she would be as generous.
When the hearse and limousines pulled up, Pastor Jeffries noticed what a fantastically beautiful woman Cassy had turned into. Tall and slender with wonderfully curved hips and a generous bosom, she was more elegant than any woman he had ever seen in his congregation.
''Cassy,'' he said, shaking her hand. ''I'm sorry for your loss. It must be very hard to lose your mother and father in quick succession.''
''It is, but at least, they are together again,'' she said through the black veil.
Cassy turned to Judy. '' Look how many mourners there are. I hadn't expected this.''
''Your father was a well-known man, not only in New York but throughout the US. There isn't a single person in this country that hasn't at some time been to a ToysForAll store. How many stores are there? Six hundred?
''Six hundred and three.''
''And you will be just as good as your father at running the business.'' Judy held onto her hat as a gust of wind threatened to remove it from her head.
''I only wish he'd been around for another ten years. I'm only twenty-two, what do I know about business?''
''You have some great people working for you. People who really respected your father and who will help you.''
''Michael are you alright?'' Cassy asked. She put her arm around her fifteen-year-old brother.
''Okay. Two hundred and seventy-three,'' he said.
''What?''
''People.''
''Have you counted them all?''
Michael's head tilted to one side. ''Yes.''
''Wow. I really don't know how you do that,'' Cassy said.
''Because he's clever aren't you Michael,'' Judy said. Michael didn't answer, he was looking at a plane high above them.
The service was short and to the point. Cassy hadn't wanted Michael to suffer any longer than necessary.
''Men, don't like?'' Michael said when they were leaving.
''Which men?'' Cassy asked.
''Men under trees. I don't like.'' Michael began to shift from one foot to the other and throw his head around. ''Don't like. Go away.''
Judy caught them up. She'd been delayed by Pastor Jeffries, who was keen to know whether Cassy would be donating to the fund to repair the church roof. ''What's the matter with Michael?'' she asked.
''He doesn't like those men, over there.''
Judy looked to a line of trees that bordered the cemetery. ''I agree, they are a shifty-looking bunch. You're right Michael.''
''He gets like this when he's stressed,'' Cassy whispered to Judy. ''Dad was so good with him, I only hope I can be.''
''You're great with him. Autism isn't an easy thing to deal with.''
*****
''Tell me how much you want it,'' Igor Ivanovich said to the blonde woman he was pressing against the wall. He put his hand to the hem of her skirt and began to pull it up. ''Tell me, how much do you want my cock?''
She'd never been with a man like Igor. He turned her on so much that she wasn't able to answer him. She just continued to grind her pelvis against him.
''Can't answer huh?' he said. In a flash, he ripped her panties from her and put his hand over her vulva. ''I can feel how much, you don't have to speak,'' he said.
She came three times when he took her against the wall, and countless times during the longest love making session she'd ever had, or was ever likely to have.
When the gray light of morning began to pierce the thin curtains, Igor got up, showered and dressed. When he was at the door, she woke.
''Can I see you again?'' she asked.
''I only fuck women once,'' he said.
When he was gone, she threw the hair-dryer against the mirror and broke both items.
Dima was waiting in the car outside the hotel. ''And? What was she like?'' he asked.
''Useless. Kept complaining she had cramp. I only screwed her for a couple of hours.''
Dima laughed. His brother was always bragging about his sexual prowess. Dima was jealous of Igor's looks and the fact that women seemed to throw themselves at him. He hardly had to speak to them before they were willing to sleep with him.
''Here,'' Dima said. He passed Igor a Beretta handgun. ''Let's go persuade him.''
''Let's do it,'' Igor replied.
Dima drove out of town to what appeared to be a rich suburb. ''Do you get it?'' Igor asked.
''What?''
''Look at these big houses. Fucking politicians. How the hell do they go from being penniless upstarts to super rich in the space of a few short years?'' Igor asked.
''You already know. Because they are all corrupt bastards. The US is rotten to the core. Everybody knows that.''
''We are no angels, but we, at least, try, to do things honestly,'' Igor concluded.
Dima laughed. ''Of course, we do. The only difference is, if being honest doesn't work in our favor, we very quickly turn nasty.''
Dima drove past the gate to the French style mansion and looked at the huge iron gate. There was just one security guard sitting in a wooden hut. He drove a bit further and parked next to the high wall that ran around the property. The brothers got out and with the help of a rope and hook, scaled the wall.
Mr. and Mrs. Adessi looked like the perfect couple as they lay asleep in bed. The bedroom was spacious and smelled of potpourri. Igor wondered if they had had sex the previous evening, Mrs. Adessi seemed to be naked, and her nightdress was lying on the floor.
Dima nodded, and Igor put the barrel of his Baretta into Mr. Adessi's open mouth. He snorted and opened his eyes.
''What the hell?'' he muttered as best he could with a gun in his mouth. Mrs. Adessi woke up and saw Dima standing above her. She screamed and sat up in bed, forgetting that she was naked. She quick
ly grabbed a sheet and pulled it over her breasts.
Dima took hold of her arm and pulled her from the bed. He placed her face down on the floor and held a gun to her head.
''Mr. Adessi,'' Igor began. ''As you are the head of real estate at the City Administration we would like to make a complaint to you'' Adessi looked at him, terror in his eyes. ''I think you know why we are here.'' Adessi shook his head. ''Oh yes you do. We bid more than anyone for the Old Post Office project. You know that, and we know that. Yet, you gave the contract, not to the highest bidder or even the second highest, but to some sleazy outfit from Alabama. Funny, that's where you come from.''
Dima put his foot on Mrs. Adessi's back and pressed. She squealed and tried to break free, but it was useless.
''We want your guarantee that you will cancel the contract and award it to us. As I said, we won the bidding.'' Igor pulled the gun from his mouth and waited for his response.
''Go to hell. Fucking Russians. Think you own the place. Fuck off back to Moscow.''
''Not only are you corrupt, you are very rude. Have you ever seen a woman being thrown from an upstairs window?'' Igor said as he nodded to Dima.
Dima pulled Mrs. Adessi up by the hair and took her to the window. He held her with one hand and opened the window with the other. She screamed as he pushed her out of the window and held onto her by the ankles.
''Last chance Adessi. She'll make a terrible mess of your driveway,'' Igor said
''Alfons, help me,'' she shrieked. ''Please, let them have what they want.''
Dima let go of her right leg, and she began to swing to and fro, attached to his strong arms by just her left ankle.
''Alright, please pull her inside,'' he said.
''No. Not until you give me the guarantee we came for,'' Igor said.
''I guarantee it. You can have the contract. Just pull her back inside, please.''
''Thank you, Mr. Adessi. Just remember, we can come back anytime, so please don't change your mind.''
*****
''Michael?'' Cassy shouted as she walked through the yard, at the back of the large house she and Michael had just inherited. ''Michael, where are you? Dinner's ready.'' Cassy noticed how lovely the lavender smelled in the border she was walking along. Michael wasn't in the yard; she turned her attentions to the house. Michael slept in a room next to Cassy's, but he wasn't there either.
