Devious Resolutions

by Ashleigh Giannoccaro

  Brushing fallen leaves off a bench, we sat down and placed the Chinese take-out between us, using the plastic bags as a tablecloth.

  “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got several things.”

  “This is a feast!”

  “I might have gone a bit overboard.”

  “Nonsense. I see all my favorites.” I opened each container. Swirls of steam rose above savory items like lo mien, salt and pepper shrimp and steamed dumplings.

  Gregory busied himself opening up the small ramekins of soy sauce and mustard as I opened the wine.

  “We really should let it breathe, but let’s be bad and drink a toast,” I said as I handed him a glass.

  “To new friendships,” said Gregory pleasantly as he raised his glass.

  “And perhaps more,” I offered with a heated look in his direction.

  I was pleased to see a faint blush rise high on his cheeks. I had seen the way he devoured my naked chest and flat abs when I opened the door shirtless. If there wasn’t Oscar’s body to deal with, there was no doubt in my mind, I could take him up to my apartment and fuck him senseless this very night. Regardless, I knew better. I wasn’t in this for a quick fuck. I was playing to win… big.

  Picking up the container of lo mien, I speared a few noodles with my chopsticks and raised a bite to my mouth. After a few bites, I turned to Gregory. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”

  “Ask you what?” asked Gregory as he talked around the final bite of a steamed dumpling.

  “Why I live in such a shit hole?”

  Gregory kept his gaze lowered, playing with the remaining dumpling in the container. “Don’t be silly. Although I didn’t see inside, I’m sure your apartment is great.”

  “It’s a shit hole. Let’s be honest, but at least it’s a shit hole with principles.”

  Gregory held up a piece of pork from the fried rice container, and I ate it off his chopsticks, appreciating how quickly we had gotten to a comfortable level of intimacy.

  “You’ll have to explain,” said Gregory with a laugh as I playfully bit down on the slim wooden sticks.

  “When I first left college, I was full of piss and fire. Not wanting my parents’ help with anything. Determined to make it on my own. Of course, I was naive, not truly appreciating what life would be like on a new teacher’s salary. After a couple years, I came round and realized that money was not a burden but a responsibility. That I could use my math skills to work the market and make sure that not only my parents but the next several generations never had to worry, and if I were really lucky, I could earn enough to give to charity and really make a difference.”

  I gave Gregory a side look, careful to affect an expression of earnest sincerity. I had practiced it in the mirror often enough. All it took was a softening of the mouth and a slightly unfocused eye.

  “That’s really admirable.”

  I shrugged my shoulders as if it were nothing. “In the end, I was used to my cozy apartment and saw no reason to move, at least for now. Sure, it’s a small studio, but it keeps me humble. I guess I’m not very good at spending my own money!” I teased.

  But I’m very good at spending someone else’s money.

  “You really are a remarkable man,” observed Gregory as he refilled my glass.

  I took a sip, savoring the tart tannins. Wine just tastes better when it’s stolen.

  Reaching over, I threaded my fingers with his. “Just because I like my tiny apartment, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be willing to move into a bigger place at some time in the future… for the right person.”

  Gregory swayed close. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I stretched my arm out to wrap my hand around the side of his neck to pull him closer. I could smell the wine on his breath. Skimming my lips over his, I brushed my thumb over his Adam’s apple, feeling the pulse from every breath. “Do you want me to kiss you? Is that what you want?” I whispered gently against his mouth.

  “Oh god, yes!” pleaded Gregory as he opened his mouth for my tongue.

  As I tasted the tang of salt and wine on his lips, I couldn’t help but remember.

  Oscar had said the same pleading words to me… right before I killed him.

  Epilogue

  Ten.

  * * *

  Adjusting my silver tie, I stared at my reflection with a critical eye.

  Straightening my shoulders, I closed and buttoned the jacket. The bespoke silk tuxedo fit like a glove.

  “Happy New Year, husband!”

  No. Too falsetto.

  “Happy New Year, my love.”

  My mouth looked too tight.

  “Happy New Year, hubby!”

  God no.

  There was a discrete knock on the door.

  “Vincent? The minister is waiting.”

  “Thank you, John.”

  I really don’t know how I’d existed without a butler before.

  I opened the door and stepped into the marble-tiled foyer.

  * * *

  Nine.

  * * *

  The balcony was decorated with lush sterling silver roses which glowed a silvery faint purple in the moonlight and over a thousand glittering candles. I surveyed the crowd, pleased to see many of the same people I’d witnessed at Dalton’s funeral. And why wouldn’t they be here? I had worked hard to ingratiate myself with the family over the past year. Gregory’s money was still tied to his parents, their approval was necessary—until after the wedding was official of course.

  * * *

  Eight.

  * * *

  I looked toward his ailing father, hunched over in his wheelchair with an oxygen tube under his nose. No. Too obvious of a choice. I looked at his mother. She was busy staring at Gregory with pride and love. It had been difficult truly winning her over, and I still believe she has her reservations, but I wasn’t concerned. She wouldn’t be around long enough in our marriage to cause any real problems.

  * * *

  Seven.

  * * *

  I walked up to the makeshift altar to stand next to Gregory. We were wearing matching bespoke tuxedos. I know! Aren’t we adorable? Such the perfect couple.

  “You look very handsome,” I said as I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Right back at you, the future Mr. Alford,” he said with a beaming smile filled with love.

  We had decided I would take his name… after all, I didn’t go through all this trouble to join this family not to also carry the power of the name. It was just as well, since Vincent Treufer wasn’t my real name anyway.

  * * *

  Six.

  * * *

  “Doesn’t the place look wonderful?” asked Gregory as we waited for all the guests to be seated.

  “Beautiful.”

  Placing his hand in the crook of my arm, he hugged me close. “Thank you so much for agreeing to a New Year’s Eve wedding in honor of Dalton’s memory. I know it was a lot asking you to sort of share the day, but it feels like a great way to remember him… a new beginning… a new life.”

  * * *

  Five.

  * * *

  Tilting my head so it brushed his forehead, I covered his hand with my own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, my love.” Looking over at the floral-covered balcony railing where I had pushed Dalton to his grisly death, I smiled. “I too feel as though his memory is right here with us, sharing this day.”

  Sharing my triumph.

  Who’s the joke now, Dalton?

  * * *

  Four.

  * * *

  The female minister stood before us. “Tonight, is a celebration of all that is good and pure in the world. A celebration of true love. Of two people who were destined to meet and become one.”

  One… for now. I didn’t plan on sharing all this wealth for longer than was necessary.

  * * *

  Three.

  * * *

  “Does anyone object to the union of these two souls? Speak now or forever hold your peac
e,” asked the minister of our small audience.

  Now of course should be the moment the police burst in to arrest me for Dalton’s murder… or perhaps the murder of Oscar… or the others I’ve had to clear from my destined path to wealth.

  Gregory and I looked over our shoulders. There was a nervous chuckle among the crowd. Turning back, we nodded to the minister to continue.

  So close.

  I was so close to achieving everything I wanted.

  I held my breath in anticipation. Feeling true emotion for the first time in my life.

  * * *

  Two.

  * * *

  “By the power vested in me, by the State of Illinois, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss.”

  * * *

  One.

  * * *

  Happy New Year!

  * * *

  The End

  About Zoe Blake

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author in Dark Romance & Horror.

  There is something delicious in our desire for the corrupt, our ravenous appetite for the brutal, the profane, the unspeakable. The taboo. I write the type of books that give you a frisson of unease; that will have you questioning your own resolve as I take you on a dark ride of twists, kinks and perversions of both the flesh and mind.

  * * *

  Enjoy the blush and tremble as you read each decadent word.

  * * *

  XOXO Zoe

  Find Zoe Online

  Check out Zoe’s website here!

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  Also By Zoe Blake

  BAD BABYGIRL SERIES

  * * *

  Bad Babygirl: The Hacker Prequel

  Daddy’s going to own me.

  I knew computer hacking would get me into trouble one day, but not like this.

  Kidnapped and held captive in a military compound, I’m held down and branded with the number thirteen.

  Just when I think my captors have pushed me to the end of my limits, I discover there’s worse to come.

  A man forcing me to call him Daddy.

  He’s going to make me submit to him.

  The more I fight, the more he likes it.

  Bad Babygirl: The Con-Artist Book One

  If I have to hurt her to get what I want... I will.

  No is not an option.

  My little con artist is about to learn I run my criminal enterprise with an iron fist.

  She is no exception.

  She will do as Daddy tells her or there will be pain.

  Little does she know how much I will enjoy inflicting it.

  * * *

  Bad Babygirl: The Thief Book Two

  I will stop at nothing to get the information I need.

  No matter how much she fights me… I will win in the end.

  My little thief cannot steal away, I don’t care how hard she tries.

  Daddy’s in charge now.

  She either follows my rules, or there will be consequences… painful ones.

  Bad Babygirl: The Expert Book Three

  I control everything about her life… she just doesn’t know it.

  Despite her dangerous profession she has an air of naïve innocence.

  It makes her weak, vulnerable… easy prey for a man like me.

  Until now, I’ve been content to stay in the shadows, but someone has made a deadly mistake, they have threatened what’s mine.

  My little one is about to understand that Daddy is done watching.

  It’s time I claim my babygirl.

  At Midnite

  Stevie J Cole

  At Midnite

  By Stevie J Cole

  Copyright © 2019 by Stevie J Cole

  Edited by WallFlower Edits

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the

  author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter 1

  New Year’s Eve.

  An arbitrary day that some believe holds the promise of bigger and better things, as though the simple tick of a clock will make one’s miserable existence anything other than miserable. New year, new me, same bullshit. And while I thought most people who made their stupid little resolutions to better themselves were truly pathetic, I had decided to make a resolution of my own. I wouldn’t kill anyone, even if snuffing out their miserable existence would make the world a more tolerable place. The rake of teeth over my shaft broke my train of thought, and I hissed out a breath.

  “Not so hard.” I gripped the back of the guy’s head, ramming my cock deeper down his throat until he gagged. The way his throat opened, then tightened when he choked on me was just what I needed to send me over the edge. My muscles tensed, my knees buckled, and my fingers tightened in his hair, keeping his mouth right where I wanted while I came.

  Nothing like a semi-decent blowjob to take off the edge, and thankfully those weren’t hard for someone with my looks, my enigmatic charm, to come by. No pun intended.

  The guy whose name I hadn’t bothered to ask for was still on his knees. I pulled my dick from his mouth and placed a finger beneath his chin, lifting for him to look at me.

  “Swallow.” I waited for the slight bob of his Adam’s apple before I shoved myself back inside my trousers, then dismissed him and turned to the sink to wash my hands.

  I thought about how empty this next year would feel. A year without the screams, void of all the blood, and I wondered if this sense of pending loss was normal. Did Karen feel a chasm of sadness sweep over her when she passed by the wine she’d sworn off the way I would passing by some degenerate fuck who looked at me like I was beneath him?

  Surely not. Wine couldn’t possibly give someone the high of bloodshed. With a wistful sigh, I straightened my bowtie, then flicked invisible lint I was certain must be there from my shoulder. I flashed a well-practiced smile—one I’d been told many times was charming—in the mirror.

  “New Year. New me,” I said with a chuckle before turning off the light and stepping out of the bathroom.

  I was nearly to the stairs when the door to the Rothchild’s bedroom swung open and Meredith Rothchild stepped out, wiping beneath her nose. The number of times I’d imagined lacing her cocaine with arsenic or rat poison. . . Everything about her was a cliché. She was a blond, waif-thin model with the expected penchant for cocaine and dick most would expect of any Desperate Housewife. Although, I could partly excuse her obsession with dick, seeing as how not only was she married to a man who was old enough to be her grandfather but to Rowan Rothchild. I despised everything the pompous, arrogant fuck stood for, but the one thing I’d learned over the years was that, in this world of caviar and champagne, one must play along with the niceties. So I smiled and greeted Meredith, ignoring the way her gaze strayed to my crotch.

  “Where have you been all evening, Benjamin?” She looped her arm through mine, and we started down the stairwell.

  I thought of telling her that I’d just gotten my dick sucked by her twenty-two-year-old, cock-hungry nephew whose name I couldn’t recall but decided against it. Niceties and all. “Just here and there. Trying to say a word to everyone.”

  Her red lips spread into a sultry smile. “Always the social butterfly, Benjamin.”

  Oh, I came off every bit a Talkative Ted. Smiling, laughing. Doling out compliments like it was my job. But the unfortunate truth of that matter was that making small talk, having to chit chat with all these assholes made me break out in hives. I hated every second of it, and the very minute I got home, I’d strip
myself of my designer clothes and take a scalding shower just to get rid of the feel of them. As much as I detested these ridiculous parties, as much as my stomach churned with the term “mingle,” shit like this was often necessary. A means to an end if you will.

  We stepped into Rothchild’s ostentatious living room. Marble floor. Marble walls. Vaulted ceiling. It looked like a rip off of the Louvre, and while Rowan had designed it to impress, all it did was shout his insecurities, his incessant need to flash his money like it was some massive, two-headed dildo. I’d often times dreamed of how vibrant his blood would look splattered across the clean, white stone, but alas, it was a dream that wouldn’t come true. At least not this year. I already felt withdrawals setting in, and I wondered if the Karens of the world already missed their wine, too.

  I swallowed back the acid eating its way up my throat while I made small talk. I sipped champagne, imagining I may take up running instead. Serial killer turned marathon runner. That had a certain ring to it. I smiled against the rim of my champagne flute at the thought of myself in those tight shorts. And then that giddy feeling whooshed right out of me, like a deflating balloon.