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To that, I snorted, taking a deep breath, sitting back. “It’s Bella.”
“Bella. Meaning ‘beautiful,'” he said, eyes shining, understanding why I hated it.
“In both Italian and Latin,” I agreed, rolling my eyes. “My parents really had to add insult to injury on that one.”
“It’s a beautiful name. Even if I think Wasp suits you a little bit better. Maybe I will only call you Bella when I want to piss you off.”
“You’re planning on doing that often?”
“Just about every chance I get,” he promised, eyes bright. “You’re kind of sexy when you’re pissed off,” he told me, smile devilish.
“So you plan on seeing me in the future,” I said, needing confirmation, too scared to let myself hope without hearing the words.
“Seeing you? Yeah,” he said, hand slipping up my side, over my ribs, a place he knew I was sensitive. “And doing a lot more than just seeing you,” he told me, fingers moving up, teasing the low bodice of my dress, not even touching my skin, but managing to send goosebumps washing over my skin in anticipation.
“Fenway, be serious for one minute,” I demanded.
“Oh, darling, if there is one thing I am serious about,” he started, eyes going molten, “it’s about making you do… yeah that,” he said when his hand slipped under my bodice, closing over my breast, his thumb moving over my hardened nipple, making me moan. “Now, isn’t that better than talking?” he asked, using his thumb and forefinger to roll my nipple, making need bloom in my core.
“We need to talk,” I insisted even as my hips did a little shimmy, moving higher on his lap, feeling his cock pressing against me, making me let out an airy sigh.
“We can talk,” he said, one hand sinking into my ass, grinding me against him. “About how wet you are for me,” he told me, jerking his hips upward, making his cock hit me right where I needed him, dragging a ragged moan out of me. His other hand went behind my neck, dragging me closer. “We can talk about how we are going to keep you quiet when I fuck you, so the driver doesn’t hear,” he told me, hand moving from my ass to slip between my thighs, sliding under my panties.
“Fenway, please,” I whimpered, rocking against him. “It’s been too long,” I added, instantly regretting those days when I’d held him at arms’ length.
Luckily, Fenway was just as out of control, not wasting any time slipping on protection, ripping my barely-there panties, and guiding me up so I could slide down onto his length.
“Fuck,” I whimpered, taking a deep breath.
“Yeah, you never faked that,” he told me, smirking as he jerked his hips upward into me as I started working in slow circles.
It wasn’t long before all control snapped, leaving me riding him hard, fast, his hand crushed over my mouth to muffle my cries as I got closer, as I flew over the edge, crashing down into my orgasm.
Fenway followed on the tail-end of my orgasm, hissing out my name—my real name. And maybe I didn’t hate the sound of it on his lips.
“You realize Eamon Awan probably has a camera in here, and just watched us get it on,” I told him, pulling backward after I caught my breath.
“Yes, well, the poor ugly bastard probably can’t get any himself.
“Ugly—” I started.
“Work with me here, darling. I have some pride,” he told me, grinning.
“Oh, right. Yeah. He’s just… hideous. If there was a race of aliens that were about to go extinct and needed a man’s sperm, and the women came down, and Eamon was all the world had to offer, they’d probably decide they’d rather let their race die out.”
“I know, right? The poor man. I clearly could not imagine being so unfortunate-looking,” he said, grinning.
“Seriously, though. He probably has cameras in here. Why the hell else are we driving around Navesink Bank in circles?” I asked, looking over his shoulder at a building we’d already passed. “Unless he plans on killing us,” I concluded. “You know… for figuring out his super secret location.”
“Hm,” Fenway mused as I climbed off of his lap, tucking my panties into his pocket. “Maybe he’d be more forgiving if we went back, and I dropped a small country’s GDP at one of his tables,” he suggested, zipping up, then sliding to the side, knocking calmly on the glass. “I have a hundred grand burning a hole in my pocket,” he told the driver when the window slid down.
“I’ll see what he says,” the driver told us, closing the partition again.
Fifteen minutes later, we were back at a table, Fenway making easy business conversation with Richard Balefire as I tried to pretend to ignore Faye’s knowing look.
“It’s clever, you know,” she told me as she shifted her cards around.
