Fenway's other hand moved between us, grabbing the strap of my swimsuit, dragging it downward, exposing one breast, then the other.
Using his hand in my hair, he arched me back further, jutting my breasts toward him. Bending he sucked one into my mouth, working it with his tongue until I was writhing against him wildly. He released me, but only to go across my chest, sinking his teeth into my other nipple, making the pre-orgasm tightening start between my legs.
Close.
So close.
I just needed to reach into his pants, to free him, to pull my swimsuit to the side, and have him slip inside me. Deep, from the feel of it, overtaking me completely.
God, yes.
I needed that.
I needed it more than I was sure I ever needed any man before.
My nails clawed across his shoulders, holding on as I circled my hips against him.
Now.
I needed him inside me now.
Right that second.
But, no.
No, I added to my brain, hazy and slow with the fog of need swirling around it.
No, I couldn't have him right now.
We had no protection.
And I never took that risk.
If we paused to work out that situation, the moment would be gone. I would think it through. I would realize exactly how stupid it was.
Seeming to sense a shift, Fenway's arm anchored around my waist, turning, shifting, laying me flat on the warm cement, my legs dangling in the water.
"I can't fuck you," he told me, running his tongue between my breasts as he lowered himself into the water. "But I can taste you," he added, arms hooking under my legs, yanking them up.
His hand moved between my thighs, pulling my suit to the side.
Before I could even muster an objection—and, surely, I was going to object, right?—his mouth was on me, sucking for a second before his tongue was working my clit—fast, relentless, never giving my body a chance to lose the orgasm that was building at the base of my spine, a deep fist of tension.
And then just like that, his tongue swiped, and I crashed through my orgasm, crying out loud enough to alert anyone in the house—or in the neighbors' houses—letting them know exactly what was happening out on the patio.
But I didn't care.
I couldn't have cared.
Not with the pleasure exploding through my system, working its tendrils through every inch of my body, overtaking me entirely, leaving me shuddering in the wake.
My swimsuit moved back into place.
Fenway released my legs.
And then he was pulling himself out of the water, his wet body sliding over mine, pressing into me for one glorious moment.
He paused, waiting for my eyelids to flutter open.
And I saw complete and utter triumph staring back at me.
"Good luck trying to convince me—or yourself—that you don't want me now," he told me in that deep, sexy, alpha voice he used far too rarely, considering it was the hottest thing I was sure I'd ever heard. "Darling," he added with a smirk, like he knew exactly what he was doing, how I was trying to separate the two men I had come to know as Fenway Arlington.
Then his lips pressed to mine.
Hard.
Claiming.
Branding.
That was what they did.
They branded me.
But then they pulled away as quickly as they had pressed to me.
He pushed himself upward, away, and walked back into the house, dripping wet, hard as he had been just minutes before.
But victorious.
On a whimper, I reached downward, settling my breasts back into my swimsuit, which was no easy task given tits' tendency to seek separation when you were flat on your back, but I managed.
Lying there, I took a few deep, steadying breaths, my hand pressing to my belly.
"Wasp?" Alvy's voice called a few minutes later as I stayed there like a beached whale. Mostly because I wasn't sure I had complete authority over my own legs yet.
"Yeah?" I asked, taking one more deep breath, then folding upward to face them.
"Fenway said to tell you to be ready in an hour. He has a day planned."
"A day? What does this 'day' include?" I asked, brows furrowing as I reached up to toss my soaked hair over my shoulder.
"Actually," Alvy said, looking puzzled. "I have no idea. He didn't ask me to arrange it. He, ah, he did it himself," Alvy added, the words sounding like a question, like they couldn't quite come to terms with their helpless boss being able to do anything for himself.
"That is a terrifying thought," I told Alvy, getting a smirk from them.
"He's not quite the clueless idiot he can sometimes portray himself to be. I'm sure he has something interesting planned. Interesting," Alvy specified. "Interesting does not necessarily mean good, but if nothing else, you will have a story to tell."
"That's for damn sure." This entire ordeal was one for the books.
"You always have my number if you need an escape route," Alvy reminded me, shrugging, seeming uncertain what to do with themselves when Fenway was somehow taking care of his own affairs for a change.
"You can tag along," I offered, really needing the social buffer. I was reasonably sure that Fenway and I weren't going to jump each other with Alvy nearby.
Only pretty sure, though, mind you.
"I was given the day off," Alvy informed me, shaking their head.
"Oh, darling," Fenway's voice called from the second story balcony, making me crane my head to look up, my hand raising to block the sun. "Wear flats," he instructed, grin cocky, still basking in his victory.
Oh, he won the battle, that was for damn sure. I wasn't so prideful that I couldn't admit that. He clearly had the upper hand. He'd taken this one.
But I was going to win the war.
"I don't know if I like that look," Alvy observed, watching me with drawn-together brows.
"Your boss needs to be taken down a few pegs," I informed them.
"You're not getting any objections from me," Alvy said, giving me a smirk. "And I think you might actually be the woman for the job."
"Oh, I am. He's going down," I added, feeling my cheeks heat at that choice of words, wondering if Alvy knew more than they were letting on.
"Just let me know when. I want to be there. With popcorn. And a camera."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence," I told them, standing, making my way on stiff legs toward the door, following Fenway's wet footsteps through the house, up the stairs, across the hall to my room.
Going into my bathroom, I decided I needed to wash off the chlorine.
Making my way to the shower, I reached inside, pausing, hearing Fenway's shower on against the wall of mine, water slicking off his body and slapping against the floor in waves.
But that wasn't all I heard.
Oh, no.
I heard a low, tortured-sounding groaning, making my sex clench in realization.
I am not proud of this next part, I will admit. But it is the truth regardless.
I moved into my shower, pressing my ear against the wall, eavesdropping on a private moment.
Need gripped my system once again as I listened to him jerking off. To the idea of me. My hands. My mouth. Everything else.
My thighs pressed tightly together as there was a slamming noise—his fist hitting the wall—followed by a hiss, then a growling curse.
My sex fluttered in response, a large part of me wishing I was in there with him, coming with him.
"Christ," I hissed to myself, moving out of the shower, reaching in to turn it on.
I needed to get my head back in the game.
I needed to focus.
The sexual chemistry was good.
It was important, even.
It was even better if it was not faked on my part. Because I was pretty sure Fenway would have been able to notice the difference, even when every other man I faked it with didn't have any idea.
Chin up, shoulders back, gait confident. Even if my nerves were skittering around, making my heart flutter in my chest, my stomach flip-flop around.
What version of Fenway was going to be taking me on an outing today?
And where the heck were we going?
Maybe the better move would have been to say I was staying home, enjoying the beach and pool.
But what can I say? I wanted to see Indonesia. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I wanted to take all I could get from this experience.
"You look ravishing, darling," Fenway greeted, waiting for me in absurd, but somehow charming, pink chino shorts with some sort of tiny blue print on them and a white tee.
"What the hell is on your shorts?" I asked, moving closer.
"Well, you could get on your knees and check it out," he suggested, tone doing that deep, sexy, serious thing again.
The two parts of Fenway I had come to know were starting to blend together more. Which was going to be problematic for me. Because a part of me was starting to like the easy-going and absurd Fenway. The other part was sex-throbbingly obsessed with the idea of screwing the alpha, cocky, serious side of him.
"Oh, sweetheart," I said, adopting an old, trusty persona. The cool, collected sex kitten. My voice purred, my body swayed, sashayed, moving closer, near enough that our bodies almost touched. Almost. My fingertip touched the hem of his shorts, tracing slowly upward, making sure to tease in at the last moment, gliding up his zipper. "I've already gotten all I need from you," I told him, claiming the pool event as my own, taking the power back. "Now," I said, pulling away when I was sure his cock was hard again against his shorts, "Where are you taking me today?"
I could tell by the pained look on his face that I had just won an important battle.
And just like I planned, the playboy Fenway followed after me like a puppy dog.
Considering Alvy had no part in arranging the day, Fenway had set up something pretty memorable.
We started the morning at The Sacred Monkey Sanctuary, seeing families of monkeys, giant stone statues, the breathtaking greenery.
Fenway stopped me frequently, insisting it was the perfect spot for a photo op, then taking pictures all from good angles. And it was right in those moments that I remembered how nice it was to travel with someone else, to share the experiences, to get lost in a new area, a new way of life, to catalog those memories for when you are old and your memory was getting spotty.
"That was great," I admitted as we climbed back in his waiting car. I was even getting used to being driven around which, at first, had felt very awkward and unnecessary.
"How about a trip to the market?" he asked, as if I would turn it down.
"Don't we need to stop somewhere to get money? What kind of money do they use in Indonesia? I don't imagine a place referred to as a 'market' takes credit cards, right?"
"Rupiah is the type of money. It's very colorful," he informed me, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a giant wad of cash held together with a silver manatee clip. "And I keep a stash of it at the house in case of situations just like this. Now, you are not going to deny me the pleasure of buying you some happy, are you?"
"Happiness can't be bought. At least not in a lasting way. But far be it from me to turn down a little temporary happy," I added, enjoying the smile he shot me a little bit too much.
"I'm softening you up, aren't I, darling?"
"Don't be silly, darling," I said, patting his thigh. Did I pat him unfairly, torturously high on his thigh? I sure as hell did. And he sure as hell felt it, judging by the indrawn breath that I pretended not to notice. In fact, I pretended not to notice where my hand touched as well, my gaze out the window.
Fenway wasn't quite ready to let me get away with it, though.
His arm landed across my shoulders, pulling me into his side. His lips moved down near my ear, his warm breath sending a shiver over my skin.
"You and I both know you haven't gotten everything you truly want from me, darling," he told me, voice low. "You're not going to be satisfied until I'm buried deep inside you. Until you come around my cock multiple times. Even then, I suspect, it won't be enough. Play your games, pretty girl, but we both know where this ends."
With that, he released me, reaching for his door, pulling it open, making me realize we had somehow gotten to the market and parked without me noticing.
Yes, that was the effect Fenway had on me.
He made the world fall away.
And that was very, very dangerous.
Because I was pretty sure he wasn't wrong.
This wasn't over.
And there was no true way to win.
No matter which way things went, I was pretty sure we were both going to lose.
EIGHT
Wasp
"This is getting ridiculous," I told Fenway as he made a show out of snatching the hat I was trying on off my head and handing it to the shopkeeper with a flourish, telling her we would take it.
It was my third hat.
I also had a bright green and gold Siddhartha mask, a macramé wall hanging, a rainbow woven blanket, a massive white dreamcatcher, an I Love Bali tank top, a pink lizard magnet, beaded bracelets, and two straw purses—one small and round, the other large and rectangular.
Basically, if I touched it, or stopped to look at it for more than five seconds, Fenway decided I needed to have it.
"I love ridiculous things," he declared, handing the proprietor money, telling her to keep the change. From the wide eyes on her face, I imagined it was way over the asking price. "It is also good for the local economy that I am so ridiculous."
It wasn't just ridiculous.
It was generous.
I was starting to see that his way of throwing cash around wasn't exactly for recognition, for envy from others, but simple because he wanted to give; he genuinely liked brightening someone's day.
That was an unexpected and all-too-appealing quality, I had to admit.
"I literally don't have enough space to store all of this. I live on a bus, remember?" I reminded him, stopping myself short of touching wooden wind chimes, liking the idea of them, but knowing the constant clanging while driving Wanda would drive me mad.
"You'll find room," he assured me, dropping an arm across my shoulders, light and amiable, a part of him I was no longer seeing as superficial, but another side to his personality. We were all multifaceted. Judging him on it before had merely been because I'd been seeing him through a cynical lens, not a fair one.
"I think I will have to throw out my hot plate and coffee maker to make room for all of this.
"Food and coffee can be picked up on the road," he assured me, brushing my objections away.
By the time we finally left the market, I had an extra pair of flats, a coffee mug, and a really cute little mama and baby monkey statue.
"To remember our trip today," he told me, snatching it up, handing it to me, then paying for it.
I would never admit this, not even if Raven was giving me her 'out with it, Wasp' eyes, but there was a strange, unfamiliar little tugging sensation in my chest as I held it, as I thought about the sentiment behind it. I even had this insane urge to press the damn thing to my chest like some old long-forgotten childhood toy when finding it tucked in a box in the attic.
Uncomfortable with the sensations coursing through me, I took the statue, tucking it inside the round purse I had put on cross-body. Partly because I didn't want to keep feeling those sensations. But also because I wanted it safe, protected, not lost in the shuffle as we climbed back in the car.
"My feet hurt," I admitted, flexing them as I felt a refreshing blast of cold air from the air vent.
"Well, we certainly can't have that, can we?" Fenway asked, reaching down to snag my legs, ignoring my objection as he settled them ove
r his waist, his hands going for one of my feet, fingers pressing with expert precision into my sore soles.
"You know, if the being a mega billionaire thing doesn't work out for you," I told him, leaning my head back against the window, eyes half closing, "you could really have a career in foot massage," I told him, watching the warm look in his eyes as he gave me a small smile. "Are we going home?" I asked, not knowing what the rest of the plan was because he refused to tell me more than one step at a time.
When I asked why he was being such a pain about it, he'd told me that he wanted it to be a surprise so he could see my reaction when I learned the next destination.
It was an annoyingly adorable thing to say.
I wanted to hate him for it. As I always hated mush, in all of its forms.
But there was no denying that, well, I was starting to feel a little mushy inside when he said things like that.
"Nope."
"Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise. This is my favorite part of the day," he added, smiling. "Don't worry though, darling, I will have time to finish both your feet before we get there."
"Well then, I guess I have no objections," I told him, nudging him with my free foot.
I was liking this too much.
Way too much.
The rational part of me understood this, knew how problematic it could be. The irrational part of me, though, told the other part to fuck off.
"Wasp," Fenway called, a faraway sound in my ear, stirring me from a deep sleep. "Honey," he said, making my belly wobble. "We're here," he added, giving my leg a squeeze.
A low, grumbling noise escaped me as my eyes slitted open, squinting at the afternoon sun.
"I think I have had enough fun," I whined, pouting at him.
"I'm afraid we can't reschedule, darling," he told me, shrugging.
"Why not? We have no plans tomorrow."
"No," he agreed. "But I have already paid the people who run this particular tourist attraction to have exclusive access to this place of the day."
"You... what?" I asked, sitting up, suddenly fully awake. My gaze moved around outside the car, seeing an empty lot save for us and one car with some sort of logo on it that I couldn't read. "You can't pay to rent out a public place."
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