“Not if they want to live.”
“Security?”
“Even if we’re caught, they’re discreet.”
That’s all I need to know.
I tackle his pants with more enthusiasm.
He tries to tug my dress up.
“Won’t work,” I whisper as I plunge my hands down his pants and grip his rigid length.
He groans into my neck, bracing himself with his hands planted against the building on either side of me. “Sweet holy fuck, your hands.”
“You have the loveliest penis in the world.”
He huffs out a short laugh as his cock pulses harder in my hand. “Your compliments are beyond compare. Dear god, do that again.”
He thrusts his hips into my hand as I cradle his balls with the other. He’s hard and long, hot and silky smooth. Unintelligible sounds come from his throat as I stroke and tease him, brushing the moisture from the tip of his blunt head, and touching him isn’t enough.
I love turning him on.
I love making him feel good.
I love knowing that he’ll take care of my needs too, not out of obligation, but because he seems to genuinely enjoy making me feel good.
And I’ve never gone down on a man in public before, and the thrill of it makes pushing his pants down off his hips and fussing with my skirt so that I can drop to my knees a no-brainer.
“Jesus, Begonia,” he pants as I lick the underside of his cock, then suck his broad head into my mouth, twirling my tongue around the silky ridge and tasting his salty flavor.
He grunts like he wants to moan but is trying to be quiet, his hips and thighs quivering. He’s still bracing himself against the wall behind me, and my one regret is that he’s not gripping my hair.
And that last thought makes me smile around Hayes’s cock.
Hello, old Begonia.
I feel so alive right now.
Powerful and desirable and free and open to taking the opportunities the world offers.
No regrets.
Especially with Hayes gasping and groaning softly while I lick and suckle and tease his thick length, sucking him as deep as I can, swirling my tongue around his shaft, and taking him deep again while I play with his testicles and his thighs shake against my arm and hand.
I’m driving him wild, and it’s making my clit achy and my panties soaked and my breasts so hot and heavy that there’s not enough room in this dress for me to breathe.
It’s exquisite, to use one of Hayes’s favorite words.
I feel like a freaking goddess.
“Begonia,” he grunts, and I know he’s close.
I can hear it.
I can feel it.
I roll his balls in my hand and suck harder, and just as he grunts with his release overtaking him, lights flash.
Then more lights.
He’s coming down my throat and the sky is lit up with cameras popping, and oh my god.
“Fuck,” he grunts, pulling out mid-orgasm.
He twists, but not before I feel a hot, wet stickiness land on my chest.
And then my face is buried in his ass as he barks orders. “Cameras. Hand them over. Now.”
No, not barks.
Snarls.
“Holy shit, it’s really the weird Rutherford brother,” a guy says somewhere nearby.
I try to move, but Hayes blocks me. “I said, hand over your cameras.”
“Not a fucking chance, bro. Thanks for the shot.”
He starts to move, then freezes, like he’s torn between chasing away whoever’s dashing off with photographic evidence and exposing me to more visibility. “Robert,” he barks, and when a tinny voice answers, I realize he’s on the phone. “We have a problem.”
32
Hayes
In the past fifteen to twenty years, I’ve made an art out of avoiding anything that will give me regrets.
This evening, I’m living two decades’ worth of regrets in the span of under an hour.
“The damage will be minimal,” I tell Begonia as we taxi down the runway at JFK. “The paparazzi know my family will pay a pretty penny to squash scandal. My team is on it.”
She nods and stares out the window. “Of course. That makes sense.”
“We should get married.”
The words leave my mouth and I can practically see them traveling the short distance in Jonas’s private plane—not mine, since it’s still delivering Hyacinth home—from my lips to her ears. I want to snag them back before they register inside her brain, but I can’t, and I know it.
I’m also completely, selfishly thrilled with this turn of events.
I marry Begonia so that even if rumors swirl about what we were doing in public and why we disappeared from the gala, the scandal will be outweighed by the news of our wedding.