He Gave My Seat to His Sweetheart, So I Went Home and Said My Name novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Back Seat

In the back of Massimo's car, glass up, he makes her look at him while his fingers bring her apart; the gate opens on forty men with their heads bowed.

The car was a black sedan with leather seats, and it smelled like him.

Cedar, wool and the faint smoke of a cigar he never lit.

I knew that smell from a night four years ago, and I had spent four years pretending I didn't.

The driver pulled out of the Kincaid drive without a word.

Massimo touched a button, and a glass panel rose between the front seat and ours.

Then it was only the two of us in the dark, with the lake road sliding past the windows.

My hands were shaking, and I couldn't make them stop.

"It's the cold," I said.

"It's not the cold."

He took my left hand in both of his.

His hands were huge and warm.

The scar on the back of the left one was a pale seam I had once traced with my eyes across a kitchen table.

He turned my hand over and pressed his thumb into the pale band where the ring had been.

"Look at me," Massimo said.

I looked.

His eyes were so dark I couldn't find the pupils.

"You called," he said.

"I called."

"You called twice before and said nothing, and I sat at the other end for an hour each time."

My throat went tight.

"Why didn't you call back?"

"Because you didn't want me to," he said.

"Do you want me now?"

I didn't answer with words.

I slid across the leather and kissed him.

He made a low sound in his chest.

Then his hand was in my hair and he was kissing me back.

His mouth was hard and slow, and he tasted of coffee and mint.

I climbed halfway into his lap with his overcoat sliding off my shoulders.

Underneath it I wore only the white silk slip.

His palm flattened against my back through the thin silk.

I felt the heat of it go all the way down my spine.

"Marisa," he said against my mouth.

"Say it again."

"Say what?"

"My name, the way you said it on the phone."

"Massimo."

"Again."

"Massimo," I said, and my voice broke on it.

He bit my lower lip, right on the cut, and I gasped.

It stung, and it felt so good that I ground down on his thigh without meaning to.

"There she is," he said.

His hand slid down my back and over my hip.

He pushed the hem of my slip up my thighs.

The leather was cold on the back of my knees.

His fingers followed the line of the silk until they reached the lace of my underwear, and they stopped.

"Tell me to stop," he said quietly.

"No."

"Tell me."

"Don't you dare," I said.

He smiled for the first time, a small, dangerous curve of his mouth.

"Good girl."

Two fingers slid under the lace and found me.

I was already so wet that he made a sound.

"Fuck," he said.

"All this, from a kiss."

"From you."

"Say that again later."

He stroked once, slowly, from my entrance up to my clit, and I dropped my forehead against his shoulder.

"Eyes up," Massimo said.

"I can't. It's too much."

His other hand caught my chin and lifted my face.

"Eyes on me. I want to see it."

I looked at him.

He circled my clit with his thumb, slow and firm, and slid two fingers inside me at the same time.

The stretch of them made me cry out.

"That's it," he said.

"Ride my hand."

I rocked against him.

I couldn't help it, and I didn't try.

His fingers curled inside me, pressing on a spot that made white sparks go off behind my eyes.

His thumb kept up that slow, merciless circle.

The car hit a bump, and he went deeper.

"Oh, God."

"Not God," he said.

"Me."

"Massimo."

"You've been holding all of this in for four years," he said.

His voice was rough and low against my ear.

"You can stop holding now. Give it to me."

His thumb pressed harder, and his fingers moved faster.

I felt the pleasure climb up my legs and gather low in my belly.

My nails dug into his shoulders through his suit jacket.

My breath came in short, wet little sobs.

"Look at me, Marisa."

I looked.

I came with my eyes on his, with his name in my mouth and my whole body locking around his hand.

It went on and on.

He worked me through it with that same patient hand until my legs shook and I fell against his chest, panting.

He kept his fingers inside me for another long moment, and I felt each small aftershock squeeze around them.

Then he drew his hand out and put his fingers to his mouth.

He tasted me slowly, with his eyes still on mine.

I felt my face burn, and I felt myself get wet again.

"You didn't," I said.

"Didn't what?"

I looked down at the front of his trousers.

He was hard, and there was no hiding it.

I put my hand on him, over the fabric, and he caught my wrist.

"No," he said.

"Not tonight in a car like a boy."

"Massimo."

"You've had a hell of a night. I'll take what you want to give me tomorrow, and I'll take it right."

"I want it now."

"I know." His voice was low and pleased.

"That's why it's not now."

I wanted to be angry.

Instead I put my cheek against his chest and listened to his heart, which was going very fast.

He pulled his overcoat back around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head.

He did it.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Home."

"I don't have a home. I have a flat Weston has a key to, and I'm wearing a slip."

He didn't laugh.

"Marisa," he said.

"The car's already turned. Look."

I sat up and wiped my eyes and looked through the windshield glass.

We were coming down Astor Street, under the bare trees.

A grey stone house stood at the end of the block with an iron fence around it.

I hadn't seen it in four years, and it hadn't changed.

Every window was lit.

The iron gate swung open before the car reached it.

The sedan rolled up the drive and stopped at the front steps.

The big oak doors were open, and warm light poured out of the hall.

There were men standing inside, forty or more, in dark suits, in two long rows down the marble floor.

When I stepped out of the car in Massimo's coat and my bare feet, every one of them bowed his head.

"They've been waiting four years," Massimo said behind me.

"For what?" I whispered.

He put his hand on the small of my back.

"For you."

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