Page 52 of Rebellious Reign

I move my legs, spreading them a little as I adjust, giving him more access. He takes the invitation. Thank goodness for the tablecloth; otherwise, others would see how he’s pushed my dress up, tracing the strap of my barely there thong.

I’m not sure if I moan, but a few eyes at our table turn toward me, and we freeze, not looking at them, but appearing to be fully invested in what’s happening onstage.

What the hell is wrong with me?

When they shift their attention away, satisfied that nothing nefarious is happening over here, Connor’s finger dips between my legs, underneath my panties, and traces the seam of my pussy. I don’t dare look at him. He hasn’t turned to me once.

Back and forth, he rubs me slowly, languidly, and I grow wetter at each swipe of his finger. Then, he pushes down on my clit, and I bring my napkin to my mouth on a silent gasp.

Waiters pass behind us, clearing the first course and delivering our entrée. We don’t move. Connor’s finger circles my clit. Pressure builds inside my body, and I’m sure if anyone were to look now, they would know exactly what is going on. It must be written all over my face.

I attempt to find my fork and appear like I’m eating, but all I manage to do is pick it up and hold it in clenched fingers. My pelvis tilts toward the man driving me wild, and he pulls fireworks from my body. His fingers are magical, working me up into a frenzy, and all I can do is sit here and take it.

I press the tines of my fork into food—I’m not sure what it is. I’m not even looking at it. My body hunches over slightly, my mouth open on a soundless moan. Electricity shoots up and down my spine, and I close my eyes, briefly trying to contain myself. The orgasm wrenches through me, and I don’t make a sound. It’s a miracle. I’ve never been one for exhibitionism, but this, combined with the glasses of champagne, has me so hot that I wouldn’t care if Connor picked me up right now and fucked me on top of these fancy plates of food.

When I come down, I glance over, and a slight smirk on Connor’s lips greets me. He pulls the napkin from his lap, licks his finger quickly, dries it, then hands me the cloth, and rises from his chair.

I register they are saying his name.

Holy fucking hell, he has to go onstage right now. How is he even holding himself together?

He discreetly adjusts himself before striding toward the steps. I watch him take them two at a time, his long legs eating up the distance to the podium.

He approaches the man standing in front of the microphone, a confident, self-assured look on his face as they shake hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this young man has been an instrumental part of my family for more than ten years. He has helped us out in numerous ways, been a friend to my sons, and is generally someone I’m happy to say is well-deserving of this award. He’s graciously donated a large sum of money for charity, and he does so behind the scenes. It makes coming over to the Heywood side worth it.”

The crowd titters. I’m not sure why.

“I’m sure he won’t be happy with me for doing this, but the committee has elected him as this year’s Man of the Year for all the money he has put into the Heywood school system and the steady stream of income he supplies to the local historical society and the shelters.Youdeserve this, Connor.” The speaker puts emphasis on that last part, turning to shake Connor’s hand again as he hands him a plaque.

Connor and he smile for the cameras going off, and then Connor steps up to the microphone. He pauses, and his eyes find mine before scanning the room.

I had no idea Connor did so much for charity. I wonder if Bertrand ever knew. It casts him in a new light.

“Thank you, Chester,for the kind words, but that’s all they are. I’m no hero. I just have an ungodly amount of money and choose to throw it around a little.”

The crowd laughs, no doubt because they all have an ungodly amount of money. It’s not so funny to those of us who have struggled to survive.

“I’m sure there are people more deserving of it, but thank you for this honor.” Connor holds up the plaque to a round of applause.

Chester steps forward, slapping him on the back with a large smile, and they shake hands again. Then, Connor is headed back toward me.

I reach up to see if my mouth is hanging open.

What just happened? Am I married to a good person who masquerades as a scoundrel?

“Connor? What the fuck?” I ask, letting the question hang.

He grimaces, then shrugs. “I thought I would put my father’s dirty money to good use. I’ve been doing it for years. He let me, called it an allowance. I guess he thought I was spending it on myself. But I wanted to help the community I was a part of. I didn’t want to feel like I was always bringing in bad.”

“You cancel out the bad with the good.”

“I attempt to even the scale, and hope it will all work out in the end. Plus, it helps with the politicians when you need to get in good with them.”

“You mean, pay off the government to look the other way when you do something shady?” I say, cocking one eyebrow.

“Something like that,” he says with a wink. “They get a little money. We get a little clout. It’s something my father always did.”

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