Chapter 19
“I’m driving,” I say to Belle, walking up to her car as she parks along the side of the road by my flat. Her window is down and she looks at me like I’m deranged as I toss my suitcase in the backseat and move to open her door.
Her jaw is dropped. “It’s my bloody car. You’re not driving!” She closes the door.
“I’m not going to have you driving in the dark for five hours, woman. End of.” I open it again.
“Well, you’re the one who changed the plans from leaving tomorrow morning to tonight instead. I was perfectly fine with leaving early tomorrow.”
I exhale. Everything with Belle is a confrontation. She can’t just follow the simplest instructions.
“I want to beat the traffic and have a lie in tomorrow. You haven’t seen Gareth’s house. Trust me, you’ll thank me for this.” I head nod for her to get out.
“Well, I can still drive! I’m not some meek female who can’t handle the treacherous motorways without my girdle. Fuck off. I’m driving.” She closes the door.
Shaking my head, I rip it open again, unbuckle her seatbelt, and pull her out.
I do my best to ignore the hateful words spewing out of her mouth as I walk her over to the passenger side.
When she’s still moaning on and on about what an arrogant prat I am, I spin on my heel and shove her hips back until her arse is pressed up against the door.
My fingers bite into the arc of her hip bone, pinning her to the vehicle.
I drop my mouth into the same breathing space as hers and she still won’t stop.
With a frustrated growl, I mesh my lips with hers.
She lets out a whimper of surprise but catches up quickly and returns my kiss with vigour.
My tongue swirls deeply between her lips, aching to taste more than just her mouth but knowing this will have to do for now.
She pulls me to her so our bodies are flush together.
I swear our pulses synchronise because the whir of traffic around us goes silent and all I can hear is the pounding of my heart inside my chest.
A smile teases the corner of my mouth when a pleasant hum rumbles from somewhere deep inside of her. She practically thrusts her groin against me when my hands slide up to the sides of her breasts. I smooth my thumbs over her nipples and nearly fall apart when I feel them bead beneath my touch.
No. Fucking. Bra.
And in a blink of an eye, she’s topping from the bottom again.
I like to think I’ve got Belle all figured out by now.
Her day off from work consisted of us spending the majority of our time in her bed.
In her shower. Even in her kitchen at one point.
So to say I’m familiar with how to stimulate Belle Ryan’s body would be a gross understatement.
But somehow, she still finds a way to make things interesting.
To stir the pot. To get me going. To surprise me.
And something simple like not wearing a bra is a perfect example of the control she manages to maintain.
I’m becoming addicted.
Thankfully, she had a big surgery at the end of the week that she needed to focus on so we were forced to part ways until this evening.
My mind and my cock needed a break. It also gave me a chance to call Santino yesterday to check in and see how we’re doing.
He said he’d been talking to Belle’s father and they were pleased with the coverage thus far.
I let him know we would need some addendums to our scheduled dates for this weekend, and he seemed chuffed that we were headed on a mini holiday to Manchester.
He said he’d spin that to the press and they’d lap it up like dogs, especially with it being such a high-profile game.
So far this fake dating hasn’t been hard at all. Belle’s a bit of a head case from time to time, but it’s nothing a good swizzle stick can’t fix. I think a fair amount of dickin’ keeps us both in better spirits.
But apparently I haven’t had enough because the bulge pressed up against her stomach seems to have a strong muscle memory.
“Fine, you can drive.” Belle gasps against my lips as she pulls away. She’s breathless as her eyes glance down between us. “But only because that thing can’t take care of itself.”
Belle’s Mercedes isn’t the most masculine of vehicles, but it’s been a while since I’ve driven and it feels good to be behind the wheel again.
The drive to Manchester is congested, dark, and bland, but Belle’s nattering on beside me makes time pass rather quickly.
She’s a funny storyteller. Her eyes get so big in the blue dashboard lights as she animates her story.
She likes to ask a lot of questions, too, like, “And then do you know what happened?” It’s kind of adorable.
Her enthusiasm tonight is because of a set of twins they separated inside the womb earlier today.
She tells me how hands-on she got to be during the surgery, and how Dr. Miller is finally starting to trust her more.
It blows my mind that she spent her day inside a woman’s pregnant stomach, saving babies who weigh no more than a pound each.
Most people sit in front of computers at a dull office.
She touches the untouchable. She plays God.
The passion she has for her job radiates off of her and it makes me miss my own.
Being a career athlete is incredible but it’s hard at times, too.
The physical and mental stress is exhausting.
You’re not just paid to play football. You’re paid to win.
And your fans feel like they own a piece of you.
Your victory is their victory. Your loss is their loss.
When you don’t perform up to their standards, they turn on you rather quickly.
However, when you’re on top of your game—when the crowd chants your name and their cheers are for you and you alone—it’s the stuff gods are made of.
“All right then,” Belle states, interrupting my thoughts and propping a bare foot on the dashboard. “I shared some Deep Talk, now it’s your turn.” She breaks the shell off a pistachio nut and hands it to me. “Are you worried that watching the match tomorrow will be hard?”
I frown at her and pop the nut into my mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully. “Why would you think it’d be hard?”
Her brows lift. “I imagine you’re itching to get back on the pitch. Seeing your two brothers play on their dream teams while you’re stuck with me sounds a bit brutal.”
I think about that for a minute. I’d love to play again but, for some reason, I don’t feel ready. As hard as this break I’ve had has been, it feels like it came at a good time. Maybe some time away from the pitch is exactly what I needed to get myself sorted.
“First of all, now that I can be stuck inside of you, this fake dating isn’t so bad.” I shoot her a lewd smirk.
“Oh, aren’t you such a romantic.” She winks and hands me another nut.
“Second of all, watching my brothers play tomorrow will be a bit of a luxury that I don’t get to partake in much. Our football schedules are always conflicting, so I’m excited to be able to just sit and cheer for them.”
“Won’t it be hard seeing Camden on another team, though? You guys have played closely together for so long.”
A tenseness forms in my shoulders, but I shake it away and reply through clenched teeth, “Harris family support is unwavering.”
I can feel her watching me as she pries, “But surely things have changed since he started playing for Arsenal?”
“They have,” I reply, feeling an annoying prickle on the back of my neck. “But I don’t think it will matter in the long run. My siblings are top priority…always.”
“But what about when they all start their own families? Your sister is having a baby. Camden and Indie are all over each other. I mean, everyone’s kind of moving on, right? Even though in the end, we all end up alone.”
Her last words are murmured to the window and they shock me more than anything else she said. “You save families from despair every day. Surely you’re not that cynical.”
“I save them from medical circumstances,” she corrects. “I have no idea what their lives are like when they go home.”
“Well, I don’t go a day without speaking to one of my siblings. My dad has managed my entire career. Vi supports everything we do. We’re thick as thieves. We may be one tent away from a full-blown circus, but we’re woven into each other’s everyday decisions and I don’t see that ever changing.”
I see her brow furrow in the dark as she mulls over what I’ve just said like she’s warring with something. Belle’s eyes are so expressive, you’d have to be blind not to notice.
“What are you thinking about?” I push and her gaze snaps over at me like she forgot I was there.
“Nothing.” She smiles but it looks odd. “I think we’ve had enough Deep Talk. Let’s do something fun.” She sets the bag of pistachios on the dashboard.
“Did you have something in mind?”
She shoots me a sly, secretive smile. “I was thinking more along the lines of deep throat.”
My eyes swerve to her and she’s tweaking her brows at me, her gaze dropping down to my trousers. When she sucks her lower lip into her mouth and her teeth bite down on the spongy flesh, I forget all about what we were talking about. Truthfully, I think I forget my own name.
“You better not be giving me that look unless you intend to put it to action,” I warn.
Her smile grows. “What kind of action specifically?”
My hips pulse with need and I take a cleansing breath when my dick presses against my zipper. “The kind that involves very different nuts.”
She giggles and leans across the seat to whisper in my ear, “Good, I’m still hungry.”
She reaches out and takes my hand in hers, bringing it up to her mouth for a chaste kiss before pulling my pointer finger between her lips. She sucks hard and bites down softly. I have to mentally scream at myself to keep my eyes on the road.