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My panties are somewhere over there too. My skirt is bunched up around me, my pussy on full view. My tits are popping out. I must've been trying to play with my nipples.
My pussy is wet—my thighs are sticky.
It’s pooled underneath me on the leather. The whole car smells like sex.
“Better now?” Magnus asks with a smile. “Work off some of those calories from brunch?”
I nod. I’m so sleepy. Post orgasm endorphins are sluicing through my body.
“Ready for Round Two?” he says with a grin.
It’s all I can do to keep from smiling as Magnus speaks into the intercom and the car revs up again getting into the traffic as Magnus picks up the bullet and gives me a grin.
Oh my God.
This man is insane.
Crazy.
Wild.
He’s perfect.
Magnus
“And now, it’s my pleasure to introduce our benefactor, Mr. Davion!” The host, a man with a thick moustache and a soft rotund paunch, announces me and then leads a round of applause. I get up from my seat in the front row, button my jacket, and then casually make my way onto the stage.
“Thank you, thank you,” I say into the mic, taking my position before it as the host steps to the side. Slowly, the crowd quiets down and I clear my throat, mentally rehearsing my speech.
It’s a crowded room I’m facing, rows upon rows of lower politicians and businessmen sitting across from me; occupying the first row on the right wing of the hall are a few dozen journalists. They snap a few pictures as I walk up to the stage, and I throw them a smile—my smile is meant, of course, for Penny. She’s sitting among the journalists, a New York Daily Journal badge pinned to her button-up shirt and a notepad resting on her crossed legs.
The big wigs are all seated in front of me, in the first row, and among them I can count my lovely ex-wife and her pal, Laurel ‘The Devil’ Trask. They’re probably cursing me under their breath right now, praying to the Devil for me to collapse on stage before I start speaking. They’d like that, alright.
“It’s a pleasure to be with you tonight,” I start, the hot lights trained on the stage making a few beads of sweat drip down my neck. God, I hate making these fucking speeches. It’s all theater, you see? Whenever you see someone in front of a mic and a crowd, chances are that they’re feeding some well-rehearsed speech laced with a hefty dosage of sweet bullshit. And that, dear ladies, just isn’t the way I roll. But Joyce has insisted we carry on with this good-boy strategy, and what can I say? Despite a few hiccups, it’s working.
“As we all know, Central Park is New York’s soul. With a history that now spans three centuries, the Park has always been one of the this city’s most prominent landmarks.” I go over a few of the most important dates on Central Park’s history, but I gloss over them as quickly as I can. People don’t give a fuck about random dates and facts; it’s all about emotion.
“Of course,” I continue, ready to finish my speech and escape the hot spotlights, “we owe much of what Central Park is today to the Central Park Conservancy. As such, I can’t tell you how humbled I am to extend a helping hand and give them some much-needed support. Thank you for all your hard work,” I finish, turning around to face the Conservancy's President and clapping my hands. The crowd takes my lead, and the sound of a few hundred people clapping their hands fills the whole auditorium.
With a final bow, I offer my hand to the Conservancy's president and let him shake it heartily. I just wrote him a half-a-million dollar check, to help with the maintenance of Central Park, so I figure his hearty handshake is a justified one. I finally make my way down the stage, glad that my part in this show is over; instead of walking back to my seat though, I pretend that I need to head out for a piss and walk all the way to the back of the auditorium.
Wide and long red drapes hang from the upper balconies, covering everything with bright crimson; I lean against one of the walls and hide from view, standing behind one of these drapes. Two or three minutes later, Penny joins me in my improvised hiding spot.
“That was amazing,” she whispers, but the only reply I give her is one long kiss.
“No, but this is,” I grin as I pull back from her, my hands casually resting on her hips.
“I’m serious. You were amazing up there. You have a knack for it, Magnus.”
“I seriously doubt it. I hate these fucking things. It feels like I’m bragging about my generosity, which kinda defeats the purpose.”
“So… you’d prefer to just donate anonymously?” she asks me, and I can’t help but pretend to be offended by her question.
“Of course! I have more money than I can ever spend, and I sure as hell don’t mind spending it to help people… I just fucking hate this grandstanding bullshit. This is all for show, and I can’t stand it.”
“Why not?”
“It just isn’t me, Penny. I don’t give a fuck about playing nice. I just prefer to deal with things head on, and that’s how I deal with everyone and everything. I have no patience for subtlety or politics.”
