Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
She stroked my hard jawline then dragged her hands down the ink over my neck and palmed my chest, touching me like she could feel the fire against her fingertips. Her lips were parted and her tongue was slightly visible, as she panted through the pleasure between her legs and the pain from my grip around her throat.
She guided my face to her mouth so she could kiss me, and that was when I released my grip on her throat. “Fuck, you’re so hot.” She said it between kisses, melting into me like we were both streams of lava from the same volcano merging together.
I knew what I had to offer, but women rarely complimented me, choosing to play it cool and feigning indifference as if that would capture my attention more than honesty. But Fleur wore her heart on her sleeve, told me her thoughts when she had them, didn’t play it cool at all—and that was fucking refreshing.
But I was the one with the spectacular view, her tits beneath me, her toned legs open to accommodate me, her little pussy full of my big dick. A lot of beautiful women had been on this very pillow on nights identical to this, but she was different from the others. Her ferocity, her desperation, the way she didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of her—including me.
I’d drifted off at some point. I lay beside her, the Eiffel Tower still visible through the window, and the cocktail of good sex had lulled me into sleep. But then I stirred when I felt her leave the bed and follow the breadcrumb trail of her belongings on the floor. She picked up her shoes and found her jeans and panties, but then she stopped to look out the window at the Eiffel Tower, appreciating it like a tourist who’d come to the City of Lights in search of whatever she was looking for.
She lingered for at least thirty seconds before she carried her belongings to the other room to get dressed.
I could lie there and pretend not to notice her departure. There would be no awkward conversation about the next time we would see each other. It was exactly what I wanted—usually.
But not this time.
I left the bed and pulled on my boxers before I stepped into the other room.
She’d just gotten her bra on when she gave a flinch. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Is there something wrong with the mattress?”
“What?” she asked, clearly tired, her makeup a mess from the sweat.
I snatched the shirt out of her hand and tossed it on the table. “You don’t have to run out of here.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” she said as she grabbed the shirt again. “I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
“Doing what?” I called her bluff.
She looked at me again, her eyes shifting back and forth between mine like she didn’t understand the question.
“Stay.” I grabbed the shirt again. “I’m not asking.” I moved closer to her, sliding my hand into her hair as I kissed her, felt soft lips that reminded me of juicy plums in summer. My thumb touched the side of her mouth, the skin that was softer than the flesh of a nectarine.
Her response was immediate, catching my mouth on instinct and kissing me like we’d just walked into the house. All the stiffness in her body faded when I touched her, her hands cupped my face, and she kissed me back like she was instantly swept away by the chemistry that burned white-hot between us.
I lifted her into me and carried her with a single arm because she weighed nothing. I laid her on the bed and moved over her, like this was the start of the night rather than the end of it. I pulled down her panties for the second time, and I slid inside her, squeezed by her slick tightness, by the deposits of seed I’d already left earlier in the evening.
She moaned like it was the first time rather than the fifth or the sixth, clinging to me like she’d lose her way if she let go. “Bastien…”
When I woke up a second time, she was still there.
Good.
I tapped the screen of my phone on the nightstand to see the time. It was twelve-thirty. I looked at her, seeing her dead asleep with the sheets to her shoulder, the white pillows covered in marks from her makeup, her hair a mess from the way I’d used the strands like reins to a horse.
I texted Gerard, my head of staff. Prepare breakfast for two on the balcony.
His response was immediate. Of course, sir.
I set the phone on the nightstand then moved to the double doors that sectioned off the bedroom from the rest of my chambers. I closed them, so when Gerard delivered breakfast, he wouldn’t be able to see the two of us in bed.