Rhapsody: Interracial French Mafia Romance (The Butcher and the Violinist Book 1)

by Kenya Wright

  I parted my lips.

  “Don’t be shy.” He nipped at my mouth. “What makes you moan, Eden?”

  “Pressure. . .on my clit and…your cock sliding in and out.”

  Releasing me, he groaned. “Then, that’s where we’ll start.”

  When he took off his shirt, muscle gleamed in the light. I’d come several minutes ago, but I craved more. He stepped aside and gestured to the bed. “Open the present.”

  A small package sat on top.

  “Okay.” Shocked, I walked over to the bed.

  How many presents is he going to give me? If this is what a girlfriend experience is, then I’ve really been giving myself away for nothing.

  I undid the ribbon and lay it on the bed. He walked over and stood next to me. I took the top off.

  A black diamond sat inside. A long platinum chain held it.

  “It’s a natural black diamond. Extremely rare. A real diamond filled with dark inclusions.” Jean-Pierre took the necklace out of the box and raised it. “I want you to wear this, every time I fuck you.”

  I blinked. “That…sounds good to me.”

  “Je vais te baiser si bien.”

  “What did you say?” I asked.

  “What did you understand?”

  “Something about fucking and it being good.”

  “Then, you understood enough.” He lifted his hand and grabbed my chin. “It’s good that you’ve been brushing up on your French.”

  How does he know? Did he have someone watching me last night?

  He drew his hand down to cup my right breast and moved his thumb to slide over my nipple. I wished I could tear off the bodysuit. The bra and fabric kept me from his touch. He pinched my nipple through the thin material.

  An involuntary gasp left me.

  My skin tingled, just from the light pressure of his fingers.

  “You’ll be safe with me.”

  It didn’t matter that he’d said it. I couldn’t think of anything else but sex anyway. His presence overwhelmed. His voice rose in sensuality. “How wet are you?”

  “More than I’ve ever been in my life.”

  “Bien.” He moved his finger along the same nipple. My breath hitched. Those fingers taunted and teased. I didn’t ever want him to stop touching me.

  He undid my body suit. “Are you happy with this arrangement?”

  “No regrets.”

  It fell to the ground. I stepped out of it. This moment was too good. I couldn’t fight my yearning for him to be inside of me.

  “Lay down on the bed, douce sirène.”

  I was too emotionally charged to deny his command.

  Naked, except my heels, I crawled onto the bed.

  Jean-Pierre grunted behind me. “Get on your back.”

  I did.

  “Play with yourself. Show me what you like.”

  I bit my lip.

  “Ne soyez pas timide, mon amour.”

  I won’t be shy.

  I opened my legs before him.

  He directed his gaze to my pussy as I spread my sex for him. “Tout ce que j'ai toujours voulu dans la vie se trouve juste entre vos cuisses.”

  “Tell me what you said.”

  He watched me from across the room, drinking my body. He moved that gaze all over me. My breasts. My waist. My pussy. He fisted his hands at his sides. “Taste yourself.”

  I slipped my hands to my mouth and licked the finger.

  He groaned.

  I smiled. “Tell me what you said.”

  His mouth formed into a wicked curve. “I said that everything I've ever wanted in life, is right there between your thighs.”

  Unable to help myself, I moaned and lazily blinked.

  “Touch yourself some more.”

  As soon as my fingertips brushed against my clit again, sparks tingled through my pussy. My senses overloaded with him.

  “Hmmm.”

  I closed my eyes and moved with my fingers. This was the first time I’d ever touched myself in front of another person. I’d had lovers before, but this was something else. On a higher level. The more I caressed myself, the more I sank into deep and intense sensations.

  Clothes rustled.

  The bed moved next to me.

  Jean-Pierre whispered in my ear, “Vous êtes une sirène et je ne veux pas être libre.”

  He slipped his hands over mine. I moved my hand out the way, eager to feel his fingers on my pussy. And he didn’t displease, lowering those fingers deep into my sensitive flesh.

  “Oh!” I arched up.

  “Too long, Eden.” He licked the curve of my neck as he fingered me. “It’s been too long of a wait.”

  I gasped at the intensity of his caress and rocked my sex into his hand.

  My heart boomed. My skin warmed.

  “J'ai envie de toi.” Jean-Pierre slipped over me with only his boxers on. His muscular thighs spread my legs further apart.

  I whispered, “Finally.”

  “You have no idea, Eden.” Jean-Pierre hovered over me, resembling a Greek god sculpted by the heavens. He lowered and pressed his hard length against me.

  Jesus Christ. This body will be mine for how many days? And I get how much money? What did I do to deserve this?

  Adrenaline blazed through my veins. I was so pumped to finally have him. All this time I’d worried and feared what this would be like, and I never had anything to fear.

  I raised my hands up to his head and ran my fingers through his silky hair. I moved to those broad shoulders. Huge. Powerful. Strong.

  He devoured my mouth and took my breath away.

  Oh my God. Help me.

  My fingers raked down his huge back, rippled in muscle.

  Shivering against me, he left my lips and sucked on the curve of my neck.

  I slid my hands along him. My fingertips were eager to touch his cock. When I found his soft boxer briefs, I dove inside, pushed them down, and grabbed that fat cock.

  “Oh,” I moaned at the size.

  He pushed his cock forward, signaling for me to guide him to me. As soon as the mushroomed tip pressed against my sex, I stopped him.

  He raised himself as if he was doing a push up. The muscles on his arm flexed.

  “What’s wrong, mon amour?”

  I panted. “We…need…a condom.”

  “Fuck.” He moved away in a rush, so fast it was pretty much a blur. He was off the bed in seconds, pass the bed, and in the bathroom. Knocking and bumping sounds came next. Then he was back in the room, on the bed, and over me.

  I swallowed.

  “Condom.” He tore open the wrapping with his hands.

  With this view, the light shined all over him. His body was everything I dreamed and more. There were small scars too. Maybe a bullet or a stab wound. Two near his heart. One on his thigh. And a long line near his stomach.

  I touched the puffed flesh on his sculpted abs and trailed my fingers along the line of it.

  He slipped the condom on that big cock, and then he was back on me. The tip touched my sex but didn’t move further.

  “Please,” I begged.

  “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to hear that.” He kissed me. First slow and then deeper, twirling his tongue around mine and drinking every bit of my essence. My vision flickered. I closed my eyes. With every kiss, my sex throbbed.

  He leaned away. “Youtube™ is a good way to brush up on French, but I can teach you too.”

  He’s definitely watching me.

  My breath shifted to hurried pants.

  He pushed his cock an inch inside of me. “For example, when you want me to go harder, say plus fort.”

  Shivering, I whispered, “plus fort.”

  He entered another inch, and my body trembled. “When you want me to go faster, then you say, plus vite.”

  “Plus vite,” I moaned.

  “Bien.” His cock pushed further, spreading me apart and filling my insides.

  “Plus fort.” I moaned in ecstasy.
“Plus vite.”

  And then his gentleness left.

  Jean-Pierre pounded into me with wild abandon. I grabbed onto his shoulders hanging on to his hard body. “Oh.”

  I drowned. Completely intoxicated with pure, animalistic lust. I teetered on the edge of orgasm, craving release. The room spun around me.

  And Jean-Pierre hammered into me.

  “Oh,” I moaned. “I’m coming.”

  Jean-Pierre growled, “Ton orgasme ne sera que pour moi.”

  All I could make out was my orgasm. Pleasure captured me like a hurricane and paralyzed me. It took my breath away. My sex clamped around his cock.

  “Oh putain, mon amour.” Jean-Pierre pumped as his body trembled over me.

  Coming hard, I pretty much shrieked.

  And he groaned with me.

  We rocked together. Slick bodies riding the waves of erotic pleasure.

  And when the sex ended?

  I knew that we’d just begun.

  Chapter 20

  Divine Damnation

  Eden

  I woke up to his finger slipping down the tattooed violin strings on my back. A soft moan escaped.

  “Bonjour.” He moved the hair away from the back of my neck and landed kisses down my spine. Each time his soft mouth caressed my skin, my body woke up. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did.”

  “When did you get this tattoo?”

  “Last year. My roommate Leo tattooed my back.”

  “He made your body into a violin. It’s unique.” Jean-Pierre trailed his fingertips along both f-holes on my lower back. “I love it. Had I known about this, I would’ve extended the thirty days.”

  I smiled. “Too bad.”

  “Hmmm.” His fingers painted delicious shiver-inducing strokes along my skin.

  “Do you have a tattoo?”

  “Yes. It’s on my back.”

  I turned around and faced him. “Can I see it?”

  “Yes. It’s a violin, but not as nice as yours.” He showed me his back.

  I gasped. “Whoa.”

  The artist had drawn a large violin onto his back. Skulls covered the instrument’s front. They glared out with anger. Black and gray emphasized the edgy, dark details. The realism blew my mind. It was a violin that Death played before he took a person’s life.

  I touched one of the skulls near the violin’s bridge, sure that I could feel its wicked edge. “This is breathtaking. It looks like it was created out of oil paints.”

  A knock came at the door.

  “Comme dans,” he called out, and then he looked at me. “I ordered breakfast for us. I have a lot of free time today. I wanted to spend it with you. Bien?”

  “Yes. That sounds good.” I rose from the bed and pulled up the sheet over my bare breasts.

  Jean-Pierre’s gaze hit that spot as the door opened, and two women pushed a cart inside. Stanley entered next. Jean-Pierre and him exchanged several words in French. Nodding, Jean-Pierre gestured to the balcony. The women pushed the cart out there. Stanley followed. The staff whispered to themselves. Dishes clanked.

  And then all three rushed away from the balcony and left.

  Jean-Pierre rose and walked over to a small desk. I couldn’t help but drool over that naked muscled ass as it flexed with each step.

  He’s gorgeous.

  Two bathrobes lay over a chair by the table.

  He put one on, walked over, and handed me another. “I thought that it would be nice to have breakfast outside. The sun has just come up.”

  “That’s perfect.” I took the robe.

  The whole time he watched me with a wicked look in his eyes. “I’m enjoying having you here.”

  “I’m having fun being here. It feels more like a vacation, instead of. . .”

  “Work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Always the gentleman, Jean-Pierre pulled my chair back for me. “Do you like tea or coffee?”

  “Tea.”

  He picked up a porcelain pitcher and poured hot water into a tea pot. Steam rose from the stream. I scanned the table. Everything I could imagine rested on the surface—large slabs of sizzling bacon, sausage links, crusty croissants, roasted potatoes covered in herbs, scrambled eggs, pancakes topped in strawberries and whipped cream.

  “Wow,” I muttered.

  “Did I go too far?”

  “No way. I love it.”

  “What do you usually eat for breakfast?”

  “Nothing as sexy as this. Oatmeal and raisins. Cereal and bananas. Every now and then, I grab a bagel and stuff it with layers of cream cheese.”

  “Do you like to cook?”

  I was a bit embarrassed to admit it. “No. I suck pretty bad at it.”

  “Thankfully, you don’t suck at other things.” He poured me a cup of tea.

  “Merci.”

  Jean-Pierre served up two plates.

  I thought I would be the one serving him food these days.

  We ate on the balcony, relishing in the early morning’s airy sunlight, and the view of upscale Belladonna sprawled out beneath us. Our conversation was the most pleasant discussion I’d had in a long time. We yapped about classical music, argued over whether Mozart deserved so much glory, and ended with respectfully disagreeing with who was the better composer—Chopin or Schubert.

  He laughed.

  Jesus.

  It was amazing to witness. He was like a happy beast. Someone dark and powerful, secretly lifting the curtain and pulling away armor to show the true person inside.

  Of course, it was stupid to think too deeply about the moment.

  Such a sweet moment.

  My heart warmed with his words. My brain buzzed with lust. I nibbled my food and watched him in pure adoration.

  When he made a point, he actually extended his finger to dot the end of the sentence. It was such a subtle habit that it made me melt. When he disagreed with one of my points, he held an amused expression and gave me this intense gaze. I didn’t know if it was a good sign or not, but I continued to add my evidence to whatever claims I made.

  In summary, breakfast was amazing. Something from a fairytale. Beautiful scenery. Succulent food. And a thrilling, gorgeous man.

  “Do you swim?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “There’s rooftop pool. We should take a dip.”

  “Sign me up.”

  He chuckled at my response. “I’m almost done, then we’ll go.”

  “Okay.” I finished my last bite of eggs with a pleased sigh.

  Personally, I could do this for free. . .for a year.

  I loved this alone time with him. Naked under the robes. Enjoying the food and each other in the silence. I watched him munch on croissants that he’d lathered in thick pads of butter. He savored every single bite, eating with a worship I didn’t often see.

  He sipped champagne in between bites, and his gaze went dreamy.

  Sunlight dusted his lashes.

  That angelic face made the moment feel spiritual. I imagined black wings stretching and spreading out from his back. Rising. Those silky feathers glistened in the light. Wind rustled them. To witness him so relaxed, was divine damnation.

  What a beautiful fallen angel.

  Fallen from the sky.

  Fallen to the ground.

  Angel of dark dreams.

  Angel of violent hope.

  This moment would forever stay in my mind.

  As soft sounds of the city rose from below, on the balcony, he stole my soul.

  He whispered, “Are you ready, mon amour?”

  “Oui.” I rose.

  He held an amused expression. “We never finished our discussion in my office. Do you have more questions?”

  Feeling bolder and more relaxed with him, I stepped in front of him, leaving around three feet between us. “What makes you come?”

  A wicked laugh left him.

  I folded my arms. “That’s not an answer.”

&
nbsp; He stalked forward, closing the space. “You don’t need to learn my body. You have it under your complete control.”

  Pushing the boldness further, I fell into my own desire and raised my hands to his chest. The thick robe blocked what I yearned to caress. I slipped the robe away a little, revealing tanned skin over rippled muscle.

  Swallowing, I rested my hands on his chest. My fingers met with smooth skin and hard-packed muscle. His pecs twitched as my hands brushed over them.

  Dear God. Fallen Angel is right.

  He licked his lips. “Any other questions?”

  “How do I have you under my control?”

  His gaze moved to my hands as they traveled down his chest. “The ways you make me hard are shocking. Half the time you’re fully clothed.”

  I blushed.

  His robe opened. The belt dropped.

  Still, I explored, lowering to his belly button.

  He hissed.

  I caressed some more and felt those scars I’d seen before. I drew musical notes over them, as if I could lure them to tell me their story.

  Silent, he trembled under my fingertips. I probed some more with a feather-light touch, tracing his washboard stomach. Sketching thick obliques.

  I raised my view to him.

  Heat filled his gaze.

  “It’s like you fell right from Heaven.” I stepped away from him.

  “Or more like I was thrown out.”

  “You do at least admit that you look like an angel?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That’s not how I’m usually described.”

  I whispered fallen angel to him in French. “Ange déchu.”

  He must think I’m crazy.

  I walked off.

  Jean-Pierre caught me by my waist and spun me around. I gasped. He wrapped those muscular arms tight around me. Before I could think, he pressed his mouth against mine.

  I melted.

  This was nothing like the other kisses. In comparison, those were soft and sweet. Tame. This kiss claimed me. Branded. Dominated. Arousal blazed through my body. Moaning, I clung to him, unable to balance on my feet. But there was no need to worry. Those strong hands held me against his hard body.

  Jean-Pierre.

  I no longer wanted to go to the pool, or anywhere else that didn’t involve a bed, or at least his cock slipping and sliding inside of me.

  He made me dizzy. Devouring my mouth. Nipping at my lips. His mouth tasted of champagne and strawberries. His tongue dove deep. Twisting. Skating. Tantalizing. A masculine scent radiated from him, spicy and sensual.