R Is for Richer

by Tara Hart

  “Let me, mon cheri.” His eyes narrowed on my face. “A man should always undress his lover. It’s like unwrapping a present at Christmas. You wouldn’t want to deprive me of the joy of unwrapping you for the first time, would you?”

  I shook my head because at that moment he could have asked me to sign my life away and I would have agreed.

  He bent down, as he gently rolled my pants from my body, his lips kissing their way down my legs as he revealed every inch of skin that he hadn’t seen before.

  He stood up, grabbing my hips in the palms of his hands, walking me back toward my bed on the far side of the room. When I felt the comforter against the back of my legs, I allowed myself to fall onto the crisp white linen.

  He took to his knees at the foot of the bed, his mouth meeting the inside of my thighs, the overgrown hair on his chin, tickling me, but I didn’t dare move.

  He kissed the valley between my legs. His tongue licking the length of my sex before his finger dipped inside my folds.

  I cried out as his tongue moved effortlessly against my pussy, lapping up my wetness as he explored every inch of me. As his tongue went rogue, his finger stretched me wide. I moved my hips from side-to-side as his finger went deeper. It hurt, but delightfully slow. The pressure that was building was impossible to deny. My hand coming to fist the comforter tightly, turning my knuckles white.

  He drew his finger out, his mouth leaving me bare as he pulled back to look at me.

  “This is your first time?” The shock was clear in his voice.

  He looked at me as he waited for my response. I thought he wouldn’t notice my inexperience. I thought I could hide it behind my usual confidence and overzealous nature, but I was wrong.

  He knew the truth, and for the love of God, I hoped he wouldn’t leave.

  Chapter 3

  I felt my cheeks burn red. I was too embarrassed to admit it, but not bold enough to deny it. I nodded my head as if I were ashamed by my admission. He pushed my knees closed before lying by my side, his arm falling over my middle as he kissed my cheek.

  “I am your first?” This time he tried not to sound so surprised.

  “Yes,” I whispered. I was less confident than normal. In the outside world, I acted like a badass bitch. I acted as if nothing ever fazed me, but lying next to him, the facade was no longer required. For the first time, I felt it was okay to be me.

  He smiled genuinely. Even in the soft light, I could see the dimples in his cheeks.

  He reached forward, his fingers brushing against my skin as he tucked my damp hair behind my ears. He licked his lips before dipping his head and kissing me tenderly.

  He pulled back far enough to look into the depths of my eyes. “Do you want to stop, beautiful girl?”

  I shook my head, no. That was the last thing I wanted.

  I wanted him to take me, to devour me, to show me what it was like to be treasured as a woman and then hold me in his arms until the sun rose in the crisp morning sky.

  The subtle smirk upon his lips told me that he wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, he was just getting started.

  Pressing a gentle kiss to my shoulder, his lips traveled down my body, every inch of my skin touched by his fingers or his lips. My skin was burning where he’d touched, and I clenched my legs together in anticipation.

  His fingers scratched lines down my back, stopping just above my ass.

  “You’ve got the most perfect skin,” he whispered. “And this back.” His fingers traced patterns against my skin before he turned me in his arms.

  He dipped his head, taking my nipple in his mouth causing my whole body to shudder. He chuckled lightly before turning his attention to the other breast. His tongue moved effortlessly against my skin, the other nipple puckering beneath his touch.

  “Please,” I moaned impatiently. I was so turned on and I wasn’t sure how much more teasing I could take.

  He raised his eyebrows as he looked down upon me, a decisive twinkle in his eyes. “Please what, mon cheri?”

  I looked at him. The most gorgeous man I’d ever seen, his face one that I could trust without recognition.

  “I want you inside of me,” I said without apology, my hips rising off the bed.

  He smirked. He knew he could have me any which way and I wouldn’t oblige. He was confident and cocky. I liked that about him. I liked everything about him.

  He came to lie on top of me, supporting his own weight on his forearms as his mouth hovered over mine.

  “I love kissing you,” he said before pecking my lips. “You taste so sweet, like the fruits of summer.”

  It was my lip balm. I’d worn cherry red lip balm every day since I was thirteen years old. For almost half my life I’d tasted like cherries.

  His hand reached between my legs, his finger dipping between my folds for the first time since he’d discovered I was a virgin. Now he was slow and cautious as if at any moment he could break me.

  He started to move his hips from side to side as his cock teased my entrance. I bit my bottom lip. I couldn’t help myself. This was going to happen and I couldn’t wait to have him inside of me.

  “Are you okay?”

  I opened my eyes and noticed the look of concern on his face.

  “What?” I asked impatiently. “Yes, I’m fine. I really want this.”

  Rocking his hips back and forth he pushed deeper and then deeper again.

  My nails dug into his back as he pushed the whole way inside of me, filling me for the first time.

  I exhaled as my back arched against the bed.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “God, no.” My eyes rolled back in my head as a rotated my hips, feeling every last inch of him.

  He began to move in time with my hips. He was slow and restrained.

  He brushed his nose against mine as he looked into my eyes. “I want to watch your face as you come for the first time.”

  Holy shit, this man was hot.

  My pussy was throbbing and I was afraid I’d come too soon. I wanted him to pound into me, but I knew he wasn’t that kind of guy. Not this time anyway.

  His cock slipped in and out of me delightfully, each time he entered me again, I would inhale all the air my lungs could hold.

  “You’re so tight,” he whispered against my skin. “You’re so perfect.”

  I wrapped my hands around his neck as I drew him closer.

  “You’re perfect,” I uttered, before crashing our lips together.

  His tongue entered my mouth as his hips moved faster, harder, stronger. I felt the pressure building inside as his lips broke away from mine and his hands came to cup my breasts.

  “Fuck,” he grunted.

  His fingers clenched around my nipples as he thrusted harder—deeper. I moaned loud as my whole body shook. The orgasm ripped through me and he came just from watching me climax. His groans of pleasure only intensifying the orgasm that was still surging through me. My whole body trembled and when I closed my eyes, I actually saw stars.

  He fell to my side, his arm falling across my middle. He brushed the hair away from my face and pressed a kiss to my temple tenderly.

  “Now you’ll always remember I was your first,” he said light-heartedly, but I knew it was true.

  I’d always remember that day, that moment, that feeling of contentment as we lay together, sweaty and sore, and delightfully exhausted.

  “You are so very beautiful, my American girl.” He smiled.

  I felt my cheeks flush as I stared into his mysterious silver eyes. “Thank you,” I murmured quietly.

  He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

  I licked my lips and closed my eyes, rolling onto my side so he could hold me close.

  “Thank you for making me believe.”

  And they were the last words I said to him.

  I woke in the morning. The sun shone through a slit in the curtains, shining right into my eyes. I could see the sun was out. Today there was no rain or clouds.

&n
bsp; I pulled the comforter up to my chin and inhaled. The room smelled like him. It made me smile.

  I was sleeping on the edge of the bed with a pillow tucked between my legs. I rolled over, expecting to see his beautiful face staring back at me, but the bed was empty.

  I sat upright, searching the room, but he was nowhere to be found.

  I gasped.

  “Jesus, Selina. Put some clothes on,” Savvy said from her bed on the opposite side of me. She threw a cushion at my head before rolling over and going back to sleep.

  I didn’t even hear Savannah come in the night before. I wonder how long she’d been there. If she saw him?

  I reclined back, tucking the pillow beneath my chin.

  He left and he didn’t even say goodbye.

  Tears surfaced in my eyes. I felt a sense of loss, a sense of loneliness. It was then that I noticed the piece of paper on the table next to me. I took it in my hand, the paper crinkled and worn.

  I will never forget my American girl.

  I stared at his writing, each letter curved perfectly, written with a careful hand that I wouldn’t expect from a man.

  I will never forget you either, I thought to myself.

  And I never did.

  Chapter 4

  Two Years Later

  The music started right on cue. The tune reverberating through the creaky floorboards. The tune was familiar and signaled to everyone that I’d arrived.

  Dum Dum Da Dum

  The song said it all. I’d made it. I was done looking for the one. I’d found my other half and my life was now complete. We could now move into our house with the white picket fence, make friends with our neighbors, get a dog before popping out a baby or two. It would all be…perfect.

  I looked down at my white dress, which should not have been white if I were to buy into tradition, but no one wanted to see the bride walk down the aisle in a black dress, least of all my mother. When I tried this same dress on, she cried and she said that word again…perfect.

  “Selina?” Savannah clicked her fingers in front of my face. “Selina, what’s happening?”

  I blinked twice, realizing where I was. Through the double doors of the church, I could see the pews filled with people, standing with their bodies turned toward me. They were waiting—he was waiting.

  The wedding coordinator chewed on her thumbnail as she clutched her clipboard against her chest. Wedding planners are so uptight.

  “Are you okay, Lena?” My twin sister stared at me, the deep blue dress I’d chosen for her, hanging off her curves effortlessly. The bouquet of white and pale pink roses she held didn’t suit the dress. How had I not matched the flowers of my lone bridesmaid to her dress?

  “Your flowers don’t match your dress.” I pointed at the bouquet, my bottom lip trembling as I did so.

  Savannah looked from the roses up to my face. “What are you talking about?” She leaned in close, well as close as she could get considering the width of my dress took up the entire aisle. “Are you having second thoughts, Lena?”

  I screwed up my nose. “What? No.”

  I looked at the church full of expectant faces. They shared the same concerned expression as Savannah. They thought I was about to turn around, run out of the church and board my waiting horse-drawn carriage. Alone.

  I shook my head and picked up the weight of my dress in one hand.

  “Let’s do this.”

  Savannah nodded her head as she turned and walked through the archway into the boiling pot of guests I’d invited. Everyone who was anyone had been given an exclusive invitation to the event that was dubbed Seattle’s wedding of the year. I had read the headline and smiled to myself. Perfect.

  The wedding coordinator gave me the signal, a frantic wave, which told me it was time to make the arduous trek down the aisle. There was no father by my side. He’d passed years ago and no one else was going to walk with me if he couldn’t. No one.

  Plus, the thought of my mother giving me away caused my skin to crawl. I’m not hers. I don’t belong to anyone.

  Dum dum da dum

  I walked as fast as my Manolo Blahnik’s would allow. I heard the comments as I walked by.

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  “Stunning, just stunning.”

  “Who designed that dress?” Vera, that’s who.

  Photographer number one chased me down the aisle like a paparazzi on speed, while photographer number two stayed at the foot of the stairs leading up to the Priest, his camera poised and ready.

  I did not smile. The entire walk, I didn’t smile once. I was distracted by the flowers, the buds tightly wrapped together, not yet mature. I didn’t order flowers like these, these roses were nowhere to be seen on my Pinterest board entitled “I do.”

  And the color of the flowers didn’t match anything.

  It was all wrong.

  Savannah reached the end of the aisle, turning to look at me, smiling from ear to ear. She looked beautiful—radiant, and so very happy.

  She looked happier than me.

  I made it to her side and she took my bouquet from my hands. She now held two bouquets, both with ugly discolored roses. I gritted my teeth together as I thought about how much this one detail would stand out in the photographs. The magazines would have a field day with this.

  “Good luck,” Savannah whispered.

  My groom met me at the foot of the stairs, a genuine smile on his perfect pink lips.

  “You look beautiful,” he said. “So beautiful.”

  I forced a smile as he guided me up the stairs and to the waiting Priest.

  “Please be seated.”

  I looked out at the church, which was packed full of people, some of whom I’d never said a word to.

  My gaze traveled to Savannah and the flowers she held in her hands.

  “Selina, are you okay?”

  I looked at Jared’s face and parted my lips. “Of course,” I lied.

  The Priest started talking and Jared and I held hands, his grasp tight around my bony fingers. I should have been thinking about him and the life we were creating together, but I couldn’t get those damn flowers off of my mind.

  I didn’t choose them.

  How could a wedding that took twelve months to plan go so horribly wrong?

  It was anything but perfect.

  Chapter 5

  I visited Paris each and every year after my first trip. Fashion week, I was there. The opening of a major store, I’d be the first one to confirm my attendance. Paris was my escape and my savior all in one, and I was going to hold onto the comfort it brought me for as long as possible.

  Like clockwork, each and every trip I went to that same bar in the French Quarter. With each visit, the hope of seeing him again diminished.

  I was a realist. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack, but if I didn’t visit, it was like I was giving up on him, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him.

  All I wanted was to see him one last time. I wanted to ask if he still thought about me every day as I thought of him. I wanted to know why he left me that night without so much as a goodbye.

  “Another drink, miss?”

  The waiter eyed me curiously. I’d been sitting in the same seat for the past two hours, sipping on the same lukewarm rose.

  I slid my glass along the worn wooden table and forced a smile.

  “Non, merci.” Clearly, my French had advanced so much at this point.

  I stood and pushed my chair in.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He waved at me because he knew I’d be back. I was as predictable as the sunrise.

  I set off on the twenty-minute walk home. I wore sensible clothes. Tight black pants, a beige coat and ankle boots to match. By now I was able to afford a lavish apartment in a nice part of town and even though I had access to my own driver, I liked to walk.

  The orange and yellow leaves that lined the streets made me nostalgic. Fall was my favorite season and
I always spent it in Paris.

  At the front of my hotel, there was this park. I sat there sometimes, mostly to watch the people walk by as I expelled the stale air from my lungs. Sometimes you need to do that. You know, just sit and be.

  As I approached the park, I saw my favorite bench seat open up. I rushed towards it, my hands flapping by my sides as my heels crunched the debris of fall with each step I took. My vision was focused on the seat. I didn’t see him coming, I swear.

  He crashed into me mid-stride, knocking me sideways as I struggled to hold my balance.

  “Pardon.” He reached out to catch me, the book he was reading falling to the ground. I watched as he looked at my face for the first and we both just—stopped.

  It was this moment of recognition. Neither of us said anything, but we both knew that we weren’t strangers and then I saw it register on his face. He knew me.

  Ten years had passed, but I could never forget that face. He hadn’t changed. Still, the same hair swept away from his face, that long pointed nose that was slightly crooked, those same grey eyes that were now blinking repeatedly as if he wasn’t sure I was real.

  I don’t know what my face looked like at that moment. Probably pale because I was so light headed. I felt as though I may faint at any moment.

  “American beauty,” he said as if it were my actual name.

  “Hello,” I said simply, my voice trembling.

  He looked around us as if he was searching for someone, but then his gaze traveled back to me.

  “How is this possible?” he asked the question to the wind as it whistled by. He didn’t want an answer, perhaps there wasn’t an answer. I didn’t know myself how in a city of two million people we found each other—again.

  I couldn’t tell him I’d traveled to Paris every year for the past ten years in the hope of seeing him. I was searching for him all this time and now he stood before me, the same beautiful man.

  “I don’t know,” I said after an eternity had passed. “I don’t know how this is possible.”