by Jones, Gwen
She bent to him, saying against his lips. “Then why don’t you? I’m right here—naked and waiting.”
He sucked in a breath and flipped her to the bed, his hand at his fly as he spread her legs with his.
“Oh damn!” She stopped him, her hand pressing against his chest. “I just called for the Chinese food—remember? They ought to be here any second.”
“Fils de pute,” he muttered, launching a streak of French curses into the air. He straightened, pulling her with him. “Come with me,” he said, grabbing her robe from a hook on the wall. “I’m going to shave and shower,” he said, helping her into it, “and you can sit with me while we wait for the food.” He turned her around, kissing her quickly. “When it comes we’ll leave it on the bedside table because I know I’ll be starving after.”
She eyed him coyly. “After what?”
His eyes gleamed wickedly. “My turn.”
And now, there sat the Chinese food, waiting for him. She glanced from the bag to where his shower water was still raining. It gave her an idea. She dropped her robe to the floor, and left for the bathroom.
When she shoved the shower curtain aside he turned, water and soap suds runneling down the muscled sinks and angles of his body. He looked like something out of a glossy magazine and Charlotte’s stomach flipped, especially when it trailed to what was hardening against his exquisite thigh. His mouth curved. “What took you so long?” he said, hand extended.
“Well, there was that food to wait for . . .” She took his hand, stepping inside. He shoved the curtain back and she turned to him, falling to her knees.
REX STARTED HARDENING the moment he heard her step across the threshold. Within seconds she was before him, his raging erection in her hand.
“Holy shit . . .” she whispered, gaping, “you are goddamned T-Rex.” Then she opened her mouth and took him straight down her throat.
Rex slammed back against the wall, the water raining over them. He needed it to cool the fire racing through him as she cradled his balls, her mouth doing its absolute best to drive him out of his mind. He fisted his hand into her hair until it coiled in silken tangles around his fingers.
“Charlotte, chérie.” He clenched his eyes as a gasp escaped him, his hips shifting as her tongue flicked the tip of his cock in agonizingly quick repetition, her hand encircling him just below, pumping, stroking. She gave him a good suck before letting go, trailing her tongue down the hot length of his shaft to his balls. She opened her mouth, closing it over them.
“Goddamnit woman . . .” he growled, his knee hitting the shower wall, but if it hurt he didn’t notice. He was too caught up in the motions of this gorgeous femme, watching in wonder as her tongue licked a fiery trail back to the head of his cock.
She sucked as if she just invented the word. As if she were taking him someplace he’d never been, but why would he give a damn about the destination when the journey was already this good? Each lusciously erotic motion built upon the other until all at once everything surged forward and his jaw dropped, pleasure colliding so recklessly inside him he—
Did he scream? He wasn’t sure. Because if he had he couldn’t hear it past the fireworks going off in his head. His hips jerked and he was coming in endless waves, Charlotte draining every milliliter of pleasure out of him until he was gasping like a landed fish, spent and absolutely boneless.
“Jesus Christ . . .” he murmured when he finally stilled, Rex catching a wariness in Charlotte’s eyes. As if she were waiting for his assessment, as a schoolgirl would after the first demonstration of a lesson. But Charlotte hardly seemed a student. Her skill was masterful and he felt a sudden jealousy toward anyone who’d ever gotten the benefit of it. As she rose he slipped his hands to her cheeks and kissed her, still reeling from the small miracle she’d performed on him.
After a few moments he broke their kiss, saying, “Where the fuck did you learn to give head like that?”
Her mouth crooked. “Like it?”
“Like it?” He kissed her until she was just as boneless as he. “My cock nearly exploded.”
“I’ll take that as a good thing.” She slipped her arms around him. “So what now?”
“We eat,” he said, reaching back to turn off the shower. “Food.”
Chapter Eleven
Main Course
“OPEN YOUR MOUTH, chérie.” When she did he plopped in a fried wonton. “Can you tell which one that is?”
Charlotte chewed. She had no idea. “Shrimp?”
“No—crab. But seriously, does it matter?” Rex clamped his chopsticks around another. “How about one more?”
She fell back against the pillows, her hand flat against her belly. “I’m so full now if I eat one more thing I’ll collapse the mattress.”
He set the carton to the bedside table and shifted under the sheet, arching his arm over her. “I can think of an infinitely better way to do that.”
She walked her fingers up his bare chest until they curved around his cheek. “Can you now?”
“Oui. If you’ll let me. Will you?”
Funny he should ask. Anyone could observe the obviousness of the situation. There they were, naked under sheets illuminated by soft lamplight, feeding each other Chinese takeout as each basked in the afterglow. Charlotte knew it hardly mattered how separately their pleasure had been meted out, as both had been benefactors and beneficiaries. And the fact that his desire—as well as her own—had hardly been slaked, was so evident the air fairly pulsated with lust. All anyone needed to do was glance at Rex’s eyes to see the longing in them, to see Charlotte reflecting his back. So why suddenly did their potential joining give her pause? She laughed to herself. That, too, ought to be as plain as day.
This is Rex Renaud we’re talking about. International business leader. Confidant to presidents and prime ministers. Man of the world.
Industrial gigolo.
Yes, there is that. . .
He brushed the hair from her eyes. “Have I told you how lovely you look, my gorgeous little secret weapon?”
As well as suave, debonair, and ruthless to the core. She wondered if all his conquests were brought to their knees this quickly. And if so, when was her expiration date? Her best guess was court time, Friday morning. If she even lasted that long. Though chances were she would because didn’t great men need diversions too? And the fact she could service both his legal and carnal needs was an absolute testament to his efficiency, as well as his fiscal sense.
If not his heart.
But hearts didn’t matter in this game as a heart would be a definite liability. And knowing that, she needed to put her own aside and remind herself how much good she could do with his two million. How many of those so-called hammers he accused her of carrying she could buy to bust through the glass ceiling. How many men similar to Rex she could bring to heel.
So was it just his money she wanted? Of course it was, she reminded herself. Yes, she was attracted to him, but she’d never get any further than that, no matter how tenderly he looked at her, no matter how sharp his wit, no matter if he was just as coldblooded as she was often accused of being. He was her diversion too, and she shouldn’t forget it, no matter how extraordinary he made her feel, inside and out.
“Charlotte,” he whispered, sinking lower, “did you hear me?”
She shifted toward him, her legs entwining with his. “How could I forget? You said I was lovely.”
“That wasn’t all.” His lips brushed hers and she opened to him, his tongue slipping inside to claim every corner of her mouth. When she sighed he tilted his head and deepened his kiss, his hands cradling her cheeks as his chest slid to hers, bare skin to bare skin. She sighed, raising her arms over her head to grasp the spindles of the headboard. “Charlotte, didn’t I ask you something, too?”
“I think you did,” she whispered against his mouth. “But for the
life of me I can’t remember what it was right now.”
He laughed softly, kissing her neck. “Very good, ma belle, very good.”
He reached past her, grasping both her wrists in one hand. When he did her breasts tightened and flattened out, her nipples hardening as they pressed against his chest. He leaned over, taking one in his mouth. He suckled one then the other, sharping them to taut peaks. Charlotte groaned as he kissed his way down the valley between them, spreading her legs with his.
“I want to be inside you, Charlotte,” he said, moving atop her, a fevered look in his eyes. “Is it what you want, too?”
“Oh God yes,” she said breathlessly, any reservations she might have had a few minutes prior evaporating.
He let go of her hands and reached to the bedside table, retrieving a condom. In expert time, he was ready and poised at her entrance. “Tu es très belle,” he murmured. “Tu me donnes envie de te bourrer.” He kissed her, lingering at her mouth. “It’s been a long time for you?”
“Yes,” it embarrassed her to say. She hoped he couldn’t decipher the real truth in that statement. Which was, she admitted, “I’ve never been that lucky with men.”
“Well, that’s good, chérie, don’t you know?” He kissed her cheek, the sensitive spot behind her ear, her neck. “Your luck with men has led you to me. And for that, I’m grateful as hell.” He raised up, easing himself in.
He wasn’t halfway in before she huffed, arching her neck, her hands falling to his hips. It wasn’t as if he’d hurt her. The feeling was more curious than that. It was more like her insides were a wool sweater and he was stretching her back to normal. Still, he must have sensed something amiss as he paused.
“Are you all right, ma p’tit?” he said, nuzzling her neck. “If you’re not I’ll pull out.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said, squeezing his hip. “You, uh, just take some getting used to.”
“I appreciate your candor,” he said, easing in some more. “Because if you want some more . . .” He eased all the way in, his eyes closing in bliss, before he stilled again. “You feel fucking incredible.”
“I’m so happy you’re pleased,” she said, sliding her hands down his rock-hard ass. “But I bet you say that to all les filles.” Then as a thought struck her, she couldn’t help laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he said, flinching as she stroked him.
“I was just thinking where we were not even twenty-four hours ago. How I was spitting my venom at you at the police station. How I wanted to see you rot there.” She laughed again, looking at him. “And now here we are. I wouldn’t have believed it then.”
He looked down on her, his cock deep inside her, his eyes heavy and lidded. “Do you want to know what I was thinking then?”
“Oh yes,” she said honestly.
“I was thinking how much I wanted to do—this,” he said, giving three hard thrusts.
She jolted, groaning. “That is so—typical,” she said, stretched sufficiently to savor the invasion. “You’re arrested and charged with a felony, then someone with tits walks in and the only thing you think of is your cock.”
He leaned on one arm, tracing her lips with his thumb. “I wasn’t only thinking of my cock, ma belle. I was thinking of it in relation to you.”
“Only because I was there. I’m sure if anyone else with tits showed up, you’d have the same reaction.”
“Oh hardly,” he said. “It was only because of—”
“Because men only think with their—”
“Jesus Christ! C’est des conneries—do you hear yourself?” He pulled himself from her and rolled to his back. “There I am with my bite inside you and you’re debating whether I find you desirable? C’est incroyable!” He threw his hands in the air with an unmistakably Gallic huff. “You’ve had trouble with men? No wonder they don’t all run away screaming.”
Charlotte couldn’t move, mortified. She couldn’t have been more startled if he’d thrown a bucket of ice water over her head. “I was only—”
“Ta gueule!” he cried, silencing her with a string of French curses. He huffed again, then sat up, looming over her, his hair tousled from his raking, his eyes jet-black and seething. “Charlotte.” He took a breath. “Listen to me. You are one of the funniest, smartest, savviest women—no—people I know, not to mention how goddamned hot you are. But mon Dieu, you’re so insecure—how can you say you’re a feminist when you still measure your worth against anyone who happens to have a cock?”
She turned away. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I? That’s why you give head like a call girl, and you probably don’t even enjoy it. It’s because you know it makes your victims vulnerable. And it lets you beat them at their own game.”
She whipped around to glare at him. “Is that what my lovers are? Victims?”
“That’s what you turn them into. You’re on top, and that’s the only way you want it.”
“Oh, so I’m just supposed to be passive?” she said, her eyes stinging. “Just lay back and let the guy go to town on me? Like you did before—” She flipped her hand toward the end of the bed.
“No,” he said softly, incredulous. “That was me bringing pleasure to you. That was to show you how much I—” He slammed his hand against the headboard, rattling it. “Goddamnit, Charlotte! Who the fuck fucked with your head! How could you be so normal otherwise, but pull your panties down and you turn into a crazy woman.”
That was about all she could stand. “You go to hell,” she said, bolting from the bed.
He was on her in an instant, pinning her to the wall before she could run out of the room. “Charlotte,” he said from behind, “ne me laisse pas. S’il vous plaît.” He kissed her neck, saying softly in her ear, “I only said those things because I want to understand you. I want to know what’s behind all this anger. Please tell me, belle. I want to know.”
It was anger. The realization came to her suddenly, as all epiphanies usually did. What else could it be? But how could she admit it? Least of all, to Rex. He’d see her as weak, then where would she be?
“I don’t know,” she finally said, her fingers clenching.
“Sure you do,” he said, his hands closing over hers. “It just hurts too much to examine it.” He turned her in his arms. “You just have to let yourself think about it, not ignore it every time a situation brings you too close to confronting it. Believe me, I know how you feel. I used to let the anger get to me, too.”
What comfort it was just talking to him. Something which she could never allow herself to get used to. As if he’d ever give her the chance. “And now you just get even?”
He smiled. “You ought to try it sometime. It’s the best hard-on in the world. Next to this.” He kissed her, gathering her up until she wrapped her legs around him. When she did, he drove himself inside her.
“Oh God,” she groaned, flinging her arms around his neck as he kissed her, first with tenderness, then with heat. “I’m so sorry,” she said when he allowed her to speak. “You were right, everything you said.”
“I always am,” he said, stepping back so Charlotte’s shoulders lay against the wall, angling himself in deeper. “I’m going to fuck you now, Charlotte. And when I do we’re going to enjoy it just for what it is. No games. No one-upmanship.”
“Oh Rex,” she said, sighing from the feel of him inside her. “If we could do that then I guess it’d be a first for both of us.”
He grinned with wicked pleasure. “C’est ma fille,” he said, ramming her hard. “My sassy little chienne.” And from there, it was just a matter of degrees.
He held on to her, one arm under her cul as the other he braced against the wall, as Rex thrust into her without mercy, Charlotte crying, “Plus fort—plus fort!” Harder, harder, “Plus fite—plus fite!” Faster, faster. Until he whirled her around to set her atop the dresser, bottles a
nd assorted paraphernalia flying to the floor.
“How is it, ma belle?” he asked, Charlotte loving the feel of him, the intimacy of his press into her. He smoothed his hand down her hip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You can’t possibly hurt me,” she said, “not after these two long years. Please . . .” She raised up against him, curling her arm around his neck. “Please please please just fuck me.”
So he did, wordless and with even more intensity, Charlotte threading her fingers into his hair. She tilted her head, feeling wanton, Rex’s gaze fixed on her so tightly it almost scared her. He was too handsome, too flawless—why, even the tiny mole high on his cheekbone suited him to perfection. As was his advice, matching her own feeble commands. “Fuck me . . .” she ordered. “Just fuck me.” She grasped him by the shoulders and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in deeper. Much to her surprise, and just like he had asked her, she was enjoying every thrust just for what it was.
Incredibly so.
Rex groaned. “Coquette,” he whispered, and shoving a stack of towels aside, bore down, slamming her hard. He looked to their left, spying her Louboutins. “We’ll have to try it with those on.”
“Got a thing for shoes—do you?” She huffed, tossing her head to the side. “Oh—you typical man.”
“There’s nothing typical about me,” he growled, grinding his hips. “As for you . . .” He smiled. “You’re nothing short of extraordinary.”
“Yes I am,” she said, and he kissed her soundly, lingering. When he finally let her speak she added, “But how can you possibly know?”
He smoothed her hair. “I wouldn’t have asked for you if I didn’t think so.”
She sighed, sliding her bare feet down his hips as he worked his magic. She lifted her hips, matching her rhythm to his. The sensation was like riding a wave, each swell a slow-building pleasure, leaving her loosened as well as emboldened.
“How’s do I feel?” she murmured, her hands at his hips. “Do I feel as incredible for you as you do for me?”
He looked up at her, breathless, his mouth slightly opened, his eyes a glimpse into an entirely different world. “They need to invent a new word for how you feel to me,” he said in a gravelly baritone. He kissed her hard, his hand sliding to her breast, his fingers kneading it until she sighed from their hot, possessive feel.