Unwrap Me Daddy_A Holiday Romance

by Natasha Spencer

  Leaning forward, she stuck her tongue out and licked his soft, sensitive tip, delighting in the sound of his gasp. She probed the gentle opening, parting it, tasting more of his precum which continued to drip like sap from a freshly cut tree trunk.

  He stiffened as she gave his corona a gentle bite, carefully rubbing her teeth up and down it, and feeling him stiffen further. Teeth still gripping his engorged mushroom, she let her lips do the rest of the talking as she slid further down his shaft. It didn’t take long for him to reach the back of her throat – not even a quarter of what was left outside. Gripping the remainder with her fist, she sucked him off slowly as her other hand cupped his thick, hairy, pendulous balls.

  Arnaud’s hands cupped her head and she bit down gently – a warning not to thrust into her. He was too big. His hands backed off – he clearly got the message. With them gone, her teeth let go as she continued sliding back and forth. But she couldn’t keep it up. He was far too thick and her jaw was starting to ache.

  Sliding his shaft out of her mouth but keeping her fist firmly gripped around it, her other hand let go of his balls and patted his left inner thigh. He got that message, as well, as he spread his legs further apart. That gave her complete access to his scrotum, but even those were big. She sucked one of them into her mouth and nearly chuckled when he made loud moaning noises.

  She and Savitri had another theory about sex – that alpha males had overly sensitive balls. It was apparently true of Armand, if the extra amount of thick, viscous fluid he was spilling was anything to go by. Ditto with the fact that he was groaning louder than he had when she was sucking him off. To test that theory, she went back to his shaft, but he started pushing her away.

  “I’m too close,” he gasped. “I don’t want to... not yet!”

  Unable to resist, she sucked him even harder while grabbing his testicles in both hands. It was too much for the hulking figure before her. With a loud yell, he pushed her off just as he exploded. Hot spunk spewed all over her face, neck, breasts, and stomach, while she held on to his balls. Grabbing his meat with her other hand, she jerked him off, amazed at how much more came out of him.

  “Stop!” he pleaded.

  She wouldn’t. When the flood slowed, she dove forward, taking his man meat into her mouth, once more. Arnaud groaned louder as he sank on her bed, mumbling something in French that she couldn’t understand. It didn’t matter.

  Seeing him heaving and sweating on her bed drove her crazy. Wiping as much of his cum off as she could, she got on the bed and straddled his waist.

  “Give me a moment,” he protested weakly.

  She rubbed her pussy back and forth across the thick length of his still-wet sausage. Ignoring his pleas, she pulled it into her, slowly sliding down its length, gritting her teeth at the delicious pain it caused her. Amanda couldn’t get enough of his pelt as she explored the hard planes of his muscles.

  He grabbed her breasts in a weak grip as she rode him, before pulling her down to him for a kiss. She bit his lip then devoured his mouth. It wasn’t love she was after, because she knew better – his kind didn’t settle for the likes of her. As her opening relaxed, she broke off the rough kiss to push harder against him. Arnaud replied by getting harder, surprising her since she didn’t think it was possible.

  Grabbing her waist, he thrust up viciously. “This is what you want, eh?”

  It hurt, but she needed more of it. “Yes!”

  He pounded her as she sat astride him. She clawed his chest, leaving red cuts on his flesh with her nails. She screamed as her orgasm tore through her, ripping her apart like his cock did. Only when she stopped writhing did his pounding stop.

  Arnaud pulled her down to his chest, cradling her body as he continued to slowly fuck her. Flipping her onto her back, he straddled her. All Amanda could see were the mounds of his chest and stomach as he continued to heave over her, but gently and more tenderly.

  The pain was no longer as pleasurable, but his gentleness was. She continued exploring his torso with her hands till he gave out a large groan and stiffened. No longer frenzied, she could feel his hot juice spilling out of her and onto her legs.

  “Bon dieu!” he finally managed as his weight pinned her to her mattress.

  Amanda understood that bit of French and chuckled. “Thank god, indeed!”

  Chapter 5

  “Amanda?”

  “Yes, Nanette?”

  “These are for you.”

  Amanda looked up and gaped. A giant bouquet, complete with legs and folded arms, was walking toward her. It stopped at her work bench and plopped itself on top, at which point the arms vanished and the legs retreated.

  “This is beautiful, non?” said her trainee admiringly with a tinge of jealousy.

  Amanda couldn’t stop ogling. She knew who’d sent it even though the trainee remarked on the lack of a card. Part of her was flattered, but a bigger part of her was angry. The hell is he thinking bringing this to my office!? We’re not in high school!

  She tried calling Arnaud on his cellphone, but all she got was his answering service, so she hung up. She sat there for long minutes, torn between annoyance and a sense of joy that he would do such a thing. The last thing she wanted were people in the office talking about her, but she had to admit, it had been a while since she’d received flowers.

  Fortunately, Savitri answered her phone right away. “So what’s the problem, Mandy? Sheesh a guy gives you flowers and you’re upset about what other people will think? All I get from men are their phone numbers, followed by and a wham bang thank you ma’am spiel as they walk out the door.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is. And that’s just the way I like it. Oh! I get it now.”

  Amanda winced. Her friend could read her like a book.

  “Look, Mandy. The guy just sent you flowers, all right? It’s not as if he’s proposing marriage or anything like that. This is France. Guys pride themselves on being the romantic sort and making gestures like that. You meeting up with him later?”

  “No. He’s had to fly out of the country for some business meeting.”

  “Or so he says, eh?”

  “Doesn’t matter, Sav. I wouldn’t have minded so much if he sent it to my apartment. But sending it here? The receptionists must be talking by now. I know my assistant is.”

  Savitri snorted. “So let them! They’re probably jealous. I know I am. And since you don’t want flowers, can I have them?”

  “Let’s talk over lunch, ok?”

  “Yup. And stop worrying. They’re just flowers, ok? By the way, what did the note say?”

  “There was none.”

  “So typically French.”

  “Is it, really?”

  Savitri laughed. “I really wouldn’t know. No one’s given me flowers, yet. And I’ve been here a year! Worse luck. Oops, I have to go. Lunch, yeah?”

  “Bye.”

  Amanda sat back and looked at the bouquet, no longer sure about how to feel about it. She tried calling Arnaud again, but all she got this time was a busy tone. Oh well.

  Several colleagues walked in to admire the flowers, congratulating her on having such a generous lover. She was amazed at their casual attitude. Did everyone in France have lovers?! And did French lovers send expensive bouquets to their partner’s place of work?

  It made her uncomfortable. Not just the attention, but also this blurring of boundaries between the personal and professional worlds. Back in London, such things were kept strictly separate. In her personal experience, her previous employers would have been neither supportive nor encouraging. And why no card?

  “Perhaps,” Nanette suggested, “he believes his intent is obvious, non?” She gave Amanda a wicked smile.

  Amanda’s phone rang, but she didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

  She could hear someone breathing on the other end. “Hello? Who’s this? Hello!? Listen, I can hear you breathing, can you hear me talking? Oh bugger. I’m hanging up,
whoever you are. Bye!”

  Nanette looked puzzled. “Is it your lover?”

  Amanda shrugged as she got back to work. “I don’t have a lover.”

  *****

  She saw it even before she reached her floor. Hard not to, since her building didn’t have an elevator. She paused on the stairs and sighed, drumming her fingers on the railing as she pondered the thing. Shaking her head, she finished her climb and walked slowly up to her door.

  On the floor in front of it was a bouquet of roses set in a pink ceramic vase. She unlocked her door, picked the thing up, and walked in. Crooked in her other arm was the elaborate bouquet she’d received in the office, far lighter now since she’d given some of the flowers away.

  She turned the vase around, but nope. No note, as usual. She picked up her phone and tried calling Arnaud again, but again got his answering service. “Typical,” she sneered.

  She picked up an empty coffee can, filled it with water, snipped off the stems of her office bouquet, and stuck them in. That done, she changed into her jogging outfit and set out for her evening jog.

  As she stepped out of her building, Madame Dimanche approached her with a smile. The woman was both her landlady, as well as the one who took care of the garden in the central courtyard.

  “Amanda? You... eh... eh,” the woman waved her hands as she desperately tried to remember her English. She gave up. “Les fleurs?”

  “The flowers? Oui, madame.”

  “But no... eh... eh... card!” She snapped her fingers, delighted to have remembered the word.

  “No, madame. Is it a French custom?” Privately, Amanda groaned to herself. Now my neighbors have something about me to gossip about.

  Mme. Dimanche gave her a knowing grin. “It means... eh... eh... you know each other. Why say... eh... why say more. Yes?”

  Amanda realized that on top of French language lessons, she also had a long way to go in understanding local nuances and customs. She sighed. “But we don’t know each other, Mme. Dimanche.”

  “You will,” the woman beamed. “You will.” She gave her tenant a wave as she set off with a flower pot in hand.

  Amanda stood there watching the woman walk off. It had taken her about four weeks to get a smile out of her landlady, and now, all that woman ever did was grin at her. Some guy nearly ran her over, they had sex twice, and now, he kept sending her flowers. But what he couldn’t seem to do was answer her calls for some reason. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, thinking vague thoughts about how difficult it was to crack the French.

  Making her way to the Jardin des Tuileries, she hoped to catch the last hours of daylight before the prostitutes and drug dealers reclaimed it for the night. Psyching herself up for a long and enjoyable jog ahead, she vowed not to stop by any bakeries when she was through. And this time, she positively meant it.

  She therefore didn’t notice the person who started following her.

  Chapter 6

  “What do you mean you didn’t send me any flowers!?” Amanda huffed as she got into Arnaud’s car.

  “I’m sorry,” he sounded genuinely puzzled. “I didn’t want your office mates to gossip about you.”

  She shook her head. “But I’ve been getting flowers all week! At my office, at my building. I’ve no more room.”

  “So what do you do with them?”

  “Been giving them to Mme. Dimanche, my landlady. She has a green thumb, that one.”

  He smiled, but didn’t look happy as he drove them off. “What do the notes say?”

  “Nothing. None of the flowers came with notes.”

  “Then you must have a secret admirer.”

  “Sure you’re not the one sending them?”

  “It’s not a secret that I admire you.”

  “Huh!”

  “Have you been seeing someone while I’ve been away?”

  Amanda wanted to believe she heard jealousy in his voice, but she couldn’t tell. “No. Have you?”

  “Would you mind if I did?”

  That made her pause. Sex with him was wonderful and something she badly needed after a year-long hiatus. And he was hot – exactly her type and more. But it wasn’t serious. She wasn’t in the mood for a relationship. Besides, men like him weren’t the type to settle down. With his money and looks, she had no doubt that her time with him was limited. His type grew bored very quickly, as she knew from personal experience.

  “I don’t think so,” she lied. “Besides, you probably have mistresses all over the world.”

  He chuckled but didn’t answer.

  Yup, she thought, struggling to keep her face a careful blank. I don’t have much longer with this one. “And on that note, I expect the same answer from you.”

  Amanda was careful to keep her face turned away, surprised that she was getting emotional. As such, she didn’t notice the sharp look he gave her.

  Dinner was Italian casual, this time, though a look at the menu’s prices told her that it wasn’t going to be ordinary pizza and spaghetti. They were in Montemartre, a hill in the 18th arrondissement that overlooked Paris. To cap it all off, they had a balcony table with a view to die for.

  “This is fantastic!” she crooned.

  “You like it?”

  “I love it! How long has this been here?”

  “Almost three years. I was one of the first customers, so I knew they’d be a success.”

  “How could you tell something like that? I thought restaurants have a high attrition rate.”

  “Yes, but Gio, he’s the owner, convinced me.” At her puzzled look, he continued. “I came here with an American client who wanted iced tea with his meal, even though it wasn’t on the menu.” He winced and shook his head. “Gio stormed out of the kitchen and told the American off, ‘we only serve genuine Italian food here! And if you don’t like it, you can leave!’” Arnaud laughed.

  Amanda shook her head. “I don’t get it.”

  “Iced tea dulls the taste buds.”

  “Aah! Ok, then. Thanks for the warning. So what did your client do?”

  “He offered to buy the restaurant. Gio refused, of course. With that kind of dedication and refusal to compromise, I knew this place would be a success. I made sure of it, too.”

  She raised her brows at him.

  “I invested.”

  “You mean you own this place?”

  “Only partly. I let Gio run it.”

  “Wow. Why am I surprised? In that case, Mr. Restauranteur, you order.”

  He laughed and did just that. Amanda wasn’t disappointed, as she knew she wouldn’t be. But that wouldn’t last. They were just tucking into desert when a gorgeous woman with long, curly blond hair ran up to their table.

  “Arnaud? Arnaud! I knew it was you!” she squeaked in a Bostonian American accent. “Daah-ling! It’s been a while!” she cooed as she kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, hellooo! I’m Tanya!” she squealed at his companion as if just noticing her.

  I knew it, Amanda fumed. Taking a deep breath, she put on her best fake smile for the woman as she introduced herself.

  That done, the woman proceeded to ignore her. “Arnaud!” she gushed. “It’s been soooo looong! How’ve you been? I missed yeeuw!”

  Amanda tuned out and turned to her desert. For some strange reason, it no longer tasted as good as when she had first tucked into it. The woman’s high-pitched voice was very piercing, made even worse by her volume. The other diners did their best to ignore her, but it was hard. The woman seemed to think Arnaud was deaf.

  Sadly, she hadn’t forgotten Amanda. “Oh don’t worry about us, we’re just friends... now.”

  It took her a few seconds to realize the woman was talking to her. She looked up from her desert to see Arnaud looking distinctly uncomfortable, something which made her strangely happy. It took her even longer to notice the silence. Looking up further, she met the woman’s gaze.

  “I’m sorry?” Amanda spluttered.

  “I said, you shouldn’t be jealous of us. A
rnaud and I, we go way back. Don’t we?”

  “Eh...” Arnaud seemed to be turning slightly red.

  “But it wasn’t meant to be.” The blond ditz smiled and shook her head. “Now, we’re just friends. Isn’t that right, Arnaud? So how have yeeuw been, daah-ling?”

  Ignored yet again, Amanda had to fight back a grin. The man was positively turning red – exactly the way he did when they were having sex. When they finally broke up, she vowed to herself, she would never do to him what the blond was doing now.

  The woman finally left them after several more agonizing minutes before leaving the restaurant with some Middle Eastern-looking guy. Arnaud finally let out a dramatic sigh.

  “One question,” Amanda said. He raised a brow at her. “How the heck could you stand her voice?

  He shook his head. “We were never an item. It was just... just...”

  “A one night stand,” she finished for him. “But how could you stand her voice?”

  “Now you know why it was just a one night stand!”

  They laughed. They were still doing that when they stepped out on the street, but it didn’t last long.

  Arnaud froze. “What the...”

  “Oh my god!”

  *****

  “How could no one have seen anything!?” Arnaud barked at the police officer in French.

  The man shrugged, but Amanda wasn’t paying attention. Someone had smashed in all the windows of his Porsche Boxster, but he or she didn’t stop there. The tires had been slashed, the rearview mirrors were gone, the paint had been scratched all over, and dents showed where someone had taken a bat to it.

  Montemartre is a heavily populated part of Paris, but the area they’d parked in was a largely residential section. A crowd had gathered, but no one came forward to say they’d seen the vandal. Some, in fact, were smiling; meaning it could have been one of them.

  “Amanda, I have to go with the police to make a report. I’ll have my driver take you...”