CLOSER (Taint Book 2)

by Carmen Jenner

  She’s shaking now, because spring is even slower to start here than at my chateau, and the rain is freezing. Her hair is plastered to her head, her clothes glued to her body and her nipples stick out against the wet fabric, and from the way she looks at me—a combination of awkwardness, trepidation, and lust—I’d be willing to bet her clothing isn’t the only thing that’s soaked.

  “We should go inside,” she shouts over the rain.

  “We should.” I nod, but neither of us move. Cold droplets pat down all around us, freezing, but she just stares, and I stare, and it’s as fucking weird as it is awesome.

  “I like you too,” she says finally, blurting it out all at once, as if she was daring herself to do so. “Even though you make me want to strangle you. Even though you’re brash, and rude, obnoxious when you’re drunk—and you’re always drunk—you’re completely inappropriate ninety-nine per cent of the time, and you stare at me as if I’m wearing nothing, and I’m yours to look at ... I like you too.”

  I don’t know what the hell to make of any of that, except that Brie wants me, but she turns on her heel and slowly walks away, and I have no choice but to follow.

  She slides the key into the lock and pushes into the room. It’s small, cosy, and most importantly, it’s dry. There’s a medium sized bed—all the beds are small in France—and two big winged-backed chairs in front of the fireplace.

  There’s also a bathroom, and Brie disappears inside and closes the door. A beat later, the shower is running. I set the sodden box by the door and move about the room, trying to warm my blood after the early spring rain. I might have even followed her into the bathroom, if she hadn’t locked the door. Instead, I empty my pockets and set my wallet on the nightstand. I find two thick terry towelling robes in a tiny closet, and strip off my sopping clothes. I throw on the robe as I grab the remote and try to figure out how to operate the fireplace with no instructions and all the buttons in French.

  Eventually a gas flame burns in the hearth, and by the time Brie steps out of the bathroom in nothing but a fluffy towel, her skin all pink from the scalding hot water, the room is warm too.

  “Found us some robes.”

  “Merci.” We share a long look. It’s loaded because I want her, she wants me, and we’re both naked right now save for some terry towelling. A knock on the door startles us both. Brie grabs the robe off the bed before disappearing into the bathroom again.

  I pull back the door. It’s the desk clerk. His hair and uniform are peppered with rain, and he looks at the closed bathroom door as he wheels his little cart in. Creepy fucker. “Bonsoir!”

  “Hey,” I say, deliberately using English despite this being the one word I do understand, because I know that pisses off the French. “You can leave it there.”

  “Oui, monsieur.” He pops the bottle of champagne and sets it back in the ice bucket. Then he steps away from the tray, and glances toward the bathroom door as Brie opens it. She’s no longer in a towel. Thank fuck. But knowing she’s naked under that robe doesn’t help. My cock wants to say hello. I’ve never been backward about my intentions with any woman I’ve wanted to fuck, and it’s not like I’d try to hide my boner—it’s not like I could even if I wanted to—but this is awkward as fuck because this arsehole won’t leave, and I don’t like the way he’s staring at her.

  “Bonsoir, Mademoi—”

  “Okay, we’re good here.” I push him towards the door.

  “Merci,” Brie calls, and I turn my head and glare at her. I don’t tip the arsehole either. I slam the door and stride back to the tray. There are strawberries, and chocolate, but also bread and cheese. Of course there’s fucking cheese. It’s as if the French can’t go a single meal without it.

  Brie has already poured herself a glass and picks up a hulled strawberry. She doesn’t dip it in the chocolate but nibbles it slowly, from the wrong end. I pick up the champagne and pour myself a glass.

  “That was rude,” she says coolly.

  “So was the way he was ogling you.” I down my champagne and set the glass on the tray.

  “And what if I enjoyed the idea of another man ogling me? The same way you like to think of all of those women fucking your sex toy and watching your videos online.”

  I grin. “I knew you were jealous. Don’t worry, I’ll send you one.”

  “I don't know why I bother talking to you.” She slams her glass on the tray and throws her hands up. “Tu es méprisable!”

  Brie heads to the door, and I don’t know where she thinks she’s going dressed like that but it’s certainly not back to that douche in the office. I stalk behind her, hot on her heels, and when she’s close enough to the door, I reach out and grab her wrist turning her towards me.

  She lets out a soft cry, but it isn’t one of pain, it’s another kind of anguish. It’s need. “Please let me go,” she begs.

  I study her face. “I don’t think you want me to let you go.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  I let her wrist slip free of my grasp and search her gaze. “Prove it.”

  “I do not have to prove anything to you.”

  “Then quit looking at me like you want me to fuck you, because it’s torture,” I snap. A week worth of pent-up frustration, of wanting this woman who refuses to give in, and never backs down. “It’s fucking torture the way you look at me.”

  “Torture?” A crease forms between her brow. Fuck, she’s hot when she’s angry. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Just what I said. You can’t keep looking at me like that.” I take another step closer and she backs up against the door. “Or walk around in these skimpy little outfits, and you can’t be this close to me.”

  “The robe was your idea, and you cornered me!”

  “You’re right.” I sigh, and step back but she catches my collar in her fist and draws me closer. She doesn’t kiss me though. Just glares as if she’s torn between kissing or biting me.

  “Tell me you want it, Brie,” I whisper, holding her gaze. “Tell me you want me.”

  “Please,” she whispers, so quiet I’m not sure if I imagined it.

  “Please what? What do you want?”

  She shakes her head. “Please, don’t make me say it.”

  “Say it.”

  “Fuck me, Levi. S'il te plaît, baise moi.” I grip her neck and draw her closer, crashing my lips down on hers, and shove my tongue deep inside. Her kisses are as ferocious and demanding as my own. Her tongue thrashes against mine, her nails dig into my biceps, hard, marking my skin with little half-moons. I slam her up against the door. Her hands fumble with the tie at my waist. I shove her away, so I can get to it quicker. She works on her own, unfastening the knot, and slipping the soft towelling from her shoulders. I was wrong about her being completely naked—she put her little lace panties back on, as if they were some form of protection from me, from my hands, from my cock. I slip my fingers inside and feel how wet she is, how ready. I stroke her clit. She gasps, and wrenches my arm away. “S'il te plaît? Je t'en prie!”

  “I love it when you beg.”

  She frowns. All need. All consuming passion ... for me. “You are a bastard.”

  “Yes, but lucky for you I’m a very giving bastard.” I take my cock and rub it against her, sliding my crown through her slick heat. She moans. I pull back and grin at her forlorn expression. Then I drop to my knees.

  “Non. Non. Fuck me, Levi.”

  I wrap my hands around her ankle and lean forward, sliding her leg over my shoulder. “Baby, I have every intention of fucking you. But first, you’re gonna ride my face.”

  I dart my tongue out and taste her. Fuck. She tastes as good as she looks. I glance up the line of her body, grabbing a handful of her tits and rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. I bring my mouth to her pussy again and flick my tongue over her clit. She jerks away, but seconds later as I grin up at her, Brie’s eyes narrow and she grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me towards her. I chuckle as I ope
n my mouth and gently suck her clit. Brie tugs on my hair, and I let her go, but I cover her slick flesh with my mouth and kiss her cunt as if I’m starving. And I am. This week of fighting, teasing, all of it is the best kind of foreplay known to man. Brielle Kagawa is just what I need.

  So I eat her out as if I’m never going to get the chance to again. Her legs jerk and spasm, and I press her hard against the door, letting the wood take her weight. I grab her other ankle and she follows my lead, wrapping her long leg over my shoulder. Her hands grapple for purchase on my hair as I stand with her straddling my face. Brie squeals. I slam her back into the door, and her whole-body shudders as she grinds her hot pussy against my mouth.

  I could stop flicking her clit with my tongue altogether and she probably wouldn’t know any different. I may be an arsehole, but one thing I’m not, is lazy. Not when it comes to showing women how much I appreciate it when they serve themselves up to me. I’m the kind of man who eats his fill of the all-night buffet, and then goes back for more.

  Brie’s upper body curls, her stomach clenching, her hands tugging my hair so hard I’m afraid she’ll pull it out, and then the sweetest moan comes from her mouth, her pussy contracts and her head falls back against the door with a laugh. “Oh my God.”

  She clenches her thighs together, which of course forces her pussy closer to my mouth. I can’t help but dart out my tongue to taste her again. She jerks forward. Almost sending us both toppling. I slide my hands under her arse and she lowers her legs one at a time, and slides down my body until she’s straddling my hips, my cock pressing against her sweet cunt.

  “Jesus Christ, you almost suffocated me.”

  She laughs. “Good. Maybe then you’ll stop talking and ruining the moment.”

  “Fine, you can have the moment, because I plan to ruin you,” I whisper, sliding the head of my cock through her slick flesh. “Hard and fast, and then soft and slow. I’m gonna fuck you all night, Angry French Girl, and you’re gonna scream for me.”

  I lay her back on the bed and run my hands along the taut curves of her body, her small tits, that I pinch and tease, over her ribs, and then down between her legs. I circle her slit and then slip two fingers inside. She moans. I don’t give her time to adjust or accommodate me. I fuck her hard and fast with my fingers until she really does scream. Her body convulses, and she squirts all over the bed as the violent waves of orgasm drag her under.

  Giving her a beat to recover, I slide my hands free of her body and coat my dick in her cum. She’s lost to me right now, lost to feeling, floating, but that’s okay because I meant what I said. I will ruin her for any other lover. That’s just the selfish kind of arsehole I am.

  Brie’s body is wracked with after tremors. There’s no better drug than a fucking awesome orgasm. She inhales on a gasp, sucking in breath as if for the first time. There’s a reason the French call it la petite mort—the little death.

  “Oh my God.” She grabs a fistful off her hair and covers her face with it as she laughs. “You’re very good at that.”

  “Baby, I’m the best at that.” I grin and slide a hand through the wetness pooling into the sheets. “Besides, I want you wet and pliant as a fucking newborn kitten. I’ve been dreaming about this since I first saw you play, and I intend to make you come all night.”

  I grab my wallet and pull out a condom, tearing into the foil packet with my teeth. I slowly roll it over my cock, smiling at Brie who watches each movement with undisguised lust, and perhaps just a hint of fear. I slide the tip over her entrance, through her juices, coating the head and pushing inside before pulling out and teasing her clit. I delve just a little further each time. When her body tells me she’s ready, I sink in deep, or as deep as she’ll allow. A cry comes from her throat. I don’t know if it’s pain, or desire, or a mix, but when I pull back, she shifts her arse so that she’s taking more of me inside her tight cunt. Fuck. It’s been so long, and she’s so hot and so fucking tight around me that I may just break my promises altogether. I’ve never broken promises about making a woman come. I grab her legs and wrap my arms around them, pulling them to the side so her feet rest on my right shoulder.

  “Oh,” she moans, as I piston my hips and drive in slow and deep, feeling her stretch around me, loosen up, and take more of my cock into her body.

  Brie slides a hand between her legs and strokes her clit. I watch, mesmerized as she takes her pleasure into her own hands. I drive deeper, fuck harder until she comes on my cock, screaming and panting, begging for more, disoriented from another orgasm. Pride swells within me. I kiss her instep, her ankles, before parting her legs, and leaning forward, pushing deeper inside.

  I have to kiss her. I need to feel my mouth on hers, my tongue caressing hers as I take her body again, bringing her right to the brink before pulling out. I slide my hand around her throat. Brielle’s eyes widen and flare with fear that quickly morphs into desire. I snag her earlobe between my teeth as I drive back in and all the air leaves her lungs in a rush.

  Her heels dig into my arse, her nails claw my back, and we settle into a rhythm that I was never afforded with Ali. I’ve never made love to a woman. My whole adult life has been one empty, fast-paced, and furious fuck after another. Until Ali, but even with her, I wasn’t allowed to take her like this, never allowed to take my time and explore her body as if it were my own, because it never was mine. Not to have and hold, not to possess. Not like Brie. Not like now.

  I look into Brie’s eyes, upturned in the corners, revealing the secrets of both her French and Japanese heritages. An exotic almond shape that’s as intriguing as it is beautiful. Her dark pupils are glassy with desire, her milky skin flush with that freshly fucked glow.

  I come, imagining I get to keep her. I come, pretending she won’t leave me in two days’ time and never look back, and I curse myself for letting my heart get carried away again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHARMED, I’M SURE

  BRIELLE

  Oh God. I slept with the rock star. Just when I thought my choice of lovers could not get any worse. I slept with a man known worldwide for his extremely large cock and his ability to use it. And worst still, I loved every second. I’ve never known desire or passion like that. I’ve never wanted or been that wanted in my entire life. Even now, as he rolls over, throws an arm around me and kisses the top of my head in his sleepy way, with that giant erection pressing into my back and my vagina feeling sore and sorry for herself, the idea of him slipping inside me, is tempting. Too tempting. Non. This cannot happen again. I cannot sleep with the rock star again.

  “Brie?” he asks in a husky voice from behind me.

  I stiffen. Perhaps if I pretend I am asleep, he will take his giant penis away from me. Beneath the sheet, his arm snakes between my legs, sending a bolt of desire through me again as his expert fingers glide over me, wringing pleasure from my exhausted body as if I had begged him for it. My legs fall open for him.

  “Good morning,” he whispers in my ear. Kissing my neck, he trails his lips down my shoulder and collarbone to my breast. He takes my nipple in his mouth and sucks hard. A moan escapes me as he brings me to the brink, but stops, before I can tip over it.

  “I do not like mornings.” I huff, because I cannot beg him for more. That would be entirely too desperate, and I suspect he would enjoy it far too much.

  “What’s not to like about them when they start with a fucking hot brunette in your bed?”

  “You are not as complimentary as you think.”

  “I was talking about me.” He grins.

  I throw back the covers and sit up, but he draws a hand against my waist and pulls me towards him. His deep chuckle in my ear taunts me.

  “You are not as funny as you think you are.”

  “Oh, I think I am.” He brushes my hair out of the way and kisses my neck. I try not to breathe into the sensations he’s stirring within my body, but I cannot help it. He knows exactly how to treat a woman, and it’s infuriating as much
as it is intoxicating. “Wanna know what else I think?”

  A traitorous moan that escapes me and my pleas of “S'il te plaît, s'il te plaît,” spur him on.

  “I think you like me a lot more than you let on. I think you like the way I feel against your body, and inside it.” He slides his hand between my legs. For a single heartbeat, I think about telling him no, about pushing him off, but his deft fingers find my clit and he has me panting within seconds. “I think you love to fight with me, but deep down you find me completely charming.”

  I scoff. “You are not charming. You are far from charming.”

  “And yet you’re naked in my bed, begging me to make you come.”

  God damn him, he’s right. Oh, how I hate this man, with everything ... oh, but I do not hate his talented hands, and I did not hate his tongue piercing last night, and I do love the way my body stretches to accommodate him, that delicious torture of pain blending with pleasure and heightening all my senses.

  His fingers leave the space between my legs, and I feel him roll over, rummaging on the nightstand. The sound of him tearing a condom wrapper with his teeth sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine, and then he moves closer. He slides the head of his cock across my ass, and down the seam, dipping into my wetness and teasing me. I shift my leg, giving him room to slip in, but he pulls back and teases again. That rat bastard is enjoying this.

  “Levi,” I beg, and I hate how whiny I sound. Like a pathetic mewling little kitten. I hate him. I hate how he makes me feel. I hate ... mon Dieu! I love his cock. He glides it over my flesh, pushing just the tip in enough to leave me holding my breath.

  “Say it, Brie,” he whispers, catching my earlobe between his teeth.