“You nearly had me fooled,” I said with a laugh. “But your accent gave you away.”
Alexandre was standing there, legs wide apart, holding a Fire Department helmet. It was not such a crazy idea—the electricity between us really did have me on fire.
“I heard there was a lot of heat coming directly from this apartment,” he said with a big grin on his face. He took a step closer and stared into my eyes. I could feel his breath on mine. Mint, apples, sun, Alexandre. He took my chin in his hand and let his lips graze my mouth. I responded with a gasp. I could hear him take in a gulp of air, inhaling the scent of me, of my hair. It felt like a century had passed since we’d last been together, yet it had only been one night away. I opened my mouth a little and his tongue found mine, letting the tips meet. The connection, like lightning, went straight between my legs.
“A lot of heat is coming from right down here,” he told me. He palmed his large hand on my crotch and I felt a rush of blood pump through me. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to put out this fire any way I can.”
He got down on his knees and placed himself underneath me. He unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor. He pushed my legs apart and hooked his fingers inside my panties, peeling them down. Very, very slowly. He blew softly in between my legs, then flicked his tongue for just a second on my clit. Then he blew again.
“If you knew anything about fire, Mr. Firefighter,” I gasped, “you’d know blowing on a flame just gets it more excited.”
“True,” he murmured, letting his tongue lap along my slit. “Perhaps it needs some help cooling down.”
He pressed, his tongue flat, in the place I needed it most, and I held onto his head, my fingers running through his soft dark hair. I pushed my hips forward, pressing myself, rubbing myself up and down against his mouth. I was so stimulated—so hot and horny. Even moaning. I was still wearing a bra, nothing more, and I looked down to see my breasts held like cupcakes in a demi push-up. I pulled out one breast and played with my nipple, watching it turn hard. Alexandre stood up and circled his right arm around my thighs, lifting me up over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift! He was so strong—the way he did it so effortlessly made me feel as light as a feather. I was hanging upside down over his shoulders, gripping on to the waistband of his sexy fireman’s pants with one hand, and with the other, cupping his cute, tight butt. He was taking me to the bedroom.
“Are you abducting me, Mr. Fireman?”
“I need to teach you a lesson, Ms. Robinson.”
“What kind of lesson?”
“To teach you not to play with fire. To trust me and not play silly, girlish games. Or you could get burned.”
He laid me on the bed. As he did so, the telephone rang.
“It could be the doorman,” I said. God only knew what chaos Alexandre had caused.
“Answer it. Tell him I’m showing you some fire safety tips.”
I laughed, and did as he suggested. Poor Luke was confused. Half of the building was in a panic. I assured him there was no fire here, that everything was under control, but that he’d done the right thing letting the firefighter into the building.
Alexandre stood on the edge of the bed and undid the zip of his pants. Like a cobra his erection came free; proud and magnificent. The black pants, the big heavy boots, the clinking of the bits of metal on the waistband had me mesmerized in a Playgirl Firefighter Fantasy. I walked on my knees and took his erection in my hands, letting my loose hair brush back and forth, swishing over it. I kissed him there, up and down, mini nips and kisses all over, and on the tip.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, and I meant every word.
I took it in my mouth, rimming my lips about his hard shaft and looked up at him from under my lashes.
“Turn around,” he said and maneuvered my body, using his hands to control my hips, so my butt was facing him. I was on all fours.
“I’m going to have to spank you, Pearl You did wrong abandoning me in France the way you did. You had me desperate, distraught. I have to punish you so you won’t do it again.”
He pulled my thighs farther apart.
He is into hurting women, after all. I braced myself. How bad can a spank be? He pulled me closer to his pelvis. I waited for his hand to come down on my ass. Instead, I felt a thud, right up between my legs, right at my entrance. I didn’t know what he was doing exactly, but it felt so erotic, the thud, whack, thud. I bent my head all the way down and under my thighs. I looked up from beneath myself and saw his cock slapping me. His dark pants against the color of his smooth flesh, had me throbbing with excitement.
“Pearl, I’m going to have to bite you now. Bite that creamy ass of yours.” I felt his teeth nipping into my flesh, all over my butt, and then at my wet opening where he gently tugged my lips there with his mouth.
“Keep punishing me,” I murmured in a faint whisper. “This feels incredible.”
“Greedy . . . (bite) . . . Girl . . . Greedy . . . (slap) . . . Girl.”
I was groaning.
Suddenly, he lifted me off the bed and held me in his arms like a baby. What? Don’t stop now!
“You’ve been punished enough,” he said seriously. “I want to make love to you now. I think we’ve fucked enough, don’t you? I think we need a bit more commitment from one another. No more games.”
“But I am committed,” I protested.
He set me back down so I was sitting on the bed, and he gazed deep into my eyes. “Undress me, Pearl. Get me out of this gear. I feel claustrophobic trussed up in this outfit.”
I smiled wickedly. “Not so fast, Mr. Fireman. I think Mr. Firefighter needs a little dance first. A little lap dance to ease his tension.” I found my phone and scrolled to my play list and selected the most sensual song I could think of—a French song: Je T’aime . . . .Moi Non Plus. I started slowly gyrating my hips to the rhythm of the music, the deep voice of Serge Gainsbourg, the breathy, ecstatic sighs of Jane Birkin—a love song if ever there was one.
Alexandre’s erection jutted out from the uniform pants, and I dipped down on it, parting the lips of my cleft as I did so, sitting on it, then rising up, pressing my pelvis against his stomach, rising all the way up and impaling myself on him again, to the beat of the music. But he grabbed me tight, his hands immobilizing me.
“Pearl, that’s enough now. Get me out of these. Game’s over. I don’t want my future wife doing a lap dance for some dirty firefighter.”
I burst out laughing. “But you’re the firefighter.”
He tried to suppress a grin. “Some dirty firefighter who broke into your apartment uninvited.”
I grinned too, realizing what he’d just said: future wife! I unbuttoned his waistband and pulled the pants down over his hips, stopping to gaze at his navel, kissing it, tugging gently at the fine hair there with my teeth. I peeled the pants down past his muscular thighs and stroked his arms until my hands were resting on his. He held them, squeezing my palms and caressing my fingers. There was a stillness about him, a calm. I could discern such tenderness in his eyes—an expression I had not noticed before. I bent down and unlaced one boot, and then the other. Then I stood up, and pushed him backwards onto the bed with a hard shove. He toppled back and laughed with surprise. I tugged each boot off and throw them, one by one, on the floor.
“Now you’re free,” I said.
“Take off that bra. I want you naked. Naked the way you were at Cap d’Antibes. Let me see those pearly breasts that are trapped inside.”
I unhooked my bra and threw it across the floor, but carried on with my dance. I couldn’t stop, the music was making me feel very sensual. Future wife . . . oh yes!
“Be still,” he beckoned with an intense look on his face. He steadied my moving hips and pulled me to him. “Lie beside me.”
I lay down at his side so we were facing each other. He was motionless—just gazing at me. He stroked my hair and laid his long fingers on my shoulders, fondling me softly, studying my face
.
“You’re unique, Pearl. I’ve fallen in love with you.”
I said nothing, just watched his expression.
“I want to marry you. To start a family. Is that what you want, too?”
I nodded. My heart was beating so loudly he must have been able to hear it.
He drew me close to him, pulling me into his arms, hugging me tightly, and planted small, whispery kisses on my neck and shoulders, which sent shivers all over me. He smoothed my wild hair away from my forehead and traced his finger along my eyebrow, my nose. I curled my arm around him and stroked the small of his back, tracing my nails lightly on his coccyx and on the cheek of his butt. I edged up closer to him. His breath was coming in long, slow sighs. Sighs of contentment, of feeling at peace.
His fingers stroked my inner thigh with such a light touch I could hardly feel them, and then they tapped on my clit as delicately as the heartbeat of a bird. Tap, tap, tap.
“A little spanking,” he said with an ironic smile. “For being so wayward—for escaping from me.”
I edged up the bed higher so his erection was resting at my opening, and I sensed the head there, soft yet hard. I clenched my inner muscles into mini contractions, needing him, wanting him—I knew he could hear my desire through the pattern of my breath.
He eased himself into me, stretching me open, and I cried out in surprise. He felt huge.
“So wet,” he whispered, pulling himself back out so he was only an inch inside me. He stilled, didn’t move again.
I used his biceps as leverage to move myself in little circles. I had this carnal need within me, but the look on his face was about love, tranquility. I kept moving, his tip was soft on my clit, then my opening, all the nerve endings—the nexus of pleasure connecting my entire body—were alive with hot desire. He kissed me softly, parting my mouth with his tongue. He flexed his hips towards me, which made him enter another inch. I held the pulse between my legs. He was still gazing at me.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, and said, “Will. You. Marry. Me. Pearl?” When he said each word he gave tiny punctuation thrusts, which were like mountains moving inside me. I grabbed his butt and pulled him deep into me so he was close. He stilled and I could feel his throbbing. Something about his heartfelt words brought on a rush of pleasure, fireworks inside me, the waves of bliss rolled through me, the unexpected orgasm upon me now in flashes of white stars. Intense. Sublime.
I cried out, “Yes, oh yes.”
He jutted his hips forward, and I felt his release, filling me. He held me tighter, closer. “Yes, what, Pearl? What are you saying yes to?”
“Yes to everything,” I moaned, still coming hard.
ALEXANDRE
SEVERAL HOURS LATER I clanked my way up the fire escape of Pearl’s building on the Upper East Side, carabiners jangling off my belt. Before climbing up I had told the young doorman that someone had called 911 about smoke in the building, and he believed me.
I was clad in all the right firefighter gear but had abandoned the jacket somewhere farther down below because it was still very hot from the late summer sun—I was sweating—beads of moisture trickling down my chest and abs. I felt bad for firefighters; they had to wear this stuff to work, yet not so bad that I didn’t know the magic it spun. Women have always gone wild for them. I was hoping that Pearl would be no different. Perhaps, I thought, she’d just laugh at me—I looked like a cliché, a centerfold model. At least I’d get her attention.
“Excuse me, ma’am, I said, peering through the kitchen window after I’d made my way up to the eleventh floor, “I heard there was a fire in this apartment.” True. The fire of Pearl’s wrath.
Pearl stared at me, her mouth dropped to the floor, but then her expression changed. She wasn’t angry, nor did she laugh at me. A naughty smirk—yes—and a suppressed giggle at my outrageous outfit, but the second I laid eyes on her through the glass that separated us I knew I was forgiven.
I pulled up the sash window and gatecrashed my way inside, surprised that the burglar alarm hadn’t gone off by now; my big black boots stomping on the tile floor as she appraised my sweaty body, her melting blue eyes taking me in with approval.
“You nearly had me fooled but your accent gave you away,” she said with a grin, no doubt brought on by the incongruity of the scenario: a faux French firefighter.
I wanted to ravage her she looked so beautiful: her golden arms hung cool by her side, her blonde hair loose about her shoulders, her scent of flowers and magic, which always had me intoxicated. But I felt so much more than just pounding physical attraction for her. My heart was bursting through my sun-warmed chest: I was going to ask this woman to marry me. I yearned to start a family with her. All this, I was going to spell out to her.
When the moment was right.
I longed for her whole; her heart, her soul, her body, and every tiny emotion that came along with that trinity.
The good, the bad, the happy. And even the miserable. Because I knew there’d always be tough days up ahead. I’d be there for her. I wanted to wake up next to her every morning, smell her scent, hear her smooth voice. I’d even settle for a grumpy voice, as long as she was there beside me.
I was brimming over with love for Pearl Robinson. And I knew that if I carried on without her, I would only be half the man I was capable of being. Rich, powerful, successful; all those things men strive for in this world are nothing without the right mate—just sand in an egg timer that will come to an abrupt stop if you can’t turn your life around.
We kissed, our mouths as one. I licked her all over, devouring her taste, her nectar, her essence, then carried her over my shoulder to the bedroom, where I deposited her on her four-poster bed. I needed to lie with her, make love to her—feel her every muscle, soak up her every cell. The firefighter garb seemed absurd by this point. It had helped me achieve my goal—to catch her attention. Get me into her apartment.
I jested with her, teased her with “spanking” (an excuse to slap my cock against her glorious behind). I nipped her, pretending, with a sulky, downcast face, that she needed to be punished for running away from me, abandoning me. An old trick to re-balance the equilibrium of the relationship. I could sense myself falling and I needed to pick myself up.
“Get this garb off me,” I said in a solemn voice. “I feel claustrophobic. I need to lie with you, Pearl. We’ve played enough silly games, it’s time to get serious.”
She was the student and I was the teacher—at least that is what I was striving for. Hoping to have some kind of command over her so she wouldn’t run from me again. But in my soul, I knew that Pearl was her own person. She would never truly be mine. How can you own a free spirit like Pearl?
She put on some music, which answered my question. Je T’aime, Moi Non Plus—I love you, Me Neither. The “me, neither” said it all. Yes, she loved me, but I knew she wouldn’t take any crap from me. I had a memory of her by the sea in France, looking over her smooth tanned shoulder, shrugging as if to say, Catch me if you can, and with a toss of her blonde mane, she dove into the water like a mermaid from the rock where she was perched.
Here I was, coming to catch her, but a presentiment, deep down inside, told me that in the end Pearl would never be completely mine.
But I soldiered on, determined. I stroked her soft, golden hair and laid all my cards on the table, face up, “You’re unique, Pearl, I’ve fallen in love with you.” There—she had my vulnerability, my weakness laid out before her like a crudely woven carpet for her to walk all over if she wished, each thread visible, each weave part of my soul.
She smiled serenely and took in a long breath, but didn’t answer me. She still hadn’t told me she loved me yet. I did what came naturally when I felt insecure: my cock flexed at the softness of her velvet skin, her erotic scent, and I entered her, stretching into her wet, welcoming warmth. My power, my security: my big cock that had never let me down. It was the only tool I had that I knew how to use with precision. Everything else was new
to me. I was ill equipped in the art of love. I hadn’t known true, burgeoning love before—how it can burst your chest open and bring tears to your eyes. How it can sneak up on you and take hold of your gut and twist it into a pit of fear and loneliness when you think it has escaped you. Those twenty-four hours without Pearl had me as vacuous as a shooting star on impact—reduced to a particle of pale dust.
I controlled her sexually, but in every other respect she held all the cards in her realm. She was the Queen of Hearts, the Queen of Cups. All I could do was fill her in the way I knew how. I pushed myself into her until I felt her tightness cling to me, my security returning like a welcome friend.
I punctuated each word with a thrust, “Will. You. Marry. Me. Pearl. Robinson?”
I hadn’t meant to ask for her hand in marriage this way. It was cheating. Using my sexual prowess to reach my goal. My insecurity had me thrusting harder inside her, grinding my hips slowly; making small figures of eight. The number eighty-eight. Infinity. A number that would keep going infinitum and would last forever, unbroken. I could feel myself expand as her walls gripped about my throbbing cock—she was on the brink. I sucked her hard nipples, which I knew would push her over the edge, and then slammed my mouth on hers, my tongue ravishing her as I fucked her slowly, pulling out so my crown massaged her sweet clit, and then pushing back inside again, rolling back into the figure of eight, my hands like a vice about her smooth shoulders. She started screaming, writhing about beneath me. I had her, yet I didn’t have her, and it was killing me.
So I asked her again, “Will you marry me, Pearl?”
She was coming hard, her orgasm so intense that I felt her unraveling beneath me, her fingers knotted in my hair, her tongue lashing on mine with so much carnal desire that she couldn’t even speak—she just moaned. She bucked her hips at me, her skin misted with sweat, and hooked her legs about my calves as she dug her nails into my ass. Christ, she was like a tigress with her prey. Her climax was consuming her so intensely that her mind was blank.
Hooked Up: Book 2 Page 14