Chapter 15
Julia
Lucien must think I’m a crazed stalker with the way I just popped up outside of his loft tonight. I’m not too sure exactly what I expected when I left home to come here, hair piled in a messy ponytail high on my head, clothing stuffed into my messenger bag. All I know is that living in a house full of ballerinas while not being able to dance is driving me crazy.
I needed to get away from there…so here I am.
“You disappeared into the night,” Lucien says with playful eyes as he fills a goblet with red wine and slides it across the counter to me. I feel blood rush to my cheeks as I recall what he did to me the last time we were alone with a bottle of wine. A part of me is disappointed that we aren’t doing that again, right now. Instead, he sits on the kitchen stool next to me, toying with the stem of his glass. He’s so close that I can feel the buzzing warmth of his skin.
After Lucien found me outside on the sidewalk and ushered me into his apartment, I perched on a stool and watched him whip up an onion soup in no time flat. It was incredibly sexy seeing him work his way around the tiny kitchenette, chopping and sautéing and stirring. And the meal had been deliciously accompanied by fresh baguette and wine.
Tonight, we ate with spoons and forks and glasses and I must say that food seems to taste much better when we use each other’s various body parts as utensils. I learned that the last time I was here.
“So, will you answer me, Julia?” he presses. “Why did you disappear last night?” His tone is light but I can tell that he’ll insist on getting an answer out of me. Even when his telephone rings, threating to interrupt the moment, he just frowns, silences it and slides it into his pocket, returning his attention to me.
Do I tell him the truth?
Do I tell him the reason why I crept out of his bed at 4:30 in the morning, just hours after he’d given me the most perfectly blissful orgasm of my life?
This man touches me like he knows me. That scares me. That’s why I always run away when he gets too close.
But his touch also thrills me. And that’s why I come back.
No – I can’t tell him the truth. It’s too intense. So, I decide to joke instead.
“I didn’t have my favorite teddy bear. I need it to sleep through the night,” I say with a playful lilt in my voice. “But I’ve got it now,” I say tipping my chin towards my bag on the floor, “so I’d be glad to stay the night if you’ll have me.”
He laughs. It’s throaty and rich. “You are more than welcome to stay the night, Julia.” And I feel warmer just hearing him say it.
He reaches across the back of my chair and toys with the loose strands of my hair. His presence feels good, comforting, familiar. I just want to sink into him.
After a while, he takes my empty plate as he stands and rounds the counter. “Is there anything in particular you want to do, this evening?” he tries to make the question sound neutral but the smirk on his lips tells me it’s anything but.
And we both know I didn’t come back for the crackers and cheese. But I’m willing to play innocent.
I shake my head ‘no’ as I slide out of my chair and approach him. I run my fingers along his beard. “Is there anything particular that you want to do?” I’m standing inches from him, my body spelling out all the things my lips won’t say.
His hand cups the back of my neck, his fingers coiling in my hair. He moves slowly…bringing his lips to kiss my left cheek…and then, my right…
He pulls back and looks at me. Mischief and temptation brew in his coppery eyes. A smile twists my lips. A little danger always did get my blood rolling.
He kisses my cheek again, then slowly moves down, pressing light kisses to my jaw…my chin…His fingers coil tighter in my hair, gently pulling my head back to kiss the heated skin of my throat…the hollow of my neck…my collarbone. I whimper softly as his lips travel across the thin fabric of my shirt, kissing me, kissing me until he reaches my breast. His greedy lips part and he sucks a mouthful of my small breast into his mouth, shirt and bra and all. His hand massages, kneads, squeezes my other breast till I’m groaning his name.
“Mmm…magnifique…” he moans across my stomach as he hoists me up, sitting me on the counter. He lays me back and I spread my legs without instruction, unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans before he peels them down my hips, down my legs, over my ankles. He leans down, gently pulling my thighs around his neck. He asks if that hurts my knee and when I say ‘no’, he buries his head between my thighs. His lips pull and suck at my heated core as he tastes me through my damp, silk panties.
I’m hungry to feel his tongue on me, so I reach down and push the wet fabric to the side. I prop myself on my elbow, hissing and moaning as I watch his tongue work against me, swirling around my clit, sliding up and down my seam, dipping past my folds, driving me wild.
“Is this how you like it, Julia?” he asks, his eyes rising to me for validation. His lips and beard are wet, his eyes are determined. “Is this how you need my mouth?”
I watch him, feeling amazed and bewildered by how sexy it is to see his face and beard wet with my desire. My voice is breathy and low when I say, “That’s how I like it.”
Satisfaction glints in his eyes as he buries his face between my thighs again. His hands are firm on my flesh, holding my legs wide, so wide it burns my muscles of my pelvis.
My hips thrust up off of the counter, riding his face. My breathing quickens, the sounds coming out of me become more urgent. The storm is building inside of me, it’s picking up power and speed, spinning and spinning, faster and faster. I’m so sensitive, so alert, aware of his every breath, of each minuscule movement. His hands move up my thighs, keeping me open as my body tries to close up, to hide from the intensity of what I’m feeling.
“Take it, poupée,” he mumbles against my sex, his beard grating against my thighs. “Take it all.”
His attention is trained solely on my clit. He sucks, hard and feverish. And my spine arches up off of the counter, my arms flail to the sides.
I vaguely hear something fall and shatter on the floor as I fall into my orgasm, shattering on my way down. His hand finds my quivering pussy. Fingers – I don’t know how many – slide into me, pumping, pumping all the way. So deep. So good it hurts. But it’s delicious and liberating.
And I’m still falling.
Still falling.
Still falling.
Until the orgasm slowly lets go of its chokehold on me. My spine straightens gradually and my breathing calms bit by bit.
Lucien’s hands slide up my body, dragging my shirt up my skin. His lips touch my hipbone, the hollow of my stomach, my ribcage. I’m still boneless when he lifts my shirt over my head and tosses it to the floor. I ease my back off of the counter so that he can unfasten my bra. Then, he’s drawing my nipple between his lips, sucking and teasing. “Ça va, ma belle?” he whispers in the dark.
Am I okay?
The question is almost comical. I’m not okay. I’m better than okay. Better than I’ve been in a long while.
But I’m still too dazed to formulate word and sentences. All I can offer him is a smile.
“Bien donc…I am going to fuck you now.”
He leans over me, his arms wrapping around my lower back. I drape my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist and sit up. My knee is only slightly uncomfortable as he carries me across the room, depositing me in the middle of the bed.
With a hand planted firmly on either side of my head, he waits patiently as I unbutton his shirt with trembling hands. I take a moment to enjoy him, my fingers dancing along the defined muscles of his chest, the coarse hairs spread thickly across his torso, the tattoos inked into his forearms. I’ve never been with a man like him and I never imagined that I’d like it this much.
He groans thickly when my hands move to his waistband, unbuttoning his pants and sliding it over his taut, muscular ass and his toned, soccer-player thighs.
One thing’s for su
re – all that running around and kicking a soccer ball sure did his body good.
When I yank down his boxers, his cock falls warm and heavy against my stomach. He dips down, his lips meeting mine. His kiss is hungry and tastes unmistakably like my arousal.
He balances himself on one hand as he reaches into the bedside drawer and retrieves a condom. Growling quietly, he rips the packaging open with his teeth. The small sound betrays his eagerness, his excitement. I reach down and shamelessly stroke my clit as he slowly presses himself into me. “Lucien…” My voice is hoarse and needy.
He pants as he watches me where I touch myself. “So sexy, Julia. So sexy.” He leans down and kisses me sweetly, stealing my moans and sighs and grunts into his warm mouth as he grinds leisurely in and out of me. He churns his hips, digging deep, slapping into me.
And he’s picking up speed, gradually…gradually…gradually… until his rhythm is wild and punishing.
I wrap my fingers around his wrists, my hips tipping up to meet his every harsh thrust, open and ready to receive everything he’s offering.
“Fuck, Julia,” he murmurs, his head hanging, his weight pressing on his wrists. “C’est bon. Tellement bon.”
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull his face to mine. I want him closer. I need to feel his heat searing my skin. I need to feel his heart thumping so close that I wonder if it’s in my own chest.
“C’est bon?” he asks, capturing my bottom lip between his teeth and biting tenderly.
“Mmm…c’est bon…” I echo, arching my body up into his. It’s so good, Lucien. It’s the best.
He straightens up with his healthy knee on the mattress and his other foot slides to the floor. He slips both hands under my ass, lifting that part of me off of the bed. He grimaces a bit. Shifts his weight.
“Your knee?” I ask quietly.
The look of absolute concentration his face is almost intimidating. He shakes his head, tightening his grip on my hips. “Shh…It is nothing.” He tilts my pelvis up to his at just the perfect angle. And then, he pounds into me in a reckless, uninhibited frenzy.
I keen towards him, wanting more. Needing to take it all. Not letting a drop of this pleasure escape me. Sensation rushes through me, warm and sharp. He watches as I trip and stumble into it. My fingers grasp for his hair, for the sheets, for anything to hold onto as I ride the wave after wave after wave of orgasm.
And now, he’s coming apart, grunting and muttering as his fingernails sink deeper into my flesh. He’s fucking me harder, deeper, groaning a thousand obscenities in French and English and another language all his own.
When he collapses onto the bed next to me a moment later, his brow is damp with sweat, his breathing is erratic. “Sex is so good with you,” he mutters into the air right before he pulls my quivering body against his.
And we stay like that, wrapped up in each other until his breathing grows slow and steady.
Anxiety creeps into my mind, spooling around my spine. I don’t want to go back to my apartment. I don’t want to face Geneviève and my roommates and be constantly reminded of the life that I lost, of the dream that was shattered when I damaged my leg. And why do I feel more at home with this stranger than I do in my own bed, in my own life?
“Can I stay?” I ask burying my face into the curve of his neck. His beard bruises my forehead.
“Oh Julia, of course you can stay the night.”
I pull back and look into his eyes, copper pits with sparkling gold speckles. “No – can I stay?”
In the low light, I see the question finally register in his mind. Panic. That’s the only way to describe his expression.
And now, I’m embarrassed. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve always been spontaneous, impulsive and highly unpredictable. It’s what my friends love about me. But I’ve finally taken it too far, inviting myself to move in with this man. How stupid and presumptuous of me to try to move in with him. I’ve known the poor guy for how long? I know nothing about his life and he knows nothing about mine. He must think I’m just the crazy American girl he fucked in the airplane lavatory within minutes of meeting her.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that. I don’t know what I was think –“
His lips press to mine, burying my apologies with a kiss. His expression is soft now. He flicks a finger along my cheek. “Of course you can stay.”
Chapter 16
Lucien
Julia’s hair is still wet from the shower. It hangs down her back in long, deep-gold waves.
“I forgot my blow-dryer,” she laments as she leans over the bench in front of the dresser and digs through her bag.
“Ah, that is not a problem,” I say coming up behind her and yanking the towel from around my waist. “I will be your personal hair dryer.”
She laughs and swats me away with her hands as I try to rub the towel against her hair.
“What?” I say innocently, stopping for a fraction of a second to watch her.
“You’re naked,” she says, gawking at my semi-erection. God – just the sight of her sends blood pumping to my cock.
I hook my fists on my hips and stand back, giving her just enough space to appreciate my body. “You like me naked, no?”
Her laughter tappers off. “Very much,” she says earnestly.
God – it’s only been a few days, but already love waking up next to her. When I got back home after my early morning soccer practice, she was still in bed sleeping. So, I climbed back in and woke her up, pressing my erection to her belly. We’d fucked again, but now, it’s time to start the day.
Julia’s eyes grow serious and hot with need. She stares at me for a beat and the look on her face is a cross between hesitation and something wickedly devious. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” she says as she slides off of the bench and stands in front of me, lacing her arms around my neck. “You’ve been so…kind to me…It’s time I return the favor.”
I have no idea what she has in mind for me, but I’m grinning from ear-to-ear because her expression tells me that I’m in for a treat. She presses her palms flat to my bare chest and pushes me backwards, backwards till I bump up against the bed. With one final shove, I fall across the mattress and she climbs up on top of me. Her lips touch my neck, my shoulder, my chest and she continues to move down, her mouth leaving a trail of warm, stimulated flesh in its wake.
“I will be late for my physiotherapy.” It’s more of a statement than a complaint or a request for her to stop.
I feel her smile against my skin. “You will be late for your physiotherapy.” And then, her lips cover the tip of my cock, sucking softly. Just the tip.
“Merde,” I mutter low under my breath as my hand goes to the back of her head and slides down the back of her neck.
And she takes me in, more and more. I can tell the gentle suction is just a warm up. She’s teasing me. I feel the blood rushing through my veins, headed towards my cock. It swells and pulses against her tongue. She picks up the speed, bit by bit, her head bobbing in my lap, her licks contracting and releasing around me.
“Julia…Poupée…” I groan, sinking my head into the pillow and squeezing my eyes shut. And then, I’m thrusting up and into her mouth. At first, I’m making small, restrained movements but then, I’m losing myself, getting wild.
“Hmmm.” She hums low and needy and it vibrates through my over-sensitive erection.
“Fuuccckkk!” I growl, my hand cupping the back of her head, holding her in place, making her feel what she’s doing to me. My muscles are deliciously tense, my every nerve ending is raw. “I’m…coming…” Her movements grow feverish. She’s eager to taste me, to swallow all I leave behind on her tongue.
When she finally pulls away, she falls beside me on the bed. “Oh god…” she mutters licking her lips. “Oh god…”
I look over at her and smile, giving my heart time to regulate its erratic beating.
She smiles back. “You are so fucking late.”
Julia
I sit patiently in the waiting room, flipping through the same magazine for the third time. Lucien has an appointment with Cynthia today and since I have nothing better to do, I decide to tag along. So, here I am, in a fabric-covered chair opposite the reception desk, pretending not to feel the receptionist shooting venom at me with her stare. When the weight of her hatred becomes too much, I glance up at her and give her the sweetest smile.
She doesn’t reciprocate.
In fact, she sort of snarls at me…O-kay. Time to use the ladies’ room.
I grab my messenger bag and walk the short distance to the washroom, pushing the door open and slinking inside. I’m alone in here. I press my hands against the granite counter, leaning in close to the mirror to inspect myself.
Foreign Love (An International Sports Romance) (Love in Shades) Page 5