The orgasm went on and on.
And on.
After he’d wrung more pleasure from her than she’d realized her body could experience, he moved quickly, sliding up over her and settling in the cradle of her hips. She heard the sound of his belt buckle. His zipper. Dazed, she opened her eyes in time to see him rip open a foil packet with his teeth and sheath himself, not even bothering to take his silk boxers off all the way.
His face was flushed and tight with strain, his jaw set. Muscles bulged in his supporting arm as he levered over her and gripped himself. She eagerly cocked her hips for him, but at the very last second, his feverishly bright gaze flicked back up to hers.
“Ça va?”
Was it okay?
Was he serious?
“Fuck me,” she said, pulling his face down so he could kiss her. She needed his dick inside her and his tongue in her mouth. “Please. Fuck me.”
A hint of a grin from Baptiste.
Then he surged inside her, burying himself to the hilt.
She cried out, feeling her face twist and her mouth gape with utter disbelief.
First thing? People who claimed white men had small penises didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.
Second? In a historic first, she actually felt the telltale clenching inside her body that announced another orgasm locking and loading in the chamber, ready to fire very soon.
Third? This complete stranger had her completely wrung out. And he wasn’t even done with her yet.
The only good thing?
As he stared down at her, his shadowed expression reflected the same turbulence she currently felt.
“Ça va?”
His voice sounded softer this time. Gentler. Sweeter. His eyes seemed to glow in the subdued light from the nightstand.
“Oui,” she said, trying to catch her breath as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. “Ça va.”
He began to move, his hips swiveling in wondrous, rhythmic strokes. He dipped his head and brushed her lips with his, his languid tongue just a tease designed to unravel her.
As he’d predicted, they fit perfectly together, straining and flowing with their limbs twined and their mouths fused. Soon—too soon; not soon enough—her second orgasm overtook her, wringing his strangled name from her as the pleasure spiraled and she arched into him.
He lifted his head to watch her, and in that raw moment she felt no need or desire to hide her reactions.
This unprecedented experience here, with him, was everything. He deserved to know. So she cooed. Allowed herself a sultry smile as her eyes rolled closed and she dissolved into molten gold.
“Mon Dieu.” Shaky laugh from Baptiste as his tempo increased. “D’où venez-vous?”
My God. Where did you come from?
Dark triumph made her laugh as she wallowed in this moment of supreme femininity.
Did he own her tonight? Absolutely.
And she owned him.
She lifted her heavy lids and looked him in the face. The sudden intimacy when their gazes connected felt almost unbearable. Animalistic sex was one thing, and it was easy enough to check out for that. Quite another to see the sweat dotting his brow, the prickly stubble across the harsh planes of his cheeks and the utter astonishment in his eyes as she tightened both her inner muscles and her thighs’ hold on his waist.
She licked and then nuzzled his lips, a teasing little kiss that made his entire body tense into stone.
“I’ve been right here,” she said. “The question is, what took you so long to get here?”
“I don’t know.” He cupped her face. Trailed his thumbs across her brows and down her cheeks. Stroked her lips with unexpected tenderness, then gasped when she sucked one of his thumbs deep into her mouth. “But if I’d known what I was missing, I would have been here years ago.”
She had time for a quick grin.
Then he kissed her again. Hooked one of his arms behind her knee to open her wider. Swiveled his hips. Fucked her harder. Deeper. Lost some of his rhythm as his arms began to tremble and his own orgasm overtook him.
She dug her nails into the flexing globes of his ass to spur him on.
It worked.
He tensed and cried out in French, a ragged shout of rapture that she couldn’t understand. But the way her name poured out of his mouth—over and over again—said it all.
Then it was finally over, and only their harsh breathing and a stunned silence remained.
Samira stared up into the face of this man she didn’t know, suddenly overcome by their nakedness. The exquisite sensitivity of her nipples where they brushed against his hard chest as she tried to catch her breath. The feeling of him deep inside her, stretching all those secret and unused muscles. The unyielding strength of his muscular legs as she slowly released her death grip on his waist and ran her feet down the backs of his thighs, being careful of her heels.
Never in her life had she felt this exposed and vulnerable.
And it was way past too late for feeling shy, but she couldn’t stop a hot blush from sweeping up her neck and over her cheeks as she thought about her situation.
This wasn’t normal.
She didn’t have sex with strange men fifteen minutes after meeting them.
She didn’t leave all her inhibitions on the floor with her discarded clothes.
She didn’t have explosive orgasms back-to-back.
Or ever.
And she damn sure didn’t have men look at her like that—with all that stunned wonder—when they were in bed with her.
What the hell were they supposed to do or say now? Why had no one ever trained her in one-night-stand etiquette?
She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but evidently these kinds of orgasms blew all coherence right out of your mind.
That bright gaze of his saw everything, leaving her thoughts as exposed as her body. He shifted his weight, locking her in place as he stroked his soothing fingers up and down her side.
“You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I don’t know what the rules are here.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m not sure the rules apply to us. And I did mention that I’d be inside you in the morning.” He thrust his hips, just enough to spark another spiraling wave of sensation. “Or did you forget?”
That almost made her laugh. As if she could forget any detail about this unprecedented night.
“I didn’t forget.”
“But you want to leave me?”
Funny how he managed to be 50 percent sexiest man alive and 50 percent vulnerable little boy. And she didn’t want to leave either one of them.
“No,” she said quietly. “I want to stay here.”
“Right here?” He thrust his hips again, and the little boy receded in favor of the sophisticated and vaguely wicked man who’d seduced her inside of an hour.
“Right here,” she said, gliding her leg back up his and resettling it around his waist.
“Well.” His eyes gleamed as he snuck a hand between them and flicked her nipple, making muscles in her belly spasm. “I did promise you extraordinary.”
“Yes, you did.”
They grinned at each other.
Then he kissed her again as he trailed his fingers up the backs of her thighs and stroked her pussy from behind.
She cried out because she was so undone. So sated and sore.
And still so exquisitely aroused.
Eyes glinting with masculine knowledge and triumph, he stroked her harder.
Her skin leapt and sizzled, and the dance began again.
7
Consciousness slowly returned to Baptiste, aided by the loss of a warm and curvy body as it slid away from his. He reflexively tightened his hold around her waist, but it was already too late.
“Samira,” he grumbled, rolling onto his belly and burrowing deeper into the downy comfort of the pillow and fine linens. “C
ome back to bed.”
“Can’t.” She pressed a lingering kiss to his eager lips. “It’s almost morning. I have to go. I’m going to use the extra toothbrush in the bathroom, okay?”
“Of course.”
He cracked open an eye and saw his dim suite, lit only by the bathroom light as she clicked it on. They’d made love three spectacular times last night, but that was no reason to waste his morning erection.
“’Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day,’” he said.
She stuck her head out of the bathroom door, her delicious mouth popped open with surprise. “Are you quoting Romeo and Juliet?”
He grinned. Of course she knew it. From all appearances thus far, there was no end to this woman’s talents.
“Depends. Do you like Shakespeare?”
One delicate brow went up. “Are the French good lovers?”
He laughed. If he spent much more time with this woman, he’d sprain the muscles in his cheeks, which were already starting to feel overused.
“Only good?”
She scrunched up her face and pretended to think hard. “Really good?”
He glowered.
“Exquisite. Satisfied?”
“Not until you come back to bed, no.”
She laughed.
Renewed desire became a sweet ache in the pit of his belly and lower.
“If I quote more Shakespeare for you, will you stay? I can order breakfast. No need to leave on an empty stomach.”
Unmistakable regret shadowed her eyes. “I can’t. I have a meeting.”
So did he, but it now seemed comically insignificant. Heaving a harsh sigh, he watched her disappear into the bathroom, flopped onto his back and rested his arm over his eyes as the water began to run.
Well, this was complicated, wasn’t it?
Complicated...and unprecedented.
First thing? He’d have to cancel tonight’s date in Manhattan. Now that Daphne was in his rearview mirror, he’d planned to meet Elisabetta for dinner at Delmonico’s. They had a longstanding arrangement that worked beautifully: he took her for an expensive dinner when he was between lovers (and sometimes when he was not, to be honest), perhaps a bit of shopping, and she used him to hone her pornographic skills in bed.
But after last night? Elisabetta’s face also belonged in his rearview mirror. She’d be unhappy, but he’d send a nice bouquet of flowers, and all would be well.
Maybe Samira would enjoy Delmonico’s. Maybe they’d go to the city for the weekend. That might make the most sense. For tonight and tomorrow, they could eat somewhere here in town. The little bit of Journey’s End he’d seen thus far seemed lovely, and he wouldn’t mind exploring it with her.
Or they could stay here again. For room service.
The thought made him grin until his lips threatened to touch his ears.
Obviously, he’d need to extend his business here for as long as, say, ten days, but after that he’d have to get back. Maybe Samira could meet him there. He’d show her all the sights if she hadn’t seen them, or stay in bed if she had.
Samira.
Everything about her was unexpected. The way they’d met. The way they laughed together. Her beauty and keen intelligence.
They way she’d completely unraveled him in bed last night.
Him! A man who’d slept with beautiful women all over the world and had enough mileage on his queue to qualify for platinum status and an endorsement deal for a condom company.
So, yes, Samira had left him feeling like the green and untried teenager he’d been millennia ago. That was unexpected. As for his bloodlust last night when he’d thought that drunken Julius Caesar was hurting her? Or the fierce wave of protectiveness he’d felt, as though he would happily throw himself between her and any whiff of danger? Or his realization that last night hadn’t quenched any of his fire for Samira, but had instead poured gasoline on the flames?
Unexpected…and vaguely troubling.
She emerged from the bathroom just then, with her strapless blue Nefertiti dress back on, sans collar. He stood. Yawned and stretched. Reached for her, but she shrieked and batted him away.
“What?”
“Have you brushed your teeth?”
“You just kissed me!” Playing up his outrage, he flapped a hand at the bed. “You woke me with a kiss!”
“That was a peck. You look like you mean business. And that brings me to the other issue.” She pointed at his engorged private parts. “You need to get that situation under control.”
He held his arms wide to give her a better view of all his glory. “This situation is your fault. What do you want me to do?”
“For now? Robe.” She tossed him a fluffy white one from the closet. “When I leave? Cold shower.”
“There are many more exciting techniques to handle a morning erection,” he said silkily. “I can think of two—no, three—right away.”
“I’m sure you can,” she said darkly, shooing him away. “Go.”
“But—”
“Go!”
Chuckling, he went into the bathroom. By the time he returned, with the robe firmly belted around his waist, she had her sandals back on and her purse, collar and crown lined up on the table beside his watch and cuff links.
She looked very crisp now.
Very cool.
A vague feeling of unease skittered up his spine.
Time for a stern reminder of the words by which he lived his life:
Don’t count on anyone. Don’t get attached.
Did he like her? Of course?
Would he lose his head over her or any other woman? Absolutely not.
“You shouldn’t leave your gold watch lying around.” She looked incredulous. “And are those diamond cuff links? How did you know I wouldn’t run off with them in the middle of the night?”
“The idea never crossed my mind,” he said, shrugging. “You’re not a thief.”
“No, but you don’t know that.”
“I do know that.”
“Baptiste, this watch is a Cartier. It’s like a bar of gold bullion. And the cuff links are a couple carats each. You should be more careful.”
He nodded, deciding that now was not the time to mention either that the cuff links were five carats each or that he had two or three other gold watches at home. And ten thousand in cash in the safe. “You’re right.”
She seemed mollified as she opened the drapes and let in the morning sun. “It’s going to be a pretty day.”
He nodded.
There was an awkward pause.
“So I should—” she began.
“Do you want me to call a car for you?” he said at the same time.
“No, it’s okay,” she said quickly. “I walked. I just live a couple blocks from here. Journey’s End isn’t that big.”
“You don’t want to walk in those heels, do you? I’ll call you a car.”
“But—”
“I insist.”
He picked up the phone and spoke to the front desk, telling them to charge the car to his room.
“Thanks,” she said, gathering up her things. “You’re very sweet. I should probably go down and wait in the lobby.”
“I want to talk to you first.” He hesitated, watching her tuck the dome-shaped crown under her arm. “Actually, you need a bag. And something to cover your shoulders before you catch your death.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said firmly. “I checked my jacket in the cloakroom last night. But could I take your plastic dry cleaning bag from the closet? I think the crown would probably fit in that.”
But he’d had a better idea and was already dumping the contents from his duffel on the bed.
“Allow me,” he said, taking the crown and collar, putting them inside and zipping it up. “Here.”
She took the duffel with a frown. “Baptiste. This is a Louis Vuitton.”
“So?” He dove across the bed, retrieved last night’s starched shirt from the floor and came back, shakin
g it out. Relieving her of the duffel, he put it on the table and held the shirt out so she could put it on. “Have it.”
“I can’t have it,” she said, crossing her arms. “And I can’t take your shirt. This is monogrammed. You need it.”
The vague images of several of the women he’d dated abruptly scrolled through his mind, one after the other, ending with Daphne. He’d nicknamed them Greedy, Grabby and Hungry as a collective. Always with their hands out, always singing Janet Jackson in his ear, wondering what he’d done for them lately.
Had any one of them been present last night, she’d have ordered an additional bottle of champagne, caviar, surf and turf and chocolate soufflé for dessert. She would have raided the minibar, insisted on the car to drive her home, and made several pointed comments about how much she’d always wanted a Cartier watch like his and diamond ear studs to match his cuff links. She’d snatch the monogrammed shirt off his back and happily skip off with his duffel bag, then delay and/or feign ignorance if and when he asked for it back.
Sometimes, if the woman intrigued or charmed him, and if he wanted to see her again, he’d buy her a little something. Sometimes this progressed until they formed an arrangement like he’d discussed with Daniel last night. And while said arrangements had worked beautifully for him for years, in the last several months or so, they’d left him feeling…dissatisfied and disgruntled.
Possibly even…empty.
That was why it was so startling to encounter a woman who not only didn’t seem to expect anything from him, but also didn’t seem to want it. Of course, Samira hadn’t had a chance to look him up online yet, so she had no idea about his net worth. Still, he was surprised to discover that her determination not to take anything from him made him perversely more determined to give her things.
He wanted her to keep something of his.
God knew she’d burrowed her way deep into his brain and memory.
He gestured to his open closet door, where two other monogrammed white shirts hung. “I’ll manage without it. Besides. You ruined this shirt for me last night, didn’t you? When you forced me to rip it off. All the buttons fell off.”
No Ordinary Love Page 6