by M. S. Parker
The door to my room had barely shut behind us and she was already unzipping her dress. I lost my shoes and started unbuttoning my shirt while I watched her slowly shimmy out of the confining material. I let out a low whistle. She looked even better out of the dress than she had in it.
“In case you are wondering.” She ran her hands over her flat stomach and up to cup the crimson silk holding her breasts. “They are real.”
Had I misjudged her? Could she really be this perfect?
She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, releasing a pair of the most magnificent breasts I'd ever seen. Easily a D-cup. She smiled at me as she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her matching silk panties. She slowly lowered them, revealing something I'd come to learn about French women. They were as diverse as Americans when it came to their grooming habits.
“You like what you see?” she asked, running her fingers over her bare pussy.
I closed the distance between us in two quick steps and covered her mouth. My tongue pushed at her lips and they parted. I ran my hands over her back and down to that firm ass as I explored every crevice of her mouth. She tasted like coffee and expensive chocolate.
Her hands found their way under my shirt, palms burning against my skin. When her nails scraped over my nipples, I moaned and felt her smile. She broke the kiss and pushed my shirt from my shoulders.
“Magnifique.” She lowered her head and flicked her tongue against my nipple. She looked up at me through those thick eyelashes, gave me one of the most wicked grins I'd seen in a long time, and bit down.
“Shit!” I buried my hand in her hair as she worked her mouth across my chest, biting and licking until my cock was pressed painfully against my zipper. I'd barely spent a night alone since coming to Europe, but the last couple ones had been rather passive and I was starting to get bored. I'd definitely picked a good one today.
“Let us see what you have to offer.” She went to her knees in front of me, her hands at my waist, making short work of my pants. Her dark eyes brightened as she lowered my pants and saw the bulge at the front of my underwear. “Très bon.”
“Like what you see?” I grinned down at her.
“Very much.” She curled her fingers under the waistband of boxer-briefs and yanked them down.
My cock jutted out in front of me, thick and hard, eager for attention. Monique reached around and grabbed my ass, nails digging into the muscle as she wrapped her lips around the head of my cock. I groaned as she circled the tip with her tongue, then took me deeper. Her mouth was wet and hot as she took me all the way to the root, her lips stretched wide around me.
“Fuck!” My hands curled into fists. Damn, she knew what she was doing.
One hand released my ass and came around to cup my balls. She rolled them as she bobbed her head, taking my cock all the way into her mouth and down her throat each time. A lot of women gave head because they thought it was expected or that it was the best way to get a man going. Then there were women like Monique, ones that obviously enjoyed it. Or were at least enthusiastic about it.
“Ma chérie.” My voice was strained. “That's enough.”
The hand on my ass flexed, nails digging in, giving me a bite of pain to go with the pleasure. Then I was sliding from her mouth, my cock swollen and glistening. I held out my hand to her and she took it, letting me help her to her feet. It was then that I noticed she was still wearing her heels. Heels and nothing else. Fuck, that was hot.
She released my hand and gave me that naughty smile again. She licked her bottom lip, then bit her lip with those perfect teeth. She winked at me and sauntered over to the French doors. I kicked off my pants and underwear as I followed her, stopping only to grab a condom from my pants pocket. She pushed the curtains aside and put her hands on the glass. Feet apart, ass out. There was no doubt what she wanted.
I stood behind her, taking in the line of her body, the smooth skin of her back, the curve of her ass. She was gorgeous. Just like every other woman I'd fucked since coming to Europe. Sometimes I felt like that was the only thing I'd been doing. Party, drink, fuck. Repeat as needed. Hope that I'd somehow figure out what I was going to do. Where my life was supposed to go next. So far, it wasn't working.
Still, it didn't mean I would stop trying, especially with a woman who looked like this.
I ran my finger down her spine and she arched her back. I palmed her ass. Damn that was firm. My cock throbbed in anticipation, eager to finish what her mouth had started. It would have to wait though.
I leaned against her, pressing my cock against her leg. My hand dropped down between her legs.
“Already wet?” I dipped a finger inside her and she made a mewling sound. “Do you really like sucking dick that much?”
“Very much.” She pushed back against my hand, but I didn't give her what she wanted.
“And what do you think I should do to you now?” I removed my hand and lightly smacked her ass. Based on what I'd seen, I thought she might like it and I wasn't proven wrong.
“Harder, se il vous plaît,” she begged.
I brought my hand down a little more firmly and she let out a gasp that was pure pleasure. I alternated cheeks, each smack making her cry out. I didn't stop until my hand began to sting and her ass was a brilliant shade of red. I shook my hand as I bent down to pick up the condom I'd dropped. I tore it open and rolled the latex over my erection. The immediate need to come had eased a bit, but I was still ready to go.
I leaned my body over hers, intentionally rubbing against her sensitive ass as I did so. “I'm going to fuck you now.” I cupped her breasts, squeezing them until she writhed against me. “Take you hard and fast right here against this window.” I pinched her nipples and she made a sound half-way between a yelp and a moan. “Is that what you want?”
“Oui, se il vous plaît.”
I didn't need to know French to understand that as a definite affirmative.
I kept one hand on a breast, pinching her nipple, as the other hand slid down her stomach and between her legs. She gasped as I found her clit and rubbed the tip of my finger across it. Just when I felt her body start to quiver, I stopped.
She let out a stream of French expletives that made me chuckle. I straightened and put one hand on her hip. I teased around her entrance with the tip of my cock until she shot a glare over her shoulder. With a snap of my hips, I drove myself into her and her glare turned into a beautiful portrait of overwhelming sensation. Her entire body jerked and she swore again. I stayed still, giving her a moment. There was a fine line between painful pleasure and straight pain. I liked the first, but never wanted to cause the latter.
I rolled my hips and she cried out. “Prêt?” I made sure to ask it in French so there'd be no misunderstanding. She seemed to like it rough, but I didn't want to start moving until I was sure she was ready.
She nodded her head and I pulled back until just the head was still inside her. When I thrust into her this time, she wailed loud enough for me to hope that no one was in the room next to mine...and that the glass door she leaned on would prevent the people outside from hearing her. Then again, if anyone looked up, there'd be no doubt as to what was happening.
She kept one hand on the glass and used the other to play with her nipples, pulling and twisting until they'd turned from pale pink to almost red. She pushed back against me with every stroke, forcing me deeper even as she squeezed my cock with her pussy.
“Fuck,” I swore through gritted teeth. I didn't know where this girl had come from, but someone had definitely taught her how to fuck.
I moved my hand around to her front, once again finding her clit. She moaned as I rubbed the little bundle of nerves. The pressure inside me was building, but I was going to get her there first. I might not have always been the gentlest of lovers, but I liked to think of myself as considerate. I always did my best to make sure my partner came first.
“Spank me,” she said, her voice as strained as I felt.
I sma
cked her ass twice and apparently that was all she needed. She came with a high-pitched squeal that would've made me wince if she hadn't clamped down on my cock at the same time and triggered my own orgasm. I closed my eyes as I came, focusing on the pleasure coursing through me, the way her muscles flexed around my cock, prolonging the pleasure until it almost hurt.
It was only during these moments that I felt at peace, that I forgot about all the shit I had waiting for me back in the States and the vast, empty future stretching out before me. A few precious moments where it was pure bliss and all was right in my world.
Then it was over.
Chapter 2
Reed
I'd always thought I had stamina, but Monique definitely put that to the test. By the time she left around midnight, I barely had enough energy to dry off from our joint shower and make it into bed before I fell asleep. The best part about being that exhausted was that I didn't dream.
I couldn't exactly say I'd been having nightmares before, because they weren't disturbing or anything like that. No, it was more like my brain had decided to deal with my issues when I was asleep since I refused do it when I was awake. Sometimes it was my parents asking me why I'd left and begging me to come home. The guilt trips my imaginary parents gave were almost as convincing as the real thing.
Then there were the ones with Piper.
Most of the time, my mind replayed every moment we'd spent together, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. What would've happened if I would've done things differently? Like if I'd told her the truth that day I'd run into her at my sister's high school reunion. Would we still have ended up in bed together or would she have turned me down when I'd kissed her that first time? What if I'd called my engagement to Britni off sooner? Would I still have ended up in Vegas, seeing Piper work, or would I have stayed in Philadelphia to look for her? What if I'd changed things later so that we'd still had the same meeting, but instead of being an ass and essentially asking her to be a bought-and-paid-for mistress, I'd broken up with Britni to be with Piper?
In some of the dreams, Piper and I ended up together in some sort of weird alternate universe where my family accepted her and my sister apologized for being a bitch for so many years. I always woke from those with my hand stretched out to the other side of the bed, thinking she would be there. Then I'd remember. Worse were the ones where, no matter what I did, she still ended up with him. In the dreams, I could feel how futile my attempts were, but couldn't stop myself from trying to make a difference. Either way, I'd wake up knowing that I'd lost her.
When she'd told me she didn't want us to be together, it cut me to the quick. She'd said that what we'd had hadn't been real. Maybe not for her, but I'd thought for sure it had been for me. Only over the past couple weeks did I start to wonder. I'd met her when I'd been very close to marrying a woman I didn't love, a woman my parents had decided was a good fit for me.
As much as it pained me, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd fallen for Piper because of timing and circumstances. I'd feelings for her, that much was true, and I'd wanted her – a man would have to be either gay or stupid not to want her – but was what I felt for her more than that?
I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. There was gratitude, I thought, for giving me a reason to divorce Britni. Or, more accurately, showing me the reasons to divorce my wife. That had started the chain reaction that had led me here. Part of my rationale for doing the things I'd done had been for Piper, but they'd also been for me. I'd spent so much of my life giving up things I wanted just to make my parents happy, to make my family proud, that I'd never considered what I wanted out of life. Until now.
I frowned. I'd spent the last couple months considering and wasn't any closer to an answer than I had been when I'd left Philadelphia.
My phone rang and I sighed, rolling over to grab it.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Reed.”
“Mom?” I blinked at the clock. She had to be up early to be calling me here. Then I registered the time. Almost noon. Which meant it was nearly seven o'clock back home.
“Are you just waking up?”
I flopped back on my pillows and closed my eyes. I was an adult, thousands of miles away, and she could still sound like I was some lazy kid sleeping in late.
“Yes, Mom, I am.” There wasn't much point in lying to her.
“Your father's on the line too,” she said.
Fuck. My parents had to be two of the few people who still had landlines and liked to use them for conference calls. I had a feeling if they'd been in charge of the technical advancements, our companies would still be using computers that took up a whole room.
“Morning, Dad,” I said. I silently wondered what the hotel would think if I threw my cell phone off the balcony and into the pool below.
“We need you to come home, Reed.” At least Dad didn't try to make small talk. “You know I can't run the businesses by myself, not with my health.”
Dad had been playing the health card since he'd been rushed to the ER three years ago with chest pains. The doctors had said it was a panic attack, but he'd refused to believe them, instead insisting that he'd had a heart attack and the hospital was conspiring against him. Conspiring with who and why, he never said. Only that there were people who wanted to make sure he was ruined. I was just grateful he kept his theories to himself. The last thing we needed was our stockholders thinking the old man was nuts.
“You have Rebecca to help you,” I reminded him.
My little sister was in her early twenties and had been after my dad for the past couple years to let her run one of the companies. He'd always refused and I knew she thought it was because she was a girl. While that was part of it, I happened to know that my father also believed that Rebecca didn't have the temperament to be a good CEO. I didn't disagree.
“Rebecca doesn't know what she's doing,” he said bluntly.
“Your father and I tried to get her to see that,” Mom cut in. “We even had things worked out with the Westmores to have Rebecca marry Blayne.”
“Isn't he the screw-up?” I asked. From what I remembered, he was a couple years older than me, but was still acting like he was in high school. Maybe college if he was in a frat.
“His father had been eager to get his son married and settled. We thought he and Rebecca would be a perfect match.”
Apparently, my parents hadn't learned from my disaster of a marriage that, in this day and age, in our culture, arranged marriages didn't work. Telling them that wouldn't do any good though so I kept my mouth shut and waited for them finish with their little pitch.
“Then he went out and married some immigrant or something.”
I could almost see the condescending sneer on my mother's face. It was on the tip of my tongue to remind her that, while her family could trace its lineage back to the Mayflower, she was still descended from immigrants.
“Anyway.” My father picked things back up. “After that incident, your sister decided she no longer wanted to listen to reason and was going to do things her own way.”
I suppressed a laugh. I wasn't sure why that surprised them. Rebecca and I might've both been tall and had the same blond hair – hers dyed lighter while mine remained more golden – but that was where the similarities ended, physical and in personality. Her eyes were hazel while mine were a brown so dark they were almost black. I'd always toed the line while she hadn't cared what anyone said about her. The biggest difference was that I tried to be nice to people while Rebecca's idea of nice was a backhanded compliment and laughing behind someone's back.
“You worked so hard for that company, I can't understand how you can let her run it into the ground.”
I sat up, my temper flaring at the attempt to manipulate me. “You guys used the company once to get me to marry Britni. I'm not letting you use it again. If Rebecca screws up, it's your own fault.”
“You're the one who left, Reed.” My father's voice was sharp. “You abandon
ed your family, neglected your responsibilities–”
“I'm going to stop you right there, Dad,” I interrupted smoothly. “I've always done what you expected of me. I went to Columbia and got an MBA because that's what you wanted. I went to work for the family business right after I graduated because that's what I was supposed to do. I married Britni. I almost had a kid with her.”
“But you fucked that up, didn't you?”
“Lawrence!” My mom sounded shocked and I had to admit that I was a little surprised. My father rarely talked like that.
“I made a choice,” I said quietly. “I chose me. I've had enough of doing everything I've been told to do. I'm not a child.”
“Then you should stop behaving like one,” Mom snapped.
“Figuring out what I want to do with my life is being a child?” I asked. “It's not like you support me. I have my inheritance, but I've also earned every penny of it as well as the salary I've received these past five years. I've never asked you for a dime. I'm an adult, and I deserve the opportunity to figure out what I want out of life.”
“And what is that?” Dad asked. “Sleeping your way through half of Europe?”
“Nice to know you have people keeping tabs on me,” I said. It didn't surprise me. I had a feeling the hotels where I'd stayed had been reporting my activities to my parents.
“Come home and take charge of the company again while you decide what you want to do,” Mom suggested.
It was tempting, I thought. It was a solid job. I liked the people I worked with. But I knew if I went back, I'd never leave again. Breaking free the first time had been hard. Leaving a second time would be virtually impossible. I had to stay away.
“I don't think that's a good idea,” I said. “I need to be away while I figure this out.”