Manacled in Monaco

by Jianne Carlo

  “You mean you had other women in between? I could never do that. I mean, I could only do the things we’ve done because it was you.”

  “Jesus. If there were a motel around right now, we’d never make it to the castle. I am so hard, I could howl.”

  Her lips curved, and she leaned over and caressed his penis through straining linen. A bead of moisture spread into a circle on the material.

  “Don’t,” he snapped.

  “I’ve heard about this,” she said and relished the sheer feminine instincts guiding her actions. “Women giving men blowjobs in a car.”

  Snapping the seatbelt free, Sarita shifted in her seat. She undid his pants’ button. When she rolled the zipper down, Rolan groaned.

  Like her, he wore no underwear and his cock sprang free, hitting the steering wheel, its reddened head glistening. Her mouth watered. After the last few days, she knew the salty taste of him, the texture of his semen a thick jelly. And the smell of him there, a mixture of Irish spring soap and his own sexual musk.

  Laying her head across his thighs, she played with his prick, listening to his breathing, catching a glimpse of his mouth twisting. One long stroke, two quick ones, one long stroke, three quick ones, one long stroke, four quick ones.

  The car screeched to a halt when she got to six. His hands clamped down on her shoulders. “I have to be inside you, now.”

  A few quick moves and her back wedged the steering wheel, her thighs stretched wide over his.

  “Lift your dress. Now.”

  As soon as the material cleared her thighs, he thrust up and shoved her hips down.

  “Jesus.”

  The impact had her reeling and she realized why he’d been so careful about oiling her before. Her flesh burned and protested his invasion. She bit her lips to stifle a wince.

  “Jesus.” He leaned his forehead against hers. His warm champagne-scented breath puffed over her moist lips. “Not ready. Stay still, Paxton.”

  When she heard the anguish in his voice, the mumbled words of self-censure, Sarita relaxed. The stinging fullness subsided. She wriggled from side to side.

  “You’re killing me,” he moaned and his fingers bit into her flesh.

  “It’s good now,” she managed, Other sensations came into play, the hardness filling her to the brim, the musky aroma of their joining, and the confines of the car enhancing even the slightest movement.

  Hot palms cradled her face and before his mouth took possession of hers, he whispered, “You ride, I kiss.”

  Her toes pushed off the ground. She rose until he almost left her and let gravity take her back down. Slow at first, then in time to his plundering tongue, growing hotter, faster, until she recognized that peaking. Oblivion hit in the form of bombs exploding, sparks bursting behind her closed eyelids, the orgasm thundered through her, subsiding into sweet spurts and bursts.

  Chapter Seven

  For the life of him, Rolan couldn’t calm his breathing into a steady rhythm and his scrambled mind touched from topic to topic, balking at hurdles. He had planned their wedding night and honeymoon in detail. A deliberate gentle introduction to edgy sex.

  Those nipple rings had blown his mind.

  And then she’d decided on a blowjob.

  Now they were locked against the Lamborghini’s steering wheel and his erection hadn’t subsided, cock didn’t want to leave the hot pussy still massaging it.

  “Rolan?”

  “Mmmm,” he murmured and licked her neck, tasting the hint of salt in a bead of perspiration.

  “The steering wheel’s digging into my spine.”

  Reacting immediately, he leaned back against the soft leather, cradling the small of her back with his palms. “Better?”

  Rolan studied his new wife, her skin stained pink, tendrils of hair pasted to her cheeks, a sexual goddess personified. One pearl tooth snagged that plum bottom lip and desire reared. Jesus. She’d turned him into a randy fourteen-year-old with no control whatsoever.

  “A little.”

  Her tone alerted him. “You’re uncomfortable. Hold on and I’ll lift you off. Bring your knees closer. That’s it.” Even through all her cream and his semen, her sheath resisted, sucking at him as his cock eased out of her warmth. Rolan settled her into the passenger seat.

  “Is there any Kleenex?”

  He reached over and flipped the glove compartment open, grabbed a couple of tissues, and turned to her. Eyes downcast, she tugged at the wisps of paper, but he refused to let go and tipped her chin up.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she replied and tried to avoid his caressing fingers.

  “Speak to me, Sarita honey. Honesty, remember?”

  “Are we normal, Rolan? I mean, if you’d told me two days ago that I’d wear nipple rings to my wedding and do what I just did in a car…”

  Jesus.

  Sarita’s bewildered fearful expression tightened a band around his chest and he stroked the lines between her eyebrows with his thumb, smoothing them away. Wanting to erase her apprehension, he considered his words carefully. “Whatever we do sexually, if it gives us pleasure, then it’s normal for us.”

  “I’m not like your playboy girlfriends, like Cindy from the other day. I’m not one of those sophisticated models who can go from one guy to another. I’m a small town girl from the wrong side of the tracks. And I know it’s wrong to like the spanking.”

  “It’s not wrong, Sarita, it’s a sexual edge. Like adding zest to a recipe, and I didn’t mean to imply you’re not sophisticated. Hell,” he said, and plowed both hands through his hair. “I don’t want you to be like Cindy-something. She’s not the marrying kind, you are. All I’m trying to say, and I’m probably making a muck of it, is let’s explore sex together, figure out what we like and what we don’t.”

  “But what if I don’t like something?”

  “Then we won’t do it”

  “But what if it’s something you really like?”

  “What are you worrying about?”

  “You like anal sex, don’t you?”

  He sighed, a long drawn out breath, stared straight ahead, and then turned to face her. “What are you really asking? If I’ve done it?”

  She nodded, and her fingernails dug into her palms.

  “Yes, I’ve done it, once. Did I like it?” He kept his tone even as if they were discussing the weather. “Not really. But I was curious and trying it satisfied my curiosity. I like my sex edgy and let me tell you, those nipple rings do more for me than the thought of anal sex with you.”

  “But you said you were an ass man.” She nibbled on a fingertip, fine lines bracketing the corners of those amber eyes.

  “I am. When you bend over in those tight black jeans, I’m hard in an instant and all I can think about is being inside of you. Look at what just saying the words does to me.” Rolan pointed to the erection twitching against his belly. “That’s all it means, nothing else. Sex is for our mutual pleasure, not mine alone, not yours alone, but us together. You’ve had sex, what three, four times so far?”

  “That was six,” she said, interrupting.

  “You’re counting?” He couldn’t prevent the broad grin capturing his mouth. “I guarantee you after these next three days, you’ll lose count. Just remember this, if you don’t like something, even the thought of it, we won’t do it. Okay?”

  “Okay. Now can I get the Kleenex?”

  “Uh-uh, I get to do this part. It strokes my ego to see you so wet, to see my cum on your pussy.” Hand nudging up her thigh, he lifted the dress above her waist and gently cleaned her folds. By the time he finished, the only sounds in the car were their labored breaths and he had to use every ounce of restraint not to take her again.

  Switching on the ignition, he shot a glance over one shoulder and said, “Let’s table this until we get to the castle. Nothing’s written in steel. I’ve found most things in life can be negotiated.”

  An uneasy silence hung for the next twenty min
utes and every time he looked at Sarita, either lines creased her forehead or she nibbled a thumb. They pulled into a long pine tree-lined imposing driveway, which culminated in a semicircle under a four-storied turreted castle.

  “It looks like its Dracula’s. Have you been here before?”

  “Uh-uh. And you are so right.” They exchanged wary glances. “Maybe it’s better inside. Shall we see?”

  “All right, I guess.”

  After he’d helped her out of the car, they stood, arms wrapped around each other’s waist, looking at the imposing vampire-tainted structure.

  “It sort of suits this,” Rolan said, showing her a massive thumb-thick cast iron key.

  “I think one of those doors is wider than my height,” she mumbled.

  “Come on Mrs. Paxton, this is home, for tonight anyway.” He nudged her forward.

  The lock proved stiff and when the door finally opened, it creaked in the still dark night, adding a macabre punctuation to the horror movie ambiance. They stepped inside and both halted in their tracks.

  “Wow. A friend of yours owns this?”

  “Count Daniel Pasquale, Danny to his friends. I didn’t know he had such morbid taste.”

  “I never realized that you could do a whole floor in black marble. Do you think the lighting’s deliberately dim so you have to squint to see?”

  “Yeah, I’d bet money on it.”

  Their whispered conversation echoed in the cavernous lobby area. In the far distance, Rolan made out wide stairs and to the left, an archway.

  “I requested snacks and champagne. From the floor plan Danny emailed, the kitchen’s through that doorway,” he said and pointed. “Come on. If they haven’t left anything, I know someone who can whip something up ‑‑ right?”

  Her mouth curved and she quipped, “I’d rather whip you up, but if you need food, I can oblige.”

  The kitchen turned out to be a chef’s heaven ‑‑ AGA stove, Dacor convection and steam ovens, speckled green granite countertops. His wife named each stainless steel appliance as she lovingly stroked them.

  “Will you look a these knives? German, hand finished. Do you know how much a set like this costs?”

  “If you like them, order a set. Consider it part of my wedding present. Stop salivating about those knives, Sarita honey. I want you salivating about me or a spanking. Definitely not a set of knives.” Rolan pulled open the stainless steel refrigerator. “Six bottles of champagne. Danny must think me a member of AA. No wonder he doesn’t live here. Except for this kitchen, this castle has all the charm of a crypt. He said there’s a pool in the basement. Let’s find it and do some skinny dipping.” Hands clamped around two champagne bottles, he shuffled her in front of him. “Hang on ‑‑ I’ve wanted to do this since you changed out of the wedding dress.” He plopped the Cristal bottles onto the counter and undid all of her shirt buttons.

  “I like the way you don’t wear underwear,” he said and separated her blouse, pulling it out of her skirt and draping the material so her breasts were bared. One finger explored a tasseled nipple ring and he studied the screw clamp. “Remember that sexual edge? Let’s turn it up a bit ‑‑ this needs a little tightening.”

  Holding her gaze, he turned the metal one notch, stopping only when she bit her lower lip. “You should feel a tiny twinge and a whole lot of tension. And you should be creaming for me. I want to do one more notch. Can I?”

  She nodded.

  By the time he’d adjusted the other nipple ring, her knees buckled and she slumped against the island’s edge. He snagged an arm around her waist and tipped her chin. Desire-glazed eyes met his and she wet her lips.

  “You’re primed and loaded, Sarita, and I’m going to make you wait for a long time. I’ll let you in on a secret ‑‑ my favorite champagne glass is the one between your thighs, the finest crystal in the world. Careful there, don’t fall. I don’t think your legs are functioning anymore.”

  Scooping one hand under her knees, he lifted her into his arms. “Nab the champagne.”

  “Ooh, that’s cold,” she said and wrinkled her nose.

  “Put them on the shirt and it won’t feel so cold.”

  She did one better and laid them against her skirt-coated thighs.

  “Great idea, woman, now I can pay some attention to this.” He licked the taut point of one nipple and suckled in the tip, swirling his tongue until she arched into his mouth, moaning that little throaty purr.

  He glanced up and blood coursed straight to his prick, his balls. Face flushed, eyelashes fluttering, she bit her plump lower lip, and a long purr feathered hot cinnamon-laced breath to his nostrils.

  “Speak to me,” he muttered. “Tell me what it feels like. Tell me what you like.”

  Both eyelids flew open, brows climbing in surprise.

  “Tell me.” He waited, lungs constricted, his desire so raw, so potent, he wanted to impale her right there and then. Small steps, small steps, he reminded himself.

  “It burns and aches, and it’s so exciting, I can’t stand it,” she whispered. “And the other one hurts because your mouth’s not there.”

  “Is now,” he mumbled and covered the whole areola, laving it, greedy for all of her, every inch. Testing, Rolan held the tip between his teeth exerting the slightest pressure, and then slid a soothing tongue over it.

  And she shuddered, her hips bucked, and she cried out his name.

  His scrotum contracted, balls tightening past the point of no return, and his eyes crossed under shut lids, as he thrust forward.

  Jesus.

  “Ouch,” she yelped and grabbed a shank of hair.

  And he realized he’d bit down hard on her nipple. “Sorry.” Lapping the pinkened point, he met her gaze and his shoulders sagged in relief when her lips turned up at the corners.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Mmm, but a champagne bottle’s slipping, Rolan. Thank goodness for the butcher’s block.”

  He jerked his head in the direction she looked, let her rear end settle on the wooden surface, and clamped a hand around the tilting bottle.

  “Woman, what you do to me,” he said, loosening his tight hold on her. Knuckling one smooth cheek, he met her eyes.

  “Me?” Linking fingers mid-shin, she rested a cheek on one kneecap and cocked her head. “Beg to differ, you were the one doing things to me. Nice things. Actually that’s too innocuous, earth-shattering things.”

  “Yeah, well, another pair of pants ruined.” He waved a hand at his groin and the spreading dampness.

  She giggled and cupped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Sarita honey, you’ll pay for that giggle.”

  “Another spanking?” Mischief danced in those eyes and she batted her lashes.

  “Hmmn. You’re getting too sure of yourself, Mrs. Paxton.” The third time he’d called her that, and Rolan discovered he relished the way the words rolled off his tongue. “Time for the champagne and the pool. You’ll have to tell me what the bubbles feel like inside. I’m giving you fair warning, I love dirty talk and I like my women vocal.”

  “Isn’t this a little too macho? It is the twentieth century and women are equal.”

  “Think so?” He raised an eyebrow and ten years of wild sexual experimentation had his lips curling at the corners. “In bed, Sarita honey, I’m in charge.”

  Curling one arm under her bent knees, he ordered, “Grab the champagne.”

  It took fifteen minutes to find the pool and he only realized they neared it when the smell of chlorine hit his nostrils. He halted in the wide archway, arrested by the vision before him.

  “Wow.”

  “I’d say. You’d think you’d landed on a tropical island paradise. Palm trees and all.”

  “Beach sand,” she said, pointing at a half moon circle shaded by two six-feet-tall coconut trees with green nuts hanging in a tight bunch. “It even smells a little bit of the sea if you don’t count the chlorine.”

  He set her down, ch
ampagne still clamped to her stomach, on the fine sand. “You’re wearing way too many clothes, woman. Shed the skirt, leave the shirt on.”

  “I’m not certain I like this macho side of you.” She crossed her arms.

  “I guarantee before the night’s out, you’ll love this side of me.” He mugged a leer, hooked the black sweater over his head, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and tugged the zipper down.

  “I think it gets bigger every time I see it,” she muttered, staring as his erection sprung free and he shucked the last of the black material off one ankle.

  “I call it the seventh wonder of the new world,” he declared, waggling his eyebrows.

  She laughed and the musical tinkle of it filled the room.

  “And it’s about to become the seventh wonder of your world,” he warned, meaning every single word.

  “You are arrogant, Rolan Anthony Paxton.”

  His mouth flattened a little as he remembered Tony saying his name during that first encounter. “Thank you, Sarita.”

  “What for?” Three lines formed between those titian eyebrows.

  He kissed them away, stroking the skin there, feathering his lips across one fluttering eyelid.

  “Tony’s name. Agreeing to marry me, letting us work things out.”

  “Oh,” she said and reached over to outline his mouth with one fingertip.

  “Come.” He captured her small hand, raised it to his lips, and then twined their fingers together while he flicked the flirty little skirt. “Strip, woman. Bend over and let me see that gorgeous ass. Make it provocative, wriggle a little.”

  “Rolan,” she stuttered over his name and her cheeks stained a deep rose.

  “I’m going to keep you naked for three days, Sarita Paxton, and you’re going to love every minute of it.”

  “I think I’m out of your league.”

  He collected one champagne bottle and unscrewed the wire, keeping the fizzies in the wine. “Turn around. You don’t have to face me. Just pretend you’re taking off your jeans in your bedroom.”

  “I’m not that type,” she muttered under her breath, but obeyed and wriggled out of her skirt, the black silk material falling to her ankles.