I ignored how my skin burned for his touch as he came closer to my neck. “Did you have something else in mind?”
His lips lightly brushed against my neck, teasing me awake. “I’ve booked a nice place already, and I committed to meet old friends I’d not seen since I was a boy. We can join them for a few days. Some of the group are Americans, so you’ll fit in.”
His American friends might remind me that Quentin and I were only temporary. In a week, I would go home, find a new job to manage, and prove myself capable and smart.
I already had my résumé out there.
Either way, with Quentin, I was none of that. I was a ball of aching need all wrapped up in oversensitive skin. I sipped my wine like I was some sophisticated lady and then said, “Before I answer, one more question.”
His suckling on my neck sent a thrill inside me. “What?”
My mind went blank for a moment. I needed clarity, and I wasn’t used to just throwing caution to the wind. My view whirled. I put my glass down and turned to see my reflection in his eyes. “You’re okay if I leave once my trip is over?”
He made a tortured sound. “I’ll be sad to see our relationship end, if that’s what you choose.”
The thought struck me hard. My choice. That sounded nice. And I was the one who would leave this time. He wasn’t using more than I offered. I turned and let my legs curl over his. “One more question.”
His eyebrow cocked. “You just said that.”
I shook and laughed. I probably sounded hysterical. Once I ignored the adrenaline in my veins, I massaged his muscles lightly and rephrased. “Fair. Another question.”
He traced my leg. “What?”
I curled my hair in his thick dark hair and pressed my forehead to his. “You’re not suddenly in love with me because of a few kisses, right? I mean there is a reason American girls tend to dream more about Italian guys than French guys.”
His shoulders stiffened. “What do you mean? France is vastly superior.”
Come now. Everyone preferred Italian men. “I don’t know about that, but the stereotype is the French fall in and out of love fast.”
His lips curled to show those dimples of his that proved I was right, and he sucked in his breath. “You’re funny, Kara. It’s one of the things I like about you.”
A weeklong escape from my life was why I’d come to Europe for a vacation. I cupped his face and said, “Well, I do like kissing you, Quentin, and it will be nice to have a vacation boyfriend.”
“It’s all I can offer.”
Then his lips met mine, and I kissed him back, not ever wanting to stop. Luckily, this passion would only be short-term; I’d never be able to be this intense for a lifetime. Just for now. And just with him. My wanker.
Chapter 8
Quentin
Finally, I was here, with Kara.
My heart rate increased, which was normal during all sex, but tonight I wasn’t a doctor or a scientist.
Kara was nothing like anyone else, and soon I’d get that shirt off her and find out what color nipples she had and if they changed color when aroused.
A short-term girlfriend sounded perfect, especially if it was Kara. I’d be a horrible choice for forever; I wasn’t able to protect those I loved.
I ran my hand over her shirt and tugged the bottom. I needed to see those globes of hers and suck on her peaks until they were pebbles.
For a moment, I had to remove my lips from her body, but as I peeled off the shirt, I saw her white, no-nonsense bra.
I laughed. I swear my mother probably had the same bra. Every other woman in my life wore lace for me, except Kara. She lowered her lashes and said, “I didn’t pack right. I thought I’d be alone and taking long walks.”
I didn’t say anything. I slipped off the cotton straps and reached behind her. I needed to see her breasts. Now. My prize was so close now. I pulled her closer and crushed her hard against me. I needed to taste her on me like I needed coffee in the morning to function.
And her lips on mine just made my wanker—which I now called Big Quentin—turn into stone.
Before I plunged into her, though, her breasts demanded my attention.
She slipped her bra off the rest of the way during the kiss, and I let her go. The air between us was still, and I saw pinkish brown nipples, but they weren’t hard pebbles. Not yet.
I’d have to correct that so she ached. I sucked in the areola, so her nipples peeked out. Her skin alone caused a rush of blood straight to my cock.
God, her breasts swelled, and I bent to taste her now obvious tips, ready just for me.
Kara was mine in this moment.
I’d meant what I said, but I hadn’t expected her to go down on her knees and tug my sweats off my body.
At least I’d not worn fucking underwear to get in the way, but her tongue licked Le Zob like I was a lollipop, and then she sucked it inside her hot mouth.
I closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath. My erection was full-fledged and raring for release.
I’d not let that happen, yet. I tugged myself out of her warm mouth as I needed to be with her. I needed to taste her vagina to see if she was ready for me. I helped her stand and removed her underwear and pants, so we were both naked.
Fair was fair.
We moved to the bed, so I could lay her down and see if her labia was swollen. If so, the fun would begin in full. She moved her legs open as I requested, and my eyes widened.
Damn, she was ready for me.
But we’d not go fast.
I wasn’t an animal, even if she made me feel like one.
I pushed a finger inside her and she bucked on the mattress.
I continued to plunge in and out, her perky bullets bouncing as my thumb found her clit. Playing with her body to find her button only turned her red. She was intoxicating and mine.
This primal need was new for me. I let her go, grabbed a condom from my pocket, and slipped it on fast as I stared at her swollen netherlips.
This was it. If fucking actually did make me forget all my sins, I’d be grateful. I knew this was a ride to savor and remember, and I rammed Mr. Wanker into her. She bucked forward in rhythm with me.
My muscles tensed, and my heart rate increased as my testicles retracted.
I’d absolutely not ejaculate.
Not yet.
I flicked her nipple that was better than any picture I’d imagined and drilled deep inside her.
She was finally just mine and moved to help me bury to her core.
Next time, we’d try a different position, but missionary was all we had time for now. My heart continued to race, and I knew I would come soon.
Kara’s face already had the flush of an orgasm, but I continued to entice her body to take more and more.
She clasped onto my back, but I my muscles began to tighten and release in a spasm.
Her eyes rolled back, and I ejaculated ejaculate my full load into her.
She arched her neck so I couldn’t see her face or that sexy flush of hers as she gasped. I exploded, the storm of nirvana overtaking my senses. I thrust a final time and saw stars for a moment as Kara called out my name.
“Quentin.”
My name never sounded better.
My skin was still warm. I slid off the bed to dispose of the condom quickly before sliding back beside her. I wasn’t ready to come to my senses.
We lay in silence for a few minutes, and I wondered what she was thinking. This was the first time she was quiet, and I felt closer to her than I’d ever felt with another woman.
She didn’t know about my failure or my inherited money. I broke the silence when I whispered, “Kara, I’ve always had whatever I wanted in life. Never had a time limit on that.”
“Part of me wishes this moment would never end,” she said with a yawn.
“We have a week.”
She closed her eyes and snuggled into my chest. I pressed a light kiss to her soft cheek.
Kara was special, and for however lo
ng I got to keep her, I would.
Chapter 9
Kara
Until last night I hadn’t known how a man’s wanker inside me could make me explode like that.
My ex-fiancé certainly hadn’t ever done anything to make my toes curl. No man ever had. Honestly, I’d thought orgasms were lies and had accepted I was too controlling to have them.
Soon, I’d have to find a new career, but for now I was here, with Quentin. He was temporary and a respite from life.
Last night, my eyes had gone to the back of my head, and I understood the term la petite mort now in a way I never really believed.
I needed this, clearly.
And I never slept so soundly next to a man. That was an understatement; I didn’t actually sleep alone in my own bed either, because I spent hours figuring out problems in my head. Or I had nightmares about the wedding that wasn’t. Part of me probably understood I never should have wanted to marry Marlon.
This bliss in my skin and soul was jarring.
As Quentin opened his eyes, I smiled, and we worked together to clean the rooms and ourselves.
No words were necessary, and this morning was like we had no secrets.
Sharing was sweet. And words might break the spell I was in.
Once we were ready, we headed out and grabbed breakfast on the veranda with other people, but I hardly noticed anyone. It was like I had this internal glow that made me forget everything except for Quentin’s nearness.
We’d dropped our bags off at the checkout desk, and we were free to head to Monte Carlo later.
As his girlfriend. The words rushed into my veins as we picked a table. I laughed to myself. A weeklong boyfriend sounded nice.
We headed to the buffet to grab coffees and fresh pastries. He took a carafe for us for refills. Quentin’s brown eyes captured my attention, and my body was on tenterhooks, aching for more.
As we returned to our seat, he drank his coffee, and his delicious lips caught my gaze. It was like the air itself had changed him. His shoulders, his face, everything about Quentin was more peaceful. As I finished my croissant and let the morning air cool my skin a little, I picked up my coffee and said, “You are so relaxed here.”
He poured more coffee from our carafe. “I’m with the sweetest woman in the world who only sees me as me. There are no expectations to be anyone else, and it’s nice. After Monte Carlo, I’m heading back to my own vineyard, so I’ll have your beauty in my heart, forever.”
Damn. What a way to start the day. I had no response to that. I imagined for a moment what leaving my home and following Quentin would be like. A vineyard was nothing like Pittsburgh where many streets were surrounded by trees and forest, but it wasn’t the sweet smell of grapes and simple life. I only knew the last phase of wine when it’s poured in bottles, but the production had a palatable component to the imagination.
“Where exactly are you moving then?” I asked.
He smiled like he relived a memory of his youth, though I had no way to know for sure. “Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer. We have a small replica of the Statute of Liberty.”
Now that was interesting. “Why?”
He shrugged. “The sculptor donated it to our town, and it’s in the square.”
How many statues were there? I’d have to google it. “That’s interesting.”
He kissed the back of my hand. “I didn’t know I’d find an American so enchanting.”
Butterflies went up my skin from his touch, like my body was ready to rock again for more of his mind-numbing sex. But we were clothed and sitting in company, so I crossed my legs and asked, “So, the Statue of Liberty is now some symbol of me flying into your life?”
He winked. “Why not?”
I was absolutely not falling in love with Quentin. At the end of the week I’d fly home and rebuild my life. I had sisters, friends, and a home. Besides, he’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship anyhow.
And I’m not chasing after another guy. Now was all we had.
I pressed my elbows on the table and leaned in close. “I didn’t know you were so wistful.”
He kissed me, and I sat back, completely full.
He finished his breakfast, and we grabbed our things, checked out, and made it to our rental car. He put my bag in the trunk and opened the passenger door for me.
I scooted in like I was a princess. I took a moment to put on some lipstick and checked that my hair was good.
As he joined me and started the car, he said like we were still in conversation, “I’m usually pretty reserved. What about you?”
“What about me?”
We made it back to the highway, and I settled in my seat. “What’s your family like?”
My sisters and I were all different, but they were good and had my back if I needed them.
My best friend, Sabrina too, and she’d said next time I fall in love, I should chose a guy who makes my toes curl like Quentin had last night and one who acts like he’s there for my dreams.
Part of me wished it was Quentin I’d bought a dress for. Had I said yes to Marlon because I’d been fucking bored?
That wasn’t good.
None of that mattered now. I was here with a wonderful man. “Well, our parents died a few years ago. So, it’s just me and my sisters.”
“I’m sorry.”
His voice moved me. I looked toward the other lane of highway that had scattered cars and white dotted lines. “It was hard. They died within months of each other, and though I’m an adult, I had this sense I was now an orphan. It’s stupid, I know.”
“How did they pass?”
“My dad had a heart attack. My mom caught pneumonia.” Not that we needed to discuss that.
“That’s hard. But you’re not alone. You have me now.”
I let my shoulders relax in the seat. “Well, I’m happy to be yours.”
His face became more clinical. “And you eat proper to avoid a heart attack?”
Was he a doctor? He sounded like he cared about my health, which was nice. No one else had asked me things like that. “I need to be better. Late nights at the office sometimes aren’t the best for healthy eating.”
He squeezed my thigh. “You must stay healthy. I want to imagine your life as beautiful for as long as I live.”
My life wasn’t that, not like his seemed to be. A vineyard would be sweet and peaceful. I never really knew peace.
One day he’d move on and find some French woman to marry, and I’d go home and maybe never marry. I wasn’t sure I’d find another man to be this intimate with.
And sex was now important in my choosing a mate. It should have always been, but I needed Quentin to show me.
I’d not be melancholy, though. I had a few more days to live in heaven, and I intended to let that last forever.
I scooted closer and pressed my hand to the side of his scruffy cheek. “Quentin, you’re sweet.”
His face looked like I just called him something he hated. “Don’t tell anyone that.”
I kept calling him Mr. Wanker to myself, as he made my body sing for his in a way no normal man had.
I was getting warm and my nipples became perky in my bra. I massaged the back of my neck until I wasn’t on fire. When I was under control, I cleared my throat and asked, “What are your friends like?”
He smiled. “They’re older than me. Calliope used to be my babysitter. She married Nigel, who I vaguely remember as someone always reading. And then there is Simon. He was a practical joker. Nothing bad or anything, but he sounds so responsible now. He’s married to an American, vacationing in Monte Carlo with his children.”
There was more to the story with whoever Simon and Calliope were. I don’t think I ever intentionally visited my babysitters from when I was little. The idea that Quentin was willfully heading toward a family played in my mind. “Children?”
He continued driving me on the endless beautiful road with white dotted lines. “Why, do you not like them?”
>
I let out a soft sigh. “I mean, I do. I love little kids, but I never quite saw myself as a mother.”
We continued, and I wondered what life would be like if I was actually with Quentin for more than a week. If we’d met back at home, where our lives might actually have a shot at intermixing. But it wasn’t more than a passing thought.
“It’s the circle of life,” he mused.
“I suppose it happens to everyone,” I said. Responsibility was something I was normally good with. At least, the facts and figure types didn’t argue or blame to cover their own mistakes.
I didn’t know much about Quentin, and it seemed crazy to imagine I’d chuck my life in Pittsburgh for a life on a farm. “I’m sure your children will be handsome and sweet.”
“Yours will be wonderful, like you.” He didn’t say anything else, and I finally broke.
It was like he saw me and liked me. It was nice. What was the harm of sharing? We’d never see each other once the week ended, and maybe that fact gave me the courage to open up more.
I sighed. “I’ve been so routine lately. I go to work, go home, watch a rom-com, maybe pick up a bottle of wine on a Friday night and let a double feature play. I go out with my friends, and even dating was just something I did to pass time. I honestly had no feelings on it. It was like I was a robot, going through the motions of living.”
We headed toward the gas station signs and an exit on the highway.
“I might have been doing the same, if I’m being honest,” he said
Details. Right. I ignored the twist in my heart and decided it was okay to talk. “And I know what it’s like to be lonely. I thought marrying would solve that, but now I see that was a bad idea entirely.”
“I asked Cecilia, because it fit my life at the time, but I wasn’t in a rush to have her forever, and neither was she.”
“How did it end?”
“In silence.”
He parked in front of the pump and people came out to serve us. France wasn’t self-serve? I didn’t ask but watched as attendants pumped gas like I was watching magic happen. “That sounds so grown up and mature, Quentin. I admire that about you.”
French Wanker : A Hero Cub Novel Page 6