A light goes on in the flat across the way, and the older man who lives there with his wife opens the window, peering out. First he looks down at Conlon, then at me, an inquisitive expression on his features.
“Mais qu’est ce qui se passe?” he asks. I shrug my shoulders. I have no idea what the hell he just said.
Conlon turns around and replies to him. “La belle en haut,” he says, pointing towards me. “Je l’adore. Elle ne me croit pas, mais c’est la vérité.”
The man across the way looks at me and smiles. He shrugs his shoulders back at me as if to say, “What’s the harm?” and yells, “He’s a nice boy. He wants to come talk to you. You should let him visit.”
“Should I really?” I reply, wishing I knew how to say “jackass” in French.
“Mais oui,” he huffs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “He wants to let you know that he cares.”
“Does he, though?” I’m asking this poor guy a lot of stupid questions.
“I know men,” my neighbour says. “I know naughty men and I know good men who look after their women. He’s a good man.”
“If I let him up,” I reply, “will I regret it?”
Again, the man shrugs. “You will regret it if you don’t. If you don’t like what he says, you can always kick him out again. You are a powerful woman. You know your heart.”
“You raise a good point.” I smile and blow him a kiss. “Merci,” I say.
“Il n’y a pas de quoi.” He closes his shutters and seals himself back in.
“Conlon,” I say, looking down at his expectant face, “I’m going to buzz you up. Apartment Two. This had better be good.”
I watch him dash to the front door, waiting for the sound. When I’ve hit the buzzer I open the apartment door a crack and run to the bathroom to take a quick peek at myself in the mirror. Well, I’m a mess. Quickly I wipe my eyes, pinch my cheeks to even out their splotchy redness and head back out into the open living area and cross my arms over my chest, only to see him pushing the door open.
He walks in, peeling off his jacket and throwing it down on a chair. He heads straight over to the open window and shuts the glass panels, pulling the curtains closed behind them. My nervous hands are grasping the back of a chair by now, preparing for whatever awful conversation is about to come.
But Conlon doesn’t speak. He walks straight up to me and before I know it, his mouth is an inch from my own. His hands reach for my face and he pulls me to him, his lips crashing possessively into mine. My head spins at a million miles a minute; I’m floating, I’m sinking, I’m drunk, I’m sober, all at once. I don’t know what I’m doing, or why.
He’s lifting me onto the kitchen table somehow, spreading my legs open as he reaches under my dress and tears my panties down and over my strappy shoes. God, I’m so glad he doesn’t care that my underwear is the ugliest thing in the world; to him it’s nothing more than an impediment to my flesh.
Kissing me again, he shoves his fingers inside me and I buck under him, throwing my head back so that his lips move elsewhere as I writhe under the sensation of his fierce, dominating touch. His lips are on my chest now, his teeth seeking a nipple through my dress. Oh, fuck, he’s biting me gently, his lips pursing around the hard tip. That feels so good that I’ve almost forgotten why I was upset.
The song from the restaurant comes into my head, but this time it fills me with bliss, rather than sadness.
Je ne regrette rien…
I regret nothing…
Nothing matters but this…
He’s on his knees in an instant, head buried between my thighs, his mouth devouring me. His tongue laps hungrily, my betraying body telling him just how aroused I am, how much I need this. A feral growl emerges from his throat as he sucks hard on my clit, his fingers pushing deep inside me. I can hardly take it; I want to come right now. All the pent up pain, anger, joy, excitement is coursing through me at once, shocking my brain into a state of confused arousal. I don’t even know what to feel, except that I’m purely in the moment now; nothing matters but his incredible mouth on me.
Tomorrow might be hard—one hour from now might be hard. But this second is a miracle. This second is the best thing I’ve ever felt. That mouth working its magic, those hands gripping my thighs.
I am so alive, and it’s fucking wonderful.
“Adriana,” he moans between licks, “Pull your dress off for me.”
He stands up and lifts me just enough to let me tear the red dress over my head. Quickly I unfasten my bra and drop it to the floor, so that all I’m wearing is the shoes. I feel so sexy right now. I don’t need to ask him if he’s hard for me; I know he is.
“Touch yourself for me,” he says, slipping back down to his knees. I feel myself flush. Does he want me to masturbate? I mean, I’d do it, but his mouth is so good…
“Your nipples. I want to see you touch them.”
I slip my palms down both breasts, self-consciously circling my fingers around my very hard nipples. The tip of his tongue is still working my clit, but his eyes are looking up at me, he’s watching what I do to myself. And damn, I have to admit that I like being watched.
Leaning back on the table so that my legs hang over the edge, I pinch the pink tips, showing him just how hard, how sensitive they are. I slip my fingertips over them, drawing redness to their peaks even as his tongue swirls delicately over my bud.
He moans with delight, his incredible mouth working magic on my body. Fuck, that’s good.
Too good.
“Conlon,” I moan, “I’m going to come so hard…”
The pulse shudders through me like an explosion, my thighs tightening around his head, hips bucking under the next shockwave. Conlon lets out the most beautiful, prolonged moan as he eats me out, his fingers driving into me hard, slowly easing up.
But I want more than fingers. I want his cock inside me.
When my orgasm subsides at last he stands up, undoing his pants. “Is it okay?” he says, his eyes narrowing. I nod up at him.
“No condom this time,” I command. “I want to feel everything.”
He lets his clothing fall to the floor. He’s got his massive hard-on in his fist, his other hand finding my opening. And with one quick, incredible thrust he’s deep inside me.
I cry out, the whole table shuddering under the force of it. My neighbour across the street must have heard me, and he’s probably very proud of himself right about now for his small part in this. Conlon’s hands are slipping up my belly, seeking my breasts to knead them gently, savouring my skin with his touch. His lips find a nipple and he drags it into his mouth, tongue teasing its tip as he takes me hard, his body a rock-solid, beautiful sculpture of rippling muscle and bronze flesh.
“Adriana,” he moans. “I needed you so fucking badly today. I didn’t like seeing you go last night. I don’t like saying good-bye to you. I only ever want you to come towards me. Do you understand? I want you near me all the fucking time.”
I throw an arm around his neck and pull him towards me, pressing my chest to his. “I need you too,” I whisper. Broken woman that I am, he’s making me whole for a few sweet minutes. We’re making each other whole.
“I’d fuck you for years,” he says, another low growl erupting from his chest. He’s an animal, possessive, dominant, and I love it. “I want you for myself. I never want to stop.”
Neither do I.
His cock is impossibly, wonderfully huge. Without the condom I can feel every inch of him, so deep inside me, and I cry out again and again with the sheer pleasure of it. He’s going hard now, pounding me, his fingers wrapped hard around my thighs.
I don’t know what this moment means. All I know is that I never want this man to walk out of my life. I never want him to tell me that we can never be. I want to make love to him every day.
“I have a fantasy about you,” he groans as he watches his cock sink into me. “I had it the second I saw you in that bar in New York.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, yeah?” I reply between hitched breaths.
“Would you stand up?” he asks, pulling himself almost completely out, much to my dismay. His cock is a steel rod between us.
I nod my head, slipping off the table, which means pulling myself away from him for a second. Gently he turns me around and pushes me forward so that I bend at the hips, my torso flattening over the table. Conlon leans down and pulls my thighs apart, licks his fingers then strokes them over my opening. Another aftershock of my orgasm hits as they slip over my clit, then he sheaths himself once again.
Oh, God, this is even better, if that’s possible. The man is taking me lion-style, sinking his massive girth inside me, hands on my hips. I can hear the groans emerge from his throat, rattling growls, visceral and masculine.
“Your ass is the most beautiful thing in the world,” he says. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. I’m so fucking turned on right now.”
He doesn’t need to tell me; I can feel it.
“I’m going to explode,” he murmurs, “Adriana, I’m going to come…”
A moment later he pulls out. I feel the glorious sensation of hot lava shooting over my back once and then again, and again. Fucking sexy man, you are amazing.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t looking at your beautiful face the whole time,” he murmurs, kissing my right shoulder blade. “I really wanted to take you from behind.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “I suspect it was like watching fireworks.”
“Something like that.” He moves away for a moment, reaching for a piece of paper towel, which he wets under the tap. A second later he’s wiping my back slowly, cleaning me up. God, that’s hot.
His fingers tuck in between my legs one more time and he gives me a gentle massage, my swollen lips telling him just how much pleasure I derived from our little tryst.
“I was wondering…” he says.
“Wondering what?”
“If you’d mind terribly if I ate you out again, Adriana.”
I spin around to look into his eyes, laughter caught in my throat.
My God, he’s serious.
I leap up onto the table and part my legs once again. There’s no way I’m turning that offer down. “I’m all yours,” I say.
“Good. Because I might not come up for air for several hours.”
Conlon Davies is on his knees again, and I am one happy woman.
Twenty-Five
Conlon
It’s three a.m., and I’m still at Adriana’s place. Normally I’d have run away by now, but the truth is that I don’t want to.
I don’t ever want to leave this woman.
And I never want her to leave Paris.
We’re lying in her bed. She’s looking into my eyes. I’m looking into hers. I want to speak, but I’m not sure where to begin.
“What are you thinking?” I ask her.
“I’m thinking what’s he thinking?” she replies. “Wondering what you’re feeling deep inside that hard shell of yours.”
“I’m feeling so many things,” I say, moving in to kiss her gently on the lips. “One of which is that I’m glad you let me come up.”
“What choice did I have? My neighbour said I had to.”
“Do you always do what strangers tell you to?”
“Seldom. But he has a trustworthy face. Besides, he’s sweet to his wife.”
“That’s good. Listen, Adriana…”
“Uh-oh.” She tightens and pulls away from me. “‘Listen’ is never good.”
“Okay, I’ll change it. Fuck, Adriana…”
“Better. What were you going to say?”
“I was going to say that this thing of ours is complicated. But not in a bad way.”
“No, not in a bad way. I have a ticket back to New York in a couple of weeks. That sort of puts a lid on things, doesn’t it?”
Somehow, the conclusiveness of her words stings. I don’t like to know that this is finite, this sensation of sheer bliss. I don’t like to know that I have no choice but to lose her. Still, I nod. She’s right, after all. “Sort of,” I say, reaching down to slip a fingertip over her left nipple. She purrs. I love how sensitive her breasts are. I love how sensitive she is, how honest.
“I want to see you again,” I tell her. Strange, unfamiliar words are emerging from my face. “Fuck, Adriana. I want to see you all the time. I don’t want to let you out of my sight. Is that insane?”
She shakes her head. “No. Just…complicated. What about tomorrow night? I guess I should say tonight, rather.”
“I think I have an obligation tonight. Business meeting. But after that, definitely.”
“Good,” she says. “I haven’t gotten bored of you yet.”
“You will.” I turn away and pull myself out of the bed.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“Home,” I reply, turning to look at her. Her face has gone sad and it all but breaks my unbreakable heart. “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’ll be back before you know it. In the meantime, do me a favour and rest that body of yours, because I am going to do unspeakable things to you in a matter of hours.”
She smiles. “More unspeakable things, you mean.”
I nod.
“You sure you won’t stay?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Need to get home and change for work.” I lean down and plant another kiss on her lips. “Don’t forget—I’ll see you soon, and I will ravage you. I own your pussy for the duration of its stay in France.”
“Why, Mr. Davies,” she says, rolling over onto her stomach, the sheets wrapped around her in the most sensual way, “did you just make a commitment of some sort?”
“Yes, I believe I did, my Adriana.”
When I’ve gotten dressed and said a proper good-bye, I slip out of her flat. As I head down the stairs, I repeat my words.
My Adriana.
Adriana
It’s morning.
Sunlight—splendid, perfect sunlight—is pouring through the French doors that lead to the little balcony outside my bedroom. It seems that I forgot to draw the blinds last night, and no damn wonder. I was occupied with a sexy man, his huge cock and multiple orgasms. A girl can only do so much.
I stretch my arms over my head, a state of bliss streaming through my veins to fill my entire body. Here’s the thing: I’m old enough and experienced enough to know that what happened last night probably didn’t mean anything, other than that Conlon and I finally had sex on land. It’s not like he’s at home writing “C.L. + A.S.” on all his notebooks. But it meant something to me. It meant that he wasn’t going to give me up easily. He could have shrugged his shoulders and gone home, never to speak to me again.
He made me feel desirable, worthy, and sexy.
And, straight shooting here: every woman likes feeling desirable, worthy, and sexy. Anyone who denies that is lying to the world and worst of all, lying to herself.
I’d forgotten what it feels like. Forgotten how special it is to know that one particular man in this world wants you above all other females—your face, your voice, your mouth, your breasts, even your too-wide hips—more than any other woman on the entire fucking planet. And that’s not a thing to take for granted.
Today I feel strong. I stood my ground last night. I didn’t put up with any bullshit. I didn’t let him walk all over my feelings. I’m going to proceed with my head held high, convinced that I am a woman deserving of respect. At least until something comes along to put a new dent in my ego, at which time I’ll try to remember that I’m the proud owner of a new, gigantic set of balls. Well, woman-balls. They’re invisible, but highly effective.
I have no plans for the day, and it’s only 9:30 a.m. Maybe this would be a good time to go shopping for fancy undies. Isn’t that what women do in Paris? Buy lacy things? As I drink my morning coffee I quickly google Paris and underwear, and come upon a little shop called Agent Provocateur not far from the Louvre, which means I have an excuse to hit both locations in one
day. I like the idea of wandering around the Louvre in brand new sexy undies, but the thought would of course be even more pleasant if Conlon were part of the equation.
I pick up my phone, contemplating texting him. I wonder if he could take time off work to come look at the Mona Lisa with me. No, idiot. Of course he can’t; he has important things to do.
He proves me wrong when a message appears from his number. It would seem that was have a psychic link.
“Had a nice time last night.”
Then another:
“Correction: had four nice times last night.”
And another:
“P.S. By ‘nice times’ I mean orgasms.”
Conlon is a saucy cat. My instinct is to reply immediately and say something witty about what a pleasant experience it was to have my fifth orgasm while sitting on his face, but I set the phone down instead. This is that perilous point in a new relationship, or whatever this is, when a woman assumes it’s best to seem aloof. I don’t want to, of course. I want to ask him out to breakfast and hold his hand, gaze longingly into his deep blue eyes and ask him to whisper sweet nothings into my ear while I giggle and eat my croissant to the jealous glares of passersby who aren’t so lucky as to have their very own billionaire sex god.
But then I remember: I don’t have a billionaire sex god, either. I’m still single. The fact that it’s a little hard to walk this morning only means that I was slightly less single for a few hours last night.
I grab the phone, toss it into my purse and head towards the door. Today’s second coffee needs to be drunk on a patio. I need to inhale all of Paris while I have the chance. And I need to remind myself why singleness is a good thing, because I’m going to be heading back to New York very, very soon.
Twenty-Six
Conlon
I wanted to stay with her last night.
I’ve never spent the night in a bed with a woman. I know it’s mad, but I’m thirty years old and well, it’s the truth. I have some neurotic notion that a woman will fall in love and dig her talons into me if I allow myself to drift to sleep for more than a few minutes in the same bed as her. It’s the most arrogant of possible notions, and I’m a pillock for even allowing myself to think that way.
Gettin' Hard (Single Ladies' Travel Agency Book 1) Page 15