I hear her laugh before I see her. That laugh seeps into my heart and fills it up. I turn the corner and find Bo and Sophie with their feet ankle-deep in bowls of blue water and their asses in leather massage chairs. Each of them is holding a bubbling glass of Champagne.
Bo looks like a loon with his jeans rolled up, feet bare and being worked on by a slight Frenchwoman. His jacket is gone, and his tee is stretched to the max over his broad chest. I work out with the guys regularly. None of us are slouches in the gym. And seeing this manly man kicking back, getting his feet worked on, does not compute.
I stop in front of them and stare. “Dude . . . what are you doing?”
His expression contorts into one of confusion. “What does it look like I’m doing? Getting my feet taken care of. When was the last time you got your shit taken care of?” He acts as if this is a normal thing to ask a man.
“Um . . . never, because I’m not a chick.”
He makes a sound like a large balloon losing air out of a small hole. “Get your shoes and socks off, and get your ass in the chair. We’re taking care of this situation right now, man.”
I jerk my head back, and Sophie laughs, then sips at her Champagne, trying to pretend she’s not watching or listening, but she absolutely is.
“Not happening,” I mutter.
“What? You chicken? You afraid of a little TLC for your fugly feet?”
I scoff. “I do not have ugly feet. I take care of myself.” And I do. I clip my toenails weekly and scrub them down in the shower really well. Never had complaints from a female before.
Bo shakes his head. “You’re chicken.”
“Am not.”
“Then you’re scared.” He shrugs and sips at his drink.
“Brother . . . ,” I warn through clenched teeth.
“Get your ass in the chair. Try something new. Suck back a glass of Champagne. Live a little. Jeez. If our clients were this hard to convince, I’d be in a different line of work,” he grumbles.
An attendant opens the side of a chair, ushering me to the chair next to Bo. I shake my head and point to the one next to Sophie.
“Oh, fine. Be that way. I didn’t want to sit next to you anyway,” Bo responds smugly. “Just you wait . . . You’ll be thanking me, brother. Next up, you’ll be asking where I get manscaped.”
I pull off my shoes and socks and fold up my chinos neatly. Last thing I want is two-inch wrinkles running down my pant leg. “Not even in the realm of possibility,” I shoot back, and this time Sophie laughs out loud, her cheeks turning rosy, probably from the alcohol, a lot from the company. My guess is Bo’s had her laughing all morning.
“Do not tell me you don’t manscape.” Bo lifts one foot out of the water and sets it where the nail technician tells him.
“No, I don’t manscape. Like I said, I take care of my hygiene all on my own like most men.”
“You don’t wax or shave your junk?” he continues.
“You do?” I fire back, rather shocked. I mean, we’ve hit the showers together at the gym, but I don’t pay attention to my friends’ dicks. More like we just avoid looking down out of common decency for one another’s privacy, but now I’m going to have to make a point to check out his shit to see what all the hubbub is about.
Bo shakes his head and swallows down the rest of his glass of Champagne. “I’m gonna need another, darlin’.” He gestures to the technician. She beams and nods, taking his glass and heading to the back area, which I imagine must be the break room or kitchen.
My friend sits forward, rests his elbows on the arms of the chair, and curves a bit around Sophie to speak to me. “I’m all bare down there. And the ladies . . . go wild for it. Try it sometime. You won’t be sorry.” His gaze goes to Sophie, and he winks.
Fucker.
“Is that something you’d like, SoSo?” I lower my voice so that it’s only between the two of us.
She blinks slowly and nods. “Oui. Sounds sexy.”
“Well, I’m not doing it. So you can forget it.” Not doing it yet, I add mentally. I need to do a bit more research on what all this manscaping entails before I block it entirely.
“Bro, I’m telling you. There is nothing like taking a woman when you’re both free of hair. The connection is insaaaaaane.” He rolls his hips, humping the air. “Damn, I need to find me a chicklet tonight.”
I make a gagging sound. “Shut up, Bo. Sophie, ignore him. He’s a dirtbag.”
She giggles. “I like you, Bo. You are always honest.” She pats his hand good-naturedly.
“No other way to be, babe.” He winks at her, and her cheeks get pinker. Damn him. He needs to stop flirting with everything on legs and keep his libido and charm on lockdown. At least around Sophie. She doesn’t need to be caught up in his tangled web of lust and emotionless fucking.
“Back off,” I growl under my breath.
He grins wickedly. “I’m not making a play. But if I did, you’d be toast.”
I inhale a long, slow breath, letting it out even slower. Bo is baiting me just for the rise. It’s always been this way. He’s a jokester, but I still love the guy and know he wouldn’t go after someone I’ve shown an interest in. He absolutely would, however, razz me to kingdom come just for shits and giggles.
The bowl of water is full, and the technician tells me to put my feet in to soak. The jets are on, and I work my instep over them. The tension in my back, legs, and neck is being worked on by the chair, and the tension in my feet is being taken care of by the jets. Just sitting here, I find myself starting to relax and enjoy myself.
Sophie’s gal is running her hands up and down her legs, working the muscles. Sophie reaches out a hand and takes mine. I turn my head and truly look at her face for the first time. Her hair is cut in long, flippy layers around her face, the lengthy locks falling over her shoulders to the tops of her breasts. It’s parted down the middle, but the style and cut make it look more modern. She has a few ribbons of caramel streaks running through the strands, which add a richness to her hair she didn’t have before.
“Sophie, you look beautiful. Your hair is incredible. What do you think of it?”
She smiles huge, the way that will one day drop a proud man to a single knee just to see it every day for the rest of his life.
“I love it. Makes me feel strong, powerful. Is that normal?”
“It’s step number four in making you feel sexy. A new haircut and fresh style. Does wonders for a woman’s psyche, and it’s not too shabby on the male variety either. We enjoy a confident woman. Men will chase after that to hold it in their hands, make that woman theirs.”
“And you?”
I offer my most devilish smile and lean closer. “I’ll enjoy wrapping it around my fist while taking you from behind.”
She gasps, and her pupils dilate. My sweet girl likes that idea. Tonight, I’m going to seal it. I can’t go another day without getting inside her.
“Promises, promises.” She clucks her tongue, probably thinking back to last night when I denied her.
When we finished dinner last night, I rode home with her, walked to her door, and kissed the breath right out of her. What I didn’t do was take her up on the offer of a nightcap or anything else that was on the table. Now I’m regretting that decision, wishing I’d taken the edge off. Tonight is going to be something to put in the book of memories for sure.
Bo groans, taking me out of our little huddle. “You’re a goddess!” He sighs as the technician works the muscles of his legs.
Both Sophie and I look at one another and bust up laughing. I’m handed a Champagne flute, which I clink with Sophie’s. “To first times.” Like getting pedicures in Paris while sipping Champagne. Definitely not something I’ve ever imagined I’d be doing.
She cheers my glass and we take a sip. The bubbles tingle against my tongue, and I close my eyes and enjoy my first pedicure to its fullest, thinking about all the ways I’m going to enjoy my first time with Sophie even more.
T
o: Sophie Rolland
From: Parker Ellis
Wear the red spaghetti-strap dress and shoes. I’ll pick you up at 7 pm.
From: Sophie Rolland
To: Parker Ellis
Red must be your favorite color. See you then.
I grin, rereading the texts I sent earlier after I dropped Sophie off at work, leaving her in Royce’s capable hands. He had a horde of concerns regarding Rolland Laboratories, the scientific side to her business, which he said demanded their immediate attention. I figure I’ll follow up with Sophie or Roy later.
When money talks, you walk. Period. Royce doesn’t use the term immediately unless there’s a big problem. While he dealt with work, I dealt with plans for tonight: setting up our private dinner and a night of seduction with France’s most eligible heiress.
I push my phone back in my jacket pocket and knock on Sophie’s door. It’s a mini-mansion by Parisian standards. After some research, I found out it was her father’s estate and her primary residence her entire life. It would make sense that she’d want to stay here. I imagine it had to be hard, though, knowing the only family you had was never coming home. It dawned on me as a butler opened the door that she hadn’t spent a lot of time talking about her father or dealing with her grief. She’d flung herself headfirst into the business with very little time in between burying her old man and taking over at the helm of one massive ship.
The butler leads me into a receiving room and offers me a drink.
“Gin and tonic would be great.”
He nods and sets about making my drink while I take in the luxurious room. Red velvet couches with stained-wood trim sit across from one another. A vintage bar cart holds a wide variety of different-colored bottles of varying heights and tastes. A baby grand piano is off in the corner, facing a set of windows, which look out on the city with a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower lit up for the night.
Whoever designed this room had a taste for vintage antiques with a hint of conservatism and elegance. I like it. Reminds me of Sophie. Reserved until you get to know her. Absolutely elegant. Beautiful, and she has an old soul about her. The way she has picked up our lessons quickly and applied them immediately to her personal life and business speaks to her extreme intelligence and eagerness to succeed.
The butler hands me the drink.
“Where’s Sophie?”
“Ms. Rolland is in her private quarters. She will be with you momentarily. I have buzzed her, notifying her of your presence.”
I nod and put one hand in my pocket, rocking back on my heels until the butler leaves. The moment he does, I set about finding my sweet girl, fingering the lipstick tubes I have in my pocket.
Finding a hallway, I can immediately smell Sophie’s very recognizable sugar-and-spice scent, and I follow it down a long hallway to a set of double doors. One of them is cracked a couple of inches; her scent is the strongest here. I push open the door and find a large bedroom.
Dark cherrywood dressers flank each side of the room like giant sentinels guarding their charge. In the center is a king-size bed with wooden spindles at each corner. The wood is thicker at the base and twists up, thinning toward the top. Deep curves are set into the wood, giving it a swirled floral design that suits Sophie’s personality well. The bedspread is a deep purple with gold filigree accents, and at least a half dozen throw pillows lie against the headboard. Some with gold threads, others with flowers, even some with pom-poms and fringe. A bit of a nod to her girlie side.
A plush purple, gold, white, and burgundy Persian rug runs the distance of the room, giving the large space a cozier, more enchanted feel.
I hear a water faucet turn on at my left. The door is open about six inches, and I can see flashes of red through it. I press open the door and sip my drink as I watch Sophie fiddle with her hair.
“You’re gorgeous,” I say low, not hiding the awe and wonder spilling through me at seeing her so put together.
She jumps a few inches and relaxes, letting her shoulders settle back down when she realizes it’s just me.
“Turn toward me,” I command.
Sophie does, and I’m gifted with her beauty straight on. The dress is barely a slip of fabric that molds to every last one of her curves. There is no way she can be wearing any underwear or I’d know it. The exact reason I requested this particular dress. I let my eyes travel from her head down to her chest. Her small breasts are free of a bra, their little tips erect, pressing against the fabric in a carnal display of her femininity. Her waist is small, her legs insanely long and shimmery. I lick my lips, take a huge swallow of the gin and bubbly tonic, allowing it to cool down my instant need to take, pillage, and rut before I approach.
“You like?” One of her eyebrows rises with her query.
“I fucking love,” I growl, and take the two steps needed to smash her body to mine in a forceful, wanton grip.
She gasps the second our bodies touch, her arms wrapping around my neck in the process. I set down my drink, curl a hand around one hip, the other into her long, flowing waves, the layers teasing my fingers until I get a good hold. Tipping her head, I take her mouth in a blazing-hot kiss. She opens immediately, letting me in, needing me just as much. Sophie moans low in her throat, and my dick hardens painfully in my slacks. I lick deeper, tasting mint and smelling spice as I kiss her.
When her body is practically a lifeless weight, I lift her up by her pert little ass and set her on the bathroom counter. Hell, I need the foot of space in order to get myself in check or I’ll be taking her over to that bed and laying her out now. We won’t even make it to the surprises I have in store for her. And that would be a helluva shame, because I know she’s going to feel like a princess this evening.
Her lust-drunk eyes open, pools of dark chocolate brown greeting me. I could stare into her eyes all night.
“I’ve got the last of the five things that will make you feel like the hottest woman alive.”
She chuckles and fingers my suit lapel. I’m wearing my most expensive suit for her tonight. A pitch-black Armani that Royce demanded I buy last season. “For those special occasions when you need to impress. You hear what I’m saying, brother,” he’d urged in that cool, I-know-my-shit way.
I pull out the three tubes of lipstick and hand her one, setting the others down. “The other two are backups. One for your purse, one for your makeup drawer, and another to leave in a place of your choice.”
“Lipstick? You bought me lipstick?” A fine little line appears between her eyebrows, and I lean forward and kiss it away while cupping her jaw.
“Not just any lipstick. The ultimate in glamour. Give it here.” I wiggle my fingers, requesting the tube. She slaps it into the palm of my hand.
Needing to be closer, I ease the fabric of her dress up higher and widen her legs so that I can fit in between them. Removing the cap, I spin the top until the deep-crimson tube is a few centimeters out of its shell. “Open your mouth like you’re going to take in a breath.”
Holding her chin, I take the tip of the lipstick and rub it across the lush bottom lip a few times, making sure it’s coated completely. Next, I curve it along the point of her upper lip and down the right side, then the left, repeating the process until the top matches the bottom perfectly.
Her mouth looks so goddamned fuckable, ringed in red. I suck in a harsh breath and let it out like a fire-breathing dragon. My dick goes from being semihard to rock hard in a few seconds flat. I swallow and try to compose myself, clearing my throat.
“Open your mouth again,” I breathe.
She responds immediately, and I grunt, wishing it were my dick I was about to put in that open mouth and not my finger. I inch my thumb into her mouth, the pad pressing down on her tongue. “Close around it.”
Of course, she does me one better and swirls her tongue around the digit, flicking it with her tongue. I groan and bite down on my own cheek hard enough to taste blood. I pull the digit out and show her the red ring around the base of my thum
b. “Easy trick for getting lipstick off the inside of your lips so it doesn’t transfer onto your teeth.” I say the words but barely recognize the sandpaper-like quality of my voice. It’s something I learned from my mother, but admitting that truth lacks the sexy appeal I want to have with her right now.
Sophie grins, locks her legs around my waist, her heels digging into my ass. Then she leans back against the vanity, giving herself some room, and eases her hand between us, working my belt free.
“What are you doing?”
Her fingers are astonishingly fast. Before I can truly move, she’s got my button undone, the zip down, and her hand in my briefs, wrapped around my cock.
“Fuck,” I hiss between my teeth.
Her hand is heaven and hell all at once, stroking me, her thumb rubbing the drop that appears at the crown.
Out of nowhere, she becomes a sex-starved vixen. Sophie shoves at my chest, pushing me back far enough that she can slide off the vanity, never letting go of my cock, before she’s on her knees and her mouth is wrapped around my dick.
I brace one hand on the counter and one in her hair. She looks like a 1950s Hollywood bombshell with her long, flowing waves, deep-brown eyes, pale skin, and strawberry-red lips. Those lips are fucking magic around my cock, taking my length deep and gliding her lips along every inch. She pays extra attention to the sensitive patch of skin near the crown and rubs the flat of her tongue against it.
My entire body quakes. Flames lick at my skin, and I’m suddenly too goddamned hot in this monkey suit. Electricity coils at the base of my spine, and I can’t help thrusting into her heavenly mouth. She moans around my length, those red fucking lips killing me. One of her hands comes around my body and cups my ass, urging me to take her harder, go deeper.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I choke out.
She bowls me over and takes my control from a ten to nothing in the span of a few words when she speaks filthy French to me.
“Prends-moi sauvagement. Tu sais que t’en as envie. Sers-toi de moi, Parker. Sers-toi de ma bouche pour ton plaisir.”
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