The Queen of Dauphine Street

by Thea de Salle

  “Babe?” Darren called out. But it came out muffled because his face was mid–tiger chest. Maddy tittered, and then she giggled, and then she laughed. Darren surfaced, spitting out tiger fur. His sleepy gaze didn’t fix on Maddy, but on the beautiful black and orange face inches from his own. “You have got to brush those fangs, Cappy. You smell how I imagine sadness smells. Holy shit.”

  “It’s a little coppery. You get used to it,” Maddy announced, perching in one of her chairs. Darren eyeballed her before running a hand down Cappy’s side. The cat responded with a stretch and a yawn wherein she unhinged her jaw and flashed a zillion white teeth.

  “Whoa. My life just flashed before my eyes,” he said, but the actions—voracious pets and ear rubs to a cat groaning in rapture—didn’t match the sentiment.

  “I see we’re playing hard to get. You, not the cat. She’s a slattern for being pet. You’re just too stubborn to admit you’re smitten with my kitten, dove.”

  “Both of your kittens,” he quipped, and again she laughed. A tap on the door heralded Richter’s arrival, and Cappy disentangled from her Darren lovefest and slid off the bed, trotting over to her favorite meal ticket when he opened the door. Richter clipped a leash to her jingly collar and waved before guiding her down the hall and back to Tiger Central.

  Maddy waited until she and Darren were alone before producing her phone and crawling into bed beside him. “I have proof of a scandal most foul. Behold, epic snoring. It’s like dueling banjos, only worse.” Darren hauled her in close so he could watch, nuzzling her head when she dropped it down onto his shoulder.

  “Oh man. That’s artistry right there,” he said, snickering. “I’m almost proud of that.”

  “As you should be. It should be an Olympic sport. Like synchronized swimming, only more boring.”

  “A lot more boring.” He tipped his head down and pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth. “I’d give you a more proper one, but I probably have Cappy breath right now.”

  “Hardly.” To prove it, she grabbed his chin and gently tugged it down, sweeping her tongue inside. It was supposed to be a stolen moment before breakfast—a passing flirtation and nothing more, but when he chased her tongue back into her mouth and rolled her onto her back, who was she to complain?

  SIXTEEN

  MORNING WOOD COULD be an annoying phenomenon. You woke up, had a vaguely throbbing pants problem, and had to either wait for it to abate or get into the shower and create the jellyfish of shame in the drain. The rules of the game changed when you had a warm, willing partner cooing and squirming beneath you. Morning wood became a boon then—a thing that you could share if, say, the person beneath you was aggressively peeling off their yoga pants and kicking them to the floor in anticipation because they felt your mini-Darren jabbing them in the belly button.

  Okay, not so mini, but compared to the whole package, he was mini.

  Heh. Package.

  “You smell good,” Darren whispered into Maddy’s ear. It wasn’t a flowery smell, but an herbal one with a hint of citrus. Lemon verbena or whatever. He went to the store and bought soap-scented soap, but the women he’d dated went to the store and bought food in soap-product form. He approved.

  “So do you. A bit tiger-scented, but— Ooh!” He cut her off with a gentle bite to the column of her neck. He was stretched out on top of her, dwarfing her with his size, and he maneuvered both of their bodies until his hips were pressed against hers, his legs spreading her thighs wide. She latched the heels of her feet around the backs of his knees and wound her arms around his neck to hold him close.

  “Am I too heavy?” he asked. She was supporting his weight because he couldn’t; the faulty arm was stretched out to the side, off-limits for both of them. Normally he’d be propped on his elbows, but the injury made it impossible. Lucky for him—lucky for both of them—she shook her head and smiled, leaning up to nip his bottom lip. He nipped back, and then he kissed her, and the contest to see who could steal the most oxygen from the other was on.

  It didn’t take him long to realize he was in perfect dry-hump position. He took advantage, rocking down at her, his cock straining against his thin pajamas. While he hadn’t exactly seen anything more than the white flash of her long legs as she kicked off her pants, he was fairly sure she wasn’t wearing panties. Had he had two functioning arms, he would have sent one of his hands spelunking in her fun parts, but reduced to one, he focused on fussing with the bottom of her T-shirt. Maddy had amazing tits. He wanted to cup them, pinch them, and suck on them in that order.

  First things first, though.

  “Take this thing off,” he mumbled, his lips latching on to her earlobe.

  “Get off of me so I can,” she shot back. He reared up and she hooked her hands in the bottom of her T-shirt and peeled it up, revealing a bare chest with two beautiful, bouncy boobs. He gobbled them with his eyes, feasting on the gentle curves, the cherry-red nipples, and the perfectly proportioned areolas.

  He ran his hand over both of them, from right to left and back, cupping and kneading and appreciating the bounce factor. She sighed, her eyes going half-mast, watching him explore her. His thumb and forefinger squeezed her right nipple, gently rolling it before applying more pressure. She gasped, so he squirmed down the bed so he could claim the left with his mouth. He sucked it while he manipulated the right, teasing. Toying. She shivered, so he kept at it, pulling up and off of the tit, his mouth making a popping sound as he released her.

  He ran the flat of his tongue over the soft flesh. She smelled good. She tasted good. She was soft and wonderful and everything he wanted in that moment.

  “Are you on the pill, and have you been tested recently?” he asked.

  “Yes and yes, a few weeks ago. God, I’m so fucking wet,” she whispered. He groaned his approval, getting louder when her hands swept through his hair and over his shoulders. She scoured her nails across his bare back, quickening his nerves, a ripple cascading down his spine.

  If I don’t fuck her soon, I’m going to die. My dick will explode and I will die.

  “I want you,” he returned. “But not if—”

  “If you don’t get inside of me, I’ll die.”

  Thank you, dear Christ, for letting her ride my wavelength.

  He would have done anything she’d needed to get ready—rubbed her, fingered her, eaten her. Gladly, even, under any other circumstance than the one in which he found himself. He’d been packing wood from the get-go, which put his start at a five and hers at zero. He had to catch her up. Fortunately, Maddy was a goer and went from zero to sixty in about 2.5 seconds.

  Or 2.5 nipple sucks. Whatever. It didn’t matter. He trusted her to know her body. If she said she was ready, she was ready. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen, touched, and tasted what he was packing the night before.

  Divesting himself of his pajama pants would have been a bigger problem if Maddy wasn’t Darren’s Little Helper, but there she was, tugging them down over his ass. She even reached between their bodies to make sure his cock didn’t get caught in the disrobing crossfire, rolling his waistband past it and promptly wrapping her fingers around his length. It was more than likely an excuse for her to get her hands on him again, which was fine. He groaned while he kicked free of his pants, sending them flying through the air.

  He pulled himself up and over her, relishing the feeling of his hot skin touching hers. He peered down at her, his cock nestled against her thigh. She had such pretty eyes, round and fringed dark with heavy lids. Her mouth was gently parted; she breathed heavy. A dash of color kissed her cheeks and neck. Her hair coiled on the pillow like a black snake, all glossy and silky and long.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  “So are you.” Another kiss, Maddy lifting her head to find his mouth, him pushing her back into the pillows. His heart thudded thick, pounding in his ears. He rubbed against her, enjoying the f
riction of their bodies touching. His cock poked at soft, wet flesh and he shuddered with need.

  He sucked on her lower lip. “Are you ready?”

  In answer, she found him with her hand again, fingers guiding him to what felt like the mouth of a volcano. She was scorching for him, soaking for him, and he hissed as she rubbed his tip against her hole. She craned her head so she could kiss his earlobe before she whispered, “You’re going to feel so good stretching me out. I want you to ruin me, dove. Ruin me for every other cock.”

  A man only had so much composure, and that stole the last of his. He pressed onward, going slow. He knew he was a lot to take, knew he was thicker and longer than most and she might need time to adjust. But Maddy’s cunt devoured him, blooming for him, her walls slick and hugging every inch as he pushed home. Still he didn’t rush, his attention fixed on her face for any sign of discomfort.

  There was none. She stared at him, then her eyes rolled up into her head, her nails dug into his back, and she gasped out a long, breathy “Yessssssss.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” He rained kisses along her jaw and down her throat, never stopping, not until every inch was buried inside that sweltering snatch.

  She fits me. She actually fits me.

  It was a glorious discovery that he celebrated by pulling half out of her and shoving right back inside, not nearly as careful as he’d been on his first go. He was aware enough to again check her for signs of distress, but she just moaned and lifted her legs, locking them around his waist, and he could swear the tilt of her pelvis let him sink in another half inch.

  “Jesus Christ.” That was the last rational thing to leave his lips. He was too focused on his cock and the rhythmic slap of his hips against hers. He wanted her to feel as good as he did, and he worked hard to keep his thrusts measured. He controlled their pleasure with his pace, and when he noticed that she made the good sounds at a particular angle, with him positioned a little higher than he had been before, he fucked her from that position. Her pussy was sodden, coating them both in her cream, but the sweat on his forehead didn’t break out until the noises started.

  Not the ones from her mouth. When he shoved into her, there was a rude, wet squelch as his girth displaced the air in her tunnel. It was obscene. He loved it.

  “Oh fuck. I’m so full, dove. Dove. Dove.” She said it over and over again, her mouth latching on his shoulder and sucking as he pumped into her. It was getting harder and harder not to come, every part of her enticing him, pushing him to that pinnacle, but he was determined that she go first.

  This gentleman always makes sure his lady goes first.

  Slap. Slap. Slap.

  It didn’t take long for Maddy to crest, but those minutes felt interminable. He was quivering and sweaty by the time she met him at the top, his pulse racing, his neck and bicep corded with strain as he held himself up and over her with one arm. She hiccupped with pleasure beneath him, her body gleaming with sweat—some hers, some his. She didn’t seem to care. She was mindless to everything but the ferocious colliding of their bodies. And then he felt it—her—tensing beneath him. Her heels dug into his ass. Her hands clung to his back like she needed him to keep her afloat or she’d drown in pleasure.

  “Yes. Yes, dove. Fuck me. I’m c-coming. I’m there. Darren!” She shouted his name before her orgasm crashed down. Hearing his name from her lips instead of that generic nickname she threw at everyone sent him over, too. Well, that and the hard, wondrous squeezing of her pussy. She bucked beneath him, humping up at him and whining, and he met her orgasm with his own, shot after shot of hot cream blasting her insides. He groaned through it, pumping her full, his hips shoving at her for a full minute before he collapsed, his head dropping to her shoulder as he sucked in air.

  It was quiet save for their frantic breathing. The room reeked of sex. She brushed her fingers along his spine and he lifted his head to look at her. She was rosy and lovely, her eyelids drooping, and he dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose in appreciation of the spectacle that was Madeline Roussoux. She nuzzled at him and found his lips. The kisses were less hot, less frantic, but they were no less satisfying, and he rolled off her and onto his hip. She followed, her body pressing to his once again, and he pulled the blankets over them, his leg looping over hers to keep her close.

  SEVENTEEN

  STICKY AND SATED, Maddy dozed, her body entwined with Darren’s. She would have been content to snooze for hours yet, but Patrice knocked on the door with her telltale double rat-tat at noon before letting herself in, a food cart with a squeaky wheel preceding her. She donned a cotton-candy-colored T-shirt with irises on it and matching pink capris.

  She looked like a walking Pepto ad.

  “What?” Maddy croaked, surly, but smelling pancakes, she immediately softened it with “Hello, Patrice.”

  “You have to eat, both of you. We’re pulling into port.”

  “Oh. Oh shit. Darren. Dove. We’re in New Orleans.” Maddy sat up and rubbed her eyes. Patrice wheeled herself over to Maddy’s side of the bed, oblivious to both Maddy’s toplessness and the hulking giant sleeping next to her.

  “I called Sol to let him know we’re here,” Patrice said. “He said he’s out to lunch with Rain and will swing by with the limo to pick you up afterward.”

  “He doesn’t have to do that.” Maddy propped herself against her pillows. Darren stirred beside her, his head lifting, nostrils flaring. It reminded Maddy of those Pepé Le Pew cartoons when Pepé caught a particularly attractive scent and floated down the hall after it.

  Patrice set up Maddy’s tray before wheeling the cart over to Darren and delivering a similar setup. She didn’t look surprised to see him in the bed; either she’d simply assumed Maddy would end up fucking him—which was valid, given Maddy’s sordid history—or she’d checked his room first and, not finding him there, put two and two together.

  “I told Sol as much—we could have gotten a car, but he said he wants to meet Mr. Sanders and insisted.”

  “Mmm. He always was a nosy bitch.” Maddy sipped her coffee, watching Darren orient himself so he could eat, too. “After breakfast, send security my way, Patrice? I need them to work with Sol’s people to ensure Darren’s safety. The cat’s out of the bag—the media linked us and he was just shot, so I’m guessing we’ll see press. That wouldn’t be as big of a deal if the prime suspect wasn’t at large. I want him protected at all costs.”

  “Oh!” Patrice’s eyes grew big. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sanders. Absolutely. I’ll . . . sure.”

  Darren smiled at her. “Hey, no worries. And thanks for the pancakes.”

  “Mr. Tobin made them for you,” was her pert reply. Maddy knew that—the portion was mountain sized. Her other chef, Lindsay, wasn’t quite as generous, but that’s because she was paid to shovel healthy things into Maddy’s mouth and would have made them vegetarian something-something with a side of avocado something-something because Lindsay put avocados in fucking everything. To be fair, it was what she was hired for—someone had to be looking out for Maddy’s health, and it certainly wasn’t Maddy.

  Unless masturbation counts as cardio?

  She crammed a bite of pancake into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

  Patrice set about picking up Maddy’s dirty laundry from the floor. She folded Darren’s pants and put them at the foot of the bed, too. He objected, trying to snag them from her grip, but Patrice was having none of it, snorting at him and pretty much shoving him off.

  “This is my job. Let me do it, please.”

  She sounded like a drill sergeant. Darren smirked, saying nothing as he doctored his coffee.

  “Will you need help packing for land, too?” Patrice called over her shoulder before disappearing into Maddy’s closet. She pulled out garment bags and a suitcase, readying the usual wardrobe so Maddy would look properly Maddy-like.

  “Nah, I barely unpacked. Thanks, thoug
h.”

  “All right. If you change your mind, I’m number four on the intercom.”

  “Sure thing, Miss Pink.” She liked the nickname, giggled a little, the tart, before depositing oodles of lacy underwear and matching bras into a zip pouch. Everything was just so with Patrice, organized for easy access. She was a walking, talking day planner.

  Maddy and Darren finished eating while Patrice dashed around the room like a bee pollinating flowers. She had the appropriate number of slacks and blouses and dresses and pajamas, but before she closed up the big suitcase, she brought out a purple silk bag with a gold zipper and laid it at the foot of the bed without a word.

  “I’ll be back in a little while to finish you up,” she said primly. She let herself out of the room and retreated to Patrice parts unknown, probably to address the security staff like Maddy had asked.

  Darren peered at the bag. “What’s that for?”

  “Sex toys,” she said bluntly.

  “You travel everywhere with them?”

  “Don’t you?”

  He snickered and moved his breakfast tray aside so he could reach for the bag, his fingers gliding over the silk. “It’s empty.”

  “Well, yes. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

  He grinned at her. “Do you go to the gallery and pick a date or . . . ?”

  “You turd.” He winked at her and she rolled out of bed, snagging the short robe from the hook on the wall and belting it at her waist. “The purple bureau in the closet. It’s where my most reliable friends are found.”

  Bare assed, he climbed from bed and shuffled to the closet. His hand hovered over the knob and he glanced back at her, waiting for permission. His big smile and wild bed head made him look boyish, but one glance at the flaccid yet still impressive cock against his thigh destroyed the illusion quickly enough.