French Kissed

by Chanel Cleeton

  “Yes.”

  I wasn’t sure if I breathed the word or spoke it. I wasn’t sure of much besides his body hard against mine. I didn’t think I’d ever wanted anyone as much as I wanted him.

  Max groaned, reaching down and grabbing my hand, lacing our fingers together.

  We stood there, staring at each other, and I knew he was as turned on as I was.

  A smile slid over my face as I slowly regained my sanity. “Congratulations on the interview.”

  He laughed. “What interview?”

  My smile widened so much my cheeks ached.

  “Come on.” I tugged on his hand. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  ###

  Max

  We sat in a dark corner in the back, closed off from the rest of the bar with a small table in front of us. Fleur had insisted on ordering a bottle of champagne to celebrate. I hadn’t argued because Fleur had also cuddled up next to me, her legs draped over mine, her ass pressed up to my side. I couldn’t resist stroking her legs through her pants.

  Maybe I had a leather fetish. More likely I had a Fleur fetish.

  “Do you like the champagne?”

  I took a sip. “It’s good.” She was better.

  I leaned forward and pressed a light kiss on her lips. She sighed against my mouth.

  “Thanks for celebrating with me.”

  She grinned. “I’m glad I could be here with you.”

  Something thudded in my chest. “Me, too.”

  I set the glass on the table, my free hand reaching out and capturing a lock of her hair. She stilled as I played with the ends, twisting it around my fingers.

  It wasn’t even intentional, but I found myself tugging on the strands, bringing her closer to me until her mouth was on mine again.

  She tasted like the champagne—cool, crisp, expensive as hell. Her mouth opened against mine, her tongue stroking, her lips hungry. She moved so she was straddling me, her knees on either side of my body on the secluded padded booth, her fingers threading through my hair, pulling, bringing me closer to her. The scent of her perfume teased my nostrils, the taste of her swirled in my mouth as her body filled my hands. When my eyes finally flickered open, desire stared back at me.

  I groaned. “I can see taking it slow is not going to be easy.”

  She tossed me a wicked grin, her body shifting against me, and I went hard as a rock. Her lips brushed against mine.

  Jesus.

  “I like you,” I mumbled between the kisses she planted on my mouth—kisses that were more sweet than sexy, but just as tempting. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

  She pulled back slightly, her hands drifting down from my hair to stroke my face.

  “I don’t, either,” she whispered, her eyes wide as if the confession surprised her. The intensity in her voice shocked the hell out of me.

  “I just think we should get to know each other a little better first.” Every part of my body screamed at me that I was being an idiot, that I had the girl I’d fantasized about for years in my fucking lap and I was letting her go.

  But I’d rather have more with Fleur than a fling that burned out as quickly as it started.

  She sighed, a pout flirting with her lips. “Fine.”

  I grinned. She sounded as happy about it as I felt. This was going to be interesting.

  I coughed awkwardly. “You might want to sit next to me. It’s kind of hard to go slow when you’re straddling me.” I knew she could feel how badly I wanted her.

  She tossed me another naughty grin. This girl was going to give me a heart attack, no question, but at least it would be an amazing death.

  She moved off my lap, and my body protested, my arms dying to reach out and haul her back on top of me. I took a sip of champagne instead and started counting in Mandarin in my head to distract myself.

  Fleur shifted slightly, taking a sip of her drink and studying me over the rim of the glass. “Okay. What does taking it slow entail?”

  I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, my eyes hungrily taking in her appearance. “No clue. Getting to know each other. Kissing. Bases.”

  She blinked. “Bases?”

  She killed me. I grinned. “It’s an American thing.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  I wrapped my arm around her, tucking her into the curve of my body. One of my hands drifted to her bare shoulder, stroking the soft skin there. I watched, fascinated, as a line of goose bumps formed.

  “Bases?” she repeated, her voice breathy.

  Jesus.

  “Well, there’s first base.” My fingers continued, moving downward, teasing the skin right above her elbow with circles and swirls. She bit down on her lip, and whatever hope I had of my erection going down flew out the fucking window. Screw it. We could go slow and still have fun.

  “What’s first base?”

  “Kissing.” I grinned at her. “French kissing.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t get why you Americans call it that.”

  “Maybe because the French do it best,” I teased. “You’re the only French girl I’ve ever kissed, but I can definitely get behind that explanation.” My fingers trailed lower, shifting her arm slightly, gliding over the inside of her forearm, back and forth, my touch at times featherlight, at other times letting my fingernails skim her skin.

  She shuddered against me.

  “Then there’s second base,” I continued, my voice growing hoarse now. I’d never known any girl whose body was as responsive as Fleur’s. She sat next to me throwing off heat, and need, and want, and I knew without having to move, knew in my bones, that her nipples were tight and she was already wet. Just from the touch of my hand on her arm.

  Fuck me.

  “What’s second base?”

  I stifled a groan as I continued, every moment exquisite torture. The words tumbled out, shocking the hell out of me, as I gave voice to my fantasies.

  “Touching, stroking, feeling, tasting.” I leaned in closer to her, my mouth hot on her ear. “If we were at second base, I’d have you in my room, straddling me, your top off.”

  She shuddered again, her thigh pressing closer to mine.

  “I’d strip off your bra, and I’d spend hours playing with your breasts. I’d use my mouth and my hands to try to make you come. I’d stroke your tits and play with your nipples—sucking, licking—until you were crazy with want. I’d have you ride me, and I’d be so hard that even though there were clothes between us, I’d do everything I could to get you off.”

  She was so still, I wasn’t sure if she’d stopped breathing. I was so hard it hurt. I’d never done this before. Never talked dirty to a girl. I mean, sure, fuck, that feels good, and you’re so wet were normal parts of my repertoire, but this came from someplace darker and deeper than anything I’d ever experienced. We were fully clothed, in public, barely touching, and I was completely and utterly gone.

  I pressed a kiss to her ear, letting my lips roam until they reached her lobe, partially hidden by the current of her hair. I sucked her soft skin into my mouth, my teeth gently grazing her flesh.

  A moan escaped her lips, and she reached out, her hand shaky as she grabbed her glass of champagne, taking a sip as if to cover what was happening. If anyone came by our corner, they’d just think I was kissing her neck.

  Only we knew I was fucking her with my words.

  “Then there’s third base,” I whispered, blowing on the lobe that had just been in my mouth. She shivered, and I hugged her tighter against my body.

  “Mon dieu.”

  “Ask me what third base is,” I prodded, the desire in her eyes pushing me further, and the French falling from her lips taking me over the edge.

  “What’s third base?” Her voice trembled, her accent heavier than normal.

  “I’d unbutton those leather pants you’re wearing, drag the zipper down, and peel them off your gorgeous legs,” I replied, my voice raspy. “Then I’d have you strip in front of me, have you hook your
fingers in the lace underwear I bet you’re wearing, and watch while you take them off until you were bare. Then I’d have you lie back in bed, legs spread . . .”

  My hand moved to her wrist, stroking the skin there, dragging my flesh against hers, feeling every tremor from her body. It fed my arousal like a drug.

  “I don’t know what I’d rather do first—taste you or feel you.” My mouth moved down her ear, my tongue darting out and tracing a circle against the sensitive skin behind her earlobe.

  “Max—”

  Fuck me.

  I half groaned, half laughed. “I’d want to hear you say my name just like that. I’d need to hear how badly you wanted me. And then I’d give you everything you wanted. I’d spend all night between your legs. I’d slip my fingers inside you, drown in your wetness. I’d lick you, kiss you, have the taste of you on my tongue. I’d make you come with my hands and my mouth, over and over again until you couldn’t take it anymore.”

  Fleur turned toward me so I could see her face, and I lost my heart. Her eyes were fire, her skin flushed with arousal, her mouth parted as if begging for my lips on hers. She moved forward and put her mouth on mine. She didn’t kiss me, she just settled there, our breath mingling, the taste of champagne surrounding both of us. Neither of us moved. It couldn’t even be called a kiss, really. It was everything.

  And in that moment, I knew it didn’t matter who had come before me, didn’t matter that she was out of my league.

  She was mine.

  “Then there’s home plate,” I whispered into her mouth.

  Her voice was soaked with need as if already anticipating my answer. “What’s home plate?”

  My hand drifted down from her wrist, stroking the inside of her palm. She pressed into me, her breasts rubbing my chest, her nipples hard through her thin top and what had to be a sheer bra. I’d dream of her tonight. I’d dream of this. My fingers moved forward, teasing the space between hers, playing with the flesh there until my hand slid home, and our palms connected, and our fingers laced as she held my heart in her hands.

  “Heaven.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Fleur

  Heaven.

  The word filled my thoughts and my dreams. It had been a week since Max spoke that word to me, a week of being busy with school, hanging out with friends, and seeing little of Max, yet being constantly aroused. The night at Mist was all I could think about. He was all I could think about.

  We were still taking things slowly.

  For me, sex fell into two categories: before and after. Before the baby, sex had been good, and fun, and I’d liked it . . . a lot.

  After the baby? Not so much. I didn’t know how to explain it, and I’d tried when Costa had asked what had changed, why the girl who used to skip class to spend all day in bed had suddenly turned into someone who avoided sex.

  The part of me that had heard my baby’s heartbeat and fallen in love, only to lose it all, couldn’t deal. Maybe I should have been stronger. Maybe I should have been better about putting it behind me. But I wasn’t, and I couldn’t.

  I’d been terrified when I’d found out I was pregnant. Costa and I had always used condoms when we’d had sex, but I hadn’t been on the pill. I’d been on it at one point and had “gotten puffy” as my mother had pointed out. I’d been up for a big modeling spread in a French magazine, so I went off the pill because that was the kind of stupid shit I’d done at nineteen. Fuck the consequences. My looks mattered more. I’d figured condoms were enough, but apparently not, since one broke and I got pregnant.

  The first few days I’d been in shock. Absolutely stunned. I’d thought about my options, over and over again, and then I’d finally gone for a walk in the Tuileries Garden to clear my head.

  And there I’d seen a mother with a fat little baby with a head like a pumpkin, his face covered in some kind of mashed green food, his baby smell surrounding me. Maybe it had been hormones, or some maternal instinct I’d never even known I had, but in that moment, I’d known I was having the baby and that I would love it for the rest of my life.

  I hadn’t been wrong; I just hadn’t imagined that it would all end up falling apart.

  My body didn’t feel like my body anymore. I mean, on the outside, yeah, same legs, same arms, same boobs, same ass I’d always wished was just a bit bigger. But on the inside I felt like someone had gone in and carved everything out. When I’d lost the baby, I’d lost a part of myself, and no matter what I did or how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to get it back.

  Sex didn’t fix it. Drugs didn’t fix it. Alcohol didn’t fix it. Neither did shopping, or hanging with my friends, or traveling every time I felt restless. And as much as being with Max was one of the best things I’d ever felt, he didn’t fix it, either.

  But I wanted to get me back. I needed to. Needed to reclaim the parts of myself that I’d lost when I lost the baby.

  The parts that I’d given up somewhere along the way.

  “I need a bra,” I announced.

  Maggie and Mya turned away from the dress racks.

  Mya frowned. “I thought we were dress shopping for Maggie’s anniversary date with Samir. I have two hours before my next class, and at the rate we’re going, we’re never going to be done by then.”

  I waved my hand airily. “We’ll have time. I need to pick out a bra. I need you to help.”

  Maggie looked at me like I was crazy. “You need us to help pick out your bra? Are you having fit issues or something?”

  “No, I don’t need a bra, I need a bra.” I raised my voice and wiggled my eyebrows for emphasis.

  Mya snorted. “Well, that clears it up.”

  Maggie grinned. “I don’t understand the subtle distinction.”

  “I need a bra,” I repeated, impatience filling me. “A to-die-for, Agent Provocateur, bring-men-to-their-knees, heart attack–inducing bra. I need a magic bra. I need the bra.”

  Maggie froze, putting the dress in her hand back on the rack and turning to face me. “Okay, share. Now. Why do you need to bring a man to his knees? And honestly, do you really think a bra like that is wise? You’re already basically a walking nuclear weapon.”

  I grinned. “Aw, thanks. And I don’t really want to bring a man to his knees. I was just trying to use that as a descriptor,” I explained patiently. At least I was trying to be patient. “I need it for bases. Second base to be exact.”

  Maggie’s jaw dropped, and she let out a startled shout of laughter. “Who the hell has been talking to you about bases?”

  Mya looked at both of us like we’d lost our minds. “What are bases and what do they have to do with bras?”

  “It’s an American thing,” Maggie and I answered at the same time. We both froze.

  Maggie’s eyes widened, and her face transformed into the biggest smile I’d ever seen.

  “Well, I guess that answers the question of if Samir tells you everything I tell him,” I muttered.

  “Samir knows?” she screeched.

  “Well, not about the bra part,” I amended. “He’s my cousin. Gross. But the rest of it, yeah, kind of.”

  “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Mya interrupted.

  “Fleur has the hots for Max,” Maggie announced, her tone triumphant. “And judging by the conversation about bases that went on, I’m guessing he knows and is reciprocating.”

  “He does, and he is.”

  Mya frowned. “I thought you guys didn’t like each other. Am I the only one who remembers all of the fighting from last year?”

  Maggie snickered. “I’m guessing that was foreplay.”

  I had to laugh at the one. I had a feeling foreplay with Max would kill me.

  “How did this even happen?” Mya asked, still looking like she was trying to wrap her head around the impossible.

  I shrugged. “We started working together in Project Finance. Then I went to the library and kissed him the night we all went to Babel to celebrate the first week of school.”
/>
  Maggie gaped at me. “I seriously need your balls.”

  “So what else happened?” Mya asked.

  “We’ve just been hanging out. Taking things slow. He said he wanted to date, so we are.”

  Maggie gave me a knowing look. “He’s been into you forever.”

  I stilled. “What?”

  “Max. He’s liked you for a long time.”

  I blinked at her. What?

  “Fleur. How did you not know that?”

  “You heard Mya—I thought he hated me. I mean, yeah, I figured he thought I was hot, because . . .” My voice trailed off as I gestured at myself, and Mya snorted again. “But I think him liking me liking me, is a fairly recent development.”

  Maggie shook her head. “I never said anything to you because you were with George, and you gave Max so much shit, but he used to watch you when we would all go out. A lot. Samir noticed it first, but he pointed it out to me, and he was totally right. The guy is into you. Really into you.”

  How had I missed this? Had I ever really seen Max before? How had I not known?

  “Are you sure?” I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that Max—genius, Mandarin-speaking, amazing Max—had always been into me.

  She nodded. “Yeah. He would look at you like you were a piece of his favorite cake and he was a diabetic.”

  I might have died a bit. Twice.

  “So how far have things gone with you guys?” Mya asked, her expression still slightly dazed, as if she were trying to work this out in her mind.

  Maggie flashed me a wicked smile. “I think what she means is what base?”

  “Haha. Funny. We’ve just kissed.” I gave Maggie a pointed look. “First. Hoping for second.”

  Mya whistled. “So things are moving pretty slowly, if you guys have just kissed. Is this like it was with George?”

  There wasn’t judgment in her voice, just cautious surprise. I didn’t totally blame her. Maggie and I’d met after Costa and I had broken up, so she wasn’t used to seeing me with a guy. But Mya and I had been at boarding school together in Switzerland before coming to the International School, and I knew she was mentally comparing Max and Costa.