He took her earlobe in his mouth and tugged, and she tipped her head to one side and closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation of his mouth on her fevered skin.
He lifted a hand to one of her breasts, cupped it in his big hand as he kissed his way to her jawline, working his way slowly, too slowly toward her mouth. When he got there, he captured her lips with his, pinching her nipple between his fingers as he dove into her mouth with his tongue.
The kiss was slow, languid. But there was nothing gentle about it. It was the kiss of ownership. Of total possession. A kiss that made it clear he would leave no stone unturned on the landscape of her body.
She moaned into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his bare chest. The touch of his bare skin on hers was electric, sending a wave of desire along every nerve ending in her body. He let his hands travel her body as he teased her mouth, charting new territory in every unexplored shadow. Their tongues parried, her hunger for him growing. She was like a long dead relic, brought to life under the hands of this man.
This man whose touch was like life-giving magic.
He kissed his way down her neck, and she let her head fall back as he kissed his way to the breast still cupped in his hand. She could hardly breathe as he approached the sensitive flesh, and she arched her back, desperate for him to take it in his mouth, Desperate to feel the warmth of it envelop her.
He chuckled against her skin, his breath hot as his tongue darted out to taste the aroused peak. He flicked his tongue against it, teasing it to a harder point until she thought she would die from the torture of it.
Then he opened his mouth, took it inside, sucked as he gently massaged the mound of flesh around it. His other hand snaked down her belly, slid into her panties, past her clit as he sought the wetness at her center.
“Oh, god…” The words escaped her mouth as he dipped a finger into the well at her center.
He was still sucking, taking breaks only to rake his teeth against the little bud as he moved his finger rhythmically inside her. The orgasm was already there, building at her core. Her hips had a mind of their own now, pumping against his finger, using the heel of his thumb to rub her clit.
She was in another place. A place where only her orgasm mattered.
Where her prime directive was to come.
She ground against him, her breath coming fast and shallow as he moved to the other breast, took it in his mouth, teased and licked and nibbled.
She was reaching for the peak, out of her mind with the need to come when he removed his fingers swiftly and completely.
“Not yet, beautiful,” he said. “Not yet.”
He lifted his hand to her lips and she opened her mouth, sucking on the finger, tasting her own arousal. His eyes darkened, and he lowered himself deliberately to his knees, looked up at her like a disciple worshiping at the alter of his god.
She looked down at him, the desire in his gaze turning her insides to molten liquid as he slid the panties from her hips, tossed them aside. He parted her legs, still looking into her eyes. Then he stroked the sensitive spot behind her knee as he touched his mouth to the skin on the inside of her thighs.
It was like being hit by lightning, and she felt her whole body short out, rational thought swept away on the tide of his mouth moving toward her center, nibbling the sensitive skin as he worked his way upward. She let her eyes flicker open, felt another swell of wetness in her pussy at the sight of his dark head poised between her legs. A shudder moved through her as he stroked the lips of her sex, wet and engorged with need.
“You’re so lovely, Charlotte,” he murmured. “So very lovely.”
She reached down with one hand, slipped her hands into his hair, resisting the urge to press his mouth against her throbbing flesh. Christophe Marchand was not a man who liked to be rushed.
He was a man who took his time. Who savored. In all things.
And she didn’t have to wait long. A moment later she felt the heat of his tongue flick against her clit. It was soft at first.
A touch. A tease.
Then he closed his mouth over it, lapping and licking, covering all of it with the heat of his tongue.
She moaned. “Oh, god… I can’t…"
He slid his fingers inside her, thrust them rhythmically in and out as he worked her clit with his mouth. She was moving against him again, her hips gyrating, the orgasm back and demanding to be given release.
He lifted his mouth from her clit, replaced it with the pad of his thumb. She trembled as he stroked the little seed, his fingers still moving inside her as he kissed her inner thigh.
“Are you ready to let me taste you, Charlotte?” he asked.
“Yes,” she gasped, moving against his hand.
“Look at me then.” She forced her eyes open, looked down at him between her legs, his fingers moving inside her, his eyes clouded with desire. “Come on my mouth, Charlotte.”
He lowered his lips to her again, closing them around her clit and sticking another finger inside her pussy, stroking and thrusting, the wet heat from his mouth enveloping her clit until she felt herself fall into the warmth, like tipping into a tropical lagoon, her whole body becoming liquid as it let go of its hold on time and space. A vicious shudder ripped through her, and then there was only white light behind her eyelids, the warmth of Christophe’s mouth on her like rays of the sun as she came and came, his mouth lapping up her juices like an animal desperate for water.
When the contractions subsided, she was almost embarrassed to find her fingers entwined in his hair.
Almost.
She’d been so lost to reality that she’d been pressing his face against her, using his mouth to reach her orgasm without inhibition.
But now she found that she didn’t care. Because she still wanted him.
She wanted him to fill her and fuck her. She wanted to see his naked body moving over hers, to look down and watch him move in and out of her.
She extended her hand to him. “Will you fuck me now?”
22
He rose to his feet, lowered his face to within an inch of hers. She thought he would kiss her again. Instead he spoke.
“Lay down, Charlotte.”
The words were short and simple. There was no menace in them. And yet she felt a thrill of fear move through her. Fear mingled with need and lust and something dangerously primitive.
Something hungry.
She lay back on the bed, watched as he reached for his belt. He undid it slowly, his eyes on her the whole time. He pulled it out of the belt loops, threw it on the floor, unzipped his pants. He slid them off his hips along with his underwear, and she nearly gasped as his cock sprang free.
It was glorious, long and wide and perfectly formed, as magnificent as any piece of art. She knew how it would feel sliding into her wetness, pushing through the swollen channel of her pussy, gliding out of her before driving in all over again.
He climbed onto the bed at her feet, moving between her parted legs like an animal going in for the kill. He took one of her ankles in his hand, stroked the skin of her arch before closing his eyes and touching his lips to it.
The kiss was reverent, and she again had the image of a man at worship.
He lifted her other leg from the bed, draped her ankle over his shoulder. Stroking her thigh with his hand, he turned his face toward her calf, kissed it tenderly before nipping at the skin with his teeth.
The sight of him kneeling between her legs was erotic. Her sex responded, the pulse of need for him beating like a drum that had been only temporarily silent. He put her foot back on the bed, pushed her knees apart. Then he was crawling up her body, rubbing his nose along her legs on the way to her stomach, dipping his tongue into the well of her navel.
His cock was thick and swollen. It brushed against her clit as he moved up her body, lowered his mouth to hers, captured her lips in a kiss so fierce it stole her breath. She opened to him, locking one leg around his hip as s
he tasted her sex on his tongue, pressing her wet fire against the hard rod of his cock.
He moved against her, his cock sliding in between the lips of her pussy, teasing her clit at the top of the motion. She stroked his back, her fingertips exploring the sculpted cord of muscle on their way to his hard ass. She lifted her leg higher on his hips, sinking into the motion of their movements, her need to feel him inside her growing more desperate with every passing second.
He rose onto his knees, poised between her legs like a god. Then he lifted her ankles to his shoulders and positioned the head of his cock at her entrance. She reached for his hips, wanting to push him inside her.
“No.” He collected her wrists in one hand, lifted her arms above her body. He was stretched over her now, his body hard and hot against hers.
He looked into her eyes, something uncertain passing across his features. For a moment, she had the sudden fear that he would leave. That he would change his mind. That he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen.
Then he thrust into her, burying himself deep inside her with a victorious groan. She cried out, and he dragged his cock slowly out of her, pausing when only the tip was left inside her before thrusting into her again.
He dropped his head to her breast, took the nipple in his mouth, sucked hard as he drove into her again. Then he was moving against her, tunneling a path through her, his cock getting bigger and harder, stretching her to the limit as he occupied every inch of her. He was so big it almost hurt. But pain wasn’t the right word for what she felt as he rocked against her, his thrusts coming faster and harder as they reached the edge of the precipice together.
She could see the blue lagoon again, the pool of water waiting to envelop her body when she jumped. But this time she was taking him with her, and she thrust against him, working her clit against his body as his cock invaded her again and again. She could see the concentration on his face, felt him withholding, restraining himself as she came closer to the edge.
It wasn’t what she wanted. They were going to jump together.
“Come with me,” she gasped. “I need you to come inside me.” He groaned as the words escaped her lips, a kind of guttural howl that seemed to unleash whatever had been holding him back.
Then they were leaping together, falling through the fragrant air, disappearing into the warm pool of their release. He shuddered against her, thrusting viciously as he emptied himself into her. She let herself go, coming apart against his body as he dissolved into hers until she didn’t know where he ended and she began.
23
Christophe looked out over the city as he sipped from the cup of steaming coffee. He liked the china at the Ritz. It was heavy and fine, as flawless as Charlotte’s skin. The thought of her sent a shock of lust roaring through his body. His cock was immediately hard, and he was graced with the image of her naked body as it had been the night before, soft and magnificent, spread out and open for him as he took possession of her.
No, not possession. That’s not what this was. Possession implied permanence, and as tempting as it was to own Charlotte Duval, body and soul, that was something he would never allow to happen. Women were weakness. He knew that firsthand. It was a weakness he would leave to his father. His place was to rebuild the Marchand legacy.
To put it back together.
A woman — and all the feelings she was destined to bring with her — would be a distraction. Especially this woman.
What had happened between them last night had been a different kind of distraction.
A temporary one.
Still, he allowed himself the luxury of replaying the feel of her body under his hand, the taste of her sex on his tongue, the tight, pliancy of her pussy when he drove into her. He wasn’t a small man, but she’d taken every inch of him. Had welcomed every inch of him with nothing but cries of pleasure.
Like she’d been made for him.
But she hadn’t been made for him. She’d been made for someone else. Someone who would appreciate her elegance and grace and could allow her into their heart. Someone who wouldn’t mind losing everything to her.
Because he had no doubt that any man who let down his guard with Charlotte Duval would swiftly find his heart in her gentle hands.
“Good morning.”
He turned to find her crossing the living room of the suite. Her dark hair was tousled around her lovely face, her eyes slightly smudged with mascara. One of the hotel bathrobes was loosely knotted at her waist, revealing a glimpse of cleavage, a sliver of her smooth stomach. She folded herself loosely into one of the chairs at the table in front of the window and helped herself to a strawberry brought up with breakfast from room service. Everything about her screamed sex, and it took all of his willpower not to go to her, untie the robe, lift her naked body into his arms until she wrapped her legs around his waist, sink into her welcoming warmth.
“Good morning,” he said.
She poured herself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep well?”
He nodded. “And you?”
“Like the dead.”
She surveyed him over the cup of her coffee, and he wondered if she would make an issue of their night together. If she would ask what it meant or comment in a way that would force him to clarify its meaning. It wasn’t something that would normally give him pause. Clarifying the meaning of a sexual encounter was easy when it meant nothing. So why did he feel hesitant at the thought of doing so now?
“Today we go to Baeder’s, yes?” she asked.
He sat across from her, looking at her more closely. “Yes.”
“Good.”
She took a bite of the strawberry, her lips lingering around the ripe fruit. She closed her eyes and emitted a little moan that sounded all too familiar after their night together. He swallowed hard and shifted in his seat.
When she opened her eyes she seemed surprised to find him staring at her. She passed him the bowl of strawberries.
“Would you like some?” she asked, her eyes wide and innocent.
He cleared his throat. “No, thank you.”
“Do you think it will be dangerous?” she asked suddenly.
“Do I think what will be dangerous?”
“Going to Baeder’s today,” she said. “Is it possible his murderer will be watching the house? Or that the police will wonder why we’re there?”
“Everything will be fine,” he said, anxious to turn his attention away from her effect on him. She was an enchantress. Completely without guile and yet with the power to render him speechless, helpless to do anything but want her. “I’ve called ahead. His butler is still at the house seeing to the dispersal of Baeder’s things. He’s agreed to see us.”
She nodded, clearly relieved. But as he watched her take another strawberry, lift it to her full lips, he couldn’t help thinking there were far more dangerous things in store for him.
And they all had to do with Charlotte Duval.
24
Julien was waiting for them in front of the hotel in a sleek, black Jag. Charlotte expected him to open the back door. Instead he handed the keys to Christophe.
“It’s all yours,” he said. “You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
Christophe shook his head. “It's not necessary. I’ll keep you posted.”
Julien seemed to hesitate, and for a split second, Charlotte had a glimpse of the friendship between the two men. Julien clearly didn’t want to leave Christophe unprotected. But Christophe was clearly the boss, which left the other man little choice but to follow orders. She was suddenly curious about the big man named Julien. What did he do when he wasn’t working for Christophe? He had traveled with them to Vienna, then disappeared. Was he staying at the same hotel? How did he know when Christophe required his services?
Julien nodded. “Left you a present in the glove box.”
Christophe nodded and opened the passenger door for Charlotte. She slid into the leather seat. He closed the door, and she watched as he bowed his head
toward Julien. They exchanged words she couldn’t hear from the muffled confines of the car, but a moment later, Christophe came around to the driver’s side.
He got into the car and reached for his seat belt. Then they were pulling out of the hotel, Christophe expertly navigating the morning traffic as they headed for Stefan Baeder’s home in the 4th District.
He manipulated the car as expertly as he’d manipulated her body the night before, and her gaze was riveted to his hands on the wheel. They were big hands, with long, elegant fingers. Fingers that had stroked her fevered skin until she’d been desperate to have him fill her. Hands that had moved against all the secret parts of her until she cried out against him again and again.
“Everything all right?”
She blinked to find him looking at her, and had to swallow against the need in her throat. She was grateful for her sunglasses. Grateful she could hide behind their dark lenses when all she wanted was to lean across the seat, slip her hand between his thighs, feel him grow hard against her palm.
“Of course,” she said.
He turned his eyes back to the road, and she looked out the window. She turned her thoughts to Stefan Baeder. That’s why she was here. Not to sleep with Christophe. And certainly not to develop feelings for him.
She had no expectations for the visit with Baeder's butler. The dark substance stuck in the ring wasn’t necessarily blood, and there was no guarantee he’d even known the ring was stuck in the drawer. It was much more possible that he’d placed it in the desk sometime since its purchase and forgotten it was there when it fell behind the drawer and got stuck.
But even as she thought it, she knew it was a long shot. A serious collector like Stefan Baeder didn’t misplace his treasures.
Covenant (Paris Mob Book 1) Page 9