His breath was hot on the sensitive skin between her legs, and she lay back and closed her eyes as he lowered his mouth to her. The flick of his tongue against her clit was a kind of torture that was only heightened when he slid two fingers inside her. She pushed down on them, moving her hips to match the rhythm of them fucking her, his mouth alternately covering her clit in fire, lapping at it, and sucking it into his mouth until the orgasm roared through her body like a backdraft. It took her by surprise, and she had no choice but to give herself over to it, to let go of her body and let it shudder against his mouth, lapping at her pussy as his fingers moved inside her.
When it was over, she reached for him, desperate to feel him inside her. He rose to his knees and flipped her onto her stomach, and she felt his hands running down her back, caressing the cheeks of her ass.
“I’m going to be so far inside you, Charlotte. You’re going to feel me everywhere.”
She lifted her hips off the bed in answer, and she felt the big head of his cock brush against her entrance. She wanted to push back on him. To feel him sink all the way into her. He rubbed his tip back and forth through her folds until he was slippery with her come.
“I wish you could see how beautiful you are right now,” he said, running a hand down her back.
Then he grabbed her hips and drove into her.
She cried out as he hit her cervix. He reached around, rubbing her clit with his thumb while he gave her time to stretch for him. It didn’t take long for her to start moving against him. Her body knew what it wanted.
It had known since the first moment she’d seen him.
He moved slowly inside her, taking his time as he sunk all the way in. Taking just as long to drag out of her, inch by inch, before thrusting slowly into her again. There was something tender about it, about the slow but forceful strokes, the way he held the back of her neck with one hand as he fucked her.
She pushed against him when he drove into her, moved with him when he pulled out, working his rhythm like they’d been made for each other.
Maybe they had.
He started moving faster, and she felt him swell inside her. Felt him grow harder as he approached release.
“Yes,” she said. “Come inside me, Christophe.”
He groaned, favoring her with a particularly ferocious thrust, then bent over her body to kiss her. She turned her head, meeting his lips, the feel of his tongue invading her mouth while his cock plundered the core of her body erotic enough to bring her orgasm to the forefront.
He was thrusting in and out of her pussy, kissing her with so much urgency she could hardly separate the occupation of her mouth from the occupation of her body. There was no separation of anything now.
His body was hers. And she belonged to him.
They were one.
Ducunt volentem fata.
The fates lead the willing.
The words drifted through her mind as he pushed into her with a guttural cry, pouring his come into her while her body clenched around him, still thrusting, taking possession of her mouth as he took possession of her body.
Then he was collapsing over her, leaving a trail of kisses on her back in the moment before he pulled out of her and tucked her into his side. He was still breathing hard when he kissed her lips, tenderly smoothed her hair.
She tried to ignore that it felt like goodbye.
47
It was dark when she woke up, the bed empty beside her. She glanced at the old bedside clock.
3:22 a.m.
She lay on her back, watching the curtains blowing in the breeze. She wanted to stop time. To stave off the moment when she would have to admit that he was gone.
When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she got up, grabbed the old silky robe off the back of the door and wrapped it around her naked body.
She made her way into the living room, dark except for the little bit of moonlight sneaking in through the balcony doors. She opened them and stepped outside, leaning against the railing.
She didn’t have to look to know there would be no note. Everything that needed to be said between them had been said. It had been said the first time he’d taken possession of her body in Vienna. During all their long conversations and lingering walks in Boston. It had been said when he'd stood in front of her at Randall Ayers’ house. When he’d protected her body with his own.
It had been said when he’d shot his brother to save her.
She'd known then that he would leave her. She'd seen it in his eyes. Not the horror that he’d hurt his brother, but the knowledge that Bruno had almost cost Charlotte her life. Christophe was a protector of beauty. He would never allow her to be hurt under his care.
She could call him. Try to change his mind. But it wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t an indecisive man. His decisions were based on reason, and that reason would not be tempered by something like affection.
Even the mystical kind of affection that had seemed to wind around them from that first moment in Paris.
She leaned over the railing, watching the moon cast a pillar of light onto the water. Her heart hurt, like an archaeologist had taken a pick to the center of her body, excavating everything until there was nothing but a shallow grave.
Maybe that was the price of beauty.
And maybe love, too.
She wanted to believe they would meet again. That he would think of her when he walked the streets of Paris, when he saw a Renoir or an Art Deco divan.
Had they been fated to be together? Or was this all destiny had in store for them?
Ducunt volentem fata.
The fates lead the willing.
Time would tell.
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Other books by Michelle St. James
Ruthless
Fearless
Lawless
The Muscle
Savage
Primal
Eternal
The Sentinel
Covenant (Paris Mob Book 1) Page 19