by Selena Kitt
* * * *
We fucked our brains out again in the shower and then we hopped into his bed, minty clean, naked, and wasted. He spooned me into his body, wrapping one sculpted arm around my chest. The deft fingers of his other hand glided along my folds.
“You’re always wet for me, Gloria.”
“You’re not going to fuck me again?” I asked, trying to imagine what it would feel like in this cuddly position. It felt delicious to be blanketed by his warm body, and I was quite frankly unsure if could handle another mind-blowing assault.
He nuzzled the nape of my neck. “No, angel, not even if you begged for it. We need to rest up for dinner and the surprise I have in store.”
“What kind of surprise?” The word made me buzz with lust and curiosity.
“Come on, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you. Now, close your eyes.”
Obeying him, I was shrouded in his scent, his breath, his touch. I reflected on this shift in power. Being dominated by a man was something new for me—uncharted territory. As I drifted off, I had to admit I was more than enjoying it. I loved it. And I loved him. Only one question weighed on my heart: Did he love me?
* * * *
The restaurant Jaime took me to was an intimate neighborhood bistro, walking distance from the hotel. With its candlelit, red-checkered tablecloth tables and funky outsider art on the walls, it was definitely not the kind of restaurant where you’d find Victor Holden. Chances were he was holding court with his business associate and some hired high-priced female escorts at some posh club on the Right Bank.
We sat side by side like true Parisians along a red leather banquet. His thigh brushed against mine and our shoulders touched. When he turned to speak or look at me, his warmth breath grazed my flesh. He smelled delicious and looked as sexy as sin. He was clad in all black—elegantly tailored, belted wool slacks and a form-fitting cashmere sweater that clung to his prominent biceps and showed off broad, chiseled chest. Mr. Fucking Continental! I was wearing my blue chiffon dress, the one I’d worn when we went to dinner in New York with matching blue lace lingerie. Jaime had insisted I wear it along with my hair down; the least I could do was oblige. It was a small concession but nonetheless piqued my curiosity.
“Why this outfit?” I asked after a sip of the expensive Côtes du Rhône white wine he’d ordered.
“Because, Ms. Long, it makes you very surprise-worthy.”
A shiver zigzagged down my spine. He still hadn’t given me a clue into the surprise he had planned. Though I was sure it had to with lifting up the skirt of my dress and doing some very naughty things. My core tingled at the thought of the possibilities.
While the meal in front of me, a delicate poisson au beurre, looked delectable, I had a hard time eating it when I knew this gorgeous man was totally eye-fucking me. His denim blue eyes burnt into mine. Wetness rushed to my core, and my cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
He smirked at me, knowing damn well he was affecting me. I kept waiting for him to make a move. The surprise. My gaze drank in his searing eyes and that sexy, slightly parted mouth that was longing for a taste of me. My body was crackling all over with anticipation. Seated so intimately close to each other, a kiss was just inches away. And that was just for starters.
I finally managed a bite of my fish. It was delicious. Jaime watched as I savored the flavorful, buttery fillet.
“So how did you learn to fuck, Gloria?” he asked before I could swallow.
I almost gagged. I was certainly not prepared for that conversation game changer.
Genetics. My mother was a crack whore.
“I’ve been around,” I managed after regaining my composure and feeling assured I wouldn’t regurgitate my food. We turned at once to face each other.
He cocked a brow. “What does that mean?”
“I fucked a lot of guys when I moved to LA.”
“Anyone serious?”
“No just a bunch of fucks.” Heartless fucks—none of which had ever given me an orgasm. Even a mild one. It was a just stupid phase I went through to keep my mind off the heinous crime I’d committed back East. My secret. Once Gloria’s Secret took off, I had little time or interest in any kind of sexual relationship.
“What about that PR guy of yours?”
“You mean, Kevin?”
“Yeah. He’s very good-looking, and seems like he’s really into you.”
“He happens to be my best friend. He also happens to be gay.” And he’s fucking your assistant Ray.
A wry smile flickered on his face. “Good. That’s what I thought. I don’t want to share you with anyone.” He sipped his wine. “And what about that boyfriend you were visiting in New York?”
My eyes widened. I thought he’d seen right through my pathetic white lie, but maybe he’d given it second thought. Score one for me.
I took a long slug of wine to keep him in suspense.
He tugged at my hair. His face tensed. “Well…”
Okay, enough torture. “You don’t have to worry about him.”
“Good. You know, I’m very possessive. I’ll knock his teeth out and make it so he’ll never be able to put his mouth to yours ever.”
“You won’t have to,” I reassured him, both intimidated and turned on by his violent, jealous streak. After another morsel of fish, I asked, “And what about you, Mr. Zander? It’s only fair that I get some more insight into your social life.”
He grinned. “You mean, sex life.” A statement, not a question.
“Semantics.” I wrinkled my nose at him, knowing that turned him on.
“Let’s put it this way. I’ve probably fucked every model in your Gloria’s Secret catalogue.”
I almost choked again. Why should I be surprised?
“But just like you, they were only mindless fucks.”
That wasn’t good enough. “That could pose another major conflict of interest.” Jealousy scorched through me, thinking that whoever we cast in the new advertising campaign might be someone he’d fucked. Or wanted to fuck. I shuddered at the thought of being just another conquest…the newest member on his find-feel-fuck-and-forget list.
With a roguish glint in his eyes, Mr. God’s Gift to Models twisted a lock of my loose hair around his index finger. “Don’t worry, Gloria. I plan to use fresh talent. In fact, I’m still convinced that you should be the star.”
What?
His eyes traveled from my face to my cleavage and stayed there. “My creative instincts tell me it just feels right.”
I raised my brows. “I don’t get it.”
“Think about it, angel. A beautiful, sexy CEO selling what she believes in. It would be breakthrough. And trust me, a camera couldn’t take a bad shot of you. We’ll just have to airbrush that scar of yours that you won’t tell me about.”
That did it. Before I could ingest another bite of the fish, I choked. Turning red, I immediately reached for my sparkling water and gulped it down.
“Are you okay?” asked a concerned Jaime.
“I don’t think so,” I finally managed, trying to wash down the painful memory.
“Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?”
“No. I’m fine. I meant about me modeling for the ad campaign.”
Jaime looked relieved. “Trust me, you’ll change your mind.” He leaned into me and planted a chaste kiss on my forehead, his first physical advance thus far. I inwardly trembled, still reeling from his obsession with my scar and his sexploits. I also wondered if this kiss would lead to my surprise. Any form of sex in this small intimate restaurant made my nerves sizzle.
To my relief, his advances stopped with the kiss. He continued to talk business, focusing on the timeline and logistics of the shoot. I half-listened, too wrapped up with my newfound insecurities. Feelings never entered the conversation. I was glad when the check came and reached for it.
“Remember, I still owe you a dinner.”
He grabbed the check out of my hand. “No, Gloria. Let me pay. I
’ll charge it back to your account as I would call this strictly a business dinner.”
“Fine.” I flung the word at him as he dug into a pocket for his credit card and slapped it onto the table.
Our waiter returned with the paid bill. Jaime had obviously tipped him well because he had brought us our outerwear that we’d left with the coat-check. Rising, Jaime shrugged on his leather bomber jacket; it was one he wore when I first met him. One look at him in it made him once again totally irresistible. He adjusted my shawl over my shoulders, reverently lifting up my blanket of hair as he did. I put my doubts aside. By his actions—oh, those roses!—and the amount of time he spent with me, I had to be believe I was different from the others. He even said I was.
He kissed a sensitive spot on the side of my neck, bringing me into the moment. “So, Ms. Long, are you ready for your surprise?”
Ten minutes later, I was huddled next to him in his limo, blindfolded with a dense piece of black lace, heading to an unknown destination.
“Where are we going?” I asked nervously, brushing against his soft leather jacket as the limo made a sharp turn.
“That, my angel, is the surprise.”
Chapter 14
A short fifteen minutes later, I found myself traipsing across what my other senses told me was a pebbly path in my six-inch stilettos. Except for the crunching sounds of our footsteps and sirens in the distance, the balmy Paris air was silent. Damn it! I wished I could see where he was taking me.
“Why did you have to blindfold me?” I asked, clutching his arm for balance.
“Gloria, shame on you. You should know the answer to that already. To learn to trust me.”
My eyes rolled under the blindfold. Distracted, one of my sharp heels caught in the gravel. I stumbled but he caught me. “Are you taking me to some private underground sex club?” I asked nervously.
He laughed heartily. “Close but no cigar. It’s definitely private, but underground is the last word I’d use to describe it.”
What the fuck? Beneath my lace blindfold, my nose scrunched. “Are we there yet?” I asked, silently berating myself for sounding like a whiny six-year-old on a road trip.
“Patience has its virtues, Ms. Long,” he replied, picking up our pace to my chagrin.
Several steps later, I could hear music. A familiar song, one of Madame Paulette’s favorites. “Toi et Moi” sung by Charles Aznavour.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Zander. I have been looking forward to seeing you again.”
A Frenchman’s deep, jovial voice sounded in my ears. We must be at our destination, I thought.
“Bonsoir, Claude. Are we set to go?”
“Oui, monsieur. Up, up, and away. You and zee beautiful mademoiselle can board tout de suite.”
My stomach bunched up with nerves. Was he taking me on a private plane? Or on a helicopter? Or a hot air balloon? Flying in an airplane was bad enough, but a chopper? That flimsy whirling flying machine? Even worse…a hot air balloon that could hit a power line and explode in mid air. I bit down on my lip. Oh, God. Is that what he had in store?
“I’m afraid of flying!” I gasped. My hand grew cold and clammy in his.
Jaime yanked me unceremoniously away, I assumed, in the direction of the aircraft; I resisted, clumsily tripping a couple of times in my heels along the way.
“Relax, Gloria. You’re going to be flying all right but not the kind you have in mind.” He led the way. “Watch your head and your step.”
Too late. Instead of ducking, I banged my head hard as I climbed over some mysterious threshold. I let out a loud “OW.”
“Are you okay?” asked Jaime. There was humor in his voice, like he was holding back laughter. Insensitive jerk!
“Yes,” I grumbled, rubbing the already forming bump with my free hand. I hesitantly took a few more steps.
“Sit,” he commanded, pressing down on my shoulders.
I slowly lowered my butt to a hard, lightly cushioned surface and then explored my surroundings with both hands like a blind person, tapping, touching, and absorbing everything around me. I was sitting on some kind of bench, surrounded by glass. Was I in some kind of elevator? Enough with the blindfold! But when I raised my hands to my head, Jaime grasped them midway and stopped me. He was definitely sitting across from me.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he chided playfully. “Don’t make me tie you up. I’ve got another lace binding right here in my pocket. It’ll only take me seconds to wrap it around those lovely hands of yours.”
“Sorry,” I said meekly. Asshole!
“Promise you won’t undo the blindfold?” He squeezed my hands so tight I yelped.
“Promise.” Why did I continue to submit to his little sadistic power games? Damn it. Why? The answer was simple: I was still crazy in love with him.
“Enjoy your ride,” said Claude.
I heard two gliding doors slide closed. Clink!
“Where are we going?” I asked anxiously.
“You’ll see soon enough.” Despite being blindfolded, I could see the smirk on his smug face.
Suddenly, we jerked. I jolted. And then swoop! My stomach fluttered. We were going up! Up and around! Holy fuck! The butterflies inside me multiplied as we rose higher and higher. The spinning sensation was familiar. I had an idea of where I was. My heart began to race, and sweat seeped out of my pours. I was having a panic attack.
Sixty long seconds later, the spinning came to a halt. Jaime yanked off my blindfold.
“Open your eyes, Gloria,” he commanded, his voice deep and sultry.
I flicked my eyes open and gasped. I was suspended high in the air, seated opposite a very smug Jaime Zander. My heart pitter-pattered. Oh my God! I was trapped in a cabin with this gorgeous god on Paris’s famed Ferris wheel, the Grande Roue. At a standstill at the very apex—as high as the wheel could go.
I was at a loss for words. A combination of terror, outrage, and pure awe consumed me. Surrounded by glass on all sides, I took in the twinkling lights of Paris—The City of Light—below. The view took my breath away.
I finally found my voice. “How did you manage this?”
Jaime’s lush mouth curled into a proud, cocky smile. “My client. She’s the head of the French Tourism Bureau. The advertising campaign I created for her last year resulted in a fifty percent spike in tourism. She was beholden to me and told me she owed me. Anything I wanted… and voilà, Mademoiselle Long, here we are.”
The cabin suddenly rocked. I let out a frightened gasp. Jaime clasped my hands in his. “Relax, Gloria. This is going to be fun. The thrill ride of your life.”
“I don’t do well with Ferris wheels,” I gulped. Like airplanes and high-speed elevators, they were one of those things that made me feel out of control. When I was a teenager living close to Brooklyn’s Coney Island, I had once ridden the amusement park’s famed Ferris wheel, and it had gotten stuck, leaving me helplessly trapped in the swinging open-air carriage on the top. The memory of that dreadful experience made me tremble.
Jaime squeezed my hands. “Take a deep breath, angel. You’re going to do just fine with me. What do you think of the view?”
Inhaling, I pressed my face against a glass pane. It’s spectacular,” I managed, my eyes lingering on the lit up Eiffel Tower.
“No, Gloria. I meant this view.”
My gaze jumped back to his beautiful face and followed his eyes as they led me to his crotch.
Holy fuck! Another tower of steel sprung into view. Jaime’s monumental cock!
“Well…?”
“It’s spectacular!” I repeated as tingles shot down to my flooding core. My inner muscles began to clench. Holy, holy fuck!
“Good. I want you to enjoy it.” A broad, saucy grin spread across his face. He gestured with his long forefinger. “Get over here, you.”
My legs jelly, I hesitantly stood up and staggered over to him, bending so as not to bang my head again. Thank goodness, the cabin had stopped rocking.
My heartbeat
quickened. I knew what was next. “Do you want me to suck you?”
Sure of his response, I lowered myself to my knees. But before they could hit the floor, he yanked me upright by my hair.
“Not this time, angel.”
I stared at him blankly.
“Sit on me!” A command.
In a breath, he lifted up my sheer dress and—Slash!—tore off my lacy blue bikinis. All that remained was the matching lace garter and attached sheer silk stockings. I was very exposed. A finger slid across my wet folds, sending sparks of pleasure to my core. He sucked on it and then ran it across the wide rim of his erection.
“Perfect!” Planting his manly hands firmly on my waist, he positioned me exactly where he wanted me to be, straddling his rock-hard thighs and…
Impaled on his giant cock! I moaned as his hot girth, that magnificent tower, speared into me, filling me to the hilt. Oh. My. God.
His denim blue eyes, now fiery and fierce, bore into mine. His hot breath heated my already flaming face.
“Aren’t you going to tie me up?” I immediately regretted my words. I wasn’t thinking straight.
“Hey, angel, no need; there’s no place to go…except down on me.” He lifted me up a few inches by my hips and dragged this hard throbbing shaft down my wet tunnel. His cock immediately bucked back up me, so deep I yelped.
“And besides, you’ll need your hands. Hold on to my shoulders.”
I slapped my palms onto them, curling my fingers around the bone-hard edges. A gasp escaped my throat as he lifted me again.
“Now, ride me, angel! Hard!”
I crashed down on his slick thickness, then immediately lifted my hips and descended hard on him again. We instantly got into a rhythm. Up and down. Up and down. I loved every thrust. Now, this was a thrill ride! I kept pace with him as he bucked harder and faster. My breasts brushed up and down his leather jacket, the friction sending heat waves to my core. Beneath the delicate lace of my bra, I could feel my nipples swelling and hardening. His eyes grew hooded, his breathing ragged. I was riding him to heaven. I chewed my lip to hold back whimpers.
He bit my upper lip, and my mouth parted from the delicious pain.