“You’re beautiful, Mila,” he said as he gathered her hair away from her face, his body’s heat a whisper against her back. He wasn’t pressing down on her yet, but his shadow was falling over her.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she sighed, suspended between the erotic laziness that had settled over her and the incongruous undercurrent of anticipation that undulated within her.
“Feel what you’ve been doing to me, ever since I saw you in my bed yesterday, waiting.” He whispered the words in her ear, his lips caressing her lobe, setting fireworks of goose bumps loose over her skin. He shifted then, and with his hand, ran his cock down the crack of her butt. The ripple of lust that ran through her at this touch was almost as intense as when he’d licked her clit. His cock was wet, warm, and rock hard. He pressed down, rolling his hips. Her body went with his, almost instinctively. “Do you have any idea how much I want to fuck you right now?”
She moaned, wanting him to do as he’d promised already.
“Tell me you want this; tell me you want me.” He kissed her back, sliding his lips in a soft line to her temple.
“Yes,” she whispered, knowing that he was asking her honest consent. There was no way she could turn back now. She didn’t want to turn back.
His weight lifted and he took the condom box that was still on his side of the bed. He busied himself opening the package, ripping the foil, whilst straddling her legs.
“Which fantasy of yours is this, Mila? Don’t tell me it is One-night-in-Paris.”
His frank question caught her off guard. He was so verbal, so open, so at ease, that deep down it made her afraid of failing him. Thinking about what she was about to do, she wanted to creep back under the covers, into the dark, where no one could see her sin. Her want. Her need. “Strangers in the night.”
She should have kept it at that. It was too late now. Hit and run was no longer an option.
“Strangers in the night,” he murmured. “Not after tonight, baby.”
It was true; he’d know more of her than anybody else. She was fruitlessly trying to hide behind a fantasy, because deep down she wanted to hide her lie to him, the one man that in a way had known her the longest. “What’s yours?” she asked, not wanting to think any further.
“Having the pastor’s virgin daughter.” He chuckled. “After a very long and boring sermon. During which I could think of nothing else but how I was going to fuck her sweet pussy until she came.”
At his words every muscle in her lower abdomen pulled tight, upping her desire. A cold sweat settled over her back, and his hands became islands of warmth on her skin.
He knows.
She wanted to laugh, wanted to cry. She defaulted, chuckling. “Do you want me to play the part?”
“Hell yeah, if you want to,” he said softly, his hands back on her butt, massaging her lower back. “Nothing like a bit of forbidden fruit.”
She could paint this picture; it could work for her. She could slip out of her own skin, and yet she could totally be herself. She shifted under him, and he dropped back down on her, his legs sprawling over hers. He trapped her between his arms and his abs flexed against her back. His hands were fisted right next to her face, and she leaned in to drop a kiss on his thumb, licking it. He reacted, lifting his thumb to her lips, and she drew it into her mouth, sucking it as deep as she could, then back. He inhaled sharply, and she did it again.
“Fuck, Mila.”
She arched up to meet his lips, but his cheek grazed against hers.
“Missionary or doggie, baby?” he whispered against her neck, whilst pressing sweet kisses along the ridge of her jaw, idling around her ear, sucking her lobe.
“Missionary,” she murmured, breathless, “it’s appropriate, don’t you think?” She hadn’t imagined losing her virginity any other way, to be honest. So traditional.
He didn’t answer but eased her around. When he met her gaze in the dark, his eyes glinting, there was something in them she couldn’t grasp. She reached for his face, stroking his cheeks, wanting to pull him closer for a kiss. But he cupped her chin in his hand, his thumb sweeping over her lips, dipping into her mouth. She licked and sucked him back, letting her movements echo his breaths that became more strained.
“I’ll fuck this mouth later if you’ll let me,” he said as he slipped his thumb from her lips, his hand following the column of her neck, applying gentle pressure, making her catch her breath.
“What if it’s too big?” she moaned, arching up to present her breasts to him, knowing he’d know she was talking about his cock.
“Sweet baby,” he breathed, “I’ll be gentle. Only the tip, until you can take more. I promise.”
“What if I’m too tight?” she asked, aching for him to touch her there, getting her head into this game they were playing. She reached for his cock, feeling it beyond the rubber of the condom that was straining over it. She ran her fingers down the thick length, knowing he would never fit inside her. It was mesmerizing, how it kept upright for so long. He sighed deeply, letting her toy with him, exploring, clasping his balls in her palm. Her fingers were dumb, fumbling, not hiding the fact that she had no clue what she was doing, but his breathing became heavier, slower and he groaned his pleasure.
“I can’t get any harder than this, Mila,” he said after some time, catching her hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss her palm. “At least not without coming.”
He dropped down, kneeing her legs wider. She was so drugged with desire she could do nothing but open to him. “Just the tip, I promise, slowly taking more, stretching you bit by bit.”
“What if it hurts?” she asked, not funning anymore.
His hand was reaching between her thighs, to her clit, which was begging for a release of the ache that throbbed inside and around it. He slipped a finger inside her, softly, gently. “Does this hurt?” he whispered.
“No—” Her answer caught as he pulled out, ran a featherlike circle with the tip of his finger around the entrance, and slipped inside her again, going a bit deeper. God help her, but she wanted him so deep.
“More... please.”
“Asking so prettily. Every part of you is begging for it, isn’t it?” He pushed two fingers deeper and she bucked into his hand. “You’re so wet,” he groaned as he pressed down with his palm, letting his fingers ride in and out, sliding over her clit, into her entrance. “So ready...”
He shifted, his cock in hand, pressing the wide tip to her entrance, hovering, letting her feel him. He trapped her between the pillars of his arms and looked into her eyes. She gripped his wrists with her hands and bit her lip as she hooked her legs around his hips, lifting herself against his rigid cock. He kept still, looking at her with wonder. “Take it slowly, baby. Take it all.”
He pressed down, holding still as she rode him, taking him slowly deeper, until he closed his eyes, his hips starting to roll with a low murmured fuuuuck.
She bit harder on her bottom lip, suppressing the gasp when he hit her tight barrier, but all resistance gave way to the thrusting of his hips, which were now working with her in a decisive rhythm. The moment of discomfort was gone, and having him inside her was weird, intrusive… and delicious. She fought the incongruous sensations, forcing herself to relax her legs and the clasp around his hips.
James seemed oblivious that she’d just been penetrated for the first time, and in her everything slipped, fell towards some abyss she didn’t expect. He was fucking the pastor’s virgin daughter, and she was letting it happen, a sweet revenge fuck, for wouldn’t her mother and father just loathe learning that James Sinclair was her first?
It wasn’t the heavy rising throb of an orgasm that built up to release, but the slow, dark suffocation of every physical sensation as her mind took over.
She blinked. She was not going to freaking cry.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he mur
mured then, their bodies mingling sweat. He gripped her head with his hands, kissing her neck, her closed eyes. “Don’t hold back, baby, come with me,” he murmured, a tortured moan slipping from him as she grabbed his ass, drawing him to her, making him dig deeper, deeper into her shame in an attempt to chase that nagging little voice that had surfaced away.
This was something one did in love. Her mother’s words swamped her thoughts. After marriage. Anything else was pure, unforgivable sin. Regret washed through her as he ground into her, a tight gasp breaking free from his chest as he let go of her, thrusting with the force of every muscle in his legs and glutes, so deep it hurt.
“Fuck, James,” she whimpered, almost pleaded, her pelvis clashing against his, her fingers digging into his butt as he spurted his seed. He held his position for a long minute, pulsing into her. When he leaned down, he took in her face, traced his nose along hers in such a gentle gesture that her heart slowed down. When he kissed her tenderly on the forehead she breathed tightly, trying to contain the emotions that swarmed her mind and heart.
“You came?” he asked softly, searching her eyes.
Thank God it was dark. “Yes,” she lied. She’d never been so close. Had never lost it so quickly.
He pulled out of her, busying himself with the condom, which he knotted, wrapped in a tissue and placed on the bedside table.
He sagged back onto the bed, pulling her into his arms. He held her for a long time, tracing lazy lines down her arm, pressing his lips against her temple. She breathed easier but was all clogged up.
“You like sleeping like this or must I leave you alone, my little stranger?”
Always so freaking considerate. She had no clue. “I sleep on my side.”
“Then tuck in.” He shifted his arms, allowing her to turn obediently on her side so that he could spoon her. He cuddled her close, the warmth of his skin against hers soothing, even if it was only on the surface.
He hadn’t kissed her once.
She stared at the thin beam of light from the window as his breathing steadied. He fell asleep quickly, and only then did she let the tears slide down her cheeks.
Peace was elusive, and the idea of finding it in prayer seemed foreign.
There was no reversing the clock. She’d never be the same again and she couldn’t share what had happened with Stacey, or with anybody for that matter.
That pesky little voice in her head whispered that revenge was never sweet, and doing wrong things for any reason never paid.
Bad, bad girl.
chapter 10
James drew his arm from underneath Mila’s neck and paused as she stirred. He gathered the long strands of her dark hair away from her back, extracting himself completely. She rolled on her stomach and resumed the even rhythm of her breathing, her face turned away from him and the pink light of dawn falling on her naked back.
He scrubbed his face and stared at his least-favorite mistake. A mistake he hadn’t made in a good six years. The last time he’d had a one-night stand was pre-Marlène, and back then, he’d always connived to leave in the dead of night, making sure he didn’t wake up beside a stranger in the morning.
This one took the bloody cherry. Sweet Mila Johnson was in his bed and he was going to regret it.
There was no such thing as a perfect one-night stand. It was always laced with a bit of desperation, a bit of folly, sometimes a bit too much liquor on one party’s part, if not both. But this was the first case of pure soul-driven lust that got him into this situation.
A slow breath reverberated out of his chest. If a one-night stand wasn’t well managed, it came with a good dollop of regret, regret he avoided by not taking the risk of waking up next to the lady or ladies in question.
Mila wasn’t one-night stand material. He’d known this from the start, irrespective of the evidence to the contrary that littered the apartment.
Something was off and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Bottom line: Mila wasn’t going anywhere soon. She was here to stay for the entire time he would be in Paris—and she was a complication he didn’t need. Even if his cock was ready to take on complications.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen asleep so easily. And he hadn’t slept so well in years. He took in the smooth slope of her back and the dimples above her butt, barely visible before the rest of her disappeared under the covers. He reached for the air conditioner’s remote and beeped the temperature as low as it would go, kicking the covers off his legs.
If he hadn’t been so horny, or so desperate, or such a bloody idiot, he would’ve gone somewhere else to sleep. But the temptation of her had been too big. He was risk-averse when it came to leading women on. He never spent a night with someone without ensuring all lines were deep grooves in the sand.
But here he was with Mila. She had been a rather playful lay, but that was probably not to be repeated if he was to keep all emotions out of the equation. Why hadn’t he thought it all through the night before? Stopped himself? She was Stacey’s best friend—his sister would not only jam her knee into his balls for sleeping with Mila in the first place, but she’d be pissed to the eyeballs if he messed with Mila’s feelings, or worse.
He ran the events of the previous evening through his mind’s eye. Mila had been keen, oscillating between playing the shy nymph and urging him on. Something towards the end of their little game had made him pause, but at that point, there had been no holding back. Had she even come? She’d been on the brink so many times. He chuckled as he got out of bed to use the bathroom. She must have, surely, given the way her pussy had been clutching his cock.
Mila had been fun, fooling around with him, as much as he had fooled around with her. She’d suggested fooling around in the first place. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease some of the tension. Fooling around had come a long way since he last checked.
Deep inside he sensed they weren’t done with each other yet. Maybe they could strike up some deal. A no-strings-attached sex fest while she was in Paris, and he’d get to satisfy the boner he’d be sporting for the time she was invading his apartment.
For an invasion it was. The scent of sex and lavender clung to his body where he’d rubbed over her oiled-up skin, and her few toiletries were scattered over the commode. Her clothes were draped over the edge of the bath, a confused pile of mismatched flowery fabric and sandals. He was no longer in the habit of having someone in his space. Lately, he’d spent most of his time alone in characterless hotel rooms, and Marlène had never shared his bathroom. She had too much stuff—samples, make-up and promotional beauty products of every kind used to clutter up her bathroom in the second bedroom.
He finished brushing his teeth when a rattling noise made him pause. He turned toward the bathroom door that hadn’t closed properly to listen. The shutters were rolling up in the bedroom.
He opened the bathroom door to find Mila sitting with her back to him, her hair cascading down her back, almost to her waist. She was wearing those seductive white panties she’d worn the night before. She turned to glance at him, fumbling with the tank top she still held in her hands.
“Hi.” He needed to break the ice and cursed at being so out of practice.
“Hi.” She turned away to the window, to the view of the Tuileries and the line of trees bordering the street.
Why hadn’t he gotten up earlier? He could have gotten over this moment by plying her with a buttery croissant and coffee, then sending her on her way with a loving pat on her sweet ass.
Fuck it. She wasn’t going anywhere.
He strode towards her, his dick, as always, two steps ahead. “Slept well?”
Her hair covered her breasts, her feet and knees pressed together. She didn’t look at him, her eyes averted behind her glasses, as she busied herself turning the tank top right side out. Her lips were moist but she ran her tongue over them ag
ain, and his cock saluted the gesture, doing a little push-up. He’d forgotten how, with her sitting on the bed, his cock could be a bit in the face, never mind that he’d told her he’d fuck her mouth if she’d let him.
Another reason why morning-afters were never good. He could keep going all day long, whereas women always seemed to be fucked tired and sore after round one.
He sat down next to her, gathering her hair away from her chest, opening her body to him. He had to see her beautiful breasts again before she put on her top. “Did you enjoy yourself last night? I know I did.”
“Yes,” she spurted out, her fingers trembling, her shoulders hunching to hide her breasts.
“Mila…” His gaze wandered down the curves she was trying to hide, to her nipples that were hardening silently, voicing how she felt when he looked at her. His gaze dropped lower, to the apex of her thighs.
He did a double take. “Your period?”
On her creamy upper thigh, a faint red smudge disappeared under her panties.
She didn’t answer, a deep blush settling over her cheeks.
“Don’t be shy, baby,” he murmured. “If you don’t have tampons with you, there’s a shop—”
She stiffened, her breasts lifting in a tantalizing tilt as she raised her arms to pull on the top. “I’ve come prepared for that eventuality, thank you.”
He turned away, looking at the debris that was Madame Leborgne’s perfectly made bed. “You don’t need to hide anything so natural from me. You know that?”
The faint sweep of blood that stained the white linen wasn’t contained to where she’d been lying. He narrowed his gaze to where he’d probably pulled the condom off, and to the condom that lay discarded on the bedside table, a tinge of red crusted on the tissue. His pulse heaved and his head spun a turn as he looked back at her. She didn’t need to hide anything from him… she couldn’t hide anything from him.
The Paris Apartment (Love Nests Book 1) Page 5