The Paris Apartment (Love Nests Book 1)

by Sophia Karlson

  Images of the night before ran through his mind. He would have done so many things differently. She’d been quite bold, taking his every initiative in her stride, walking into his fantasy as if she owned it. It would be a lucky man who’d get to make Mila his in every sense of the word. Someone worthy of her. Someone who wanted to explore being in love together and wanting to please each other for that reason. Someone younger, less experienced and willing to take a risk with his heart.

  His cynical heart had never been at stake, even with Marlène. He’d made sure of that.

  If nothing else, he should respect her beliefs and stick to his promise of just once. Beyond now, there wouldn’t—couldn’t—be any more. Mila might be in Paris, rebelling against her religious background and upbringing, but she’d never be able to swallow the idea of having multiple sexual partners, of opening the door to an intimate sexual relationship to strangers. Already he’d sensed that, for her, this sexual encounter had meant more than a satisfying lay. He’d been her first. He swallowed as her hands spread over his stomach, reached up to his chest, feeling for his heart, which was beating too fast.

  “You’ve made the bed,” she whispered into his back, where her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

  He hadn’t needed any physical reminder of last night’s fiasco. He grunted. “Try not to think, Mila, only feel. Can you do that?”

  She didn’t answer and for a second he thought he should blindfold her so that her senses could take over her mind. But it would be too much for her. She craved a deeper connection with him, and the least he could do was give her something to remember. Wasn’t the plan to make up for his previous fuck-up?

  He turned around and cupped her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs as he gazed into her eyes. “Repeat after me. No thinking, just feeling.”

  She nodded. “No thinking. Just feeling.” Her voice was soft, pleasing him.

  And so obedient.

  She was driving him fucking wild.

  “Come,” he said, guiding her onto the bed where he made her kneel.

  Her hair hung in thick damp strands around her face, some water still finding its way down and gathering on the tips, hovering before dropping to her breasts where it lay like raindrops on the deeper rose of her nipples. He knelt on the side of the bed and rested his hands on her hips. He licked the drops, one by one, catching them with slow, warm brushes of his tongue as they eased downwards, from the underside of her breast to the tip.

  When he caught her nipple in his mouth and sucked it gently, she gasped and dug her fingers into his hair. “James.”

  He let go to look at her, wondering if she felt that sweet feeling when a simple kiss blazed its way down to her clit. “Feel that?”

  “Yes.”

  “More?” She was so sensitive, upping his need to satisfy her.

  “Yes… please.”

  He suppressed a grin and paid the same attention to her other breast; her reaction was more intense this time, her legs slowly lowering as her chest heaved, her knees edging sideways just as he’d wanted her to open for him.

  He cupped her pussy, slipping a finger into the slit, finding her clit that was hard and swollen, her lips moist with her arousal and begging for his penetration. She moaned as he circled her entrance and dipped a finger into her, all the time teasing her nipple with his tongue. She clenched at the movement and he exhaled, her reaction to him more passionate than he’d expected.

  As he retracted his hand, she pushed her pelvis forward, trying to keep the contact with his hand. “James,” she murmured, almost helplessly.

  He gave her two fingers this time, going deeper and letting his thumb slide off the ridge of her clit.

  “Ride my hand, Mila,” he murmured. He looked up, and she opened her dazed eyes, her bottom lip glistening and slipping from between her teeth. She breathed and for a moment he thought he’d lost her. “Hold on to me,” he said, and with a nod, she slipped her hands from his hair to his shoulders.

  He steadied her with a hand on her hip, his other entering and exiting in a leisurely rhythm, his thumb teasing her clit with each penetration. With a surrendering moan, her hips pressed harder and he let her set the pace, for he had her at a point where her body and mind were in sync.

  He sucked her nipple again, feeling her contract each time he laved her nipple. She’d started to gasp, her breaths more labored with each penetration, which he pushed deeper and deeper, catching her g-spot with the tips of his fingers on each thrust.

  For a moment he gazed at her, giving her breasts a moment of reprieve. Her face wasn’t schooled, she wasn’t trying to hide what she was feeling as he touched her harder, his thrusts making up for the absence of his lips on her skin. As he studied the rapture on her face, a part of his past split off and disintegrated. Here there was no need for a barrier of other people between him and her. There was no one else in the room but him and her and her sexual experience, which he felt as profoundly as she did. It was a deep arousal, not sitting on the surface for all to see.

  When he latched onto her breast again her inner walls pressed closer, contracting around his fingers. “Come,” he whispered on her skin, scraping his teeth over her nipple as he held his fingers deep and still. At his soft instruction, the wave of her orgasm crashed over her body and she gripped his shoulders tight, her hips pushing against him, as she tried to take him as deep as she could.

  “James…” she moaned, her nails digging into his skin.

  Still, she came and he slowly drove his fingers in and out of her pussy, extending her pleasure as long as possible. Her hands lifted and she wrapped them around his head, pulling him to her chest where the fast beats of her heart whispered to him. Her hair curtained around them as he looked up into her eyes, which were shining, her lips so temptingly split in a Mona Lisa smile. He wanted to kiss her so badly, it dried his throat and tongue.

  Be stronger. They were okay. She didn’t want more than this. She wouldn’t want more… she wouldn’t want him if she knew about his lifestyle. Her innocence should be protected. His chest tightened and his breathing stalled. He’d do anything to shield her from his real world, where swapping and swinging was the only way he could cope with any type of intimate relationship because it made him feel in control and… safe.

  The first step was to not let her any closer.

  He swallowed and tried to be as resolved as he knew he should be. He reached for the nape of her neck, stroking her lovingly. “Feeling better?”

  She smothered a chuckle, and when she dropped her head back with a heavy sigh her cheeks shone red with her release. He slipped his fingers from her, wet and shining with her spent arousal.

  “Taste,” he murmured, offering his fingers to her.

  For a split second, she hesitated, then closed her lips over the tip of his finger and swirled her tongue around it, sucking off the taste of her own juices, pulling him deeper into her mouth before letting go with an appreciative moan. Inside him, desire pooled, and his erect cock stiffened even more.

  “Your hands are very precious… and very handy,” she murmured, echoing his earlier words.

  “Touché, baby,” he said with a grin, and got up, allowing her to see the full effect she had on him.

  She shifted from her knees and sat down, straightened her legs, and leaned back on her arms. She eyed him at leisure. “Does that thing come in any other setting?” she asked, then bit her lip as she peeked up at him.

  “Nope, this seems to be the standard setting around you.” He grinned as he took his cock in hand, slowly stroking it for her viewing. “And you may refer to it as my cock, Miss Sassy.”

  Would it be rude to ask her to suck him off? Those sweet lips were pleading to be stretched around his cock, to tighten and pull in a slow mimic of what he was doing with his hand.

  “You enjoyed that?” he asked, wan
ting to be sure they were on the same page. She’d mellowed with the heat of her release, her body no longer rigid and shy like she’d been in the shower.

  “More than I should have,” she whispered, her gaze still glued to his hand and its ministrations. She was avoiding his gaze. He knew in her head things were spinning in a direction they shouldn’t be going.

  “Look at me, Mila,” he said, letting go of his cock as he knelt on the bed, straddling her, stroking her legs up to her thighs.

  Her eyes, wide and bright, gazed up at him.

  “We’re not done.”

  “No?” she breathed, almost inaudibly.

  “No.” He leaned closer as he brushed a kiss on her temple, his lips against her ear. “No thinking, just feeling.”

  She nodded, locking gazes with him as he stared back into her eyes.

  If he weren’t mistaken she wouldn’t mind spending the whole day right where they were. If only he could keep her there, but it was against his better judgment. Mila wouldn’t allow it, and her conscience was going to be his saving grace. Just Once didn’t morph into Just One Day like that. Not with Mila. He was already pushing his luck by telling her they weren’t done.

  With a grunt, he dropped to her belly, licking and kissing the little mole, dipping his tongue into her belly button and then tracing a line to her hipbone. She stirred under his lips and arched her back as he softened his kisses to the dip between her thigh and pubic bone, her hands messing with his hair, guiding his head lower. He shifted so he could lift her leg, splaying it to the side.

  Reading his intention, she opened up for him.

  Learning too fast.

  He wanted to slow down. He wanted to slow her down. Instead of heading where he intended, he softly brushed her inner thigh with his chin, retracing his kisses back to her belly.

  He could almost feel her deflation as she relaxed her hips, stilling. He’d given her a taste of his tongue on her clit last night; it would serve her right to keep her wondering what he could do with it when he got serious about oral sex.

  Hell knows… He wanted to spend the whole week with her, exploring every inch of her skin, to see how many ways he could take her. This was not helping his already flailing resolve.

  But if there was to be only one last time, he needed her to feel every inch of him. He wanted to bury into her and get lost. He gazed up from her hip to find her eyes fixed on him, lids half closed, lips begging to be ravaged. He straightened, took her box of condoms from the bedside table, and handed it to her with a nudge of his head.

  She fiddled with the box, her fingers trembling as she finally took a condom out and held it out to him.

  “Your turn,” he murmured, enjoying the two spots of red spreading on her cheeks.

  “I don’t know how.”

  Of course you don’t. He couldn’t send her out into the wide world without this basic knowledge. What if she ended up with some asshole who abused her innocence and went bare on her?

  A rise of protectiveness ripped through his chest at the image of Mila with someone else.

  Fuck. He hadn’t seen that sensation coming. It was a bolt of awareness, sharp and blinding. Trying to disguise his reaction to the image that flashed through his mind he took the condom from her and tore the package open. “Look at me, Mila.”

  Her gaze locked with his, and he had to fight against the need to kiss her and pull her into his arms right then. “Like this,” he murmured hoarsely, wanting to get it on with her already, wanting to link her to him.

  “You’re going too fast,” she whispered as her gaze dipped to his cock, but already he’d pinched the condom at the top and rolled it on.

  He swallowed. Next time, baby.

  Except there wasn’t going to be a next time.

  He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. Why did it suddenly matter? He shouldn’t think; he should only feel as he’d instructed her. It was too darn difficult.

  He shot her a glance but found he couldn’t look at her with the protective and almost possessive emotions tearing inside him. And there was something else too—something softer that had settled in his chest that made his heart beat faster and his stomach stir. Better to ignore those unknown feelings. Instead, he gripped her legs and edged his hands down to her knees to split her open. He reached down and stroked through her wetness, knowing she was ready. He tuned into her breathing that had become stilted and leaned in, gliding the tip up her slit, lubricating himself with her arousal. With each move her breathing became heavier, fueling his desire. He positioned his cock at her entrance, wanting to delve into her with one thrust and make her gasp with the force of his need. He couldn’t recall ever feeling like this before.

  Fuck it.

  This was Mila.

  He felt for her breast, her shoulder, and propped over her, finding his way around her body.

  When she gripped his thighs and reached for his buttocks, urging him closer, he thrust into her pussy, inch by inch, trying to feel if there was still a barrier between them. The one he hadn’t sensed the night before. There was none.

  He went at it carefully, gently, each penetration measured and dragged out. Every beat of her body collided with his as it doubled, tripled. She was tight, virginal still, clenching. He had to slow down but he couldn’t. Inside him, he revved up, the urge to claim her anew—as his only—overwhelming him.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, her fingers digging into him, her legs hooking him closer as she rolled her hips to meet him halfway, encouraging him deeper.

  The slow ripple of a fist-like grip around his cock caught him off guard. It was surely too soon for her to come again, but her hand was on his face, gentle and warm as she nudged at him. “Look at me, James.”

  It was a barely audible command, but he had to open his eyes. Only to stare into hers as she tipped over the crest and came. Her gaze was mystical, her eyes dark pools, shimmering with desire’s fulfillment, and something he’d never seen in a woman’s eyes before.

  Purity of soul.

  He blinked. What he saw in her gaze couldn’t mirror in his own. He couldn’t let her peer into his darkness, for it would swallow and destroy her.

  He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers, an intense orgasm bursting from him.

  I’m so thoroughly fucked.

  chapter 14

  Mila stared at the ceiling, the rush of the most incredible orgasm she’d ever experienced ebbing in her limbs. The world spun back into focus and she turned to James. He had slumped down next to her, his palms to his eyes, his chest still heaving. For a split second his sculpted body looked vulnerable as he covered his face. It was a minute before he drew his hands down to his mouth and breathed into them.

  A chuckle bubbled up. “A man-made orgasm is much better than a hand-made orgasm.”

  He rolled onto his side and pinned her down with his gaze. His lips split into a slow, lazy grin, and all she wanted to do was lean into him and kiss him.

  He laughed. “I must be losing my touch.”

  “Not at all,” she murmured, the heat of a blush rising to her face under his unwavering scrutiny. It was having him inside her, the connection she’d had with him, much more than anything else that made her think that. It had been pure bliss.

  “You’re something else, Mila. I didn’t feel it coming.”

  Her face was burning. “Well, I hope you felt me coming this time around.”

  “I surely did,” he chuckled, still staring at her.

  Her second orgasm had surprised her too. She hadn’t thought she had it in her, but with him, everything seemed possible. His open perusal became too much, and she dropped her gaze. “What time is it?” she asked.

  James turned and looked at his bedside clock. “Just past eight.”

  “Already?” She needed to get on with the day; she couldn’t waste one day in Paris.
Her body surged with a rush of energy. “Don’t you have to be at work?”

  “No, not today. I was booked for Brussels but will take leave to sort out some admin.”

  “Oh.” She had the whole day ahead of her, and so did he. With nothing to do. But admin.

  A whole list of things they could explore together, rather than admin, popped up in her mind. None of them included the tourist attractions in Paris. Dear Lord. They wouldn’t have to leave the bed, never mind the apartment.

  She turned her face into the pillow, hiding her smile and the filthy ideas that were flittering through her mind. Less than a day in his company and already she was thoroughly debauched.

  “I have to work later this week. Meetings, conference calls. The usual.”

  She glanced at him to find him staring at her. “I’ve got to go.” She sat up, reaching for something to put on. There was nothing. Nada.

  “Where to?” His voice was laced with a devilish laugh as if he understood her consternation.

  “The Louvre opens at nine. If I go now I might still meet up with a short queue.”

  James pulled her back down and into his arms. “You mean you’re not going to waste the day in bed with me?”

  He’d read her mind.

  “You won’t need any clothes, so you can stop fidgeting,” he teased.

  She laughed, but his comment was sobering, even if her body begged her to relax against the hard warmth of his chest; her mind was rising in slow revolt.

  This was supposed to happen only once… For a moment she absorbed the heat of his skin, the brush of his lips on her temple, the sweet scrub of his stubble on her skin. “You’re on your own.”

  She shifted in his arms and he let go with a chuckle, leaning back with his hands behind his head. He was casually observing her, and she bit down on her lip. She could hardly feel shy now. Not after everything that they’d done. She couldn’t will the heat on her skin away, but she got up and strode around the bed to the bathroom as if she was on a catwalk, breaking out in a laugh as he gave her an encouraging low wolf whistle. So freaking sexist, but so pleasing, to have it coming from him.