Not this time.
He hesitated, then knelt between her legs, pushed her knees farther apart, and positioned his crown against her entrance.
“Tell me there’s no one else this time, Nina. Say it and mean it.”
She reached between her legs and closed her hand around his shaft. “There’s no one else. Now fuck me.”
8
He drove into her with a groan that told her he was as desperate for her as she was for him. The first time they’d made love he’d been deliberate, seemingly determined to hold onto his discipline even when reaching for his release.
Now he lowered his head to the nape of her neck as he buried himself inside her, pausing as if collecting himself before slowly dragging out of her. He watched her face as he thrust into her again.
She felt every inch of his hard shaft gliding through her channel, stopping only when he couldn’t impale her any more. She locked her knees around his waist and he sank even deeper inside her.
The rhythmic pressure on her clit was like hot breath on the fire of her desire, and she rocked her hips against him, clutching his ass as he pulled out and pushing him back inside her.
“Say my name,” he ordered as he pushed into her.
“Jack,” she gasped.
“Say it again. Look at me and tell me there’s no one else.”
“Jack…” He spread her open and drove into her. She looked into his eyes. “There’s no one else.”
There was only him. Only his body joining with hers.
“That’s right. You’re mine, Nina.”
She didn’t know what would happen in the future, but in that moment it was true.
He owned her.
“I’m yours.” She pulled his head down to hers. “I’m yours.”
He kissed her deeply, thrusting more quickly into her as his tongue sparred with hers.
Her orgasm lurked at the center of her body, a beast held too long at bay, set loose by the rhythmic friction against her clit, the steady pounding of Jack into her. A shiver ran up her spine and she clutched his back, rocking into the sensation, relinquishing control to the primal need of her body.
When they’d been together last year, Jack had told her when she could come. This time she wasn’t taking orders. She was giving them.
“Come with me, Jack.”
He lowered his head to her chest as he drove faster into her. It was the most out of control she’d ever seen him, slamming his body against hers at a frenzied pace as she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts.
Her orgasm grabbed hold of her all at once, a burst of light that forced her to close her eyes, the flush spreading outward from her center as she clamped down on his thick shaft.
He groaned as he spilled into her, his movements slowing as she milked him of every drop, as he wrung every last tremor from her body.
She came to awareness with his lips on her forehead, his body still stretched out over hers. She wrapped her arms around him and lifted her head to meet his lips.
He eased himself off the bed. “Be right back.”
A moment later, she heard the water running in the bathroom. She was still catching her breath when he returned, and she propped herself up on her arms.
“Where’s the fire?” she asked.
He smiled and sat next to her. “I’m sorry. Aftercare is a force of habit.”
“Aftercare?”
He stroked her hair back from her face. “Intense sexual experiences can be overwhelming. Responsibility extends to aftercare, insuring your partner is all right.”
She remembered him running her a bath after he’d used the rope, the strangeness of bathing alone after such intense sex, the soft and comforting T-shirt he’d offered her before he’d pulled her into his arms in the big bed high over the city.
“The bath…”
He nodded.
“I don’t want to have a bath alone,” she said. “I just want to be with you.”
He stood, offered her his hand. “You’re not bathing alone this time. Come.”
She took his hand and let him lead her into the expansive bathroom attached to the suite’s master bedroom. Steam curled in the air with the scent of lavender, a candle lit on the edge of the tub.
He turned off the water and stepped into the bath, then took her hand to help her in. She eased between his thighs and leaned back against his chest with a sigh, the warm water caressing her still sensitive skin.
She closed her eyes. “I like this aftercare better.”
His arms slid around her waist. “I should have explained everything more clearly before. I’m sorry if I was overly… clinical.”
She laughed.
“You find that funny?” he asked near her ear.
“It’s an understatement, that’s all,” she said. “Although I will say that the one place you didn’t seem clinical was in bed.”
“And now?”
“This is better.” He didn’t reply and she sensed that she’d said something wrong. She craned her neck to look at him. “What is it?”
“I meant what I said earlier, Nina. My bedroom preferences aren’t something that will change.”
“I don’t need them to change.” She was surprised to find it was true. Excepting the sex club incident, she’d enjoyed pushing her boundaries with Jack. “I just need… something.”
“Something?”
“Something like this.” She trailed her hand in the water, lifted her hand and let it trickle through her fingers. “A little closeness, a little conversation before or after.”
“And during?” he murmured, tracing circles around one of her nipples.
“Don’t you know, Jack?” She closed her eyes. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t let you do to me.”
“That’s… intriguing.”
“It’s all intriguing,” she said.
“Are you referring to something specific?” he asked.
“The ropes, the restraint, your… preferences. I guess I’m just curious about the why of it all.”
He didn’t speak for a long time, his breath so rhythmic against her back she thought he might have fallen asleep.
“Distance is critical in my world,” he finally said.
“What kind of distance?” She made a point not to look at him, not to move, not to sound too interested. This was new territory, and she didn’t want to do anything to force Jack back into the safety of his silence.
“It’s difficult to complain about an upbringing like mine. I was given everything.”
“Everything?”
“Almost everything.” She waited. “My parents were what you might call old-school. Proper, ruled by a complex set of rules and expectations. Affection was against the rules — or affection the way you might think of it anyway.”
“Which is?”
“Hugging, declarations of love, praise… these weren’t things that were given freely. I learned not to expect them, and in turn, not to give them.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t feel sorry for me. It was good practice.”
“For what?”
“For the life I was destined to lead,” he said.
“Which is?”
“One where distance is control and where control is safety and safety is power.”
The firmness in his voice was like a stone falling in her stomach. She thought about the rope he’d used to tie her up, the tenderness with which he’d coiled it around her body. There had been no malice, no desire to punish.
In fact, he’d been almost apologetic.
There are some things I can’t change, Nina.
“In any case,” he said, “I don’t believe in psychology.”
She turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“I have many colleagues with money who were raised in warm, loving families. That mine wasn’t one may just as well speak to DNA as psychology.”
“You think you would have been this way r
egardless of your upbringing?” she asked.
“Who knows? Maybe it’s in my blood.”
She turned around, focusing on the faucet so she didn’t have to look at he resignation in his eyes.
“I don’t believe that.” It came out harsher than she intended.
He pushed her shoulders gently, forcing her off his body. “Look at me, Nina.”
She turned around. His hair was damp, water droplets dotting his chest. “Don’t try to change me.”
“I’m not.”
“I’ll give you what I can, but it will never be everything you want,” he said. “It may not even be everything you need. You should ask yourself if you can live with that.”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I can.” She leaned in to kiss him. “I can.”
9
She woke to the Paris skyline, the Eiffel Tower shining in an indigo sky beyond the open curtains in the bedroom. They dressed for dinner and stepped into the waiting limo in front of the hotel.
She had no idea where they were going, had no desire to ask. She was back in Jack’s world, back in a place where limousines appeared at will, where beautiful clothes were already hanging in the closet, where a rich and powerful man could make all your dreams come true.
They pulled up outside a small restaurant, its windows illuminated by soft light from within, L’Escargot Montorgueil spelled out in brass letters on the black placard above the door.
The maitre’d immediately recognized Jack and they were led to a quiet table at the back of a cozy room paneled with dark wood. Antique portraits lined the walls over gilded murals painted on burgundy backgrounds that matched the tablecloths and lush velvet curtains.
She wasn’t entirely surprised to find that Jack spoke fluent French as he exchanged casual pleasantries with the fawning maitre’d. It seemed there was nothing Jack couldn’t do, nothing he didn’t know, an impression that was borne out over the next three hours as he ordered an assortment of exotic food and drink, plus several bottles of wine so good that Nina’s enjoyment was almost sexual.
He laughed as she delicately placed a snail soaked in garlic butter on her tongue, then smiled when she pronounced it delicious. There was savory french onion soup with a thick layer of Gruyére broiled to gooey perfection, tender lettuce simply dressed with dijon mustard and olive oil, and lamb so tender it melted in her mouth.
She groaned in protest when Jack ordered Crepes Suzette, but she could do nothing but moan with pleasure as she bit into the delicate crepes bursting with caramelized sugar and tangy oranges.
The limo was still outside when they exited the restaurant. Jack spoke a few words in French and the car pulled out into traffic. They’d been driving for about twenty minutes when the car stopped.
She reached for the door and was stopped by the gentle pressure of Jack’s hand on her arm. A moment later, the driver opened the door. Jack stepped out and took her hand.
They were on the banks of the Seine, the walkway lit with lights, canal boats docked for the night. The smell of the water, peaty and ancient, rose in her nose as they walked toward a bridge in the distance.
Nina settled into the silence between them. Jack had spoken more to her in the last twenty-four hours than in all the time they’d spent together the year before, and she was happy just to feel his presence at her side.
When they got closer to the bridge, Nina saw that its lamps were of the old-fashioned variety, ornately designed with bronze vines. Cherubs circled the bases of the larger lamps, the light casting a soft glow over their innocent faces. Winged horses stood sentry atop columns at either end.
“This is the Alexandre bridge,” Jack said as they stared across it. “Named after Tsar Alexandre the Third to celebrate the Franco Russian Alliance.”
“What’s that?” Nina asked, pointing to an illuminated gold dome at the other end of the bridge.
“The Dome de les Invalides,” he said in perfect French. “Napoleon is interred there, and some other well-known war heroes, if there is such a thing. The church is part of a larger complex that includes museums and monuments. It’s closed at night, but I’d be happy to show you tomorrow.”
“I have to work tomorrow, remember?”
They stopped in the middle of the bridge.
“You could call out sick,” he said. “Play hooky with me in Paris."
“I can’t do that.” Nina leaned on the railing and looked out over the dark water.
“Of course, you can.”
She suddenly wanted very much to call out tomorrow, to stay in Paris with Jack and pretend nothing else existed. It was dangerously alluring, like swimming too close to a powerful waterfall that pulled her closer to its edge with each passing minute.
“My work isn’t much, but it matters to me,” she said.
“I didn’t mean to imply that it wasn’t important.”
He sounded like he meant it, and she wondered about all the other women he’d dated, the supermodels and actresses, the socialites and trust fund babies. Did they ever have to decline an invitation from Jack Morgan for something as mundane as work?
He took her hand on the railing. “What’s on your mind?”
“I keep wondering… why me?”
“Why you?”
She turned to look at him. “You can be with any woman in the world. I almost understood it before, but now… I don’t understand why you came back.”
He looked puzzled. “What do you mean you almost understood it before?”
She shrugged. “I was a novelty. A juicy burger in the company of a whole lot of filet mignon.”
He looked genuinely appalled. “You don’t give yourself enough a credit.”
“You’re deflecting.” She smiled. “And I’m not looking for pity. After all these years, I finally like who I am.”
He turned his eyes to the city stretched out beyond the water on either side. “I like who you are as well, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I did notice, but you still haven’t answered my question.” She had the feeling that the clock was ticking on the demolished wall between them, that there was some kind of magic at work in Paris that had allowed them to get closer, a brand of magic that might not translate to real life in New York.
There are some things I can’t change.
He turned to look at her and the wind blew a lock of his hair loose from the rest. He captured her hand in his. “You’re real, Nina. In fact, you might be the only real thing in my life.”
“Is real a euphemism for provincial?”
“No, real is a euphemism for real,” he said. “That’s the novelty: that you’re real.”
She lay her hand on his cheek. “You’re real too, Jack.”
A flash of pain crossed his eyes before he closed the door on it. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
Her stomach twisted with the words, her heart clenching in her chest. She wanted to dig, to ask him why he would say such a thing, why he would believe it, but she sensed the questions would be unwelcome, that the window on her free pass with Jack was already closing.
“We should start for the airport,” he said. “If we’re lucky, you may even be able to get some sleep before work tomorrow."
10
Three days later she was at the gallery, surveying the photographs on the brick wall. Morris’s show was two weeks away and Nina still wasn’t sure the order was right.
She stepped forward, removing a picture of a half full bottle of water, the plastic partially crushed and laying on dirty concrete next to a crumbled newspaper, the words “Destruction” and “Poverty” visible on the paper only if you got close enough to really look.
The piece was titled Drought. She set it down and paced to the white wall on the other side of the gallery, looking for a picture to replace the Drought on the brick wall. She was reaching for an image of discarded candy wrappers when Moni spoke behind her.
“You swapped those two yesterday.”
Nina turned arou
nd. Moni was leaning on the desk at the back of the gallery, the frosted glass doors open on either side of her. “Did I?”
Moni nodded and looked at her more closely. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She returned to the brick wall and put Drought back in its original place. It would be too bright, too spare, on the white wall. She’d been right the first time: the warmth of the brick was a necessary offset to the piece’s brightness. She crossed back to the white wall, scanning the configuration for anything that needed adjusting.
It was perfect.
She returned to the office and picked up her coffee. It was cold but she finished it anyway, then picked up the manila envelope holding her mystery photographer’s pictures. She opened the envelope and flipped through them for the hundredth time.
“You sure?” Moni asked. “You seem a little… off.”
She’d been antsy ever since returning from Paris, a condition exacerbated by Jack’s desire to see her every night, the black car driven by Reggie idling outside her apartment every day when she got home from work.
The gallery, once a cozy refuge from the world, had begun to feel confining, and Nina had passed the hours when there were no customers rearranging office supplies, cleaning coffee cups, and sweeping the floor for the fifth time in one day. She’d started watching the clock, desperate for the day to end so she could escape to Jack’s apartment.
So she could escape into the intense sexual pleasure he delivered.
She’d done nothing but move between her apartment, the gallery, Jack’s car, and the penthouse at the Mandarin Oriental. She suddenly wanted to be outside.
She shoved the pictures back into the envelope. “You know what? You’re right — I do feel a little edgy. Must be cabin fever.” She picked her bag up off the floor and shoved the envelope into it. “I think I’m going to try to find our stalker.”
“The photographer?” Moni asked. “In the park?”
Nina nodded. “I feel like walking, and you’re right: I should at least try.”
“Good for you,” Moni said.
Nina picked up a pad of Post-It notes and dug in the filing cabinet for the duct tape, shoved them in her bag, and slipped on her coat. “See you tomorrow?”
The Surrender of Nina Fontaine (Awakening Book 2) Page 5