one but me.’ There’s both promise and command in the husky timbre of his voice, one that explodes inside like a dozen tiny fireworks. My hands in his, he drapes them around his neck before he brings our bodies together, wrapping his arm around my waist. I’ve never felt so delicate as he lifts me quite suddenly, whispering words of adoration as he begins to climb the stairs. The man is barely affected by his exertions as we reach the top stairs, immediately entering casual living space, suffused by the afternoon light. The soft furnishings are modern and masculine, the air cool.
‘The view from here is heavenly.’ From the direction of his gaze, he’s not talking about the brilliant blue of the Mediterranean but rather my breasts, currently balanced under his chin in a pretty cream lace bra.
I don’t have time to register much more as Remy carries me through a nearby open door.
His bedroom.
My feet touch the cool floor in the shadowy room, dust motes dancing idly in a gap in the drapery, the silvery voiles otherwise providing a twilight feel. A huge bed dominates one wall, the linens stark white against the blue-black walls behind as a dark velvet bench hems it. Nightstands of black stand sentry either side of the bed, a large gothic-looking mirror leaning in one corner. A pair of wingback chairs occupy another, a matching table between stacked with leather-bound books. Wood and velvet, silk and steel; every item in the room seems to have been chosen to complement a darkly sensual look.
‘You don’t have a TV,’ I murmur as he lowers my feet to the Persian-looking rug, turning ostensibly to take it all in. In truth, a spike of nervousness takes over.
‘This bedroom is for only two things.’ Reaching out, he takes my hand.
‘Sleeping and . . . ?’
‘Fucking you.’ There’s something about that word in his accent, which seems to magnify it somehow, the fluttering inside turning to a swoop as he cups my face to kiss me again.
‘Yeah, sure. I bet if that bed could tell tales—’
‘It would have none to tell. Not before today. You don’t believe me?’
‘I—’ I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a man respond to me as he does. Never had a man look at me as he does. I’ve always thought only the naïve take what lover’s say at face value, especially during sex, but something inside me tells me what he’s saying is true.
About this bed, anyway.
‘This is just all so unreal.’ The way we’ve come together, the way he makes me feel.
‘Perhaps if you need a little more convincing.’
Lust instantly blooms deep inside as he lifts my hand, pressing it over his cock. The lightweight wool of his pants moulds to him instantly, the rigid outline of him visible.
‘You’re so hard.’
‘I seem to have been in this state since you left me last Tuesday.’ His voice is a touch strained as he rocks into my hand,
‘Poor Remy’s baguette. Would you like me to kiss it better?’
‘Baguette?’ His eyes almost sparkle with mirth. ‘If you mean my cock, then my answer is an emphatic yes, though I don’t remember you being quite so coy our first time. Or would that technically be the first five times?’
‘What I said back in March doesn’t count.’ I dip my gaze, hoping the weight of my hair will contain the smile I can’t quite restrain.
‘That can’t be true, not when you begged so prettily. When you looked at my cock as though you might die without tasting it.’
‘I might die from embarrassment right now.’
‘Rose.’ My name from his lips is like a curl of smoke. ‘I’ve never been so hard as I am when I’m next to you. Never feel too embarrassed to tell me what you need. Now, let us give this bed some tales to tell.’
18
Remy
‘J’ai envie de toi,’ I whisper against her mouth, not able to stop myself from kissing her but needing somehow to express what she’s doing to me.
‘You’re so sexy when you speak French.’
‘Only when I speak French?’ I tease, though, in truth, I hadn’t realised I’d switched languages.
‘Especially when you speak French. You could recite the phone book and get me hot.’
‘Are you fetishizing my accent?’ I growl, caging her with my body. ‘Because go ahead. I like it.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘Crazy hard for you. I want you—j’ai envie de toi—I want you so badly that I ache to be inside you. I am desperate to fuck you.’ French is all