Precious Gems - Sierra Hill Page 0,35
West tonight?”
What I’m not explicitly saying is whether Faron has plans to fuck me now or later. Because the rush of adrenaline and excitement swirling in me is a fire that needs to be extinguished and contained. ASAP.
And the only way I see that happening is if Faron makes good on his promise.
His intimate grin, laced with sex and powerful lust, tells me we’re on the same page.
“We won’t see them again while we’re in Paris. This weekend you’re mine.”
The rest of the car ride is a blur of dirty talk and kisses that inflame me so hot, I’m surprised the seats don’t set fire. Faron’s hands explore my body, touching and kissing, his tongue trailing erotic paths down my delicate, sensitive flesh, red hot surges of lust ricocheting like bullets hitting their targets. Every once in a while, I notice the Uber driver’s gaze flicking to us in the rearview mirror and his throat clearing, but he says nothing.
My panties dampen, wet with desire, and I squirm anxiously against the seat seeking friction to the dull the ache and sensation formed there.
“Be patient, little girl. I’ll fuck that pain away soon enough. Your sweet cherry pussy will take everything I give you and you’ll cry out for more.”
I murmur a resounding yes. “Yes, please.”
The car comes to an abrupt stop in front of a building along a busy and vibrant street. Having not paid any attention to where we were going, I step out of the car in a daze, briefly scanning the block up and down the street.
There are shops and sidewalk cafés, one in particular with a grand floral arbor above the café door. Across the street is a small cathedral, built in the similar Gothic style as I saw in Antwerp - it’s massive pillars and doorways works of art that I imagine took years to build and an artist design.
“Where are we?” I ask in awe, turning in a circle to take it all in.
Faron’s hand nestles in the small of my back, stopping my circling and guiding me toward the entry of the building. There’s a massive wood-carved door painted a bright blue, with an ornate circular knob in the middle of the door.
“We are in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the 6th arrondissement of Paris.”
I nod as if I know what that means. “What is that church behind us?”
“That’s the oldest cathedral in Paris, Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Just down the street a few blocks is the River Seine.”
The door opens with a snicking sound returning my attention to Faron, and he swings the door open to reveal a beautiful, ivy covered courtyard. Holding it open for me to pass, he chuckles as I hesitantly step through to the other side.
“Perhaps you’d prefer we tour the City of Light?” He whispers in my ear, his tone amused and teasing. “Instead of coming up to my bedroom, where I plan to show you a different version of light?”
My head whips around and I press my palms to his chest.
“Faron, Paris can wait. I’m ready to be with you tonight…to give you…” I can’t quite say the words, the blush blazing up my cheeks. Can’t express how deeply I want to give him everything.
At least my father did one thing right before he died. It wasn’t his intent, but he gave me a gift when he sent me to Faron.
The door closes behind me, leaving us protected in a courtyard filled with ivy and botanicals, the scent of orchids thick in the air.
My mind goes blank as his lips take possession of mine, his hands clasping around my neck holding me to him so he can take his fill, kissing a line down to my throat where he sucks and licks, a tiny sound escaping my lips. I swing my arms around his neck, clinging to him, pulling him closer.
“Good girl.”
With a swift swirl of his hands, he lifts me off my feet with his hands on my ass, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries me through an arched interior doorway and down a hallway where he stops at the entrance to a bedroom.
The room illuminates with a soft glow when he flips the switch, my eyes roaming over the furnishings and layout.
“You will get undressed, leaving your panties on, and kneel at the foot of the bed with your hands behind your back.”
“But…”
An argumentative response is about to leave my tongue, a disobedient reply, only for the fact that I want him to undress me.