Her climax kicked off with a tiny, shimmering tremor that rippled outward from her hot, throbbing core in ever-widening circles, quickly picking up speed and intensity until it reached the outer limits of sensation where it detonated with such explosive force, her shrill orgasmic scream startled even a man who thought he’d heard it all.
Holy shit, he thought, his ears ringing. This little tree-house architect was one fucking hot number.
Not only did she come in literally seconds.
He was pretty damned sure she wasn’t faking it.
Although, even if she was, he figured he was gonna have a real interesting night.
* * *
Moments later, Nicky’s lashes slowly lifted. “Wow, thanks,” she murmured, her green eyes an emerald brilliance in the lamplight. “My very, very happy pussy thanks you as well.”
“Don’t mention it,” Johnny replied with a grin, easing his fingers out. “My pleasure.” He gestured toward the windows. “How about the Eiffel Tower now that you’ve come down a notch and can check out the view?” Call him sentimental, but Paris was the Eiffel Tower.
She smiled a lazy, self-absorbed smile. “Sure. Break time.”
He quirked a brow. “Am I on the clock?”
“Sorry, my mistake. I didn’t mean to press you. Although with a hard-on like yours”—her gaze rested on his crotch—“I’m guessing your clock and mine might be on the same time.”
“You don’t mind asking for it, do you?”
“I didn’t know you were looking for shy.”
Christ, he must be too used to accommodating women. His smile instantly appeared—ingratiating, apologetic even. “I’m not,” he said, moving to open the curtains. “Forgive me—it must be jet lag screwing up my brain.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I probably speak my mind more than I should, but I figure you’re more apt to get what you want that way,” she finished on a teasing note.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, reaching for the drapery cord, “about you getting what you want.” Sex was sex was sex, he reminded himself. “Now, check this out,” he added with a smile of translucent charm. Pulling on the cord, he drew the draperies aside, and there was the Eiffel Tower all lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Ohhh—it’s absolutely gorgeous!” Nicky exclaimed, sitting up to take in the glorious sight. The soaring tower was outlined in white lights against the dark sky, stars twinkling in a halo around it, the most dramatic symbol of Paris smack-dab in the center of her bedroom window. “Did you know this room had this view?” she murmured, awestruck, experiencing one of those pinch-me moments again.
“I thought you’d like it.”
It wasn’t precisely an answer, but she wasn’t inclined to grill him after their recent exchange about her asking for sex. “I sure do like it,” she said, this fairy-tale setting doing a real number on her reality-based perceptions. “You really know how to charm a lady, Mr. Patrick. What else do you have in your bag of tricks?”
He laughed. “A couple things you might like.”
“If you don’t mind my saying, there’s one in particular that has my attention,” she pointed out, half lifting her hand in his direction.
“Want me back on the clock, boss?” If she liked to take charge, he was more than willing—until he wasn’t. Which wasn’t right now.
“That would be ever-so-sweet.”
“I didn’t think you were looking for sweet,” he said, kicking off his shoes.
“Maybe one person’s sweet is another person’s—”
“Head-banging sex?” he finished with a grin, unbuttoning his shirt.
“I was thinking more along the lines of non-head-banging sex,” she offered, slipping off her sling-back heels. “Less bruises and more finesse.”
“You like finesse?”
She nodded. “Although, you definitely have it. Virtuoso fingers and all.”
“Glad we could be of service,” he casually remarked as he stripped off his shirt.
She immediately lost her train of thought at the sight of his well-chiseled male torso. The man was ripped—every muscle clearly defined, abs like rock, biceps that brought Olympic weight lifters to mind. “You must work out,” she said in lieu of openly drooling.
“Occasionally,” he said, unbuckling his belt.
She was definitely having second thoughts about taking off her dress after looking at Johnny Patrick. The last time she’d worked out was in college gym class. Maybe it might be wise to turn off the lights.
“Need help with that dress?” He let his slacks slide to the floor.
“Ah—” A thousand excuses raced through her mind.
He looked up from stripping off his boxers, his gaze amused. “You, indecisive? Am I hearing right?”
One glance at his enormous, upthrust erection tempered any impulse she might have to quibble over lights or dresses on or off. All she wanted was that rock-hard cock inside her—NOW. Sliding off the bed, she turned her back to him. “Unzip me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, figuring she must crack the whip at work. But he wasn’t above acquiescing since there were obvious advantages. “And then what?”
“Then if you’d be a dear and let me feel this”—reaching behind her, she ran her fingers down his cock—“as soon as possible.”
“Any place special you want to feel it,” he murmured, pulling her zipper down.
The roguish pitch to his voice struck her with apprehension. Rock stars were famous for kinky sex, and she wasn’t so sure his kinky and hers were the same. “I prefer the usual if you don’t mind.”
“What’s usual?”
Oh God, he did want something else. She swung around, holding her dress against her chest. “Just for the record,” she said, not sure she wasn’t screwing herself royally, but unwilling to be that obliging, “I don’t like anal sex. And I’m not giving you a blow job right this minute.”
“Okay, that narrows things down,” he remarked, looking entertained.
“I hope that’s not a problem.” She tried to use her most diplomatic tone, wanting what she wanted as she did.
He tried to keep from smiling. “I don’t know.”
If he was toying with her, which appeared likely, she wasn’t sure she was ready to play his game. He probably had women submitting to his every wish 24/7. Bottom line though, she was really selfish when it came to orgasms. “When do you think you might know?” she murmured, needing to come again—quickly.
His mouth twitched. “You sound anxious.”
“I adore a perceptive man,” she breathed, smiling faintly. “And anxious is a thousand degrees too tame a word for what I’m feeling right now.”
“If the party’s starting again”—he glanced down at his cock, then up again and grinned—“count us in.”
“I’d love to… seeing how my party started five minutes ago—right after I came last time.”
His brows flickered. “So you’re into multiple orgasms.”
“If at all possible.” She smiled. “Although really good chocolate comes in at a close second. And a combination of the two is right up there approaching nirvana.”
“If I’d known, I could have called room service and had them send up chocolate,” he drawled.
“Right now—as in I can’t wait—I’d much prefer that.” She pointed at his gorgeous erection. “If you don’t think me”—her grin was intentionally flippant, her tone ultrasweet—“too brazen.”
Fucking her had been on his agenda since he’d knocked on her door, so flippant or not, they were on the same page. “It would be a real pleasure,” he whispered, lifting her arms up.
After pulling her dress over her head and tossing it on a chair, he turned back and went motionless.
Christ!—she was wearing white cotton underwear—plain cotton… without a single lace ruffle or even a hint of embroidery. Junior high Bible camp, and all the hominess that went with being fourteen and spying on the girls’ cabins with his friends
hit him with a flashback to the past. Hit his prick with the same lecherous sentimentality. He must have seen too much La Perla of late, that this simple, white underwear was taking on porn status and making him horny as hell. Fucking A. He was getting off just looking at it.
And his resident French translator filled out those bra cups real fine, her large breasts straining the cotton knit fabric to the max, while her delectable cunt was wetting those pure white panties. Suddenly he was on the same speeding freight train as she was. Deftly unhooking her bra, he slipped the straps down her arms, watching her breasts quiver as they were released from bondage. “Great tits,” he whispered, his voice soft with lechery, his gaze shifting downward. “And I like what’s under these sexy panties, too,” he added, slipping a finger under the waistband.
“Don’t tease,” she pouted, clearly embarrassed. “They’re all I have.”
“No way I’m teasing, babe. They’re turning me on. I remember panties like these.”
“Meaning?” A pettish little sound.
He looked up. “Good memories, babe. That’s all I meant.” He figured he’d better not ask her if he could take them off with his teeth or she might freak, but it was definitely a thought. Man, it’d been a long time.
Vernie’d been right about apple-pie nice.
She was sugar sweet.
Although more importantly, she had a hot little pussy, white panties and all.
“I’m real happy you came with me to Paris,” he said, sliding her panties off like a gentleman.
“Me, too.” She stepped out of them. “And at the risk of pressuring you, I’ll be even happier when I come again.”
Lifting her up on the bed, he gave her a quick kiss. “Be right back.”
She panicked for a second, thinking she might have offended him—until she saw he was only taking a condom from his pants. Actually several condoms, she was pleased to see. Call her greedy, but she was, thanks to his handsome studliness and utter beauty. Although, let’s face it, his huge dick had the most to do with her current attraction for him. She was literally aching with longing, she wanted him so badly, every nerve in her body was primed for pleasure.
Sliding higher on the bed, she spread her legs.
He smiled at the sight, availability always high on his list of qualities in a woman. Although, he had to admit, Nicky Lesdaux wasn’t in the usual category of women he fucked. Nor did this night fall under the heading of business as usual in terms of the casual sex he preferred.
Not that he was about to analyze the differences.
Especially now when he was seconds away from sinking his cock into that tight little cunt.
He ripped open a foil packet.
She watched as he deftly rolled the condom down his erection without a single wasted motion. He’d done this before, she decided, not that she’d thought otherwise. But it made her feel a bit like a tyro in contrast. A feeling, however, quickly replaced by a more powerful sexual craving, one that had held her in its grip from the moment he’d walked into her hotel room.
“Hey,” she whispered a second later, as he positioned himself between her legs. “Thanks for your understanding about impatience and—”
“We’re both there, babe,” he whispered back, swiftly guiding his cock into place. “Although, I’m warning you”—his grin flashed—“I’m on a fucking hair trigger.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Wanna race?”
He laughed. “Oh, yeah.” He pressed forward with a controlled thrust he’d learned long ago. He was large, most women were not, and penetration required a certain restraint in gauging speed and depth in order not to do any damage.
Meeting with a familiar resistance, he took it even slower. When he would have much preferred ramming speed. But he had plans for the night; no point in ruining a good thing.
As her ready-to-party, hotter-than-hot, and wetter-than-wet cunt was slowly invaded by one world-class dick, Nicky decided it was actually possible to die of pleasure. She was going to simply expire of pure, unadulterated rapture and do it with a smile on her face.
“Can you take a little more?”
She wiggled her hips in reply, and he forced his way in a small distance deeper while she held her breath, waited for the next wave of ecstasy to break over her, and when it did, she moaned in gratitude and heartfelt appreciation.
Then he started over again, her vagina slowly yielding, and by cautious degrees, between soft kisses and whispered endearments, he crammed her full, stretched her, filled her with both cock and exquisite longing, forced her legs wider to accommodate his hard, rigid length.
Until, at last, she was firmly impaled, he was buried to the hilt, and they were both gasping for breath.
Sexed up and horny, frenzied and overwrought, neither was sure whether to preserve the dizzying pleasure—to sustain the wild, seething sensation as long as possible—or feverishly move on.
Less disciplined, Nicky went off the deep end first.
Even as her orgasm commenced, Johnny debated his options.
She liked multiple orgasms.
He could give her this one and wait for her next one.
If he was made of stone—maybe he could.
Or if this was his usual casual sexual encounter.
Or if he hadn’t felt like coming for the last twenty minutes.
“I’m takin’ your wave, babe,” he whispered.
With superhuman effort, she levered her lashes marginally upward and gave him the sweetest I-can’t-talk-right-now smile.
He was impressed. She’d really struggled to respond.
There was something memorable about the effort she’d taken to please him and gratification as well in the strange delight—maybe even happiness—he felt in fucking her. He was probably flipping out; maybe having Jordi back brought with it this rare enchantment. Or maybe Nicky Lesdaux was different from all the rest.
Whatever. But he came that time like he’d never come before. That much he knew. And as he lay braced on his elbows afterward trying to catch his breath, he was already making plans to fuck her again. And if this meant he was going ape-shit—screw it. He was having a helluva good time.
He held her afterward, after the condom had been disposed of and he’d dug up a couple towels, after he’d gotten himself a cognac to try and dispel his strange mood. After she’d lay inert for so long he was beginning to worry.
He held her close, her head on his chest, the scent of her perfume tickling his nostrils, and they counted the lights on the Eiffel Tower like children might. Like he’d done years ago the first time he’d come here on the school trip funded by cookie sales and car washes.
“This is about as close to heaven as it gets,” she whispered, arching up to kiss his strong jaw.
“Amen to that,” he whispered back. “I think I’ve entered your nirvana.”
“Nice, hey?”
“Yeah, nice.”
And then they lay in companionable silence, both feeling as though they’d crossed some inexplicable line.
He was the first to shake away the outre feeling. He didn’t really believe in nirvana other than as a possible lapse of judgment for carnal reasons. “I was thinking,” he said.
“Let me guess.” Her voice held a smile.
“You get three chances.”
“Do I get a prize if I guess right?”
“Sure do.”
She laughed. “You’re ready for sex. I’m ready for sex. We’re both ready for sex.”
He pulled her up on his chest, brushed the curls away from her face with his palms and found himself momentarily nonplused by a curious sense of longing. Nonsexual.
She looked at him searchingly. “What?”
He gave his head a shake, as though it was possible to dislodge the odd feeling with so small a gesture. “Nothing.”
“I’ll bet you’re tired.” She gently touched his cheek. “You haven’t slept at all.”
“Nah, I’m good.” He smiled. “So tell me what you like best—
sex-wise.” Keep it casual. Keep it about fucking. Don’t go off track.
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“You probably wouldn’t like to do it.”
Now he was intrigued. “Sure I would. Give me a hint.”
“Make me do something.”
“Like what?”
“Like I have to do something you tell me.”
“Like S&M?”
“God, no. Like you won’t fuck me unless I kiss you or—”
He grinned. “Kiss me where?”
She sat up, straddling his hips. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have even said anything. But you asked and”—she shrugged—“I don’t know… you make me feel really sexy, that’s all.”
“More than usual?”
“Yeah, as if your ego needs bolstering. A whole lot sexier if you must know, okay? Now you can add another notch to your belt and forget my name in a couple days. Not that I expect you to remember my name.” She blushed. “Jeez, why don’t I shut up while I’m ahead?”
He was looking up at her, thinking she was about the cutest thing he’d seen in a long time. Starlets and groupies and little rich girls looking for something to break the boredom didn’t hold a candle to this candid, sometimes outspoken, always honest lady from some small town in Garrison Keillor land. “Talk all you want. And just for the record, you’re pretty unforgettable. Now, if you want me to make you do something, how about we try something like a man and a maid.”
“Really, you don’t mind? That story makes me so hot.”
“You know that, do you?” he said gruffly.
“What? You’re getting huffy about me having sex? This from a man who can’t remember how many women he’s fucked?”
“So sue me. I’m not in the mood to picture you having sex with some guy, okay? It screws up my concentration.”
“Then I’ll have to pretend you’re a virgin, too, or maybe I won’t be able to come again.”
“You’re lookin’ for trouble, babe.”
She grinned. “Promises, promises.”
“I’ll promise you this,” he growled, lifting her up as though she were weightless, rolling her under him and plunging inside her without waiting for a condom or her okay or directions from her for any game. “I’m gonna fuck your brains out. And you’d better be on the pill cause I’m not stopping.”