I buried my head back into the bed as he eased out of me. Damn him. He was right. I was bereft. I missed his fullness already.
He untied my hands, and after wiggling my fingers to bring back sensation, I just let my arms hang lose by the sides of my legs like a rag doll. He ran his warm velvety tongue down my spine and then back up, sending a rush of goose bumps to my already prickling skin.
He gave my ass a playful slap. “You’re free to go back to LA now, angel.”
I wasn’t going anywhere.
Paris was for lovers.
After a delicious, hot shower in which Mr. Controlling fucked Ms. Losing It yet again, we towel dried each other and put on the fluffy terry cloth robes that came with room. Jaime ordered room service. Over scrumptious flakey croissants and steaming cafés au lait that we savored around a small round table, he told me what he had planned for the day. It was going to a leisurely day of strolling in Paris and taking in a few sights and museums. And of course, a stop for lunch and a glass of wine at a neighborhood café. I told him that I wanted to make a stop at our Paris flagship store on the Champs-Elysées in the late afternoon. I wanted to check it out and above all personally thank the store manager, Sandrine—a good friend—for helping me with Madame Paulette’s funeral arrangements. That was only yesterday yet it felt like eons ago. A wave of sadness swept over me. I was going to miss her. Jaime readily agreed to the visit, telling me that he had some personal stuff to take care of too, including a client.
“You have a client in Paris?” I asked, arching my brows.
“Angel, I have clients all over the world.”
Girlfriends?
He hit me with a roguish grin. “She happens to be one of my favorites.”
She? “What does she look like?” Wait! Why was I asking such an inane question? What the hell did it matter?
Jaime twisted his mouth into a sly smile. “She’s as hot as they come…”
Cringe.
“And gay.” He smirked.
Bastard. He knew how to get to me.
He flicked a crumb of my croissant off my lips. “What are you planning to wear today?”
“Black leggings and an oversized heavy cashmere sweater.” I wanted to be comfortable, but the sweats I’d picked out earlier were way too casual for running around Paris.
“Sounds perfect, Matchy-matchy girl.”
Polishing off his croissant, he stood up and strode back to my suitcase. Now what? One by one, he cherry-picked through my scanty lace bras and bikinis. A saucy smile played on his face as he examined each and every piece of the sexy lingerie. Mortification shot through me.
“What are doing?” My voice was shrill.
“What does it look like? I’m choosing your underwear.”
“No way.” This was going too far. I leaped up from my chair and stomped over to him. I snatched the matching leopard-print bra and thong out of his hands and flung them back into my suitcase.
“Come on, Gloria. Call it research. I’m getting a really good feel for the Gloria’s Secret line…and for the woman behind it.”
Wrinkling my nose, I looked him straight in the eyes. “And what does your research tell you about me?”
He nuzzled my sensitive neck. The sensation forced my head to arch and my eyelids to lower. I felt my robe sliding off my shoulders.
“Well, Mr. Zander, tell me.” My body was heating up.
He slipped off my robe and purred in my ear. “That you’re dripping with desire.”
My breath hitched. He was right! I wanted him! Again!
“And I’m going to prove my theory.”
In one swift move, he scooped me up in his arms and tossed me onto the bed. Disrobing himself, he crashed upon me with all his weight, and in an instant, his cock was pounding inside me. Our breathing was haggard. My climax was building with the brutality and speed of an avalanche. I couldn’t believe how fast he could make me come. With one final thrust, he spurted into me as I juddered around him.
“Holy fuck!” we moaned in unison.
Our sweat-slicked, heaving bodies stayed still in that position for several long minutes, allowing our breathing to calm down.
“Paris awaits us, angel,” Jaime said brightly after smacking my lips with a kiss.
“Have you decided on what undies I should wear?” I asked coyly, threading my fingers through his tousled hair.
“Yeah…none.”
My jaw slackened.
“I want to imagine you just the way you are all day long.”
The feeling was mutual. My eyes never strayed from his gorgeous body, all golden cream and taut planes and angles, as he slipped on his faded jeans and tucked in his cock. His glorious, just-fucked cock.
We spent the day leisurely meandering through Paris, staying close to the Left Bank. Neither of us wanted to risk the chance of running into Victor, who never strayed from the Right Bank and would likely take his business meeting at The Intercontinental. The weather, like in New York, was surprisingly mild for this time of year. Global warming, I supposed. I couldn’t complain, however, about the pleasant temperature and sunny sky.