Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
‘You are sweet.’ I swallow deeply at the feel of his body pressed against mine. ‘You bought me a three-thousand-dollar coffee machine. A beautiful robe, which I now have the perfect apartment to glide around in while wearing it. And such beautiful flowers, and coffee, and a spa membership, which I hope you’ve gotten a refund on. But what I don’t understand is, why you thought to do all this for me? To send me these gifts.’
His eyes are darker as his head appears above mine. ‘Because I wanted to thank you for looking after me. For giving me that night.’ I inhale sharply at the flex of his hips. ‘And because I couldn’t get you out of my head. Perhaps I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t forget me.’
As if that were even possible.
‘I’m nothing special.’
‘You’re ridiculous. And ridiculously beautiful.’
When was the last time anyone but Remy said that to me? I mean, I know the things said during sex only contain about five percent truth; five percent truth and ninety-five percent gibberish. But he’s the only man who has made me swoon in a long time. That’s not to say I haven’t been paid compliments from time to time.
I love your eyes. You’re hot.
That ass is like the North Star. Can you blame me for following it?
Girl, you’ve got a rack to die for. Feel free to smother me with those things anytime.
But nothing with such sincerity. Such beauty. Such promise.
A realisation washes over me, my skin immediately cold yet clammy. Oh, man, I’m not worried about losing my job. I’m worried I’ll fall for him. Fall hard.
‘You don’t like compliments.’ His expression is playful and completely oblivious to this insane internal chatter.
‘Who doesn’t like compliments?’ I retort, my mouth working of its own accord as he suddenly cages me in with his body, his lightly furred legs on either side of mine and his hands at the sides of my head.
‘People who don’t know how to receive them.’ His words take on that velvety quality of his, the inflection of his accent only adding to the aural thrill. ‘I could paint you in such adoration.’
His thumb finds my mouth and strokes my bottom lip, my panic ebbing away. He dips, pressing his lips to mine once more, turning my insides molten as his hand moves between us, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. One, two, three tiny hindrances worked loose, he pushes the sides of his shirt open, exposing me to his trailing fingers and his gaze.
‘Tu es très belle,’ he whispers, his words pressed to my lips. ‘Once in English. Once in French, because you deserve to hear it twice. You are very, very beautiful.’
‘You can say that to me in any language you like.’ My words are just a rush of breath as I absorb the weight of his body over mine and the feel of him pressed between my legs.
‘Mmmm.’ The vibration is more growl as his mouth engulfs my nipple briefly, his words whispering against my skin. ‘You know, that could be dangerous.’
I push up on my elbows, watching as he works his way down my body. Circling my navel with his tongue, a sucking bite pressed to my hip, his hand sliding under my thigh. We’ve been in bed hours, kissing, tasting, fucking. Surely, he isn’t going to—
‘What are you doing?’
There’s a challenge in the way his eyes rise to mine. ‘Je veux te bouffer la chatte.’ Even with my very little understanding of the language, I know instinctively what he just said.
I don’t need a translation, my body surging from the bed with an inarticulate sound as Remy’s fingers part my oversensitive flesh. As he sucks my clit into his mouth, I’m sure the weight of him over me is the only thing stopping me from floating away.
20
Remy
‘Remy.’ As I turn, a hand is proffered along with my name. ‘Long time, no see, man.’
‘Gunnar. How are things?’ As we shake hands, the man shrugs and smiles the kind of smile that still makes him sought after to graces magazine covers long after his football career is over.
‘Can’t complain. I haven’t seen you around lately. What can be keeping you away from these things?’ He gestures to the melee going on around us. A charity function. Though there was nothing charitable in the look of a thirty-something passing blonde as her gaze lingers over me. Nothing charitable and nothing subtle, because she’s still giving me the eye as she reaches the side of her elderly husband.
‘You know how it is.’ I take a sip from my glass, pleasantly surprised by the quality of the wine on offer this evening. Usually, it’s as insipid as the company, most people in attendance using this type of event as a means to be seen.
Wine. Champagne. Canapes. The yacht show. The Grand Prix. Art showings. The opera. Charity auctions. Corporate functions. Night after night of double air-kisses, tinkling laughter, and pleasure as faked as the orgasms they make for the benefit of their husbands. As the head of Loup Industries, my attendance is sometimes necessary. As a man, I’m so fucking bored of it all.