Liar Liar Page 16

  ‘No one likes a tease.’ My words sound hoarse as he lowers my arms to my sides.

  ‘You know that’s not true.’ His words, like his kisses, are soft but insistent. Petal-soft brushes, a lick, a graze and he continues to tease. ‘You like me . . . very . . . very . . . much.’

  Oh, my God. What is he doing to me? I mean, apart from shackling my hands while he tortures me. Is it the suit that makes him like this, or is this how he really operates? You know, when he’s not pretending to be a helplessly cute tourist. I’ve never experienced this kind of need. Never felt the slow burn of a glancing, dancing tease. It’s quite literally making me dizzy. Dizzy with need.

  ‘Please, Remy, kiss me. Kiss me properly.’

  The voice is mine, but it doesn’t sound like me as, with each press of his lips, I become a little more needy, a little more desperate, until his tongue brushes my own, and I’m suddenly moaning into his mouth. In that instant, everything changes as he pulls me closer, his mouth suddenly urgent and greedy. It’s all so familiar yet also new as he begins to manoeuvre me backwards across the room. It isn’t just the press of his freshly shaven cheek that’s different; it’s in the subtleties of his touch. Or maybe that should be the lack of subtleties as his hands slips to the hem of my top, pulling it up and over my head.

  It drops to the floor, my white flag of surrender, his gaze devouring my skin.

  ‘You like me so much you’d even beg.’

  ‘That wasn’t begging. That was asking. Nicely.’

  ‘Very nicely.’ His hands slide around my hips, the span of those long fingers making me feel tiny for a change.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Somewhere more forgiving than the desk.’ Though playful, there’s an edge to his words.

  ‘I didn’t mind the desk,’ I rasp as we reach the bottom of the sweeping industrial-style staircase

  ‘We’ll add it to the list. My desk, the piano, the cinema room. Out by the pool under the moon. I want it all. I want you everywhere.’ My attention moves to the wall of windows. Does he mean everywhere or everywhere? ‘What do you think?’ he almost taunts, reading my expression. ‘Don’t worry.’ His lips finding the sensitive spot behind my ear. I’ll be good. For a little while, at least.’

  Oh, my God. Why does that excite me? And which is it . . . that he’ll be good for now, or that he won’t be eventually? All I know is I feel hot, literally, and figuratively as I reach for the edge of the scarf at my neck.

  ‘Leave it. For now.’

  ‘Because then no one looking in can say they saw me truly naked?’

  ‘You’re forty-seven floors up. No one is going to see you come. No 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 well and good, and it might roll off the tongue, but there’s nothing quite like the use of fuck to get your point across.

  ‘I take it back. A phone book won’t do.’ She sighs as my teeth graze the sensitive lobe of her ear, the challenge in her stance melting. ‘How come bad words sound so much sexier said by you?’

  ‘Maybe it’s the man, not the words.’

  ‘Oh, it’s definitely the man.’ Her response is pure encouragement, an invitation to reveal.

  ‘A man who has thought of these. Imagined these.’ My voice is hoarse, and my accent thick as I cup her full breasts, my thumbs gliding back and forth over the sensitive peaks. She sighs as I lower my head, teasing her over the lace, rendering her lacy bra almost transparent. ‘A man who wants to fuck these.’

  ‘Even mildly pornographic sounds better from your mouth.’

  ‘There�
��s nothing mild about my plans for you.’ I continue to torture and tease until she’s pressing herself against me, whimpering for more. ‘We’re going to play a little game called make Rose desperate for Remy’s baguette.’ I’m surprised I can keep a straight face, yet at the same time, I’m endeared by her ridiculousness.

  ‘Okay, you win. Give it to me.’

  I find myself chuckling. ‘Oh, I will. Over and over again until your legs are shaking, and the neighbours know my name.’

  ‘But you don’t have any neighbours.’

  ‘When I’m finished with you, your neighbours will know my name. No more confusion this time. No talk of baguettes, no whispered words you can’t understand. I’ll keep to English.’

  ‘Killjoy,’ she whispers as she begins to pluck at my belt.

  ‘Except,’ I bring my mouth to her ear and whisper huskily, ‘for the words I whisper between your legs.’

  ‘Promises, promises.’ Her words are a sultry whisper, her gaze burning bright.

  ‘I promise not to stop until I’ve made you come a dozen times.’

  Her smile is pressed against my cheek before she uses her teeth, part playful, part serious. She peppers my jaw with teasing kisses, my abs flexing and bunching under her questing fingertips . Together, we pull my half-unbuttoned shirt over my head.

  ‘Take off your pants.’ My voice is husky, my need immediate.

  She does as I demand, barely stepping from the pool of them when I spin her around, gathering her hair in my fist. It takes her a beat to notice the mirror in front of her as, her head turned over her shoulder, she fights to reach my mouth.

  ‘Look at how beautiful you are.’ She follows the direction of my gaze, my larger body framing her lush form, her hard pebbles through the transparent lace of her bra. She is Venus. Juno. Made of the kind of hills and valleys and curves that would make an artist weep. Her eyes dark and her lush lips inviting, Rose is a prize I don’t deserve. But I’ll have her anyway.

  ‘I can see how wet you are.’ I tighten my grip on her hair, her body yielding. ‘I can almost taste your arousal.’

  ‘Remy, please.’ More moan than words, her body gives at the graze of my teeth against her shoulder as I devour her satin skin. I want to inhale her—consume her whole. What is it about this woman that makes me so reckless? Makes me forget all the trouble she could bring to my door.

  Makes me long for something more.

  ‘Please what, ma Rose. Do you want me to taste you?’ I flick the clasp of her bra, trailing it down her arms until it drops to the floor. Dieu, the sight of her before me, her breasts so full and round and spilling from my hands. ‘What would you do for me in return? Would you get on your knees? Would you touch yourself?’

  ‘Yes, anything.’

  I pull her against me, letting her feel the hard outline of my cock through the fabric of my pants as those eyes of melted honey find mine in the mirror, the truth of her longing shining there. I’d tried to tell myself that she wouldn’t be the same woman as she was in March. That a one-night stand brings its own kind of desperate reveal. But that isn’t so. She’s even more open now, her body arching, her nipples hard. I can’t wait to taste them, to tongue them, to feel them harden in my mouth as she writhes under me. But for now . . .

  ‘Oh!’ Her breath hitches as I press her forward, and she catches herself against the heavy mirror, her palms spread wide. My body mourns the loss of hers, but her the sight of her makes up for the loss. The slope of her shoulders, the flare of her hips, and those delicious indents at the base of her back. Her hair is wild and her body bare but for the tiny scrap of her underwear and the last vestiges of her uniform tied around her neck.

  She is irrésistible.

  ‘Oh, God.’ This is more a sound of appreciation than a plea for clemency as I slip my hand under the elastic of her underwear and cup her pussy. Her body responds instantly, writhing against me—against my cock and my hand—begging for relief.

  ‘You know what the French language doesn’t have?’ I part her sweet flesh, swiping a finger through her wetness to gather it against the part of her that throbs. ‘It doesn’t have enough words for this.’

  ‘Remy, please.’

  ‘This piece of heaven. This little bit of paradise.’ My words are a rasp of appreciation as I begin to love her clit; to pet and circle and tease, to paint the throbbing bud with her own arousal. Her breath hits the air in a series of tight gasps, her eyes rolling closed as her body begins to undulate, riding my hand. ‘This sweet, sweet pussy.’ My fingers still inside her, I twist the scrap of lace at her hip until it snaps.

  Her eyes fly open, her movements fuller, her breath coming faster as I torture her a little more until she’s crying out and coming against my hand, her cries heightening as tiny spasms wrack her body as she tries to escape my hand.

  ‘Please, no,’ she pants. ‘Remy, please, I can’t.’ She drops her head, the curtain of her hair shielding her face, her body sagging with relief as I pull my fingers from her. I gather her hair over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her shoulder. The top of her spine.

  ‘Je veux te goûter.’ At my rasping words, her eyes flare. ‘I want to taste you . . . just so there can be no confusion.’

  I drop to my heels, dragging the remains of her underwear with me before burying my head between her legs, making this piece of paradise my very own.

  One swipe of my tongue, and she cries out. Two and she’s pushing up onto her toes, the tension in her body. My third swipe is a teasing caress to her inner thigh that makes her mewl a protest.

  ‘I can’t,’ she protests, even as she begins canting her hips, the threads of her building orgasm tied so tightly to the other, her mind and body at war.

  ‘Yes, you can. There can be no such thing as too much pleasure.’

  ‘There can be if it kills you,’ she whimpers. But then she complains no more.

  The sounds of our joint pleasure begin to fill the darkened room; wet sucking, slick fingers fucking, my whispers of encouragement and growls of pleasure and those heady cries of hers that drive me fucking wild.

  She undulates, chasing my touch as my hand slip away as I stand. The mirror was for her benefit—for her to see herself as I see her—but I find I can’t get close enough for satisfaction. I can’t feel enough, taste enough, see enough of her right now.

  Her gaze is darkly dilated, her heavy lids widening as I feed those glistening fingers into her mouth. But she makes no protest, instead lapping and sucking the digits with the kind of filthy kind reverence that makes my cock ache.

  I spin her to face me, pressing my lips against hers. The taste of her arousal from her own mouth is a turn-on like nothing else. She’s like a drug, an obsession, and I’m afraid I’ll never have enough. With the realisation, the moment turns fierce, my desperation to own and possess her growing as I push my tongue into her mouth. My cock grows harder at the way she accepts it. Sucks on it. Entwines it with her own. The way she moans as I find her clit, slippery and swollen, and her head falls back along with her moan.

  I press her nakedness against the cool mirror, her gaze falling over my tattoos, her fingers teasing the trail of hair that dips into my open pants.

  ‘Your tongue is diabolical and your whispers divine.’ Her husky words echo under my lips as I kiss her again, working lips down her neck before using my teeth to pull her scarf loose.

  ‘What about my cock?’ I ask, unravelling the silk from her neck and wrapping it around my fist.

  She tilts her head, mischief making her eyes glisten. ‘I don’t know if I remember. Maybe you should remind me—’

  I cut off her words with a slow, sensual kiss, grinding my hips against her nakedness as I press my hands to the mirror on either side of her head.

  ‘Is it coming back to you yet?’

  ‘I think I need to take a quick peek. Just to be sure.’ Her hands reach for my pants when I cover them with my own.

  ‘Be sure of what, ma Rose?’

>   ‘Be sure it’s as pretty as I remember.’

  ‘You can’t call my cock pretty, not without there being consequences.’ This woman. Just her. I don’t care what follows. I care for nothing right now but having her.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she purrs. ‘However can I make it up to you?’

  Before I can say another word, she drops to her knees, lifting me free from the confines of my underwear. She lowers her gaze demurely, her fingers warm on my scalding skin. Her nails are painted pink, and her hands small and dainty. I can’t help but be struck by the contrast between her softness and my rigid cock, the veins bulging ruddily.

  I gather the mass of dark waves to better see, hissing out a breath as the soft brush of her hair draws my abs tight. My body bowing forward as she places a tender kiss to my crown, my knees almost going out from under me as she then inhales me almost to the back of her throat.

  ‘Fuck . . .’

  ‘You’re so hot and hard,’ she whispers, her eyes almost coy as they flick up to me. But coy is a ruse, coy is a deception, as her tongue flicks out, tonguing my head, my slit, licking my aching length, her attentions blowing my mind.

  ‘La langue est diabolique.’ I use her earlier words against her, our tongue is diabolical, the delivery a rush of air. It’s a praise that seems to please her, judging by the way she begins to work me faster. Her hand is firm at the root of my cock as she twists and jacks, her mouth alternating between tight and messy until my mind is blank of all thoughts but one.

  ‘Suce-moi,’ I moan, my words hoarse, my eyes glued to the delicious slide of her lips. My pulse pounds, and my thighs tremble as she moans the most encouraging sounds, the vibrations like a drug hitting my veins.

  ‘Tu vas me faire jouir. You’re going to make me come.’

  My balls draw tight; I’m close to coming, and though the room is cool, my skin feels as though it’s been pierced by a million hot pins, the sensation of fire expanding under my skin. I crave this release, but I don’t give in. Not at the sight of her naked and on her knees. Not as her gaze meets mine full of heat and unspoken promises. Not as her languid gaze grows dark, her mouth full of me. Because I need more.