The Virgin Society Collection

24. Appropriately Inappropriate

24

APPROPRIATELY INAPPROPRIATE

Jules

I slick on some red lipstick then press my lips together, giving myself a once-over in the hotel room mirror. There, ready.

Well, I brought my stilettos. Guess I’m a hopeful girl.

I turn around, squaring my shoulders, letting my own love of dancing drive me as I step out of the bathroom, then stand in the doorway, arm sliding up the frame, hip cocked out, lips pouty.

Eyes on him.

A slow, sultry song fills my small room, and with the lamp dimmed, it feels like a smoky lounge in here.

And I feel like a different version of me. I’m the me in Paris. The me who goes clubbing. The me who doggedly chases opportunities.

I’m not the girl who hurt her family.

I left her in New York.

Finn’s parked in a burgundy chair across the room, legs spread, one arm slung across the back. The other hand holds a tumbler of amber liquid. His gaze is powerful as it locks on mine, eyes a dark emerald, full lips a hard ruler. He lifts that glass of scotch, taking his time, assessing my body, his confident pose making it clear he’s in charge as he studies me in the doorway.

Then, he gives the barest of nods. He’s the high-end customer in my exotic dance club, I head to him, taking my sweet time. My hips sway from side to side, seductively teasing him with every step. His eyes travel up and down my body as he takes in my costume.

It’s simple. A short skirt, schoolgirl style, and a tight white blouse. But the gift he gave me peeks out, since I unbuttoned the top just enough to reveal the white lace demi-cup bra with red tulips embroidered on the cups. The panties are low-cut, and they match.

“Hey there, handsome,” I say as I reach him, stopping a foot away to leave some space, create some anticipation. “Can I interest you in a dance tonight?”

“Maybe,” he says, a little aloof. He lifts the tumbler and knocks some back before setting it down on the oak table next to the gift bag he’s had with him all night. He hasn’t opened it yet. My curiosity is piqued, but I push it aside when he asks, “What kind of dance?”

I finger the top of my blouse, giving him a peek at my cleavage. “The kind with rules.”

“Yeah? You think I like to play by the rules?” he asks, his tone brusque, his deep voice sending a spark through me.

I roam my gaze up and down him, the man who’s playing the part of the uncaring businessman out for a night at a gentlemen’s club. He’s good at pretend, but the vein in his neck pulses, giving him away and giving me my power. “I think you won’t let me walk away.”

I spin on my black heels, the stripper ready to leave.

“I’ll play by your rules,” he grumbles.

I whirl around, lean closer, and run a finger over the collar of his shirt. “I had a feeling you would.” I tap dance my fingers along his neck. “Here’s the first one. You can look, but only I can touch.”

“Fine. What else?”

“No touching, no kissing, and you have to keep your clothes on.” I lick the corner of my cherry-red lips, waiting for his yes. “What’ll it be?”

He reaches for his glass, swallows more, then sets it down, his eyes flickering with dirty thoughts. “Guess I just bought a tease.”

My smile spreads, slow and sensual. “Yes. Yes, you did, handsome.”

As the song slides into a low beat, a pulsing baseline of longing, I step a few feet back, playing with the buttons on my blouse. Fiddling with the top one, I reveal more skin. With each button I undo, his jaw tightens, his breathing sharpens.

Good. A charge rushes through me and once my shirt is undone, I glide a hand down the valley of my breasts, over my stomach, stopping at my skirt. “Just a little torment for the customer,” I whisper.

“Gimme more,” he says. “That’s my rule.”

“That’s a very good rule, handsome. I’d hate to break it.” I come closer, enough that my thighs brush against his knees. I set my hands on the arms of his chair, giving him a dance.

Finn draws a sharp inhale through his nose. A man coming undone.

Biting the corner of my lips, I move away, shaking my ass in time with the music. I can’t see him, but I can feel his eyes tracing my curves. I run my palms over my ass, sticking it out, letting him enjoy the view.

“Yes,” he rasps.

I smile privately then turn around, letting my shirt fall to the floor. I return to him, standing as I slide one thigh of his between mine. He grips the arms of the chair, and I grind down on his strong muscle so he can feel my desire in my wet panties.

He grunts. “More.”

I feel powerful, like a goddess. Like I’m in charge of my own fate, like I’ve made no mistakes.

I grind and I touch, my hands covering his chest as we move together. The line between fantasy and reality blurs. We’re dancer and customer. We’re two strangers. We’re lovers in Paris. We’re us, making up our own rules, and bending all of them.

As his breathing turns labored, and my skin grows hot, I tear myself away, walking slowly across the room, unzipping the skirt, and stepping out of it.

One spin, and I’m a wicked woman as I stand before him in white lace, black heels, and flushed skin.

He’s fully clothed, and his erection is tenting his slacks obscenely.

Finn grits his teeth as I sashay my way back to him, shaking my tits, my hips, my ass. All the curves he loves. When I reach him, I turn once more so I can lower my butt to his thighs and grind down on him, my hair spilling over his chest.

His harsh breath fills my ears, the sound of a man’s restraint crumbling. His fingers twitch, and then as I rub my ass against his hard-on, he breaks, one big hand coming down on my thigh, squeezing possessively.

I shake my head, then peel off his hand. “Don’t break the rules,” I purr.

His lips coast along the back of my neck. “Fuck rules,” he warns me.

Heat sparks down my spine, heading straight for my core, but I try to stay in character. “Rules are rules, handsome.”

He drags his nose along my neck. “My rule is I want you. Now .”

I go up in a white-hot blaze of sex and lust. I can literally feel my panties dampen. He can, too, since he grabs my hips and presses me harder, more urgently down on him.

I should stay in character. Truly I should, but I’m melting under his strong hands, his commanding voice, and his unchecked lust.

I’m still amazed he feels this way for me.

Me .

A woman who for years didn’t want sex. Who abandoned all interest in it until she started thinking of it again in the most inappropriate of ways.

Now, here I am being appropriately inappropriate. Touching, teasing, toying with a man I shouldn’t have.

High on this feeling of power and sex, I push my luck. I step away, walking toward the bed, each click of my heels on the hardwood a punctuation mark. I wheel around, unhook my bra, and toss it at him.

“Stay there,” I say, before he can devour me. I hold up a stop-sign hand. “Don’t break the rules, handsome.”

Finn says nothing, just seethes with desire, huffing like an animal. I return to him, straddling his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, then dry fucking him. Rock, grind, thrust. Rinse, lather, repeat, until I fire the starting shot. “Break them,” I order.

A racehorse at the gates, he’s up, hoisting me over his shoulder, carrying me to the bed, tossing me down.

As he toes off his shoes, he says, “Leave your shoes on.”

My inhibitions are out the window. He slides next to me and thrusts an eager hand inside my panties, and I arch shamelessly.

“My rules now,” he growls as he glides those talented fingers over me, and I writhe.

“What are they?” I gasp out. “Your rules?”

He stares down at me with eyes dark with lust. “You come till you can’t take it anymore. Understood?”

I shudder. “Okay,” I say, breathless as I rock into those long fingers.

“No, it’s not fucking okay,” he says gruffly. “Say you want it.”

He takes his fingers away from my pussy, and I whimper. “I want it.”

He brings them to his mouth, licks off my taste, then turns me to my side so we’re face-to-face. “Say it.”

“Make me come till I can’t take it.”

My reward is a hot kiss. Fingers between my thighs. A relentless mouth questing across my neck, and a tense, tantalizing pulse in my core.

He rubs a mesmerizing circle on my clit till I’m arching, gasping, then clawing at the sheets.

“Give it to me,” he growls, but I’m already there, coming on his hand.

Before I can even catch my breath, he’s grabbed the gift bag and returned to the bed. After he yanks off my panties, he reaches into the bag, then wields a toy, a small peach-colored vibrator, with a tiny hole in it.

He turns it on, grazes it over my clit, and I shout. “God. Yes. What is that?”

“I went shopping for you this evening. When in Paris,” he says, then rubs the toy over my clit where it pulses and vibrates with air.

“This is crazy,” I say, moaning.

He looks mad, wild with pleasure as he kneels between my legs, demanding, “Spread them wider. Need to see your pretty pussy.”

I let my legs fall open, wanton and shameless under his determined hands. The man bought a vibrator for me before dinner. This is next level sex. This is why older men rock. No one will ever compare after this kind of relentless attention. This devotion to my pleasure and…oh, god.

He’s just turned up the speed, and I’m one long nerve, fraying with desire. “I’m close,” I pant.

“Good. Then follow my rules, Jules,” he says, going a little faster, then faster still, till my mind is spinning and my body is almost tipping over.

“Rules,” I murmur, barely focusing as bliss comes into view.

“Yes. This rule. Don’t fucking come.” In a cruel heartbeat, he turns it off, leaving me aching.

“Asshole,” I mutter. I was on the edge.

He laughs as he flips me over so I’m on my stomach, naked with only shoes on.

“Jerk,” I grumble.

But then he straddles me and pushes my hair to the side, leaning down to dust a kiss over my neck.

Oh. That’s nice. So nice.

My shoulders now.

His lips travel down my back, reverently kissing me, adoring my skin as he goes. His caresses light me up. I ignite again, hot and bothered and so turned on as he journeys down to the top of my ass.

He kisses one cheek. All over.

I squirm, feeling out of control and wanting less and less control. He moves to the other cheek, layering kisses all over my ass, then sliding his tongue along the crease.

I tense for a second. Is he going to go there ? Do I want him to? I don’t know, but he stops and grabs me roughly, manhandling me in the way he’s learned I like.

He hauls me up to my knees. “Ass up. Keep your arms stretched out.”

“I will. I am,” I say, though it feels like a plea as I give in to his every demand to please me.

Then, he reaches into the bag once more, comes around the top of the bed, and dangles a long swatch of black silk in front of me. “My rules. Your blindfold.”

He waits, asking for permission. “Yes,” I say, granting it.

“Good.” In seconds, everything’s dark and black and silky as he ties the fabric around my head. “Okay?”

“So okay,” I gasp, then I feel the mattress press down and hear a buzzing. One hand’s on the top of my ass while the other returns to my spread thighs with the vibrator. Thank god. “Yes, please make me come,” I beg, desperately seeking sweet relief.

Doesn’t take me long. Soon, I’m shamelessly fucking the toy and shattering, breaking apart under the powerful force of a second orgasm. It’s still rocketing through me when Finn turns me over, spreads me out, and buries his face in my pussy.

“So fucking good. So fucking sweet,” he praises, then slides his hands under my ass and devours me while I’m still coming down from the last orgasm.

It’s almost too much. I’m so sensitive already, but he’s merciless, licking me ferociously, sucking on my clit till my belly coils with the delicious threat of more pleasure. I’m close, so damn close. This can’t be happening. I can’t be coming again.

But impossibly, I am, grabbing his head, drawing him nearer and coming like a woman drunk on orgasms.

While I’m still crying out, he unties the blindfold then unbuttons his shirt, giving me a view of his broad, toned chest. He stares down at me while he strips. His eyes spark with desire. He’s more turned on than I’ve ever seen him. My throat is dry. My voice is hoarse, but I lift a hand, reaching for the ridge of his erection through his pants. “Your cock. Gimme your cock,” I beg.

He shakes his head. “Not enough, honey. You haven’t come enough,” he says, then he tugs me off the mattress. I feel loose and noodle-y, and I’m not even sure I can stand, but he bends me over the bed, then unzips his pants. I crane my neck as he takes out his cock and rubs it against my ass, teasing me with what I want most, but not giving it to me.

Instead, he gives me his hand again, sliding those determined fingers between my thighs, rubbing his cock against my ass. I’m wrung out, panting, sweating, and crying from the intensity.

I come again, then once more with the vibrator, collapsing onto the bed, boneless. I feel like my body isn’t mine. It’s his to play with, his to take, his to cherish.

I can’t stand all this pleasure. “It’s too much. Just fuck me now,” I gasp as I stare up at him while I finally kick off those damn heels.

His smile is so damn satisfied. “All you had to do was ask,” he teases as he sheds his pants and boxer briefs at last, then reaches for his wallet, no doubt for a condom.

I sit up, setting a hand on his arm. “I’m on the pill and safe.”

He groans. “I’m safe too,” he says, then climbs onto the bed, settling between my thighs. He spreads me open. “Mine,” he says, and I shudder. “Want to see your sweet pussy. Want to feel it bare. Want you to come on my cock till you can’t take it anymore.”

I’m not sure I can take his brand of domination. But I am sure I want it. And him. I loop my hands around his neck. “Fuck me into tomorrow.”

His sigh is carnal, and needy as he slides into me. “Jules,” he grunts. “My fucking Jules.”

My .

Sometime tonight, I became his.

In the morning, I’m still buzzed. I’m pretty sure now that being sex drunk is a real thing.Or maybe I’m intoxicated on honesty. Finn’s someone who takes me as I am. He doesn’t try to trick me. He doesn’t try to twist my wishes. He meets them openly, then exceeds them.

With him, I feel a newfound confidence that comes from embracing my personal after dark. From feeling comfortable in my own skin.

With that in my mind, we get dressed, then head out together into the Montmartre morning, a summer breeze wafting through the air as the city wakes up. We head down a curving, hilly street with Sacré-Coeur watching over us, and no one knowing who we are.

We were secret lovers for a night, and I want more of that. We haven’t talked about the rest of the time here in Paris and whether we’ll spend it together. But that’s okay. I know this fling can’t last, so I’m rolling with it, living life like Finn said his son does—in medias res.

“Let’s do your list,” he says after we grab coffee and croissants. “You said wandering down a quiet street was on it. Montmartre is full of quiet streets where you can get lost. I don’t have a meeting for a couple hours. When are you due on set?”

“Two hours,” I say.

We go. I’ve checked off a handful of items already with him, so the list feels like it belongs to both of us now as we turn on a cobblestone street with no cars allowed.

It’s quiet, like I’ve stepped into Paris in the Belle époque. We walk past historical-looking buildings with doors painted purple, bright green, and sunshine yellow, and with window boxes lining each story. As we wander, I take photos and send them to Camden with little captions.

“Let me take a picture of you,” Finn says.

That tone makes me comply, but so does the emotion in his voice, the clear sense that he needs this picture to remember this day when it’s long gone. When all that’s left is the memory.

I stand by an orange doorway, but I don’t smile because I don’t think that’s what he wants. I think he just wants to remember me here. I brush a strand of hair from my face and I know that’s what he’s capturing.

When he looks at his phone, he murmurs, “Perfect.”

Then he gazes up at the building, probably six stories high. Each flat has a balcony.

You could tell him.

Just as that thought lands, my mind says it again. You could tell him . And I think I’d be okay if I did.

I practice it silently a few times, but he’s faster. When he looks at me, he asks, “Jules, is there something more to the balcony thing?”