Chapter 12
12
Fleur
Max Tucker shouldn’t be allowed to wear a suit. It was overwhelming for women at large. Wasn’t fair to other men who could never measure up, either.
I’d been wrong when I’d said Max didn’t have swagger. So wrong. He had swagger, it was just his own brand of it, completely different from anything I’d ever known.
Mine.
There was something about him standing in front of me in that suit. He didn’t seem to notice; his gaze had been searching for me, but when he’d walked through the bar, people had noticed him. Women had noticed him. And some possessive, jealous streak I hadn’t even known I had pushed me to claim him.
He stood there like a warrior who had just come back from battle. Maybe his armor was an exquisite classic black suit and the white dress shirt I’d pushed aside as I’d kissed down his stomach in a cramped dressing room, and maybe his battle was a chance at one of the most prestigious jobs in finance, but there was still something primal that the sight of him evoked in me.
I was proud of him, and so happy, and three seconds away from wrapping my legs around his waist, and I didn’t even care who saw.
I kissed him instead.
I kissed him as though my life depended on it, as though it was the last kiss we’d ever have, when really, this felt like the beginning of everything. I kissed him because I had to put this feeling bubbling up inside me somewhere. I gave it to him with my mouth, and my hands and my body.
Max took the gift and returned it in spades.
His hands played at my waist, gripping and stroking, one hand sliding under my shirt and fitting in the small of my back, yanking me even closer to him. It was not a public kiss. It was a private let’s-fuck kiss, and right now the last thing I wanted was slow.
He broke away first, still holding my body to his. His head brushed against my hair, his lips teasing my ear. I shuddered and my nipples pebbled.
“One night I’m going to have you in my bed wearing nothing but those boots,” he half-whispered, half-growled.
“Yes.”
I wasn’t sure if I breathed the word or spoke it. I wasn’t sure of much besides his body hard against mine. I didn’t think I’d ever wanted anyone as much as I wanted him.
Max groaned, reaching down and grabbing my hand, lacing our fingers together.
We stood there, staring at each other, and I knew he was as turned on as I was.
A smile slid over my face as I slowly regained my sanity. “Congratulations on the interview.”
He laughed. “What interview?”
My smile widened so much my cheeks ached.
“Come on.” I tugged on his hand. “Let me buy you a drink.”
Max
We sat in a dark corner in the back, closed off from the rest of the bar with a small table in front of us. Fleur had insisted on ordering a bottle of champagne to celebrate. I hadn’t argued because Fleur had also cuddled up next to me, her legs draped over mine, her ass pressed up to my side. I couldn’t resist stroking her legs through her pants.
Maybe I had a leather fetish. More likely I had a Fleur fetish.
“Do you like the champagne?”
I took a sip. “It’s good.” She was better.
I leaned forward and pressed a light kiss on her lips. She sighed against my mouth.
“Thanks for celebrating with me.”
She grinned. “I’m glad I could be here with you.”
Something thudded in my chest. “Me, too.”
I set the glass on the table, my free hand reaching out and capturing a lock of her hair. She stilled as I played with the ends, twisting it around my fingers.
It wasn’t even intentional, but I found myself tugging on the strands, bringing her closer to me until her mouth was on mine again.
She tasted like the champagne—cool, crisp, expensive as hell. Her mouth opened against mine, her tongue stroking, her lips hungry. She moved so she was straddling me, her knees on either side of my body on the secluded padded booth, her fingers threading through my hair, pulling, bringing me closer to her. The scent of her perfume teased my nostrils; the taste of her swirled in my mouth as her body filled my hands. When my eyes finally flickered open, desire stared back at me.
I groaned. “I can see taking it slow is not going to be easy.”
She tossed me a wicked grin, her body shifting against me, and I went hard as a rock. Her lips brushed against mine.
“I like you,” I mumbled between the kisses she planted on my mouth—kisses that were more sweet than sexy, but just as tempting. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”
She pulled back slightly, her hands drifting down from my hair to stroke my face.
“I don’t, either,” she whispered, her eyes wide as if the confession surprised her. The intensity in her voice shocked the hell out of me.
“I just think we should get to know each other a little better first.” Every part of my body screamed at me that I was being an idiot, that I had the girl I’d fantasized about for years in my fucking lap and I was letting her go.
But I’d rather have more with Fleur than a fling that burned out as quickly as it started.
She sighed, a pout flirting with her lips. “Fine.”
I grinned. She sounded as happy about it as I felt. This was going to be interesting.
I coughed awkwardly. “You might want to sit next to me. It’s kind of hard to go slow when you’re straddling me.” I knew she could feel how badly I wanted her.
She tossed me another naughty grin. This girl was going to give me a heart attack, no question, but at least it would be an amazing death.
She moved off my lap, and my body protested, my arms dying to reach out and haul her back on top of me. I took a sip of champagne instead and started counting in Mandarin in my head to distract myself.
Fleur shifted slightly, taking a sip of her drink and studying me over the rim of the glass. “Okay. What does taking it slow entail?”
I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, my eyes hungrily taking in her appearance. “No clue. Getting to know each other. Kissing. Bases.”
She blinked. “Bases?”
She killed me. I grinned. “It’s an American thing.”
“I don’t get it.”
I wrapped my arm around her, tucking her into the curve of my body. One of my hands drifted to her bare shoulder, stroking the soft skin there. I watched, fascinated, as a line of goose bumps formed.
“Bases?” she repeated, her voice breathy.
“Well, there’s first base.” My fingers continued, moving downward, teasing the skin right above her elbow with circles and swirls. She bit down on her lip, and whatever hope I had of my erection going down flew out the window. Screw it. We could go slow and still have fun.
“What’s first base?”
“Kissing.” I grinned at her. “French kissing.”
She shook her head. “I don’t get why you Americans call it that.”
“Maybe because the French do it best,” I teased. “You’re the only French girl I’ve ever kissed, but I can definitely get behind that explanation.” My fingers trailed lower, shifting her arm slightly, gliding over the inside of her forearm, back and forth, my touch at times featherlight, at other times letting my fingernails skim her skin.
She shuddered against me.
“Then there’s second base,” I continued, my voice growing hoarse now. I’d never known any girl whose body was as responsive as Fleur’s. She sat next to me throwing off heat, and need and want, and I knew without having to move, knew in my bones, that her nipples were tight and she was already wet. Just from the touch of my hand on her arm.
Fuck me.
“What’s second base?”
I stifled a groan as I continued, every moment exquisite torture. The words tumbled out, shocking the hell out of me, as I gave voice to my fantasies.
“Touching, stroking, feeling, tasting.” I leaned in closer to her, my mouth hot on her ear. “If we were at second base, I’d have you in my room, straddling me, your top off.”
She shuddered again, her thigh pressing closer to mine.
“I’d strip off your bra, and I’d spend hours playing with your breasts. I’d use my mouth and my hands to try to make you come. I’d stroke your tits and play with your nipples—sucking, licking. I’d have you ride me, and I’d be so hard that even though there were clothes between us, I’d do everything I could to get you off.”
She was so still, I wasn’t sure if she’d stopped breathing. I was so hard it hurt. I’d never done this before. Never talked dirty to a girl. I mean, sure, fuck, that feels good , and you’re so wet were normal parts of my repertoire, but this came from someplace darker and deeper than anything I’d ever experienced. We were fully clothed, in public, barely touching, and I was completely and utterly gone.
I pressed a kiss to her ear, letting my lips roam until they reached her lobe, partially hidden by the current of her hair. I sucked her soft skin into my mouth, my teeth gently grazing her flesh.
A moan escaped her lips, and she reached out, her hand shaky as she grabbed her glass of champagne, taking a sip as if to cover what was happening. If anyone came by our corner, they’d just think I was kissing her neck.
Only we knew I was fucking her with my words.
“Then there’s third base,” I whispered, blowing on the lobe that had just been in my mouth. She shivered, and I hugged her tighter against my body.
“Mon dieu.”
“Ask me what third base is,” I prodded, the desire in her eyes pushing me further, and the French falling from her lips taking me over the edge.
“What’s third base?” Her voice trembled, her accent heavier than normal.
“I’d unbutton those leather pants you’re wearing, drag the zipper down, and peel them off your gorgeous legs,” I replied, my voice raspy. “Then I’d have you strip in front of me, have you hook your fingers in the lace underwear I bet you’re wearing, and watch while you take them off until you were bare. Then I’d have you lie back in bed, legs spread...”
My hand moved to her wrist, stroking the skin there, dragging my flesh against hers, feeling every tremor from her body. It fed my arousal like a drug.
“I don’t know what I’d rather do first—taste you or feel you.” My mouth moved down her ear, my tongue darting out and tracing a circle against the sensitive skin behind her earlobe.
“Max—”
Fuck me.
I half-groaned, half-laughed. “I’d want to hear you say my name just like that. I’d need to hear how badly you wanted me. And then I’d give you everything you wanted. I’d spend all night between your legs. I’d slip my fingers inside you, drown in your wetness. I’d lick you, kiss you, have the taste of you on my tongue. I’d make you come with my hands and my mouth, over and over again until you couldn’t take it anymore.”
Fleur turned toward me so I could see her face, and I lost my heart. Her eyes were fire, her skin flushed with arousal, her mouth parted as if begging for my lips on hers. She moved forward and put her mouth on mine. She didn’t kiss me, she just settled there, our breath mingling, the taste of champagne surrounding both of us. Neither of us moved. It couldn’t even be called a kiss, really. It was everything.
And in that moment I knew it didn’t matter who had come before me, didn’t matter that she was out of my league.
She was mine.
“Then there’s home plate,” I whispered into her mouth.
Her voice was soaked with need as if already anticipating my answer. “What’s home plate?”
My hand drifted down from her wrist, stroking the inside of her palm. She pressed into me, her breasts rubbing my chest, her nipples hard through her thin top and what had to be a sheer bra. I’d dream of her tonight. I’d dream of this. My fingers moved forward, teasing the space between hers, playing with the flesh there until my hand slid home, and our palms connected, and our fingers laced as she held my heart in her hands.
“Heaven.”