Chapter Twenty-Six
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It was terrible and beautiful… heartbreaking and glorious. They were falling for each other. Emma didn’t see the changing scenery outside the car as emotions overwhelmed and engulfed her. She felt… Michel was… God, she was going to combust into flames. She wanted to be consumed by it.
But she retained enough of her senses to remember not to trust her heart. He was leaving in a month and a half. She swallowed a sob before it could escape her. Even so, Michel’s hand tightened around hers as though instinct moved him to comfort her. She turned away from the window and met his gaze. The gold specks in his warm brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight. Before she could fall into them, he brushed his lips across her knuckles, and her eyelashes fluttered shut.
They arrived at the hotel, and Sophie led them through the lobby. No one spoke as the elevator carried them up the floors. The tempest inside Emma calmed as though the worst had passed—then again, she might be in the eye of the storm—and she found some clarity. When Michel left, everything would return to the way it used to be. The way it should be. She would resume her orderly, meaningful life.
With that being the case, she could give in now. This terrible, beautiful thing between them would end before it could change—before it could become an ugly, disappointing lie. She could let herself fall. She would still be safe. It wouldn’t be all of her. Never all of her.
Michel held open the door, and Emma stepped inside his suite. Other than a quiet goodbye to Sophie, neither one of them had spoken since they left the bookstore. She listlessly walked over to the piano and tinkled a few notes on it.
“Do you play?” Michel said at her side.
“No, I never had a chance to learn.” Her smile was wistful. “But I’ve always loved the sound of the piano.”
He reached around her and played a string of notes that came together in a poignant and haunting melody. Her eyes snapped to his face as a shy smile curved his lips. “Do you want me to play something for you?”
God, this man. “Yes… please.”
Pulling out the piano bench, he sat down and gestured for her to sit next to him. Once she settled beside him, he gave her another small smile and raised his hands over the piano. Then like magic, music filled the air. His fingers moved in a gentle rhythm, gliding gracefully across the keys, but his playing was strong and masterful.
The music wove through her—the bass notes reverberating in her stomach—in slow, heart-wrenching waves. Tears welled in her eyes and flowed soundlessly down her cheeks. She bit her bottom lip and sucked in a shuddering breath, then exhaled quietly, not wanting to interrupt him. But Michel played on with his eyes closed, deeply immersed in the music.
His fingers hovered over the keys as the last notes faded away. When he finally looked at her, his eyebrows rose in alarm, and he reached out to wipe away her tears. She shook her head and brought his hands down between them.
“That was breathtaking.” She flashed a watery smile at him. “What is it called?”
“Prelude in E Minor.” His eyes flickered over her face as though to reassure himself that she was okay. “By Chopin.”
She squeezed his hand. “How long have you played the piano?”
“Since I was five.” He huffed a rueful laugh. “I’m grateful that my parents forced me to take lessons. Playing the piano is a great solace at times.”
“You play beautifully.” Her heart wrenched at another hint of his loneliness. She reached out and cupped his cheek, smoothing her thumb across his cheekbone. “I think you might be worth keeping around.”
“Is that so?” His lips quirked into a grin, as she’d hoped. “Well, I’d better practice every day to keep my skills sharp.”
“What else are you good at?” she asked coyly, her fingers tiptoeing up his thigh.
“I’m told I’m quite good at… many things.” His smile turned wolfish as he leaned close. “Should I demonstrate some of my skill set for you?”
“Only if you think I would find it interesting,” she breathed against his lips. His low chuckle sent a shiver down her spine, and anticipation swelled low in her stomach.
As though sensing that she was dying for him to kiss her, Michel cruelly denied her and brushed his lips down her neck instead. She wanted to drag his lips to her mouth and kiss him until neither of them could breathe, but she moaned when his tongue found the indentation at the base of her throat.
“Do tell me if I bore you at any point,” he drawled.
“Actually, I’m a little bo—” Her breath hitched as he scraped his teeth over her collarbone.
She trembled and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. The only reason she wasn’t annoyed at his arrogance was because his voice wasn’t at all steady. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. He made his way back up the other side of her neck and dropped a lingering kiss just beneath her ear. Her back arched as another moan escaped her.
“God, Emma.” Michel’s control seemed to snap, and his mouth claimed hers with the desperation of a starving man.
Her triumphant smile was short-lived as his tongue delved inside and demanded her surrender. She gave in with a helpless whimper. His hands were hot and rough as they moved up her back, then down her sides before digging into her hips. With a growl of frustration, he lifted her onto the piano in a burst of discordant notes and stepped between her spread thighs.
She pulled his shirt free from his slacks and drove her hands up his torso. He shivered and groaned his approval as his mouth moved frantically against hers. Her palms and fingers traveled over the hard, rippling contours of his abs and chest, reveling in the hot, smooth feel of him. She returned his demanding kisses, growing hungrier by the minute. She wrapped her legs around his ass and tilted her hips to press her aching center against him.
He hissed against her lips, then ground himself against her, wrenching a sharp cry from her. Her hands crashed onto the keys as she sought purchase, and her back arched with a primal need to get closer to him. Her head fell back when he swerved his hips again and again. The delicious friction made her toes curl and her stomach tighten with desire.
“Michel,” she breathed.
With a muttered curse, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom with long, impatient strides. Nerves skittered through her stomach, but she wanted this. She wanted him. As soon as he set her down on her feet beside the bed, he crushed his lips against hers as though the brief separation had been unbearable. He found the zipper behind her dress and opened it in one rough tug, making her gasp. His shoulders heaved beneath her hands as he took a deep breath, then he stepped back from her.
He slowly pulled the dress down her body. The soft scrape of the fabric against her sensitive skin made her dig her teeth into her bottom lip as a shudder coursed through her. As though he couldn’t stop himself, he claimed another hard, searing kiss, then fell to his knees and helped her step out of the dress on her trembling legs.
He grew still in front of her as he wordlessly took in her body, his hands clenched by his sides. When he looked up at her face, the naked adoration in his expression made her feel powerful and seductive. She reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, then tossed it to the side. His eyes darkened, turning almost completely black.
“You are so beautiful,” he said in an awed whisper.
He brushed his thumbs across the lower curve of her full, heavy breasts. Then he smoothed his unsteady hands down her sides until they rested on the curves of her waist. Holding her eyes, he dipped his fingers into her panties, drew them past her hips and down her thighs. Gently clasping one ankle and then the next, he removed the last barrier from her body.
He pressed his cheek against her navel, holding her by the hips. She ran her hand down the soft, thick waves of his hair, and his breath left him in a rough, jagged exhale.
“Are you okay?” she asked, tenderness filling her. He seemed as nervous as she felt. “You’re trembling.”
“I just need a moment.” He turned his head and spoke against her stomach, his lips brushing against her sensitive skin. “It’s been a while for me, and… and I don’t want to rush this. I want to take my time with you.”
“It’s been a long time for me, too.” She shivered at his words even as her body heated from the touch of his hands and lips. “I actually haven’t done this… that many times.”
Michel leaned back and looked up at her. She bit her lip, embarrassed by her confession—by her inexperience—and he carefully maneuvered her until she was perched on the edge of the bed. “Tell me, what is not that many times for you?”
“There… there was this guy in college. He was nice and smart… and I wasn’t overly enamored with him, so he seemed like a very sensible choice…” She trailed off, realizing that she was rambling.
“Emma,” he enunciated slowly. “Are you telling me there was one man in college ?”
“Yes?” He should know this wasn’t something she took lightly. She was opening herself up to him like she seldom did. She was offering him her trust. Blushing to the roots of her hair, she added, “That one time.”
Michel’s breath left him in a whoosh, and he sat down on his haunches. He ran his hand down his face and over his mouth.
“Are you… disappointed that I’m so inexperienced?” Mortified, she glanced around for something to cover herself with. Come to think of it, why was she the only one naked? Michel was still fully dressed.
“Never.” He rose on his knees again and held her chin so she would look at him. “Nothing about you could ever disappoint me, Emma.”
“Then… I don’t understand why you’re upset.” She hated how her voice trembled. Was she making a mistake? No. Even confused and worried, she knew she wasn’t. It felt too right to be wrong.
“I’m not upset,” he whispered. “Not even close.”
He wrapped his hands around her knees, and she clamped her legs together. He leaned over and trailed hot, lingering kisses from her shoulder up the curve of her neck, and she sighed, desire sweeping her up again. When he spread her knees apart, she opened up for him without resistance. Running his hands up and down her thighs, he stepped between them and kissed her with tightly reined hunger.
“No, darling Emma.” He brushed his lips up her jaw and said against her ear, “I’m shamefully pleased about your inexperience and… bewildered by the part of me that wishes I was your first.”
“That’s not so bewildering. I loved sharing so many of your firsts with you because you’ll never forget them—you’ll never forget me. Maybe that’s what you want, too.” She drew back just far enough to cup his cheek and hold his eyes. “If it helps any, that one time wasn’t very good. It was entirely forgettable.”
His chuckle was low and husky as he pressed his forehead against hers. “I desperately want to make this unforgettable for you.”
“You will,” she murmured, threading her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck.
When his lips met hers once more, she forgot her insecurities—she very likely forgot her own name—as liquid lust spread through her. She became a creature of need and hunger. She wanted this man. She wanted to make him hers.
She squirmed on her perch on the bed when his hands found her breasts. She couldn’t even be embarrassed at how loudly she moaned when his thumbs circled the hard peaks in excruciatingly slow circles. Especially since he groaned equally loud when she thrust her chest in his face, demanding more.
He sucked her aching nipple into his mouth, and her back arched hard enough to lift her ass off the bed. He pushed her back down, his fingers digging into her hips. After lavishing equal attention on her other breast, he licked and nipped his way down her stomach. He spread her legs apart farther and dropped wet, open-mouthed kisses on the inside of her thighs.
“Michel—”
“Shh.” He didn’t lift his head. “Let me taste you, Emma.”
Her hips jerked wildly at the first lick of his tongue. His thumbs parted her, and he lapped at her center like she was rich, decadent ice cream. Her head fell back, and she gripped the sheets in her fists.
“I knew you’d taste like heaven,” he murmured against her, drawing a shiver with the vibration of his words.
Pressure built up in her lower stomach and her center ached unbearably, but the rest of her body felt limp like a wilted flower. When his teeth scraped across her throbbing nub, she gave up and fell onto her back with a whimper.
“Good girl.” He rewarded her with another delicious scrape of teeth.
“Michel.” She wanted. She needed. Moaning and writhing, she lifted her hips off the bed and pulled his head deeper between her legs. “Please.”
The good man that he was, Michel obligingly pushed a finger deep inside her as his talented tongue continued to swerve maddening circles around her clit. She groaned, fisting her hands in his hair—he was delusional if he thought he was going anywhere—and ground her hips into his face.
“I want…” With greedy, mindless lust, she sought her finish. “Michel, I need…”
He pushed a second finger inside her and sucked her clit into his mouth with a low groan, and she was gone. Her back arched as she screamed. His fingers and mouth slowed and gentled but didn’t stop as her orgasm crashed into her in waves. He kept going as she jerked, twitched, and shivered, hissing and moaning her approval.
At last, she lay still—her legs spread wantonly and her fingers tangled in his hair—utterly spent. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the pant of their harsh breaths. But an exceptional accomplishment like this shouldn’t go unpraised.
“That was definitely a first,” she slurred.
“What?” Michel paused in the middle of impatiently ripping off his shirt.
Her eyes widened, and she rose onto her elbows. She might feel like an overboiled noodle, but she wasn’t missing this unveiling for the world. But he stood frustratingly still with his shirt pulled down from one shoulder. Even so, her gaze greedily took in the peek of washboard abs and smooth, hard chest.
“Emma, what was a first?” he prompted.
“The orgasm.” She blinked and tried to focus. “I’ve never had an orgasm. Not counting the ones I’ve given myself.”
“The ones you’ve…” To her deep and utter relief, he resumed stripping off his shirt with jerky, impatient moves. “God, Emma.”
She crawled to the edge of the bed on her hands and knees and unbuckled his belt. It would go faster with two people on the job. At last, he kicked off his pants and boxer briefs and stood before her in all his naked glory. Oh, and what glory . He. Was. Perfection.
He prowled toward her onto the bed, and she scooted back until her back hit the headboard. God. He looked intimidatingly big and muscular without his clothes on—like his tailored, dressy clothes somehow civilized the brute power of his body. Her hand flitted to her throat as she wondered if they would fit at all.
“What’s wrong? Is this too fast?” He scanned her face, a little wild-eyed but genuinely concerned. “We could stop, if you want.”
“We’re not stopping anything, you silly man.” Her momentary nervousness melted away. This strong, powerful epitome of male perfection was still her kind, sweet Michel, who cared more about her comfort than his raging hard-on. “Come here. Don’t make me hurt you.”
He sat back against the headboard beside her, leaving a few inches of space between them—like he was trying to give her some room. She rolled her eyes and promptly straddled him. Her ultra-sensitive, post-orgasmic nerve endings shouted hallelujah when they brushed against his hard length. Michel groaned as though he were in pain. Her eyes widened and she made to move off him, but he held her in place with a firm grip on her waist.
“Don’t go,” he rasped. “Just give me a minute.”
“Oh, okay.” Not the most eloquent of responses, but it was the best she could manage while straddling Michel’s naked thighs.
Exhaling a shuddering breath, he pulled her head down and kissed her hungrily. She smoothed her hands over his broad shoulders and let them drift down to his chest, spreading her fingers wide to feel more of him. He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth, making her shiver in his arms. On pure instinct, she pivoted her hips to grind against his erection.
“God.” Michel made that edge-of-pain sound again. “I want you so much.”
Emma barely stopped herself from saying, You can have all of me . Because if she gave all of herself to him, then there would be nothing left of her when he went back to Rouleme. She would hold on to her heart but give him her passion and her vulnerability—more than she’d ever shared with anyone.
“Then take me, Michel,” she whispered against his lips. In this moment, they would belong to no one but each other. She would be content with that.