Luc
“My wildflower.” I press my thumb to the side of her neck, feeling the powerful drumming of her pulse. When she tilts her chin back to give me better access, I put my mouth there and breathe her in before drawing a line down the column of her throat. “Blooming where you please.”
“Here?” Her words are tremulous as my lips find her collarbone and my fingers her nipple. Her body convulses, and that’s answer enough.
“I want you,” I whisper. “Here.” I pull her closer, my cock notched where she’s achingly hot. “And here.” I grab her ass and squeeze as I slide my tongue into her mouth. “I want to be everywhere all at once. Inside you, tasting you, feeding on your pulse.”
Her head tips back, her eyes full of sin and her mouth… Fuck, her mouth. Yes, I want to do that, too.
“That is a very particular-looking smile.” She swipes her thumb over the seam of my mouth.
My mouth twitches. “That’s a very particular tone. Some might even say suggestive.”
She gives a roll of her eyes. “So you don’t care to share.”
Not you, not with anyone. Instead, I admit, “I was thinking about fucking your lovely mouth.” My answer sounds as dark as my thoughts. A beat passes before her lips tip, and she moves her hands to my belt. My cock throbs in regret as I cover them with my own.
I want her mouth on me, yes. But now isn’t that moment. Not when I can’t get my brain to move on from wanting to fucking annihilate every man who ever failed her.
“I watched you dance,” I purr dangerously. It isn’t a confession but the start of a challenge. A dare as I swipe my lips under the weight of her hair. She gives a tiny gasp as I press my teeth under her ear. “I was so angry watching you grind this ass against anyone but me.”
“Zoe?” The name is half groan as I squeeze the shape of my fingerprints into her. Her own fingers flex between us, but I don’t allow them to wander. Not right now.
“It wasn’t Zoe who made me want to fuck my fist.”
A shiver runs through her at the hard fricatives, her breath like a lick to my balls. “That is something I’d pay to see.”
“Oh, the ways I would make you pay.” I pull her hands to her sides as our lips meet again.
I keep the contact soft and light as she struggles to get closer, the hard tips of her breasts deliberately brushing my chest. “Two weeks. So much to do… so little time.” With the low rumble, I slide one tie of her dress over her shoulder oh-so slowly.
“Well, look at that,” I whisper moving to the other side.
“It’s like magic.” Grasping the sides of her summery dress, I yank it lower.
Cleavage. Cream lace. A balconette bra? No.
Putain—holy fuck. A half corset.
Her dress snags at her hips. I put my hands to it and pull it the rest of the way.
As it pools at her feet, all I can think is, I’m having mirrors installed in my bedroom because…
look at her. No, touch her. I shake myself out of my stupor and put my hands to the gentle flare of her hips.
Her breath holds as my touch slides higher over the sheer cobwebs.
“Do you like?”
I cup her full, soft breast, and I give thanks—blessings—the words falling in a haze of French. She is… fucking abundant. I can’t wait to taste her again. She’s like an obsession in the making. Crack cocaine might be safer.
I put my mouth to her, sucking her nipple over the lace. Her body reacts like a thing of beauty.
“Harder,” she whispers. Her hands slip into my hair.
“Did you choose this for me?” I dip lower and swipe my tongue over the delicate ruffle barely covering her nipple. Not enough, she pushes into my hands. “Tell me.”
“You have no idea,” she whimpers as her spine arches. “I thought about your eyes on me. Your hands. The marks you’d leave on my skin.”
Possession. This I understand as I slip my fingers into the cups, her breasts spilling free. Round, full, and creamy, her nipples a rose pink. Her mouth a once red pout to match the flush on her chest. “Like a rose,” I whisper, sucking one hardened bud between my lips.
She gives a soft moan as I lavish her nipples until they’re taut and wet and glistening in the low light.
“Ma belle, I’m going to fuck these very soon.” My tone turns rabid as I suck harder, drawing a louder sound from her. “There isn’t a spot on your body I don’t want to defile.”
She gives a laugh that’s almost as soft as her skin. “Sounds like we’re going to be busy.”
“I’m going to chain you to my bed.”
“I see a wrinkle in your plan,” she begins. “And one of those wrinkles likes llamas.”
“Amélie has taken the children to the mainland.”
I make to suck again when she pulls back a little, leaving me mouthing the air. “What?”
“We have a week.” My hands move over the cheeks of her ass as I stare at its reflection. I seriously can’t get enough of her. Tough enough. Taste enough. Smell as I tip my nose to the juncture of her shoulder and neck.
“What will people think?”
“People?” The words pull at my attention as I lave the spot with my tongue.
“Yes, people.”
“They’ll think the children are with their aunt.”
“And me—shouldn’t I have gone with them?”
“Amélie might like that plan,” I grumble.
“Be serious, Luc. You know what I mean.”
I straighten a little, bringing my gaze to hers. “Maria and her family have looked after the house, my children, and protected my privacy for twelve years. Jacques will take care of Zoe—
“Again, knives.”
“We can stay in town if you’d prefer. Find a hotel.”
“I don’t have anything with me, my clothes and—”
“You won’t need any.” She is unimpressed by my wolfish grin. “Primevère. If anyone dares to ask me, I will tell them the truth.”
“Which is what?”
“That I begged you to stay. With me.”
“How does that make it better?”
I let my gaze settle on her and I hope she sees the truth. “I will protect you. Don’t concern yourself with the thoughts of others.” I snare her by the waist and, hauling her by the hips, spin her until her back blesses my front.
I begin to sway us to the sultry beat; my hands wrapped around her. “Could you feel my eyes on you, down there on the dance floor?”
She rolls in her lips but answers anyway. “I told myself I was imagining things.”
“Did you also imagine how hard I’d get, watching you?”
“Does it count that I’m imagining it now?”
I flex from behind, pressing into her. “What are you going to do about it?”
She makes a sound like a purr when I catch her wrists and pull them to her sides.
“Put your hands on the mirror.”
Her brow reacts with mild confusion.
“Put your hands on the mirror, Primrose.”
She makes a humming sound, almost shocked that she has.
“That’s my good little flower.”
“Is this the part where you make me beg?”
“Would you like me to make you?” I put a little emphasis on make as I stroke my finger down the side of her ribs. “Because I can.” Oh yes, I can. “Make you wet and stung out. Make you beg me to stop. Or never …”
Her breath hits the mirror ragged edged, and there’s a wildness to her eyes as I bite down on the urge to say yes more. I grasp her chin and twist her face to mine, my lips hard and unforgiving, our kiss all clashing teeth and thrusting tongue.
Doucement, I caution myself. Slowly. I ignore the tremble in my fingers as I trace a path up her inner thigh. “Shall I make you beg?” I taunt as I skim a finger over her cobweb panties. “Make you tremble and throb as I own your body. While you watch yourself getting off.”
“What about you?” She gives a valiant attempt at a smile. “Don’t you want me to—”
“Ma belle, you’ve spent long enough seeing yourself through the eyes of men who were too selfish to understand the treasure they had in you.”
Her gaze drops, so I grab her hair at the base of her skull. A swift tug brings her attention back, her eyes wide with shock and hunger as a shiver runs through her.
“Look at yourself, Primevère. Look at how stunning you are.” I will not allow them another moment of her.
“Luc, please.”
“Watch,” I instruct, my lips at her temple.
“Wide eyed and full of want, watch as I touch you.” My hands chart her curves.
“See what you do to me. How you make me shake with need.” If those pathetic assholes ever crawl back into her thoughts, she’ll remember instead how she looked as she made me her slave.
I curl myself around her like sin, my eyes holding hers in the mirror. “By the time I’m finished, there will be no room left in your head for any man who ever made you feel less than glorious.”
Tonight, I decide, I won’t hide behind French. I won’t give her words she doesn’t understand. Compliments I can hide behind. I want every syllable to reach her.
Moving her hips back a touch, I encourage a dip in her spine with the heel of my hand. Her breath is jagged with anticipation, her reflection a contrast of dark eyes and pale skin as I put my hand to her throat to feel the frenetic beat beneath her skin.
“Look at yourself,” I whisper, crowding her. My hard to her soft. Wet where I’m aching, and as I let my hand skate slowly down the center of this treasure, we watch. Each moment. Each breath. Each shift of her shape in response to my touch.
“You like watching yourself,” I whisper, brushing my mouth across her shoulder. “You steal my breath. You’re so clever and kind and so unbearably sensual. You’re enough to make any man lose his mind.”
She’s a tangle of contradictions and she’s thrown my whole existence off kilter.
Primrose swallows, then licks her lips as my fingers find the waistband of her panties. She sucks in a breath as I breach the waistband. I make a sound that’s pure animal as she pushes into my hand as though to anchor herself against me.
“Luc, please…”
“Hush,” I murmur, taking the heat of her pussy in my hand.
“I know what you need.” Her body offers no resistance as I slip my middle finger inside.
Hot fucking velvet. I gather her pleasure, gliding it over the soft rise of her clit.
Breath stutters out of her. “If you were mine,” I whisper, circling the delicate bud, “I’d keep you too occupied to ever doubt your worth. ”
“Don’t tease,” she gasps.