“Can I fuck you with my hand before dinner?” she asked, talking to him as he’d often spoken to her. Controlling. Confident.

  “You naughty girl,” he said with narrowed eyes, and she took that as a yes.

  She was fully dressed, he was completely naked, and she was thoroughly in charge of his pleasure. This beautiful, controlling man was hers to touch and to tease. She reached behind her to the counter, squirted some lube into her hands, and proceeded to stroke his gorgeous cock. She needed this. She desperately needed this right now.

  Slowly at first, like it was a luxury, and she wanted to savor every second. “Don’t come,” she told him sharply.

  He shook his head. “I won’t,” he muttered on an upstroke that had him trying to rock faster into her hand.

  “Jack,” she warned, thrilling at giving him an order. “I can’t have you coming too soon. You need to hold back.”

  Nodding, his mouth fell open, his breathing intensifying as she upped her pace. He moaned and grunted, and his sexy, masculine sounds of impending pleasure ignited her insides. She used both hands, one to grip his glorious cock that slid in and out of her tight fist, the other to play with his balls.

  “You want to come so badly, don’t you?” she asked. A spark raced through her body and lit up her mind as she turned the tables on him. This role reversal did wonders for her insides, physically and emotionally. It let her retrieve those dangerous words, and wind them back up inside her, as if the moment from last night had been rewound. As if the messy threat of emotions and feelings and falling too far could be stuffed neatly back into a closed drawer.

  It could. Surely, it could, as she used their physical connection to return them to the world they inhabited—thirty nights of pleasure. The end was in sight.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me you can wait,” she said.

  “I can wait,” he choked out, as if it pained him.

  “I’ll get you there. But you have to do it my way,” she said. He completely gave himself over to her, his eyes pinned on her as he rocked into her hand.

  She tugged on his balls, teasing and pulling in just the way he liked, and jacked him harder and rougher. His eyes went glassy; his chest rose and fell quickly. He thickened even more in her grasp. His entire shaft was throbbing against her hand that raced up and down his long, hard length. Watching the expression on his face shift from pleasure to intense concentration, she knew he was reaching the edge. She wanted to send him off in a flurry of white-hot sparks.

  “I need you to come now,” she said, her voice a command.

  He groaned, a primal sound, and she moved her other hand under his balls, rubbing that spot that drove him even crazier, then pressing the tip of her finger against his ass. Not entering, but teasing, hinting.

  That was all it took.

  He scrunched up his brows, thrust harder and groaned loudly as he came all over her hand.

  There was something about this moment that was completely necessary for Michelle’s sanity. Without it, she wasn’t sure if she could go on with him. But she’d taken back some of the control she’d lost last night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  New

  Visiting the Grand Colbert was like taking a trip back in time to an earlier Paris. Like a scene from the 1920s, the landmark restaurant lived up to its hype from the soft, golden lights to the green leather seats, to the lampposts positioned all throughout the establishment that hearkened to an earlier age. The entire restaurant was bathed in a soft orange-yellow glow.

  He’d called ahead that afternoon to secure the very same table made famous in a scene in Something’s Gotta Give. It was the best table in the restaurant.

  They had finished eating, both of them ordering the signature chicken dish, and he poured a third glass of wine for Michelle. She held up a hand when her glass was half full.

  “That’s all you want?”

  “I want to be relaxed and all loosened up, but not drunk,” she said, sliding closer to him. They were on the same side of the booth. He couldn’t stand to be far away from her, and he’d had his hands on her all throughout dinner. On her shoulder, in her hair, on her leg.

  “That gift should have you all loosened up,” he teased, pretending to peer at her backside.

  Knowing she was wearing one of his toys all throughout the meal had made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything she said. He’d done his best, though, and they’d chatted about their travels, the places they’d been, the places they wanted to go, and many other topics. The whole time his mind kept drifting downward to her body, and forward to later tonight.

  A few times she’d seemed to want to talk more, and had even mentioned last night. She’d seemed so carefree when she said those words, as if all that was said and unsaid was no big deal. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal that he hadn’t returned her words twenty-four hours ago.

  Last night.

  Big deal or not, those two words still felt heavy, like a brick weighing him down. He didn’t want to fuck up this night, or last night, or any other night. He feared that if he said anything else, if he revealed too much or too little, that he’d simply say the wrong thing.

  That fear of fucking up had him in its clutches; it was gripping him, holding him tenaciously in a tight fist. He felt more for this woman next to him than he’d ever felt for Aubrey, which was at once a beautiful realization, and also a cruel punch in the gut. Comparing Michelle to Aubrey made him feel like complete shit. His lack of enough feelings for Aubrey had led to the worst thing possible. The fact that he felt anything should be a weight lifting, but it dredged up all the self-loathing that he thought he was finally letting go, thanks to these nights with her.

  She was so much more effective than therapy. Being with her was the only thing that eased the ache.

  And yet he couldn’t shake the fear that the more he said, the greater the chance he’d mess up something. Or hurt her. He had a track record, and maybe it was a track record of one, but that was enough to have to protect her from him.

  After he paid the check, she dropped her hand on top of his. “Jack,” she said, and her voice was serious. “About last night, and the things I said—”

  He cut her off. “Last night was amazing. All of it. And tonight will be amazing too. And so will the next night,” he said.

  “Yes. They will be. The rest of these thirty nights will be amazing, and then we’ll move on,” she said, flashing him a smile that seemed to exist on the surface only. “Like we planned.”

  His gut twisted at the thought. He wanted to stay here, in Paris, in this moment in time with her. But they’d made a deal, and they’d never mapped out a contingency plan for more days. Besides, why would they need them? He couldn’t give her more than this, even though he hated the thought of the thirty-first day. He didn’t want to see that day or the ones that followed it.

  “Yes. Like we planned,” he echoed, even as he felt something well up in his chest. A desire to say more. To ask for more time. But that wasn’t fair, so he kissed her.

  Maybe it made him an ass, but the kiss served many purposes. Not only the physical, but it also distracted her, judging from the way goose bumps rose on her bare arms. And it kept his mouth shut. He wanted the night to be perfect for her, so he kept the focus on the one thing he couldn’t mess up—sex. He did everything he could to avoid returning to the ‘I’m falling in love with you conversation’ because that conversation was what had ruined Aubrey, and he didn’t want to ruin Michelle.

  He wanted to worship her, so after she’d excused herself to stop in the restroom, he took her back to the hotel, his focus solely on the purity of the pleasure he wanted to give her.

  He’d spread a small hand towel on the bed and left the lube and some massage oil on it. As the door to the room shut, he dimmed the lights, but didn’t turn them all the way off. He couldn’t bear not to look at her.

  She turned to face him. He couldn’t read her expression.

  “Are you okay? Are you nervous?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not at all.”

  “Good,” he said, grasping her hand and leading her to the bed. He backed her up against it, and when her knees hit the mattress she sank down, her hair spreading across the royal blue bedspread. She looked like a dream to him, her hair in waves, her breasts free under the soft cotton, and her eyes hooked on him the whole time. She propped herself on her elbows and watched as he unknotted the tie he’d worn to dinner and tossed it on a chair somewhere behind him.

  It staggered him. Her desire. Her heart. How much she gave of herself. He moved up to her face, cupped her cheeks in his hands, and looked her in the eyes. He didn’t say it, wouldn’t say—couldn’t say it.

  But he could say this. “About last night,” he began, trying again to fix his mistake.

  She placed her finger on his lips. “Don’t say a word,” she whispered.

  He shook his head and kept going. “When I said I can’t get enough of you, I meant it. I can’t,” he whispered, and it wasn’t a return of her sentiment, but it was as close as he could possibly come.

  “I feel the same about you,” she said. Her expression softened more as she ran her fingertips over his jaw. Her touch nailed him in the heart. He grabbed her hand from his face, and clasped it.

  His heart beat so hard he swore it was going to fight its way out of his chest, landing in her fucking hands where it belonged. He was aching to tell her how he felt for her. He fought that instinct hard, shoved it away, and returned to the role he could play well.

  “Stay like that. I’m going to put on music,” he said, and grabbed his phone from the coffee table and called up Ravel’s ‘Bolero.’

  The opening notes were faint, as the composer intended, and Michelle raised an eyebrow in question. “What are you playing?”

  “Bolero.”

  She grinned. “Like you told me you wanted to someday.”

  “Someday is now,” he said, then he stalked over to her, dropped down to his knees and gently spread her legs apart. Her skirt rose up to her mid thighs, and he could only see a sliver of her panties, but the sight of her arousal took his breath away. She must have been wet all through dinner, because she was soaked now. And that delicious wetness was all for him. “I want you so much,” he said.

  * * *

  She’d been lying when she said she wasn’t nervous. How could she not be? She might want this, but she’d never done it, and fear was natural. Sure, she’d gotten off to plenty of naughty videos and gifs. She’d seen enough to know she found the possibility of this type of penetration incredibly alluring. The purple jewel had kept her buzzing at a constant state of arousal all through dinner. But that natural born fear of pain still existed. The ass was not designed for a cock, and certainly not one of Jack’s size.

  Yet, she wanted to feel him, wanted to know if there was more sexual pleasure to be had beyond all the toys and tricks they’d tried so far. When he said he couldn’t get enough of her, she knew what he meant. He craved her body, and that hunger of his had been healing her. That desire of his had been restoring her sense of sexiness as he turned her into a wanted woman. The more she took of him, the more she’d felt rebuilt. Ready to conquer the world as a remade woman.

  She was choosing to exist in the moment of their arrangement. To let herself live in this sensuality, and this feeling of not ever getting enough. To be happy with what she had, and for a little bit longer, she had him.

  He came at her like a ravenous man. His jaw was hard, his eyes were blazing, and his hands were strong as he spread her legs further. In a blur, he was between her thighs, kissing the drenched lace of her panties. She moaned and was tempted to close her eyes, but instead she pushed up further on her elbows, wanting to watch him as he flicked his tongue against the panel, then moved lower, pressing his lips against the jewel. She could barely feel his mouth, but the image of what he was doing was so erotic that more heat pooled between her legs. She’d be gushing soon, and she was sure he would lap up every ounce of her.

  She exhaled deeply, unsure of how they were getting from Point A to Point B. But the wine had worked its way through her body, softening her muscles, relaxing her mind, so she let go of the need to know what was coming.

  Anticipation was its own elixir.

  “Sit up and raise your arms,” he told her, and she obeyed. He reached for her dress straps. She lifted the skirt and he tugged the material the rest of the way over her head. His breath hissed when he looked at her breasts. As if he couldn’t control himself, he dived in, drawing one pink bud into his mouth and sucking so hard she heard a loud, wet pop when he let go, replacing his mouth with his big hand.

  “Perfect tits,” he said, then returned his attention to the other breast, licking and sucking her voraciously. She curled her hands around his head, tugging him closer, thrusting her breasts into his face. His soft hair brushed against her chest, and a fresh wave of pleasure tore through her body.

  The steady beat of drums and flutes filled the room, the sensual music matching her desire. A build, a tease, a long, kama-sutric piece of music that suited the way Jack loved her body.

  “Turn over,” he told her.

  “Already?”

  She’d been expecting a little more foreplay, to be honest.

  He laughed as he unbuttoned his shirt. “I’m going to massage you,” he said with a smile, and turned her on her stomach, flat on the bed.

  She closed her eyes, and with that sense turned off for the moment, her ears trained on the music, and the sound of him pouring massage oil into his palms. His hands came down on her shoulders, and he began kneading. She moaned appreciatively. She hadn’t even realized she was sore.

  “I’m going to make every single second feel good for you,” he whispered, as his thumbs worked the muscles of her shoulders.

  “Everything you do to me feels good,” she said, and he traveled down her back, the vanilla scent of the massage oil adding to the headiness of the scene that was unfolding here in their Paris hotel room. He rubbed down her back, working his thumbs and fingers along her spine, then out to her sides, then down to her lower back.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, and his voice sounded different this time. Gone was the commanding, confident tone he usually saved for the bedroom. His voice was full of reverence and something else. Something deeper; something that felt lasting. She tried not to read too much into it. If she did, she’d be lost to him.

  She directed her thoughts to her body and the way she felt as he touched her, his hands sending goose bumps across her flesh. His breath ghosted along her spine, as if he were leaving a trail of the faintest kisses down her back all the way to the top of her panties. Then she felt a flick from his tongue along the waistband, and he lowered them perhaps an inch, licking softly across the top of her cheeks.

  She wriggled into him as sparks shot through her, straight to her core. “God, I love the way you respond to me,” he said, kissing her cheeks more as he continued to rub her back.

  “Because you know what to do to me,” she said, her breathing growing heavier as his tongue dipped lower, teasing between her cheeks, but never quite dipping down to the jewel that was still safely inside her.

  “It’s not that I know what to do to you. It’s that I love touching you. I love your skin, and your smell, and everything about you,” he said, as he dug his fingers into her hipbones. She tensed at the free and easy way he said love in relation to her body and her sexuality. But he hadn’t breathed it in relation to her.

  Now was not the time to linger on the matters of the heart. That was child’s play. This was an adult moment. One she wanted to relish.

  “I love everything about you, Michelle,” he echoed, and she hated that she wished he were saying those words in a different order. She tried desperately to push her emotions out of the bedroom, to kick them hard into the hallway, and just let herself take his words at face value. At body value. She begged her mind to go blank as best it could; to let her body lead the way back to him. “You are the most sensuous woman I’ve ever known.”

  She heard a low growl from his throat, a deep primal sound of approval as he flicked his fingertip against the jewel in her ass. That did the trick. Oh, holy hell, did that do a number on her. Goodbye brain, hello body.

  Flipping her over, he tugged off her panties in one fast move, leaving a glistening trail of wetness down the side of her leg. “I need your pussy in my face right now,” he said, returning to his rougher ways.

  She arched her hips up, ready, so damn ready for him to touch her. But before he did, he tugged gently at the jewel, twisting it once, and then pulling it out, and dropping it onto the towel. The absence of it hit her hard, and even though it had been a low source of pressure, it had kept her humming. Now it was gone, and she found herself wanting to be filled again.

  But that was probably the point.

  Then, she found herself wanting nothing at all but this very moment as he buried his face between her thighs, and lapped her up. All thought faded, everything in her head disappeared. There was only the exquisiteness of this hungry man devouring her. Licking her pussy, sliding his tongue inside her, flicking the tip against her swollen clit. Heat scorched her veins. She was an inferno, and she was writhing and grinding into his relentless mouth, his hungry lips. She wasn’t sure who was louder, him or her, but they were both matching the music as she panted and moaned, and he made the sexiest sounds, as if he’d never been more turned on than he was right now.

  She was vaguely aware of the sound of the bottle being opened, then seconds later, he slid his finger into her ass. All the way in, and her hips nearly shot off the bed.

  She screamed his name, and he stopped for the briefest of seconds. “You’re so fucking ready,” he breathed out hard, returning in an instant to his mission.

  “I am, oh God, I am,” she said, grabbing his head and riding it, fucking his face shamelessly, rocking her hips into him as he consumed her. The pressure from his finger and the intense pleasure from his mouth collided inside her in the perfect storm, and an orgasm blasted through her in a fury.