[Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon (13 page)

“What did she teach you?”

“She taught me about paradox. That in the constant search for higher highs, for more sensations I had actually lost the ability to feel.”

“That is a paradox.”

He nods and there is something in his face as he regards me, like I’m the paradox. Which makes no sense at all.

“So, how did she get you to change and start feeling again?”

“She taught me Tantric principals.”

“And you changed, just like that?”

“No. I was as reluctant to try what she suggested as you are.” He leans across the table. “I can still hear her trying to convince me to try a different way of being. Do you know what she said to try to convince me?”

I shake my head.

He laughs softly, his gaze distant. “She said my sex life was unfulfilling.”

“Really?”

“She said my cock was desensitized by too much hard fucking.”

I cover my mouth.

“Then she said, ‘what if I told you that you could have sex that made you feel like your cock was plugged into an electrical outlet? Would you try it?’”

I cover my mouth and laugh. “She did not say that.”

“She did.”

“Oh my God! That sounds like something I would say?”

“Does it?”

He gets up and comes around to my chair, pulling me out of it so that we’re facing one another. God, he’s so fucking close. I can smell his delicious aftershave, feel his heat, and if I open my mouth to breathe, I’m sure I can taste him. His touch on my cheek is electric. It singes, sizzles, sears me. “And...is that what it feels like?” I whisper. “Tantra, I mean.”

“No. It is better. So much better.”

I
’m tempted to kiss him. So tempted. Like, licking my lips in preparation to kiss, tempted. Actually, I’m tempted to do much more than kiss. I want to know what sex with Christophe would feel like. The kind that is better than being hooked up directly to an electrical outlet.

But I don’t. I don’t know why. Not eagerly giving into my sexual desires is very un-Tessa-like. I don’t know if I’m waiting for Christophe to make the first move or what.

And when he doesn’t, when he just stares into my eyes with that intense, mysterious gaze, like he’s searching out my soul, I feel so...out of sorts, I change the subject completely.

“What’s on the agenda today?”

He takes a moment to process my question. “Do you like off-roading?

“Umm...sure?”

“Excellent. Change into something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

Christophe calls the concierge and organizes a car to take us to the middle of the jungle. Man, this island is so much bigger than I first thought. We don helmets, which gives me pause. I mean, what the hell are we going to be doing that requires helmets?

Then I see the vehicle we’ll be driving. It’s not a truck like I imagined, but a dune buggy/car, with roll bars and big tires. Five seconds into the ride I know exactly why we need helmets. Christophe drives the thing like we’re in a world class race. I don’t know who we’re racing against. The island? Time? His demons?

Christophe shifts from one gear to the next with such fucking authority, making the car do his bidding, like it’s an extension of his body, the engine alternatively whines and purrs like it’s a woman’s body, not a machine, and he’s making love to it, bringing it to the verge of orgasm and then slowing down again, petting it, only to rev it up again and forcing it newer and greater heights. The whole thing is terrifying and incredibly sexy at the same time.

The result of all this?

Tessa is turned on in a big way.

So fucking turned on.

By the time we get back to the villa, I’m all hands and Christophe does not seem to mind one bit.

“You miss racing,” I say.

“Sometimes.” He grins, opening the door for me. “I like going fast. Sometimes I miss the competition. The danger. It makes me feel alive. But...” He closes the door and then stops me from moving down the hall. He moves me up against the wall, staring directly into eyes. His breath is suddenly in tune with mine. “When you’ve experienced something so much greater, so much more fulfilling, so much more enlightened, those thrills seem almost mundane.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Let me show you. Please.”

His ‘please’ is not pleading, it’s commanding, and almost before the word is out of his mouth, he reaches for me, cupping my jaw and running a thumb along my lips before trailing it down. He explores my collarbones and shoulders and then moves lower to cup my breast. Instead of squeezing and tugging, he waits, gazing into my eyes as his hand rests on me, the heat from that appendage spreading through my chest, warming me with a beautiful glow.

“So,” I say thickly. “Tell me how Tantra differs from regular old-fashioned sex?”

“To begin with?” His hand slides lower, covering my belly now. “There is no goal.”

“No goal?”

His head moves back and forth as his hand slides lower. “There is only awareness.”

“Awareness,” I repeat without thinking because in my mind I’m urging his hand lower. My clit is still pulsing from that thrilling ride and I’ve been nursing a girlie hard-on for hours.

His hand slides between my legs and my automatic response is to grind against him. Oh yes. Here we go.

But he merely cups me without providing the delicious friction my body craves.

“You are holding so much tension here.” He presses up against me, gently but firmly.

Yes. That’s better.

I gyrate some more, letting him know with my body that I am ready and eager for whatever ‘lessons’ he may want to teach me.

“The first thing you must learn is to relax.” He makes a gentle circle with his hand, his voice deep. “Right here.”

Heaven help me, what he’s doing feels good. “I might relax more if you were to slide your fingers inside of my panties.”

His smile grows at the same speed his hand slides away, dammit!

“Let’s go for a swim.”

“A swim?”

“Mmm.”

“Why?”

“You need to cool down.” He leans into me, pressing his arousal against my belly. “I need to cool down.” He shifts against me. Oh yes. He’s very aroused. “And, I’m dying to see you wet.”

***

I
don’t understand why I should cool down. I thought Christophe wanted to have a sexual relationship with me.

I change, and it takes me less than thirty seconds, and then am lounging about in the infinity pool when Christophe appears. Naked.

Fuck me!

The man is fucking gorgeous. Unbelievably, irresponsibly masculine. Lean and muscular, with a lovely patch of hair nestled between taut pectorals and drawing a line down to that completely male, completely virile part of him. He is the perfect size. I can tell, even though he’s only semi-erect.

“What the hell are you doing?” I point at him. “You said I needed to cool down. Swimming with you naked is not going to accomplish that very well.”

He grins and his eyebrows waggle. “It’s a lesson.”

“If the lesson is about how long it takes for Tessa Savage to jump your bones, I’m saying not long.”

“You need to learn patience.”

“So I’ve been told. I say patience is overrated.”

“You won’t always believe it.” He moves closer.

“Stay back,” I say. “If you come closer I will not be responsible for my actions.”

“Yes you will.”

“No,” I shake my head, eyes flicking between his gorgeous gaze and his gorgeous growing hard on. “No, if experience is any guide, I most definitely will not have control.”

“Take off your bikini.”

“Ha!” I point at him. “You are not playing fair.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No. I swear, I don’t even know what game we’re playing but I know that it’s not fair and that this is not nice.”

“Take off your bikini, Tessa, and tell me if you find me desirable.”

“Of course I do. Damn you.” I undo my top and toss it to the side of the pool. Why? Because Christophe-fucking-Chevalier told me to, that’s why.

He grins. “Good. I like this truthful side of you.”

“I’m always truthful.”

His one raised brow tells me he thinks otherwise.

“Monte Carlo was an exception.”

“Stop swimming away from me. I’m not going to ravish you.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m hoping.”

He laughs. God, is there anything sexier than a naked, wet man, dripping and aroused, laughing at something you’ve said? Nothing comes to mind at the moment. Of course, my mind is pretty much blank because all my awareness is on my pinched nipples and my throbbing pussy.

“Can I ask you to do something for me?” It’s a question but his tone is so damned commanding that I’m unable to say no.

“Yes.”

“Come here.”

“Okay.”

“Will you please take off your bikini bottoms now?”

I feign frustration, but with him so close and my body so tuned into him, I can’t wait to strip down.

“Do you need help?”

“No.” I yank my bottoms off and toss them in the general direction of my top.

“Now, tell me how your vagina feels.”

“Lonely.”

His eyes crinkle around the edges. “Describe it for me.” He comes closer. “How do you feel in the water?”

“Nice.”

“You can do better.” He reaches for me underwater. At first I think he’s going to cup me again, but he doesn’t. He swishes his hand back and forth creating an underwater whirlpool. “Close your eyes and tell me how it feels.”

“It’s...nice. It tickles a little.”

“Spread your legs.”

“Well, that’s unsanitary.” He’s got me so bamboozled that now I’m saying the first stupid thing that comes into my head.

“Feel the water. The movement. The temperature. How does it feel on your labia? Your clitoris?”

“It’s cool, particularly when I open my legs.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s soft, it feels good.”

I feel Christophe inch closer. He’s not touching me, but he’s there. “Would you believe,” he says quietly, “that I can feel the heat from your pussy through the water?”

I open my eyes. “You cannot!”

“I can.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His eyes connect with mine. He takes one tiny step closer and his cock is right between my legs. He guides it there and then leaves it. I feel his pulse against my thigh. Bending down, he whispers, “I have a very sensitive penis.”

I swallow. “Lucky you.”

“Mmm.”

His hand is on my hip and then slips around to the back of me, curving around my ass, barely skimming my skin.

“Imagine,” he whispers. “If I can feel the heat of your pussy through the water, how good it would feel to be inside of you.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

Fuck!

I should jump him.

Right now.

But, do I?

No.

Do I want to?

Yes, absolutely.

So why don’t I? Why do I stand in the water, limp and lifeless, like Christophe’s voice is the secret to sapping all of Tessa’s power to move?

“Are you up for an experiment?”

“What kind of experiment?” I may not jump him but I do twitch my hips a bit so that his fingers are positioned where I want them.

“Do you remember the taste test in Monte Carlo?”

“Mmm.” I don’t hear what he’s saying. I’m too busy moving my hips to direct his hand between my legs.

“Tessa?”

“The scotch thing?” I ask, hazily.

“Yes.” His fingers move gently, stroking my ass, my pussy lips, never quite reaching my clit.

“Of course I remember.” I try to anticipate his next move, twisting to catch him off guard and forcing his touch where I want it.

“Let’s do it again.”

“With scotch?”

“With sex.”

I stop gyrating under the water. “Sex is nothing like the scotch incident.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I am the first to admit that I know nothing about drinking scotch. However...” I wag my finger at him. “At the risk of sounding arrogant, I do know a thing or two about sex.”

“Is that right.”

“Yes.”

“You’re an expert.”

“Well,” I shrug playfully. “If you say so.”

He leans in. “So am I.”

“Really. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I don’t know.”

“So it comes down to who is the bigger expert. Let’s see.” I put my finger to my lip and tap. “I may not be a professional race car driver, a deep sea diver, IRONMAN competitor, European sail board champion, or skydiving-junkie—”

“You’ve done your research,” he says smugly.

I plow on, pretending like he didn’t interrupt. “While you were busy doing all that, I’ve been busy concentrating my efforts in two endeavors.” I hold up one finger. “Fixing businesses that are broken...” I hold up another. “...and making love. They are my specialties.”

“You make a valid point.”

“Yes. So let’s combine our taste-of-sex test with a little wager. What do you say?”

“I’d say, you’ve piqued my interest.” He glances down at himself.

Holy fuck. I have piqued his interest. His interest is hard and erect and I’m about to pique it a lot more. I take him in hand, fondling him—skillfully, if I do say so myself. The way his eyes roll back into his skull right before he closes his lids lets me know how much he likes it.

“What’s the bet?” His voice is hoarse.

“We’ll make love my way and then we’ll make love your way. Afterwards, we’ll decide who wins.”

He opens his eyes. They are burning with playful desire.

“What are the stakes?”

“Cash to our charity of choice?”

“No. Something more personal. The winner should decide on how this relationship proceeds.”

My hand stills. “I don’t know about that...”

“Oh, I see.” He unwraps my hand from around his erection. “You’re going to lose and you are afraid you will not like what I propose.”

“No. That’s not it at all. I’m completely confident I’ll win.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

He’s right. I don’t. But his tone tells me I do. I hate that. “Fine, let’s shake on it.”

He takes my hand but before we shake he says. “One rule.”

“What?”

“Complete honesty. No faking.”

“Yes. I agree.”