The Frenchman (Crime Royalty Romance Book 1) (15 page)

He took a pass on dessert, but he refused to let me do so, claiming he liked to watch me eat.

That was one self-conscious apple tart experience, let me tell you.

When I was done, he stood up and put out his large hand, which I took, trepidatious. I couldn’t help it—he intimidated me. As I stood, I lost my footing, which was confusing because I hadn’t drank that much. My free hand clutched at his hard expanse of torso and quickly jerked away. Way too intimate.

“Are we moving?” I asked.

“
Oui
. It is just the
capitaine
and us now at sea.” My heart flipped. “I want to show you something.”

I followed him, heady with anticipation, hand tingling in his rough grip. I might have leaped overboard if he’d asked, you know, to skinny dip or something.

As I climbed up the short ladder he’d led us to, I peered into a low ceiling room that contained only a wall-to-wall bed. I hesitated, even knowing Louis’s face was currently about eye level with my butt. I didn’t need protection up such a short climb, but he’d insisted on spotting me.

I would have to crawl in. And it was pretty much only a bed.

I looked over my shoulder, and flushed. He was eyeing my
derrière
like it was the prime rib he never got for dinner. When he finally found my face, he said, “
Continue
.”

Big inhale—I climbed up one more step and slithered myself onto the bed without opening my legs too far. It was not easy, especially because I wasn’t breathing properly. He was up and onto the bed quickly for such a big man. I watched how he eased himself in; there was just enough room for him to sit upright beside me.

I couldn’t believe how loud my heart was pounding. I’d never been with a man so titanic. Well, technically, I’d never been with any man on a bed before. In the past year I’d necked and been felt up by quite a few guys, mind you, mostly in vehicles and on sofas. None of them had been that much taller than me.

“Oh,” he exclaimed, staring down at me with sympathy. “You look as if I would eat you.” The minute he said the words, I caught a dusky haze in his eyes, even in the dim light.

I gasped and glanced away. I guess I probably did look terrified. He bent forward, his hand fully gripped around my ankle, and slowly slid off my shoe. Then he did the other.

He was extremely amused. I wanted to giggle, like a schoolgirl, but fought hard to maintain a sophisticated front. I watched him untie his own shoes, the warm imprint he’d left on both my ankles fading. Anticipation slowed down all of my senses until all I could feel was my racing heart, my aching nipples, even my mouth was watering.

“Uh, we’re not moving anymore,” I remarked, noticing the sway was gone.

“
Ah bon
.”

He shifted toward me so close my heart stopped, and . . . lifted his heavy arm above my head. When he pressed a button and I heard the quiet whir of a motor, I’m ashamed to say the first thought that came to my mind was—a vibrating bed. I mean, he was a playboy gazillionaire.

But my mouth fell open as I realized it was the ceiling opening up to dark night sky. The jet black blanket glittered with billions of golden stars. “Wow,” I exhaled, leaning back on my elbows to properly take in the view. “That is the most spectacular thing I’ve ever seen,” I whispered.

“And you are all I see,” he said.

I turned to him quickly. He was leaning on his elbow watching me. Unable to stop myself, I snorted. “Is that your line? Oh my God, you probably say that to all the girls you bring here.”

Wow, Fleur. Not still bitter from the
bimbettes
, are we.

It was hard to see in the moonlight, but I didn’t need to in order to feel the energy shift.

“You insult me,” he said coldly.

“You insult me!” I exclaimed, realizing he misunderstood the source of my offense. “Look, I don’t need all this fancy stuff. I don’t know who you’ve been with before, and I’m sure it works on them, really, but I don’t need all that.”

I meant it. I didn’t want him to think he had to seduce me. I just wanted to want him, for us to want each other. I couldn’t have cared less if he was a sport celebrity or from a super-rich, philanthropic family.

“I have never brought a woman here before,” he revealed, laying back down, staring up at the night sky, stony.

Oh.

The truth hit me. He
had
been sincere.

Regret burned in my gut. In silvery glow of the moonlight, I could see him grit his teeth.

“I guess that came out wrong,” I said quietly. “I just assumed you were using a line. I mean, can you really blame me?” I slid over close and twisted my knees under me.

God help me. He was the most stunning man I had ever seen, even if he wore a stubborn mask.

My hand reached out of its own volition to trace his bone structure. The water lapped up on the sides of the boat as I drew my finger over his cheekbones, the bridge over his eyes, his lips. He didn’t move or respond as I marveled how warm, alive, how
real
he was. Even with the canopy above us open it was hard to breathe. And the hazy euphoria I experienced in that moment of our tug-of-war was one of the best moments of my life.

I, Fleur LaSalle Smithers, had some control over this man who was so vital, so deeply complex, so utterly magnetic.

I had hurt his feelings.

I didn’t relish that part.

I wanted to make up for it.

I leaned over slowly, letting my hair fall around him. As I drew closer, he still wouldn’t make eye contact but I didn’t care. I kissed those lips gently, softly, as if we were in
Sleeping Beauty
, only the princess would rescue the prince from whatever tragedy he was lost in. I kissed him again, softly, jabbing the tip of my tongue in his mouth—

I was on my back!—all two hundred and fifty-five pounds (courtesy of Wikipedia) of muscle pressed around me.

“You think this is a game,” he growled—me, trying to regain my lost stomach. “It is not a game.”

“No, it is not a game,” I uttered. I shook my head, staring up into his violent eyes, my own wide-open. “I want you more than anything in this entire universe.” He gasped while the starry backdrop sparkled around his face. “And if you want to compliment me again, I will believe you this time,” I vowed, bringing my hands to his shoulders, rock hard, holding up his body weight.

I lay utterly still beneath him, my heart bared.

“I trust you.”

“Do you?” he whispered, strained. My breath hitched as he ground his hard cock into my thigh. “You should not,” he warned, tormented, staring down at me. A large vein throbbed in his forehead.

“Why do you say that?” I whispered.

“Fleur, I . . . I am not a good man.” My heart dropped. “I want you in ways . . .” he quickly added, and shook his head.

Oh. He meant
that
kind of bad man. That’s the good kind of bad man.

Wait, was that a question? Was he asking permission?

“Okay. I mean, sure, go ahead, please.”

He searched my face, clenching his jaw, and then closed his eyes tight, like he was in pain.

I longed to put his mind at ease. Why was he hesitating? I gasped when he lowered himself down on me harder still, pressing his thick, long rod into my thigh, inhaling deeply.

I arched up and gripped his shoulders as best as I could, wishing there was no material between me and the measure of his desire.

When he lowered the rest of his body down on me, placing his arms above my head, I was absolutely trapped by warm flesh all around me. It was a welcome claustrophobia.

Why was he delaying? I tried to undo the buttons on his shirt, to help him along.

I gasped as he grabbed both my hands tight with one of his.

Our eyes locked.

“Fleur,” he declared, and I could hear my heart thudding, “there is no turning back for us.”

I stared up at him. His voice was so tender, yet violent with emotion at the same time.

No turning back? What did he mean? Sounds awfully dramatic. Was he worried I would change my mind mid-way through?

“I know,” I said, to reassure him, gently pulling his shirt out of his pants. Change my mind? Are you kidding me? I was going to lose my virginity with a guy I thought was the world’s miracle man, on a fancy yacht under a starry sky. Change my mind. That was just crazy talk. My days of cock teasing were officially over. Besides, I should be the one worried about him changing his mind again.

Worried he might just, I leaned up and grabbed his mouth with mine, running my hands along his flat wide pectorals.

He let me show him,
finally
, how badly I wanted to taste his mouth, but after a moment he yanked away. I took a quick breath, uncertain what he would do next.

Kneeling between my legs, he slipped off his shirt (yes—mission green light) and for a moment we both stared. His lusty gaze was focused between my legs. My dress had shifted up, my thigh-highs were on full display and maybe even a hint of thong. I just gazed up at his David-like torso. Long muscles sloped down from his neck, and the expanse of shoulder, his biceps, those abs, it was too much.

I leaned up, a surge of need making me impatient, and reached out to rub his cock through his pants. My God, it was a beast of thing, trapped and stifled right up under his belt. He stopped me, grabbing my hand.

“Fleur,” he said gruffly.

“Mhm.”

“Are you on birth control?” Oh. Right.

“Yes.” I use it for managing my period.

He lay me back down.

“Do you still trust me?” He ground himself into me, perhaps to make me compliant. He needn’t have bothered.

“Yes,” I vowed.

“I don’t want anything between us.”

What does he mean—

Oh.
Oh
. This was a concern. I mean all the women he had been with?

“I am tested all the time by team doctors. I use safe practice, and I am clean. I promise,” he tried to reassure me.

“Well ...” I swallowed.

“I will use a condom if you want, but it is not necessary. Please,” he added, curling over me to kiss my neck, his hand sliding up my body, gently squeezing my tit. I moaned, breathy, my heavy breasts aching for a proper kneading. My clit throbbed at the idea.

“Okay,” I whispered.

He’d just said jump, and I swan-dived.

He kissed me greedily but briefly, always teasing me, never giving me my fill of his mouth.

Together we removed my dress, a lot more gently than I would have liked. He was torturing me and my impatience. Where was the bad stuff he’d hinted at?

He pressed me back down, and unsure of what he was doing, I let him place my hands above my head. Kneeling between my legs, I lay there before him in my black underwear, spread wide, completely vulnerable.

I wondered what he saw, because his face was the most covetous I have ever seen it. Still, he waited.

I whimpered and writhed with need. A smile flickered on those sensual lips of his.

He shoved my hand, which had reached out involuntarily again, back up behind my head, rough. “Lie still. Trust me,” he ordered. My heart stopped. I searched his stern stare. He was serious. Very serious.

Doing what I am told is one thing. But I sensed he wanted more than compliance. What else, I couldn’t fathom.

After a minute, or two, his hand brushed my throat and ran down my neck, my
décolleté
, around my waist and lower over my thong. His fingertip dusting made me shiver with longing. A gentle sweet ache for something harder rose up violently in me. I writhed under his touch.

“You’re teasing me,” I choked out.

“
Oui
.” He bent over quickly and bit my bottom lip just hard enough, giving me a sharp sensation that I needed, releasing it quickly. “Because you are so fucking beautiful when you are angry.”

My eyes popped open and so did my bra, which he pulled up and off. My nipples were already tight buds and I was surprised they didn’t give off steam in the cool air, my body was so hotly wound-up with need.

Please touch them
.

Oh my God. I wanted to beg. I was going to beg him if he didn’t touch me.

I closed my eyes and tried to wait, but—

“Do as I say. Lie still,” he grit out, and I opened my eyes because he shifted back over me, licking my nipple. I moaned openly.

He stopped.

“More,” I demanded.

“You want more?
C’est moi qui décide
,” he bit my nipple and then squeezed both my breasts hard in his hands, nearly painful hard, and the sharpness was a kind of release.

I tried to position my lower half so I could rub my throbbing clit against his thigh.

“Lie still! You are so greedy, Fleur. I know what you want. But I am only going to give you what you can handle. Tomorrow night is part two.”

He dove his tongue deep in my mouth, kissing me passionately. Wait, he’d just said something. Tomorrow? I thought vaguely . . . part two . . .?

He leaned up and undid his belt, removing his pants and boxers sideways on the edge of the bed. “Lie still,” he ordered yet again. I forced myself to remain so, straining to see his cock. He knelt back up and—

Oh. My. God.

It bobbed out in the moonlight like a sword. Desire was quickly replaced with fear. Holy cow. My imagination had not done it justice.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered.

All that came out was “Uhhh.” I shifted up on my elbows, frightened, and he used his hand to move my face away from gazing at his cock—it was pointing at me like it was
alive
—so I had to look in his eyes.

“Answer me.”

I nodded.

“
Bien, ma petite fleur
.”

He clasped both of my hands in his, and put them back above my head as he positioned himself on top of me.

“Open your eyes, Fleur.
Bien
. Look in mine,” he said, gruffly. I lifted my hips obediently at his gentle nudge as he slipped off my panties, the last barrier between us, and I kept my hands above my head as he’d ordered, my eyes lost in his. My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. God help me, this wasn’t about losing my virginity at all. This was about him. Having me. Me. Giving myself to him.