Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two (16 page)

Jacques was the picture of male ecstasy, not a trace of guilt in him. Head kicked back, chin high, black hair falling on the pillow as his body filled her, stroked her, then filled her again. But his pleasure was so much more than physical. Thick dark lashes weighed down his lids over a telling stare. He was savoring the feel of her certainly, but it was the control that sparked the delight in his gaze.

“Be the woman you are meant to be, Isabella. Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours, Jacques. I am yours,” the breathy words sprang from her lips.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he murmured as his hands came to her hips and guided her down to press their bodies tightly together. “Ride me, Isabella. Let me see the real you.”

As if she was a puppet and he held her strings, her body began to undulate over his, pulling up and pushing down in an erotic dance. Something inside of her broke free. She became his sexual goddess, exulting in the wanton display for his pleasure, rolling her shoulders and hips, throwing her hair back and rubbing her bound wrists over breasts.

Jacques watched the whole performance through those lowered lids. Satisfied eyes lingering on her face, her breasts and where they were joined. Even though he didn’t move, he controlled. Each impulse. Each reaction. Each movement. He was the epitome of control and his rigid control brought freedom.

What is Jacques like when his control goes away? Does it ever go away?

He silenced her wondering with a sharp grip on the shoulders, flipping her onto her back and thrusting impossibly deep with a single ferocious motion. Holding her bound hands over her head, he began to fuck her. It was wild and urgent. He pulled one knee to her shoulder and dominated her with his body, centering her entire existence on the hardness rearing into her again and again.

The way Jacques moved against her, all hard, aroused male, cast a powerful spell. She arched her hips, felt his size stretching her and his muscles contracting against her skin. His eyes looked inward as he was focusing his control on prolonging the amazing things that long hard piece of him was doing inside her body. She could have laid there for hours and hours while he pounded into her, taking what was his.

As his thrusts quickened, he let go of her hands and wrapped his arms around her, so tight she could practically hear the blood rushing through his veins.

“God, do you feel that? Do you feel how perfect we are together? You are paradise, Isabella.”

No one had ever made her feel like this. Like he wanted to get inside of her. To live inside of her. It felt amazing, startlingly intimate, to be made love to this way. Body to straining body. No holds barred. He was rough and intense, but the way Jacques held on felt incredibly tender and loving at the same time.

He put a hand behind her head to pull her closer and she breathed in his smell, losing herself in his unique scent and the intensity of their connection until he whispered, “Come for me,
Paradis
.”

At that precise moment, they both did.

*****

Jacques dropped his head in the fragrant shallow of Isabella’s shoulder, his senses flooded by the lush sensuality of the woman beneath him. He didn’t want to move so he stayed perfectly still and naturally, so did she. Pressing kisses to the smooth, moist skin at the crook of her neck, he savored her softness. The full breasts cushioning his chest. The feminine heat rippling around his shaft. The silken thighs cradling his hips. He’d always imagined what paradise would feel like and this was it. He never wanted to leave.

He wanted to tell Isabella how he felt, but the timing was wrong. Something in his gut told him that Isabella planned to end their affair when their time together in Monaco ended and the idea was not appealing. For him, this was destiny; for her, a temporary soiree in the lifestyle to indulge her fantasies.

The thought sent a sudden, prickling urgency through him. He focused on the bound hands of her surrender trapped against his abs to regain himself. Isabella was no fool. Destiny aside, she would recognize that the instantaneous trust and intimacy between them meant a fling for a few days was not what this was meant to be. And if she didn’t see it herself, he would
help
her see the truth of what was between them. If he succeeded at winning her heart, and he succeeded at most things, she wouldn’t simply stay. She would beg him to stay. Still, he wasn’t fool enough to assume anything. Hence the silence.

After a moment, he slipped from her body and eased next to her. She turned her head to face him, the look in her eyes, sated and adoring. He loved that look.

“Give me those pretty hands, Isabella.”

She lifted her arms and he untied her. Bringing each wrist to his mouth, he kissed the indentations left by the bind, tracing the pale surface of her skin and the tiny crisscross of veins beneath with his tongue. She tasted of cream and spicy sweetness. He could lick her forever. Every delicate curve on her hand. Every soft hair on her forearms. Every creamy inch of her skin. Isabella kept her eyes cast down, her chest rising and falling more deeply as his tongue traveled from her wrist, into the shallow of her palm, and traced the lines there. Some people have three: life, love and heart. Isabella had four.

“You have a fate line in your palm,” he said.

“What’s that?” she asked, voice still dreamy.

“The line of destiny. It shows how much someone’s life is determined by things outside of their control.”

“You read palms, Jacques?”

“Are you asking because you’re still entranced by what we just did or because that doesn’t fit your idea of who I am?”

“Both,” she giggled, coming more awake. “Tell me more.”

“Are you superstitious?”

“Not really, more religious. You?”

“I’m Greek, Isabella. Superstition is part of my DNA,” he chuckled and took hold of her hand. “This is your fate line. It’s very deep. That means your life is controlled by destiny.”

“Right now that means you're my destiny,” she teased.

More than you know, Paradis. More than you know.
“Do you see how it crosses your love line here? That ties your destiny to love. Have you ever been in love?”

“I thought I was once, but now, I’m not sure.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I think it was more about repressed hormones. Catholic. Remember?”

“I’d say it had more to do with this.” He ran a finger over another line. “Your head line very straight. That means you are driven by practicality. You take a structured approach to things. Am I right?”

“You might say that.”

“And this is your life line.”

Isabella tensed when he trailed his finger over it. “I don’t want you to read my future, Jacques.”

“That’s not what a life line tells,” he reassured her and continued his explanation. “It’s more about relationships and well-being. Yours is very straight and close to your palm. That means you’re cautious. The circle here indicates that you've had an injury or health issue.”

“Stop, Jacques. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

She tried to yank her hand away. She was trembling in his grasp so he curled her little fist up tight and kissed her knuckles. Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

“What’s wrong, Isabella?”

“Nothing, It’s nothing,” she said and tried to blink the wetness away.

“It’s not nothing. Something made you upset.”

Very upset. And that was upsetting him.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Jacques.”

“I’m not asking, Isabella,” he said pointedly.

She turned away and raised her hand to shield her face. “I don’t want to cry in front of you.” With the words, the tears started to fall.

He pulled her close and held her against his chest. “You can express anything with me, Isabella. If you need to cry, you will cry in my arms.”

He felt her struggle to hold herself together and tightened the unyielding embrace. A sob welled up from deep inside her. It hurt just to hear it. Another sob followed and another. He couldn’t fathom what brought this on, but he held fast as she rode through her pain. Not saying a word.

Isabella wore her emotions on her sleeve. Whether she was feeling happy, or sexy, or sad and that passionate nature was one of the most special things about her. Even when she cried, she went full tilt. She cried and cried and cried until her tears were exhausted and she went limp against his chest.

He waited a few minutes, let her breathing become steady again, then sat up and handed her a napkin from the table. She wiped her wet cheeks and blew her nose. Grasping her chin, he tilted her face one way, then the other, examining her.

“Talk to me, Isabella.”

She shook her head.

“Something upset you.”

Her mouth tightened over the words she didn’t want to let out.

“I can’t take care of you properly if you leave me guessing, Isabella. But I will accept your silence.” His eyes never left her face as he let her know that was temporary. "For now."

He lifted her up and carried her to the hot tub. Setting her onto her feet, he removed her dress and shoes before guiding her onto the seat along the inside. Then he undressed, leaving his clothes in a pile on top of hers before settling next to her in the hot water. Reaching over the rim, he pressed the button to start the jets. His hands closed on her waist to move her where the streaming water would massage her back.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the sadness in her floated away with the steam and the bubbles. With a sigh, she leaned into him as the churning water soothed her. He took her shoulders to turn her so her back faced him and began to massage the tension from her neck. After a few more steamy minutes, she loosened completely and the feeling between them became something more than just comfortable.

*****

Jacques pressed a kiss behind her ear, right where the soft lobe met the skin of her neck, and Zing!...tiny streaks of lighting zipped through Isabella.

The man is an expert at finding weak spots.

Her head lulled to the side to give him better access. Warm fingers cradled her as more gentle kisses dusted over the side of her face, her jawline, and the back of her neck. The way Jacques kissed her made it so easy to fall into his comfort. Her mind wrestled with the very tempting notion of confiding in him, but nothing kills a moment like the “c” word so Isabella crushed the idea before it found expression. Soon enough, the urge to speak faded.

“If you won’t tell me what upset you, then tell me this. Did you toes curl, Isabella?” Jacques asked, putting little vibrations against her neck.

“Do I have toes?” she mumbled through her seduced haze.

He turned her to lean against the side of the tub, shifted to sit opposite her and reached down to lift her foot.

Ooh, Jacques is a master with feet.

She flicked her other foot to splash water at him before settling it on his thigh. She’d expected another foot massage until he sucked her wet toes into his mouth.

With Jacques there were a lot of firsts, but she hadn’t thought of this one.

“That feels…”

His tongue slipped over the ball of her foot, along the arch and he nipped her ankle before drawing her toes back between his lips.

“…fucking fabulous. I mean, seriously?”

“Seriously,” he murmured without stopping and pressed the foot on his thigh against his erection.

Isabella stretched her arms out along the rim to hold herself up and two pert nipples peeked above the hot bubbles. Part of her wanted to sink beneath the water; the other part knew Jacques would love the view and this was her devil's time in the sun. She arched her back, raising her breasts higher and put pressure on his groin.

Dios mío, how did Jacques learn to do that?

Every spot on her foot seemed to be connected to another more fun spot within her body and Jacques was playing with them all. If he kept this up much longer, she was going to drown.

“Do you know what else would feel fabulous?” he asked and moved her foot against his cheek.

The obscenely sexy look in his eyes made her shiver even in the steamy water. Holding fast to her ankle, he pushed off the other side of the hot tub and sliced through the water between her legs like a shark.

Surprise, surprise. I'm the bait
.

And the bait wanted nothing more than to be devoured by the shark. Isabella wrapped her legs around him as hungry lips parted in invitation.

Moving in very close to her face as if he was going to kiss her, Jacques held her stare, making her yearn for the taste of his lips on hers. But he didn't kiss her. He avoided her mouth and pressed his lips to her collarbone, nibbling his way from her shoulder to her neck. Both hands went for her nipples, pinching the hot points between fingers and thumbs.

Double weak spots. I'm definitely going to drown.

Her hands grasped his upper arms to anchor herself...

Ooohhhh. So hard. Señor Meszaros Enterprises spends a lot of time in the gym.

Coasted up to his shoulders...

And it would be rude to ignore all that effort
.

Trailed down the plane of his pecs...