Parisian Affair (6 page)

Hilton strode into his huge makore wood and
glass-walled bedroom. It was a room that would dwarf ordinary men,
but it suited him. His presence was such that he seemed to fill any
room he walked into. He was unbuttoning his shirt and unhooking his
belt when he saw that her luscious honey-toned body was naked and
that she was completely absorbed in something. 'What's that?' he
asked, tossing his shirt onto a chair.

'A jewelry catalogue,' she said, still not
looking up at the lean, well- defined muscularity of his body.

'Which one?' he asked, stepping out of his
trousers and tossing them atop the shirt.

'Galerie Dufour,' she replied, her eyes glued
to the pictures. 'In Paris.'

'See something you like?' His voice was
casual, even disinterested.

Finally she looked up at him and nodded.
'Yes,' she said, 'as a matter of fact I do.'

'What?'

'An emerald ring,' she said, 'but not just
any emerald ring.'

'Let me see.' He stepped closer to the bed
and looked down at the catalogue.

Kitty held it out for him. 'Princess
Karima's,' she said.

He let out a low whistle. 'Through-the-roof
estimate.'

'I know,' Kitty said, pouting. 'And I can't
afford it.'

'Very few people in the world can,' Hilton
pointed out as he took off his Jockey shorts and then his socks.
The black marble floor felt cool on his bare feet.

'When I was growing up,' Kitty said
wistfully, 'she was my idol. I always dreamed of being just like
Princess Karima.'

'You and a million other little girls your
age,' he said.

'She was the most beautiful woman in the
world,' Kitty went on, 'and one of the richest. And a princess to
boot.'

Hilton, his well-tanned body finally naked,
sat down on the bed beside her. He placed a finger on Kitty's lips,
and she kissed it, looking into his vibrant dark brown eyes. He ran
his hand down her neck, gently brushing it against her flesh, and
on down to her breasts, where he caressed each one in turn.

Kitty shuddered with pleasure and let the
catalogue slide out of her hands and off the bed. She reached over
and placed her arms around Hilton's neck, drawing him to her. Their
lips met, and he kissed her tenderly as he repositioned himself on
the bed. His powerful arms went around her, and his sensuous lips
began kissing her in earnest. His tongue explored her mouth
forcefully before it traveled to her ears and neck, where it darted
and flicked. Its every stroke sent shivers of excitement through
her.

Moving to her breasts, he licked and kissed
them, their perfection filling him with desire. They were large
with rosy nipples, which he felt harden against his tongue. Kitty
moaned aloud, and her hands, which until now had been stroking his
back and shoulders, sought out his manhood. She could feel him
against her, already hard and powerful, and when she gently grasped
his cock in her hand, she loved the gasp that escaped his lips. He
arched back slightly, and she licked and kissed his nipples before
slowly tracing a path down to his navel, circling it lazily with
her tongue, then licked her way on down to the thatch between his
thighs.

Hilton held his breath as she repositioned
herself between his legs, then descended upon him with wanton
desire, as if she had been made simply to give him pleasure. He
leaned back against the headboard, gritting his even white teeth as
she moved up and down, slowly, then more rapidly, then slowly
again, teasing him mercilessly.

Oh, God
, he thought.
Nobody . . .
nobody on earth can give head like Kitty Fleischman
. He looked
down at the tangled mass of jet-black hair at his groin and smiled
with a mixture of sheer pleasure and wonder.

'Whoa,' he gasped, grabbing her eager head
between his hands and holding it in place. 'You're going to get me
off, baby. Got to watch out. We want to make this last a long
time.'

Kitty looked up at him with huge,
hurt-looking almond-shaped eyes. 'Oh, Hilton, I was having so much
fun,' she said in a little-girl voice. Then she smiled, her
collagen-injected lips a taunting, sensuous, and messy chocolate,
before drawing herself up to her knees, fully exposing her large,
cosmetically enhanced breasts.

Hilton's eyes were immediately drawn to their
blushing, pert nipples, so like overripe strawberries begging to be
plucked. He knew they weren't entirely a gift from Mother Nature.
In fact, he knew Reid Thornton, the plastic surgeon who'd done the
work. But he didn't care. They were a turn-on for him. Maybe even
more so, he thought, knowing that Kitty had gone under the knife
for him, something she had refused to do for her ex- husband.

She slithered over the sheets up next to him,
and laid her head on his well-muscled shoulder. Hilton put an arm
around her, cradling her head against him possessively. Kitty stuck
a long finger in her mouth, then brushed its wetness around his
nipples, making circles around them, one at a time, barely touching
his lusty flesh.

'That feels so good,' Hilton said in a near
whisper. Then he reciprocated, thrumming her succulent nipples
between his fingers, fascinated with their growing hardness, amazed
anew at the power that even his fingers held over the most
beautiful and desirable woman he'd ever seen. He never failed to be
astonished that his body responded to hers like it never had to
anyone else's. Maybe it was something chemical, he mused. He didn't
know, but whatever it was, sex with Kitty was the best sex he'd
ever had—and he'd long since lost count of the parade of beauties
whom he'd bedded over the years.

He was a vigorous thirty-eight years old, and
hardly a night had gone by since he'd been sixteen in which he
hadn't enjoyed the company of a woman. He loved women, and he had
to have them. When he wasn't working—and he worked very hard—women
and hunting occupied nearly all of his spare time. Not for him were
the golf courses, tennis courts, or yachts of his male friends.
Women and hunting were his passion. When he wasn't actively
pursuing wild game in some part of the world, he was chasing down
unsampled female flesh. It was the hunt that intrigued him above
all, and once the animal, or the woman in question, was in the bag,
he invariably became bored and began to hunt anew.

He slid a hand down between Kitty's firm
thighs and rubbed her engorged clitoris, a testament to her body's
desire, then slipped a finger inside her. He expelled a heavy
stream of air. She was soaking wet. She wanted him, all right. Her
wetness, and her little catlike mewls, said so.

He pulled her closer to him then, relishing
the feel of those big breasts against his chest, and began kissing
her bee-stung lips, gently and tenderly. With mounting excitement,
he began exploring the depths of her mouth more passionately, more
hungrily, as if he wanted to devour her beautiful body.

With featherlight fingertips, Kitty brushed
against his throbbing manhood and encircled it with her hand once
again. She delighted in hearing him suck in his breath as she began
working up and down its formidable length. She felt empowered by
knowing that she could excite him so easily, and it was this sense
of empowerment from which she derived one of her greatest
pleasures. For Kitty reveled in being the master puppeteer,
manipulating the strings of the people in her life to get what she
wanted. Sex with Hilton was certainly enjoyable for her, more so
than with most of the men she'd known intimately. But the sex act
itself was, and had always been, nothing more than a prelude to
securing favors.

Hilton moaned as she moved her hand from his
cock to his balls, which she stroked, then gently squeezed. She
knew that it wouldn't be long before he was deep inside her.

She was right, only it happened with an
alacrity that was startling, being as Hilton, unlike most men in
her experience, normally savored lengthy foreplay, teasing and
tantalizing them both into a state of excruciating, animal like
hunger before sating their lusty desire. Now he mounted and entered
her in one swift motion, unable to hold off an instant longer,
eliciting a gasp from Kitty as he plunged in to the hilt of his
cock. She grasped his back, holding on to him as tightly as she
could, thrusting herself up at him, anxious to give him the ride of
his life.

Hilton licked her nipples as he began
thrusting inside her, half mad with desire, but his mouth moved to
hers when she began moaning aloud, his lips over hers, stifling the
cries of pleasure that she was unable to control. Faster and faster
they moved together, in a wanton rhythm of carnal lust, until
neither of them could wait another second. Kitty began thrashing
from side to side, her raven hair whipping the sheets as she was
swept up into the ecstasy of orgasm, and Hilton, urged on by the
flood tide that engulfed him, plunged still deeper inside her, then
suddenly jerked his head back and bellowed as his body went taut,
quivering over hers, his seed bursting forth in a torrent that
sated them both. For the time being at least.

Gasping for air, he eased down atop her, his
muscles sweat-slick against her breasts, his chest heaving against
hers, his lips kissing her neck, her ears, and her face, his arms
hugging her to him tightly, as if in gratitude for the gift of her
voluptuous body. She relaxed her ferocious grasp of his back and
began caressing him possessively, elated that once again she had
satisfied this most remarkable of men.

Hilton slowly eased over onto his side, and
Kitty, knowing that he liked being inside her, moved with him,
clamping her thighs together to keep his cock firmly implanted
where it was.

'That was so great,' he said, stroking the
length of her arm.

Her black eyes glittered. 'It... it always is
. . . with you,' she rasped, her breath still short. 'Never has a
man . . . made me as happy as you do . . . Hilton. Never.'

He smiled and kissed her, wondering at the
same time if what she said had as much as an ounce of truth in it.
He had no doubts about his sexual prowess, but in his experience
most of the women he had known for more than a few weeks had wanted
a lot more from him than sex. A hell of a lot more.

Kitty was an enigma to him, however,
impossible to read thus far. That she enjoyed their sex, he had no
doubts. But did she want more from him? It had been six months—a
long time for him to date the same woman— and he still hadn't made
up his mind. She had asked for nothing during those months.
Nothing.

At times she seemed like a spoiled,
spaced-out hedonist, lavishing attention on her body, clothes,
makeup, diet, and shopping. She was sharp, but if she had any
interest in intellectual pursuits, he wasn't aware of it.

Hilton knew that she didn't really need his
money, although that wasn't necessarily a criterion for judgment.
After all, there were women—and men—who couldn't have enough, no
matter how much they had. Kitty, who'd grown up like him, in
relative poverty, was comfortably fixed now. She had a few million
conservatively invested and a luxuriously decorated apartment in a
modern high-rise building nearby, thanks to a very short marriage
and quick divorce from a much older film producer she'd met at the
annual film festival in Cannes.

Hilton wanted to believe what Kitty had told
him because he liked her, admired her even. She was what the French
call a
tordue
, a woman who's had to fight for everything. He
supposed that was one of the reasons he was drawn to her . . .
aside from her magnificent body, of course.

He hugged her, and she responded with a sweet
kiss. 'Are you getting hungry?' he asked.

She nodded. 'Ravenous,' she said. 'You know
that sex always makes me hungry.'

'Just like me,' he said. 'Willie and Boyce
are on vacation, and I didn't get anybody to come in while they're
gone. Should we go out and get something really good? Or we could
stay piled up in bed and order in?'

She looked thoughtful for a moment. 'Let's go
to Swifty's,' she said at last. 'The food's okay, not great, but
it'll be fun to make all those society snobs drool over us.'

He grinned. 'I'm game,' he said. He knew how
much she loved showing off her body, her clothes, and him. While he
kept a fairly low profile and cared nothing for being a part of New
York or international high society—a factor that made him all the
more mysterious and alluring to those social titans he avoided—he
was enormously rich, handsome, and available, and thus couldn't
entirely avoid the scrutiny of the gossip columnists or the glaring
flashbulbs of the paparazzi.

'I'm going to shower off,' he said. 'You want
to join me?'

'I'd better use the other bathroom,' she
said, poking his chest with a pointed finger, 'or we'll never get
to the restaurant.'

He grinned again. 'I'll only be a
minute.'

He kissed her and slid out of bed, heading
into the big black marble and mirrored bathroom with its gold
fittings.

When she heard the blast of the shower, Kitty
retrieved the jewelry catalogue from the floor and flipped through
it until she found the emerald ring again. She studied it closely,
her black eyes darting from the ring to the estimate. When she'd
had her fill, she placed the catalogue on the bedside table and
heaved a sigh.

She looked toward the bathroom that Hilton
was using.
Maybe,
she thought
, I can get Hilton to spring
for it
. He could certainly afford it. But would he do it? She
wasn't sure. She was reluctant to risk whatever future she might
have with him by making what he might consider unnecessarily
expensive demands on him now. And an emerald ring— Princess
Karima's or not—was nothing compared with what she could have if
she succeeded in landing Hilton Whitehead as husband number
two.