The Frenchman (Crime Royalty Romance Book 1) (22 page)

“Remove this now!” he ordered louder, yanking at the headboard, flexing every beautiful muscle in his long torso.

“We have an expression in America,” I whispered in his ear, taking a moment to suck on his earlobe before I flicked it a few times with my tongue. I could hear him gnash his teeth. “Turnabout’s fair play.”

“Fair play?” he grunted out. “This is not fair,” he added, watching me as I leisurely curled over and began weaving a pattern of wet, sensual kisses down his stomach, noticing with pride how heavily he was breathing. He kept tugging uselessly at his constraints. I couldn’t believe how horny his frustration made me. When I got to the line of dark hair that led down to his hard-on, I stuck my tongue in his belly button, then I gently fluttered it down, slowly pulling his boxers all the way down and off.

“Fleur,” he ordered, yanking again at the headboard.

“
Oui
?” I looked up at him with as innocent an expression as I could, hovering just inches from his cock, which I had freed. Louis glared at me with lust and grievance.

“Is something wrong, Louis? You
look
happy to see me.”

His cock bobbed up and down, swollen tight.

I gave it what it was asking for. He growled again, watching from his awkward position, as I trailed my tongue starting at the base, licking all the way up to the head, which I sucked on, rather unable to stop myself, actually, before releasing it. It was surprisingly soft for something so hard.

I looked back up innocently at him. I had to fight the urge to suck on it some more.

He glared at me with pure, violent lust and my heart skipped a beat. No, no, it’s okay, I thought, he’s tied up. “Is there something you want, Louis?” I chided, licking and kissing only the base of the shaft.

He growled and threw his head back, wrenching violently on the headboard. My heart stopped as he writhed so hard I thought he might hurt himself. Geez. Mildly alarmed, I noted how he could dish out the sexual restraint and teasing but he sure couldn’t take it.

To appease both my angry beasts and myself, I put my whole mouth around his head, and moved up and down a few times, like I knew one should. (This was my first blow job, but I wasn’t clueless.)

I couldn’t have been doing too badly because he moaned and hissed louder than I had ever heard him. When he drove his hips up and rammed himself in the back of my throat, I gagged. This made him wild-eyed. I let him thrust himself into the back of my throat a few more time, trying to keep my lips tight. It was hard because he was so big.

“Teeth,” he hissed. I pulled off, instantly. “Sorry,” I gasped, embarrassed I’d gotten it wrong.

“
Non
,
more
teeth,” he ordered.

Oh.
Oh
.

I smiled up at him again, kneeling between his legs, undoing my bra and letting it drop. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you, Louis. Did you say you wanted more of something?”

He froze. I swallowed. His stare was violent, and I worried he would damage his teeth clenching them like that. He sure was taking this seriously. I watched him, how his eyes flared, as I played with my own breasts, tweaking my nipples, squeezing them together. I moaned with genuine need, and impatient, I stood up. Slowly, I began to slide my thong down.

“Turn around,” he grunted, his eyes following my every move.

Feeling I owed him some give, and emboldened by the way I had cleverly commandeered the situation, I did as he asked. I turned around and as I started to slide them down, he added, hoarsely, “Bend over.”

Uh . . .

Oh why not?

I bent over, briefly, flashing him everything, red blotching my cheeks, before I stepped out of my thong, leaving on my high heels. I checked, and was relieved to see he liked what he saw. In fact, I’d never seen him quite so hungry. My snatch was throbbing with need. I touched myself without a second thought.

“You are the greedy one, I think,” he murmured, watching me, pulling at his binds. “Untie me so I can give you what you want,” he ordered.

I stared at him. His cock bobbed with intent.

“No,” I said coyly.

His eyebrows raised and lowered into a flat line of resolve.

That should have been a warning to me. But I was way too pleased with the control I had, and too horny to notice.

“I decide,” I added, using one of his lines. My pussy ached something fierce, knots in my lower belly squeezed and made me shaky all over, so I decided that first, I would give myself much-needed attention. I rubbed my moist clit and shuddered, not realizing how engorged it had become. I closed my eyes and moaned—

A terrible shredding noise and a roar interrupted my pleasure.

My eyes flew open. Bits of wooden headboard were flying everywhere and a giant, naked, raging man, hands still tied, was headed toward me. I laughed, in shock. “You broke your headboard!”

My laughter quickly transformed to concern—he was on the loose. I backed up. He was
poised
, balancing those broad shoulders over powerful, spread, bent thighs, heaving for air.
He’s going to tackle me
. Astonished, I breathed “Louis,” in panic, hoping to wake him up inside the dangerous animal—

He made contact, and I yelped as I went backward. But he looped his tied hands over my head, to hold me up, or so I thought. He kneeled so low to the ground, I thought I would fall again. So to regain balance, arms floundering, I tried to step out of his tied arms, like hopscotch. But that’s what he’d wanted. In record speed he stood up again, taking me with him.

My legs were looped over the top of his arms, my butt cheeks were gripped tight in his bound hands, and he drove me into the wall and his cock.
Yes
. The wind was knocked out of me so I couldn’t express the excitement or the rush of physical satisfaction I’d felt at his sudden invasive entry. I wasn’t sure he cared as he drove into me again, again, again, against the wall.

He was ferocious and pitiless, like a wild animal. It was base and erotic and I loved every minute of his desperate, ravaging need. If he was trying to punish me it wasn’t working because I was going to come from his fervor alone.

He pulled me away from the wall, my head was banging against it, and just slid me on and off his shaft like I was a doll. I had to hold onto his neck as he pounded into me, and I whispered
harder
and
faster
in his ear, which I licked and sucked until I could feel him tremble with his own orgasm.

I let myself slip into the dark, plush realm of wanton lust, and the speed with which he was pounding my core blended into one continuous array of bliss. “Louis, I’m coming,” I whispered, and somehow he sped up even more.

I was blinded by the explosion that wracked through me and barely able to hold onto his sweaty neck. He stumbled, and I realized from his loud guttural moan that he was exploding in me. I clung to him, worried he might fall, as my pussy walls clenched his cock, shuddering around him, as if to hold on for dear life, too.

Finally, he slowed the movement up and down his shaft.

When we drew still, he rasped, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whispered. After a moment, he walked us over to the bed.

His breathing was ragged. I was smiling, dazed, and completely satiated. He lifted me off his cock and let me down slowly. I was certain there would be fingerprint bruises where he had gripped my tush.

Silent, he raised his tied hands over my head and placed them in front of me. I peeked up under his sweaty brow, uncertain because he was expressionless.

I would oblige his silent request, of course.

The second the band was free, he grabbed my head, harshly, and spun me around. I yelped as he bent me over the bed, holding my squirming body in place with one arm.

“Louis!” I gasped, startled.

“You have been a very bad girl,” he hissed, massaging my naked bottom with his newly-free hand. A sharp pain shot through me. He’d pinched the flesh.

“Ow! That hurt,” I protested, muffled somewhat since my face was pressed into the bedspread.

He pinched me again, harder, and the pain was even worse from the same spot, and yet . . . A tremor sprang through my lower belly as he massaged the pain away.

Was I . . . excited?

“Tell me you will never do something like that again and I won’t punish you.” My pulse continued its savage beat.

Punish me?

His hand gently massaged my ass, moved down and pinched again. I sucked in air because this time I was certain: it hurt like hell and I was excited. I wanted him to punish me.

Never one to welcome the unknown quickly, I promised him I would never do anything like that again. I exclaimed, “I promise!” twice more for good measure.

I couldn’t see his face, so I had no idea what was taking him so long to release me. Finally, when he did, I flipped over and stared up at him—gobsmacked.

His face was fierce, those eyes,
tormented
. It was exactly like before, when he’d asked me out on our first date.

What was wrong now?

I tried to smile at him.

“So we’re even now, right?” I tried to joke, thinking the pinching canceled out the bondage.

He met my stare, only some of the agony gone from his. “Not even close.”

Not even close? I gulped.

“Oh for Pete’s sake, lighten up already. I mean, it was just a bit of fun. There’s no need to get all moody,” I fumed, propping myself up onto my elbows.

He pulled back as if I had slapped him. After a moment or two of tense staring, he shook his head as I sat up.

Okay, reassess. What happened? I got one over on him in the sack, and he didn’t like it, so much so that he showed me who’s boss. And, I didn’t mind. Not at all. So why the upset?

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” I murmured, staring at his abs. I resisted the urge to rub my ass where the pinched flesh still burned.

I heard him exhale, exaggerated. His emotions were so real to me I could feel them, like physical entities—innately.

Wind. Rain. Hail.

It dawned on me just how connected I was to him, and I shivered.

When he sat down on the edge of the bed, after clearing away headboard debris, I sank into him. I went with it and shifted so I could better feel our naked skin on skin. God, he was intoxicating to me. I wanted to roll around in Louis.

I tried to kiss his cheek but he shook his head, frustrated.

Still?

Was he upset about pinching me? That he got carried away? Not knowing what was wrong had borne an ache in me. A terrible nauseating ache. I leaned away, eyeing my discarded clothes on the floor.

“
Combien de fois je dois te le dire, ce n’est pas un jeu!
” he finally said, looking me dead in the eye. My stomach dropped.

He’d said, “How many times must I tell you, this is not a game?”—dripping with genuine contempt.

A roiling black storm was pouring down rage in those brown and green brushstrokes.

Why? Because I treated our sex lightly? No, maybe it was worse than that. Did he think I wasn’t taking
him
seriously? My heart buckled in pain at that idea, as though it had been taken down with cramp after a hard run.

“I don’t think we are a game,” I said, breathless. “Louis, I don’t think
we
are a game. And . . .” He wasn’t reacting. “I am not scared of you or how you like to . . . make me feel.”

His eyebrows raised.

“Mon Dieu
. You don’t understand at all,” he snarled.

I sucked in air.

His unflagging coldness crippled me.

Maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe he wanted to hurt me in this moment, because it sure seemed that way.

But why?

He spun around to glare at me full on, hands on his knees. “You think I would apologize about my desires? Or how I like to fuck you?” He made a noise like
don’t be ridiculous
, and gave me that look again. “You think I would want you if I didn’t know what you were really like?

“No!” he barked, and I flinched at his tone. “I see now, I see you don’t want to see the truth. That is the only explanation.
Très bien
, we will continue to play your game! Hm.” He pulled me to him, hard, and kissed me, but it was false, hard, and unrelenting, emotionless.

I pushed away, searching his face, and for the first time—

“Ah! Now you are scared I see! Finally! Maybe now you will save yourself,
oui?
From the horrible, bad man. Go! Run to your mother. Go on.”

I recoiled with shock, and, I swear to God, my heart stopped beating. Glancing one more time at his eyes, my gut caved in completely. He was serious. He wanted me to go. All his adoration for me was gone, and through the connection I felt between us, all I was receiving was disgust. He was staring at me—

I gasped. No, he was disappointed with me.

I had missed something. I
was
missing something.

I stood up, reluctant at first, then, with one more glance, certain.

Frantic, I scrambled to sort out my clothes. The room with its potent sex smell had reduced down to a tiny mousetrap. His eyes were on me the whole time, and his empty stare made my hands shaky as I slipped on my underwear. I had no idea what or where the wrong had come from, but it was everywhere.

Why did he bring up Marie? He’d said I didn’t want to see the truth? What truth? He kept calling himself a bad man. Was he going to hurt me, somehow, someway, was that it? Did he not have faith in himself? Was he scared of . . . us?

Hope surged in me, and I turned to him, but the question, the reassurance I wanted to give him, died on my lips.

My chest hurt from a strange new kind of anxiety, high-pitched, full of woe. Dread closed in on me. I’d never felt so exposed standing before one human being before. And realization that he could
desecrate me
with a mere cold shoulder sank in.

And maybe that was his point. But why?

“Is that what you want? Do you want me to go?” I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady.

I swear a universe of emotion flickered in his eyes, but it presented itself so quickly, and was hidden from view, I wondered if it existed at all.