Rhapsody: Interracial French Mafia Romance (The Butcher and the Violinist Book 1)

by Kenya Wright

  How was he able to do this? How much would something like this cost?

  Once the pianist began to play, the door opened. I turned that way. Jean-Pierre stood in the doorway, dressed in a designer tuxedo, with his left arm in a sling, and his right hand holding a bouquet of pale pink peonies.

  My heart stopped for a few seconds.

  Rafael and Louis flanked him in their regular high-end suits. A new scar dotted Rafael’s cheek. Louis looked like he’d had better days.

  I hurried over to Jean-Pierre. “Are you okay?”

  Louis took the bouquet from Jean-Pierre.

  “I’m fine.” With his free arm, he pulled me toward him and whispered in French, “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.” I wrapped my arms around his shoulder, trying to be careful, but needing his mouth on mine as soon as possible. It only took a few seconds before we were devouring each other.

  Rafael cleared his throat. “Don’t let him take the sling off. The doctor said three weeks.”

  Jean-Pierre pulled back from my mouth and growled, “No. He said, ‘Three days.’”

  “I heard three weeks.” Rafael turned to Louis. “You?”

  “I’m not getting involved in this.” Louis walked off with the bouquet, handed it to the staff, and studied the chef. “Have they been checked? We have to be more careful in the future, Jean-Pierre.”

  All of Jean-Pierre’s attention was centered on me. I looked into his eyes. His gaze snared me in seconds, triggering me to edge back. It was just something about that expression on his face. He looked hungry. Starving. Famished. I thought of the way he would beg me to sit on his face as he licked me from behind.

  My sex clenched.

  “Ce n'est jamais une bonne journée, quand je suis loin de toi.” Jean-Pierre drank in my curves.

  Damn it. I didn’t catch that.

  As usual, everything about him was intense. He snared all of my attention. I could focus on nothing else. Heat moved between us. His gaze journeyed all over me. My lips. The curve of my neck. My cleavage. The gown. He directed it to my fingers and then back up my arm. My body shivered in lust. There was no place untouched and I wanted desperately for everyone to leave.

  My pulse sped up.

  Louis walked over to us. “Jean-Pierre?”

  “Everything’s fine. Go,” Jean-Pierre growled. “I haven’t seen Eden in weeks.”

  Rafael rolled his eyes. “It’s been days.”

  Jean-Pierre growled again, “Go.”

  Rafael pointed at me. “Don’t let him take that sling off.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said.

  Can anyone really tell Jean-Pierre what to do?

  With scowls on both faces, Louis and Rafael left.

  I opened my mouth to speak.

  Jean-Pierre leaned in for a kiss, dipped his tongue between my lips, and enveloped me with his presence. His hand massaging my waist, playing with the diamonds on the corset. His tongue toyed with mine.

  I tasted him and became drunk and dizzy. “Mmmm.”

  Jean-Pierre swallowed my whimper of pleasure, slipped his hand over the curve of my ass, and tenderly squeezed. I couldn’t think or see, escape, or control my hormones. All I could do was hold on to him.

  When he pulled back, he whispered, “Let’s extend this experience.”

  I blinked a few times, gaining control of myself. “What?”

  “I want more time.” He tightened his grip on my ass, possessing me. “I’ve already lost some. And I’ve already waited for too damn long.”

  “How. . .much longer?” I stepped out of his grip and gave us some space.

  “How much time can I have?”

  “A…another week. . .or two.”

  “I want more time.”

  I turned away. “I have to think about it.”

  He approached and paused right in front of me. Only a few inches rested between us. Desire charged from him to me. It pounded and throbbed back and forth as he stared into my eyes.

  “I’ll pay any amount of money.” His voice vibrated through my body.

  I swallowed. “It’s not. . .the money.”

  “What is it?”

  I missed you. I felt lost without you for these few days. That shouldn’t have happened. This is more than a job for me, Jean-Pierre. And you’re not paying for more. Do I tell you, and ruin this illusion that you paid so high for?

  The line in his jaw twitched, but his face portrayed nothing else. An edge laced his voice. “Is there someone else?”

  “No.”

  “There shouldn’t be.”

  I widened my eyes. “Why not?”

  “Give me another month.”

  Shocked, I parted my lips. “I… have to think about it.”

  “Why?” He walked around me in slow, deliberate steps, circling like a prowling creature. “Have I done something wrong? Has anyone made you feel uncomfortable?”

  “No, of course not. Everything has been perfect.”

  He stopped in front of me.

  I looked at the sling. “Does it hurt? Do you want to sit down?”

  He gave me a wicked smile. “Would certain answers illicit sympathy and give me my way?”

  “Most likely.” I grinned. “But you should only use your power for good.”

  “That’s never been my style.”

  “A month is a long time to extend.”

  He shifted his face to neutral. “What were your plans after this?”

  “I was going to use the new budget to search for higher positions and save for a possible move to that place.”

  “Where do you want to play?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “Do the job search while you’re with me. We’ll go anywhere you want to for auditions for your job search with the extension.”

  This was perfect. It all made sense on paper. If anything, it was advantageous for me, more than him. I would earn more money, spend even more amazing moments with him, and search for a dream position at the same time. I should’ve immediately jumped to the idea with a yes.

  But my heart tugged at the things I’d refused to think about in these past days. His absence brought the thoughts to the surface.

  I really liked him.

  With more delicious romantic weeks my feelings of like would shift to love. I would do my best to not drown in his passion. His heart. His desire and attention. I would put all my effort into rejecting the emotion inside of my chest that was spinning and spinning as he stood right in front of me.

  You know you’re not going to say no. It’s stupid to pretend. You want to do it. You’re scared. You should be.

  “Eden?”

  “Sorry,” I blurted out. “I was talking to myself.”

  His straight expression warmed. “Sometimes that’s the best way to make a decision. What were you telling yourself?”

  “That I know that I’m going to say yes.”

  His smile spread. “Then, I get my two months.”

  “Jean-Pierre, you said one month.”

  He laughed. “Then, one month.”

  I let out a long breath. “Yes. . .and thanks for…everything. Even letting me search for a job…as I…work for you.”

  That gaze heated. “Is it really hard work?”

  “No. I enjoy it.” I swallowed and whispered the truth, “Pleasing you has become a new passion.”

  A dark groan left his lips. He took my hand and walked me over to the large window where Paris shined for us. “How do you like my city?”

  “It’s breathtaking.”

  “Since we have more time, we can stay here. Are you okay with that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to show you how amazing Paris can be.”

  Excitement bounced in me.

  “My mother and I moved to Paris when I was ten. Every time we passed the river, she would whisper lines from a poem.” He pointed to the Seine River.

  “Do you remember it?”

  He looked at me. “Unde
r the Mirabeau Bridge, there flows the Seine. And our loves recall how then, after each sorrow, joy came back again.”

  “That’s beautiful. Who wrote that?”

  “Guillaume Apollinaire. It’s called Le Pont Mirabeau.” He ran his hand along my bare shoulder, causing delightful shivers. “Le Pont Mirabeau talks about lost love by comparing it to the flow of the Seine under the Mirabeau bridge. There’s a plaque of the first part of the poem on Le Pont Mirabeau’s wall, overlooking the Louis Bleriot quay. I want to take you there tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait.” I lifted his hand and kissed those fingers, wishing I could do it to the other hand. “Are you sure you don’t want to rest for a few days?”

  He gritted his teeth. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m. . .just wondering, if you’re a bad patient.”

  “I’ve been told that I was.”

  “Are you supposed to rest in bed?”

  “I am.”

  “For how long?”

  “The doctor begged me to at least rest for three days.”

  Feeling bold, I raised my hands and ran my fingers through his silky hair. “I want to see Paris, but I also love the idea of staying in bed with you for three days.”

  “You’re worried about me?”

  “Is that okay?”

  I wasn’t sure of prostitute protocol. Wouldn’t a girlfriend care? And if I was playing the part, shouldn’t I care? Not the mention the fact that anxiety hit me as soon as I confirmed he was injured. I wanted to know what happened, but if Jean-Pierre thought I needed to know, he would’ve told me.

  What happened to you? And don’t do it again! I don’t want you to get hurt.

  “Okay. I’ll stay in bed for three days.” He nodded. “But let me show you Paris tomorrow.”

  “And then you’ll stay in bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, I’ll try to figure out a way to keep you entertained.”

  He grunted. “Maybe I should just have a bed brought up here after dinner. We don’t ever have to leave.”

  I laughed and then stopped when I realized he wasn’t joking. Surely, he couldn’t just fuck me in the Eiffel Tower for days on end. France owned the structure. It was a huge world tourist attraction.

  As if he heard me, he whispered, “Bed or not. I will fuck you here, right over my city. I’ve thought about it for so long.”

  “You have my vote.” I swallowed.

  “Then, let’s eat.” He gave me that wicked smile. “You’ll need your energy.”

  “Deal. I’ll do all the work. You still need to heal.” I gestured to his sling and then walked off.

  He grabbed me with the one free hand and gently pulled me back. “I am not an injured animal, Eden.” He molded me against him. “I will fuck you tonight.”

  I laughed and gave him my best alpha stare. “But I’ll be dominating, and you’ll be submitting.”

  He snorted and guided us to the table. “On verra, sirène sexy.”

  The hostess and chef left as the servers began to set our table. Someone had put the bouquet of pink peonies in a crystal vase and sat it at the center.

  One server explained that we would be having a sample of classic French dishes. And then all the food came. Bowls of onion soup. Loaves of bread decorated with melted cheese. Duck confit covered in spicy raisins. Filet Mignon drenched in Béarnaise Sauce. Three different types of souffles.

  We gorged.

  A few times, Jean-Pierre grabbed his phone and typed, but for the most part I had all of his attention.

  This is perfect.

  I felt more confident around him. Mainly because he’d come very close to begging me for more time. It made me realize that he valued these past days as much as I did. I just wished that this was more. That his request was not for an extension, but. . .

  What? Forever? A relationship? How could he shift it to that anyway? I’m thinking too deeply about all of this. Just enjoy it.

  Still, the confidence remained. I continued to get bolder, feeding him by the time we got to the souffles. He admitted to being a bad patient, but I would take care of him regardless.

  I like the sound of taking care of him. He’s been spoiling me. I want to spoil him.

  The sun finished setting, splashing Paris in dark violets and lusty reds. We continued to dine as the city lit up with nightlife and the sky blazed with stars.

  The whole time, his greedy gazes soaked my thighs. I had no idea a look could make me aroused. When dessert came, Jean-Pierre spent his time lifting the whip cream off of his cake with his finger and licking it all away. He watched me as he did it.

  God, I missed that tongue.

  “You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking of you in these last days.” He lapped at his finger.

  Mmmm.

  He dipped his cherry into the chocolate sauce and brought it to my lips.

  I parted my mouth and sucked it in.

  His groan vibrated through my flesh.

  Dessert finished. The servers rushed as they cleared the table. He rose, came to me, and guided us to the windows. “How was the meal?”

  “Superb.”

  “Let’s give them time.”

  I glanced over my shoulder as the servers carried the table away. “And then we’ll leave after they clean?”

  “No. We’re waiting on them to bring the bed.” He captured me with that solid arm and kissed me for several long delicious seconds. My mind went dizzy with him. My breathing increased to panting. Every cell in my body yearned for him to never stop, to just keep kissing.

  There was a smooth rhythm with Jean-Pierre. He rivaled all other men as his tongue danced along mine. Exploring. In and out. Swirling and diving. Triggering more arousal to blaze through me.

  When he came up for air, he slipped his face along the side of mine and nibbled my earlobe. “Je vais te baiser tellement fort que tout Paris va entendre tes gémissements.”

  I took me time to translate it, but when I did a blush hit me.

  “I'm going to fuck you so hard that all of Paris will hear your moans.”

  “Any questions?” he whispered.

  “No,” I murmured, completely intoxicated with him.

  “Give me two months.”

  “Jean-Pierre.”

  He seized my lips and kissed me so hard I thought I would melt into a puddle of lust. Everything that I’ve been trying not to let myself feel or think about with Jean-Pierre rose to the surface. My heart didn’t care that this was a girlfriend experience. It was ready to beat for him at his request.

  “They’re taking too long with the bed,” he whispered against my skin.

  “We don’t need one.”

  That one statement was like uncaging a wild tiger. He lunged forward, devouring my mouth even more. My knees weakened. His free hand went everywhere. I leaned against the glass unable to catch my breath. My skin was on fire.

  His erection pressed against me. A powerful, primal need shot through my body. Regardless of reality, in that moment he was all mine. His attention. His cock. His body. All mine. Those facts stroked the wild part of me.

  I cupped his bulge through his pants. “Let me take care of you.”

  His only response was a dark groan as he walked off, shut the door, and locked it. “Fuck the bed.”

  I imagined Louis and Rafael dragging mattresses onto the elevator and rising all those feet up the Eiffel Tower.

  I grinned. “Shouldn’t we text someone?”

  He stalked my way, snatched the sling off, and gently pushed me against the glass. Our mouths crashed together again, lips and tongue moving like we’d been doing it forever. In between our moans, he snatched at the gown. His injured hand fumbled with the zipper.

  I tried to move it away to do it myself.

  Grunting, he swatted my ass, got a good grip, and tugged it down.

  My gown fell to my feet.

  I panted. “Put the sling back on.”

  “Fuck the sling.” He drank in my nude
body. My nipples stiffened.

  “I want you to heal.” I caught my breath. “You don’t get to taste anything if—”

  Frowning, he stomped over to where he’d thrown it, grabbed the sling, and put it back on. “Devilish siren.”

  “Ridiculously bad patient.” I raised my hands to my head and let down my hair. Black waves fell around my shoulders and down close to my hips.

  He whispered, “When I was gone, you touched yourself.”

  It was a clear statement. No question or doubt.

  Did he see when I did it? Was he watching me on camera the whole time?

  “What were you thinking about?” he asked.

  Nervous, I strolled over to him, keeping my eyes on his face. “Let me show you.”

  When I reached him, I lowered myself to my knees. The heels made it difficult, but my only focus was Jean-Pierre. He gazed down at me and ran his fingers through my hair. “Three months.”

  “I wouldn’t last three months, Jean-Pierre.” I unzipped his pants, wrenched his boxer briefs down, and freed that fat cock. “Not the way you want me to last.”

  He touched my chin and lifted my view to his. “I’ll have your attention.”

  “I would give you more than you wanted.”

  “It wouldn’t be possible to give me too much of your attention.”

  “Are you sure?” Feeling wicked, I stroked the length of his cock. He shuddered under me. I kissed the mushroomed tip. It jerked against my lips. I lapped out and traced my tongue around the rim.

  A dark groan left him. He gripped the back of my head hard.

  “Mmmm,” I moaned.

  “Fuck, Eden. Get up. I won’t be gentle with your mouth. I’m losing control.”

  “Lose it.” I licked that long length.

  “Je perds tout avec toi.” Toying with my breasts, he tenderly squeezed those aching points. I let out helpless moans.

  Unable to help myself, I put his cock in my mouth, closed my eyes, and sucked him in deeper. And I found a sensual rhythm. Anytime he grunted, I moved faster, made my mouth wetter, and tongue slicker. The sounds of my blowjob rose in the space.

  French sputtered out of his lips as he grunted with each movement. His grip tightened on the back of my head, but he didn’t guide me onto him. It was more like he held on for dear life. I couldn’t resist trying to swallow him down my throat. Get his cock in. Balls deep. Make him come all over me.