How long had it been since I’d laughed like this? Years?
Otto continued to hold me as he reached into the shower and turned it on. He kissed my shoulder while he made sure the water was the perfect temperature. “I made it melt-your-balls-in-Mordor hot, because that's how girls like it, right?” he teased, stepping into the shower. Luckily, it was one of those spacious ones where you could just walk straight in without any difficulty.
“You can put me down, you know?” I said softly, and he just nuzzled my neck as he moved us both under the water. It poured down my back, and I swear, I never wanted to take a shower any other way again. But eventually he let me slide down his body, and I tried not to gasp as I felt the hard press of his cock on my core and then up my stomach. I let my hands run up over his chest and shoulders, laying my head between his pecs.
“Are you okay, Viva?”
“Um, in case you weren’t paying attention, I just had a four-way. Do you call it a four-way? Or is like, anything over three an orgy? I’ll look that up in the dictionary later.”
I could feel him laughing, and the warmth that flowed through me at the sound was new. Fuck, those big O hormones really did a number on a girl.
“I’m serious. Are you okay? Turn, I’ll wash your hair.”
I spun and he ran a hand down my front, squeezing my breast. “Uh, Otto. Last time I checked, I didn’t have hairy boobs.”
Otto pinched my nipple. “Shh, I’m double checking. And answer the question.”
“I’m surprisingly okay, considering. I know you want to think that I’m some innocent little virgin, but I promise, I’m not.”
He rubbed shampoo into my hair, his hands more gentle than mine ever were. “Have many orgies?”
I tensed. Did he think less of me now? Like I was a slut? “Would it matter?”
Otto snorted, one hand slipping around my waist to pull me tighter to his body. “Viva, I love Hendrick, and that man is a bona fide manwhore who’s had more orgies than a rockstar in the eighties. Trust me when I say your body count means less than nothing to me. Turn and rinse.” I spun again, and he was staring down at me with his deep blue eyes. “But even if we were your hundredth, that doesn’t mean that sex can’t mean something different each time. It isn’t like building up a callus until you feel nothing.”
I let out a shuddering breath. “I’ve felt nothing for years, Otto. Feeling nothing wouldn’t be the problem.”
Now it was his turn to still. Fuck, I’d said too much. “Do you feel something?”
I shook my head beneath the water, my hair longer when it was wet and flowing straight down my back. “I didn’t say that either. I barely know you guys.”
It wasn’t a no either. I just hoped Otto would let it drop. He continued to look at my face, searching it for the real answer, but I tilted back my head and kept my eyes closed, rinsing out my hair for longer than necessary.
“If you do feel un-okay, tell me?” He tilted my head down so I was forced to look at him.
I met his eyes with a frown. “You’re a dangerous man, Otto.”
He leaned forward, kissing me gently. “Never to you, Viva.”
He was wrong, of course. Especially to me.
It was late afternoon by the time I emerged from the bedrooms, completely starving. The guys were all sitting around the apartment, even Evan, who was sitting on the couch cleaning his gun.
“So, the Librairie Jules Verne?”
Hendrick froze. “You still want to look for Nemo?”
I raised my eyebrows and ignored the slight note of hurt in his voice. “Newsflash, Hendrick, but your dick isn’t so magical that I’d forget any other hopes and dreams I’ve ever had.”
He pointed a finger at me. “That’s because you’ve actually never had my dick, Viva. Just you wait. You’ll be so dick-possessed, your head will spin 360 degrees like that kid in The Exorcist. You’ll basically be a cock zombie.”
I snorted a laugh, and somehow, I found his insane confidence more humorous and less grating today. Otto was right; he did grow on a person.
I looked at Sampson, who was watching me with that unnerving intensity again. Finally, he nodded, standing. “Let’s go. We’ll grab something to eat while we’re out.”
He left the room, and I watched him go. Had I hurt his feelings? Did he want the sex to mean something more? Or maybe it was the opposite. I’d met guys like Sampson before—once the chase was over, the shine wore off.
While the guys went into the bedroom to get their stuff, I walked over to Evan, who was reassembling his gun. “Did you see anything cool while you were sightseeing?” I asked, plopping down across from him.
He slipped the gun back into the holster under his arm. “No.”
“Oh. Okay.” I thought we’d bonded after our drinking session in London, but maybe not. Maybe he was just doing his job, returning me safely to Sampson like I assumed he was ordered to do.
Maybe I was entirely wrong—maybe his opinion of me had changed somewhere between England and France, when we were speeding through a tunnel and Sampson was, uh, speeding through my tunnel.
I stood, turning away from Evan so he couldn’t see the hurt on my face, and walked over to look at the Eiffel Tower, right there in front of me. It was amazing. A hundred days ago, I could never have imagined that this was where I’d be right now. I’d been drowning, and now I was finally coming up for air.
Otto appeared beside me, dressed in a duffle coat with his hair still slightly messy from his shower. He kissed my temple, and I got the feeling that perhaps Otto was the touchy-feely type. It was… nice. My parents weren’t huggers, my ex-boyfriend had been extremely against PDA’s—except after sex—and everyone else had been a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of setup.
This casual intimacy was new, but not entirely unwelcome. I leaned into his touch, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “What do you want to eat?”
I shrugged. “French food?”
Hendrick laughed. “You’re the cutest basic bitch I’ve ever met in my life, Viva. Luckily, I have just the place. I found it last time I was here in Paris.” He hesitated in front of me and Otto, then leaned forward and kissed me quickly. Then he kissed Otto, very much not quickly, and grinned.
Probably laughing at my stunned expression.
“Let’s go, lovebirds.”
I looked up at Otto, and noted he was just as shocked. Hmm. He shook his head, ushering me out of the apartment.
Luckily, our apartment had underground parking because the French did not believe in leaving a buffer space. It was nose to bumper if you had to park on the street. Sampson climbed into the front of the car, and I was sandwiched between Otto and Hendrick in the back.
Let me just say, it was an enviable position to be in.
Librairie Jules Verne was in the Latin Quarter, and I was going to beg Evan to drive past the Pantheon and Notre Dame on the way back to our apartment. We finally made it to the right area and drove past the actual bookstore five times looking for a parking spot in the narrow, one way streets.
Evan was beginning to mutter under his breath before he finally found a place to park, and while it was a little walk away, I didn’t mind. The streets were beautiful here, the setting sun making the white stone buildings look blush-colored. My breath caught in my chest as I took in the moment.
Paris. I was in Paris.
Sampson rested his hand possessively on my spine, walking closely beside me as we strolled down an honest-to-goodness French lane.
The bookstore was everything you’d want a bookstore to be. It had a brown and tan striped awning over a huge plate window displaying secondhand books. Hand-painted lettering on the glass declared it the Jules Verne Bookstore—but in French.
“I’ll wait here,” Evan grunted, and Sampson slapped him on the shoulder.
Hendrick pushed open the door, and a little bell tinkled above it. It smelled musty, like that indescribable antique book scent, and I inhaled deeply. Used bookstores h
ad a magic that normal bookstores lacked. It was always like being transported to a sepia-colored paradise.
“Bonjour.” A pretty woman with straight blonde hair and red lipstick greeted us. Gosh, she was beautiful. I wished I had the confidence to pull off her understated sensuality.
I winced, because I was about to sound dumb. “I’m sorry, I—”
Otto let out an easy flow of French that had me gaping. The woman happily answered, directing us toward the back. “You speak French?” I whispered, and he chuckled.
“Yep. And Mandarin, Spanish and German.”
“Show-off,” Sampson muttered, and Otto punched him in the back.
We weaved in a single file through the shelves of books to an entire section for Jules Verne. “Holy shit, there must be a hundred books here,” Hendrick whispered, and I looked at it, disheartened.
How were we going to find the right fucking book?
Sampson nodded. “Otto and I will take the top corner; you two start at the bottom corner. We’ll meet in the middle.”
I shrugged off my jacket and pulled out the first book.
Chapter 26
Hendrick
I slumped back against the shelves, watching Aviva as she checked books, mainly so I could look at her ass. It was a great ass. I wasn’t nearly done with it yet.
Sam looked over his shoulder at me. “You could help, Drix.”
I raised both brows and waved a hand toward the gloriousness of Viva’s peach butt. “And miss the view?”
She gave me a dirty look, and I grinned back at her. I kept having vivid flashbacks to her mouth wrapped around Otto’s dick, and Sampson buried deep inside her. I wanted that too, fuck it. I wish we could forget this Vernian bullshit and just stay in Paris, fucking and eating, drinking and laughing. Better than this goddamn wild goose chase for some pompous asshole who thought he was Hemingway.
“Found it,” Sampson muttered, a book flipped open in his hands. He studied Aviva as she snatched the book out of his hands. Her eyes scanned the words like she was gobbling them up like candy, and for some reason it irritated the hell out of me.
“Out loud, Viva. Don’t leave us in suspense.”
“It says, ‘There’s a fine line between courage and insanity. Penny Lane, Calcutta.’ That's it.”
“India? You have to be joking. I thought we were hitting up Europe.”
Viva snapped the book shut, giving me a sour look. “Then go. I can do India by myself.”
I frowned, her words like a punch to the chest, but I quickly smoothed my face into a neutral expression. “Go for it. I’m pretty sure your black AMEX won’t work on the Air France website though.”
Otto huffed, ushering us both out of the back of the bookstore. “Not going to lie, I thought it might’ve been Suez.”
I followed along behind him, now checking out both his ass and hers. “Why the hell would anyone go to Suez? I mean, Egypt is nice, but Evan would have a fucking coronary.” Sampson snorted, but didn’t disagree.
Otto gave us both a disappointed look. “Well, if either of you picked up a book, say Around the World in Eighty Days, you’d know that we aren’t the first people to do a mad dash across the world in order to win a ridiculous prize.”
Viva cut him an angry look, and I was going to bet that none of us would be getting laid tonight. She slammed the book down onto the counter, and the bookstore owner looked at us, alarmed.
Viva forced a smile onto her face. “Just this, please.”
The owner smiled, picking up the tattered illustrated copy of From the Earth to the Moon. “Oh,” she said, her face creasing between the eyes. “I didn’t think this one would ever sell. Too worn. But he said someone would come to collect it eventually.” She gave our group a considering look. “I didn’t expect you though.”
Aviva’s whole body basically vibrated with excitement. “You know him? The man who wrote these notes?” She flicked open the book and pointed to the inscription in the back. The writing was loopy and smudged, like he’d done it quickly. “What was his name? How long ago was he here?”
Sampson reached out, wrapping a hand around her forearm. “Easy, Aviva.”
The bookstore owner’s gaze bounced around us once again, confusion painting her features. “I didn’t get his name. It must have been, oh, nearly a year or two ago now. Maybe a little longer?” She shook her head. “Said I had to add this book to the collection. That someone would ask for it eventually. He was very compelling.”
“You must know something else? What did he look like? Did he leave an address or a number to contact him? There must be something!” Aviva’s voice rose an octave, and she gripped the counter.
“I’m sorry, mademoiselle. He was American, tall. Dark hair and eyes. I cannot tell you much else. He was… intense, oui?” She said something in a flurry of French to Otto, who nodded and smiled politely, his words soothing. She pushed the book at him, refusing the money from Sampson. “No. Take it. I was just holding it anyway.”
“Merci,” Otto replied, before grabbing Aviva’s shoulders and pushing her out the door.
“Otto, she had to know something else. He’s got to be here, in Paris—we have to ask more questions, check more of the books.”
Evan was leaning against the stone shopfront, but snapped to attention when a stressed-looking Aviva appeared in front of him. “What the fuck happened?” he growled.
I tilted my head at him, trying to work out if he was being derogatory to Aviva or was just worried about her wellbeing. Evan had been with Sampson as long as I’d known him. He was a big brother to us at times, a safety net a lot of the time—not just for Sam but for us all. But he was old as fuck.
“Nothing,” Sampson snapped. “We found what we were looking for. Let’s go.”
Hmm, tense... What was that about? I didn’t think about it too much more as Evan hustled us all back to the car, like the threat to us was anything other than the five-foot-two ball of crazy striding in the middle of our group.
She slid into the backseat of the car, the paper bag-encased book clutched to her chest. She was like fucking Smeagol with his precious—she was losing it. I looked at Otto. “Never thought I’d say this, man, but is she taking her meds?” I muttered under my breath, and he nodded.
“Yeah, I synced your schedules. She's just…” Yeah, I didn’t have a word for how she was acting right now either. Like she was hopped up on coke and sex with six flight attendants and a performer from Cirque du Soleil.
Not speaking from experience or anything.
“Jesus, is this what I’m like?” I mused, walking to the other side of the SUV.
“Worse,” Otto called, sliding into the car so he missed me telling him to fuck off. Evan and Sampson were arguing quietly in the front seats, and I strained to hear what they were saying. Guess Sampson was breaking the news we were leaving the first world to galavant through freaking Kolkata like Mother Theresa.
“Let’s go! I’m starving, and I get grumpy when I’m hungry,” I yelled at them, and slid into the car beside Aviva. Her wild energy was starting to affect my own. Like bears and bees, my own problems fed off the emotions of the people around me. So I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed Viva, pulled her onto my lap, and kissed the hell out of her.
She squeaked with surprise, which was adorable as fuck, and then she kissed me back. Her soft, pillowy lips danced across mine, tantalising and making promises her body was backing up.
She rolled her hips, and I groaned into her mouth. I kissed the crazy right out of her, sucking it in like it was my favorite poison. Maybe it was, because I felt like I could kiss her for hours. Days.
I stroked up and down her back, soothing her and me, and I made a humming noise under my breath as my heart rate both sped up and evened out.
Nice. This was nice.
“I hate to break this shit up, but Good Girl needs her seatbelt. Get back in your seat, Viva.”
Mmm, Sampson wasn’t amused. I gripped her dele
ctable ass and squeezed hard, making her let out another little moan, then dropped her in the center seat.
I pointed at Sampson. “Don’t be a hypocrite, Sam. Sharing is caring, or didn’t your nanny ever teach you that?” He muttered under his breath, while I just laughed. “We’re heading toward the Pantheon, Rue Descartes.”
I’d feed her and then later, I’d fuck her. I reached out, wrapping my hand around her thigh.
Everyone would be happy, but mostly Viva. And definitely me as well.
Chapter 27
Aviva
We ate dinner in a quintessential French bistro, complete with red-checked tablecloths and food that made you want to spontaneously orgasm. After we left, we walked down to the Seine River, night falling and making the whole place like a dream.
“I can see why they call it the city of romance.”
“Mmm, if you don’t look at the trash, pigeons or people sleeping under the bridge down there,” Sampson replied casually.
“Sampson is the last true romantic,” Otto teased, and I leaned into him. My new Verne book was tucked in my bag, I was full of good food from the most romantic place I’d ever been, and I was hopped up on happy hormones from the orgasms.
I stopped, looking at Notre Dame, lit up from the inside. Boats motored softly up and down the river below us, and I just breathed it all in. The guys kept walking slowly, but I just wanted to take a moment. Otto paused to stand beside me, his shoulder touching mine.
“You okay, Viva?”
I nudged him with my hip. “You’ve already asked me that once today, Otto.”
He wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Pretty sure I’m going to ask it ten more times this week, so you better get used to it.”
“I’m fine. Excited. It’s been a while since I’ve felt that.”
He made a noise of agreement, and just stood with me as we gazed into the swirling water. Even this late at night, there were tourists about, though I guess that applied to us as well. A man smiled at me as he leaned on the wall a few feet from us.
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