Brie has already poured herself a glass and picks up a hulled strawberry. She doesn’t dip it in the chocolate but nibbles it slowly, from the wrong end. I pick up the champagne and pour myself a glass.
“That was rude,” she says coolly.
“So was the way he was ogling you.” I down my champagne and set the glass on the tray.
“And what if I enjoyed the idea of another man ogling me? The same way you like to think of all of those women fucking your sex toy and watching your videos online.”
I grin. “I knew you were jealous. Don’t worry, I’ll send you one.”
“I don't know why I bother talking to you.” She slams her glass on the tray and throws her hands up. “Tu es méprisable!”
Brie heads to the door, and I don’t know where she thinks she’s going dressed like that but it’s certainly not back to that douche in the office. I stalk behind her, hot on her heels, and when she’s close enough to the door, I reach out and grab her wrist turning her towards me.
She lets out a soft cry, but it isn’t one of pain, it’s another kind of anguish. It’s need. “Please let me go,” she begs.
I study her face. “I don’t think you want me to let you go.”
“You’re wrong.”
I let her wrist slip free of my grasp and search her gaze. “Prove it.”
“I do not have to prove anything to you.”
“Then quit looking at me like you want me to fuck you, because it’s torture,” I snap. A week worth of pent-up frustration, of wanting this woman who refuses to give in, and never backs down. “It’s fucking torture the way you look at me.”
“Torture?” A crease forms between her brow. Fuck, she’s hot when she’s angry. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just what I said. You can’t keep looking at me like that.” I take another step closer and she backs up against the door. “Or walk around in these skimpy little outfits, and you can’t be this close to me.”
“The robe was your idea, and you cornered me!”
“You’re right.” I sigh, and step back but she catches my collar in her fist and draws me closer. She doesn’t kiss me though. Just glares as if she’s torn between kissing or biting me.
“Tell me you want it, Brie,” I whisper, holding her gaze. “Tell me you want me.”
“Please,” she whispers, so quiet I’m not sure if I imagined it.
“Please what? What do you want?”
She shakes her head. “Please, don’t make me say it.”
“Say it.”
“Fuck me, Levi. S'il te plaît, baise moi.” I grip her neck and draw her closer, crashing my lips down on hers, and shove my tongue deep inside. Her kisses are as ferocious and demanding as my own. Her tongue thrashes against mine, her nails dig into my biceps, hard, marking my skin with little half-moons. I slam her up against the door. Her hands fumble with the tie at my waist. I shove her away, so I can get to it quicker. She works on her own, unfastening the knot, and slipping the soft towelling from her shoulders. I was wrong about her being completely naked—she put her little lace panties back on, as if they were some form of protection from me, from my hands, from my cock. I slip my fingers inside and feel how wet she is, how ready. I stroke her clit. She gasps, and wrenches my arm away. “S'il te plaît? Je t'en prie!”
“I love it when you beg.”
She frowns. All need. All consuming passion ... for me. “You are a bastard.”
“Yes, but lucky for you I’m a very giving bastard.” I take my cock and rub it against her, sliding my crown through her slick heat. She moans. I pull back and grin at her forlorn expression. Then I drop to my knees.
“Non. Non. Fuck me, Levi.”
I wrap my hands around her ankle and lean forward, sliding her leg over my shoulder. “Baby, I have every intention of fucking you. But first, you’re gonna ride my face.”
I dart my tongue out and taste her. Fuck. She tastes as good as she looks. I glance up the line of her body, grabbing a handful of her tits and rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. I bring my mouth to her pussy again and flick my tongue over her clit. She jerks away, but seconds later as I grin up at her, Brie’s eyes narrow and she grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me towards her. I chuckle as I open my mouth and gently suck her clit. Brie tugs on my hair, and I let her go, but I cover her slick flesh with my mouth and kiss her cunt as if I’m starving. And I am. This week of fighting, teasing, all of it is the best kind of foreplay known to man. Brielle Kagawa is just what I need.
So I eat her out as if I’m never going to get the chance to again. Her legs jerk and spasm, and I press her hard against the door, letting the wood take her weight. I grab her other ankle and she follows my lead, wrapping her long leg over my shoulder. Her hands grapple for purchase on my hair as I stand with her straddling my face. Brie squeals. I slam her back into the door, and her whole-body shudders as she grinds her hot pussy against my mouth.
I could stop flicking her clit with my tongue altogether and she probably wouldn’t know any different. I may be an arsehole, but one thing I’m not, is lazy. Not when it comes to showing women how much I appreciate it when they serve themselves up to me. I’m the kind of man who eats his fill of the all-night buffet, and then goes back for more.
Brie’s upper body curls, her stomach clenching, her hands tugging my hair so hard I’m afraid she’ll pull it out, and then the sweetest moan comes from her mouth, her pussy contracts and her head falls back against the door with a laugh. “Oh my God.”
She clenches her thighs together, which of course forces her pussy closer to my mouth. I can’t help but dart out my tongue to taste her again. She jerks forward. Almost sending us both toppling. I slide my hands under her arse and she lowers her legs one at a time, and slides down my body until she’s straddling my hips, my cock pressing against her sweet cunt.
“Jesus Christ, you almost suffocated me.”
She laughs. “Good. Maybe then you’ll stop talking and ruining the moment.”
“Fine, you can have the moment, because I plan to ruin you,” I whisper, sliding the head of my cock through her slick flesh. “Hard and fast, and then soft and slow. I’m gonna fuck you all night, Angry French Girl, and you’re gonna scream for me.”
I lay her back on the bed and run my hands along the taut curves of her body, her small tits, that I pinch and tease, over her ribs, and then down between her legs. I circle her slit and then slip two fingers inside. She moans. I don’t give her time to adjust or accommodate me. I fuck her hard and fast with my fingers until she really does scream. Her body convulses, and she squirts all over the bed as the violent waves of orgasm drag her under.
Giving her a beat to recover, I slide my hands free of her body and coat my dick in her cum. She’s lost to me right now, lost to feeling, floating, but that’s okay because I meant what I said. I will ruin her for any other lover. That’s just the selfish kind of arsehole I am.
Brie’s body is wracked with after tremors. There’s no better drug than a fucking awesome orgasm. She inhales on a gasp, sucking in breath as if for the first time. There’s a reason the French call it la petite mort—the little death.
“Oh my God.” She grabs a fistful off her hair and covers her face with it as she laughs. “You’re very good at that.”
“Baby, I’m the best at that.” I grin and slide a hand through the wetness pooling into the sheets. “Besides, I want you wet and pliant as a fucking newborn kitten. I’ve been dreaming about this since I first saw you play, and I intend to make you come all night.”
I grab my wallet and pull out a condom, tearing into the foil packet with my teeth. I slowly roll it over my cock, smiling at Brie who watches each movement with undisguised lust, and perhaps just a hint of fear. I slide the tip over her entrance, through her juices, coating the head and pushing inside before pulling out and teasing her clit. I delve just a little further each time. When her body tells me she’s ready, I sink in deep, or as deep as
she’ll allow. A cry comes from her throat. I don’t know if it’s pain, or desire, or a mix, but when I pull back, she shifts her arse so that she’s taking more of me inside her tight cunt. Fuck. It’s been so long, and she’s so hot and so fucking tight around me that I may just break my promises altogether. I’ve never broken promises about making a woman come. I grab her legs and wrap my arms around them, pulling them to the side so her feet rest on my right shoulder.
“Oh,” she moans, as I piston my hips and drive in slow and deep, feeling her stretch around me, loosen up, and take more of my cock into her body.
Brie slides a hand between her legs and strokes her clit. I watch, mesmerized as she takes her pleasure into her own hands. I drive deeper, fuck harder until she comes on my cock, screaming and panting, begging for more, disoriented from another orgasm. Pride swells within me. I kiss her instep, her ankles, before parting her legs, and leaning forward, pushing deeper inside.
I have to kiss her. I need to feel my mouth on hers, my tongue caressing hers as I take her body again, bringing her right to the brink before pulling out. I slide my hand around her throat. Brielle’s eyes widen and flare with fear that quickly morphs into desire. I snag her earlobe between my teeth as I drive back in and all the air leaves her lungs in a rush.
Her heels dig into my arse, her nails claw my back, and we settle into a rhythm that I was never afforded with Ali. I’ve never made love to a woman. My whole adult life has been one empty, fast-paced, and furious fuck after another. Until Ali, but even with her, I wasn’t allowed to take her like this, never allowed to take my time and explore her body as if it were my own, because it never was mine. Not to have and hold, not to possess. Not like Brie. Not like now.
I look into Brie’s eyes, upturned in the corners, revealing the secrets of both her French and Japanese heritages. An exotic almond shape that’s as intriguing as it is beautiful. Her dark pupils are glassy with desire, her milky skin flush with that freshly fucked glow.
I come, imagining I get to keep her. I come, pretending she won’t leave me in two days’ time and never look back, and I curse myself for letting my heart get carried away again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHARMED, I’M SURE
BRIELLE
Oh God. I slept with the rock star. Just when I thought my choice of lovers could not get any worse. I slept with a man known worldwide for his extremely large cock and his ability to use it. And worst still, I loved every second. I’ve never known desire or passion like that. I’ve never wanted or been that wanted in my entire life. Even now, as he rolls over, throws an arm around me and kisses the top of my head in his sleepy way, with that giant erection pressing into my back and my vagina feeling sore and sorry for herself, the idea of him slipping inside me, is tempting. Too tempting. Non. This cannot happen again. I cannot sleep with the rock star again.
“Brie?” he asks in a husky voice from behind me.
I stiffen. Perhaps if I pretend I am asleep, he will take his giant penis away from me. Beneath the sheet, his arm snakes between my legs, sending a bolt of desire through me again as his expert fingers glide over me, wringing pleasure from my exhausted body as if I had begged him for it. My legs fall open for him.
“Good morning,” he whispers in my ear. Kissing my neck, he trails his lips down my shoulder and collarbone to my breast. He takes my nipple in his mouth and sucks hard. A moan escapes me as he brings me to the brink, but stops, before I can tip over it.
“I do not like mornings.” I huff, because I cannot beg him for more. That would be entirely too desperate, and I suspect he would enjoy it far too much.
“What’s not to like about them when they start with a fucking hot brunette in your bed?”
“You are not as complimentary as you think.”
“I was talking about me.” He grins.
I throw back the covers and sit up, but he draws a hand against my waist and pulls me towards him. His deep chuckle in my ear taunts me.
“You are not as funny as you think you are.”
“Oh, I think I am.” He brushes my hair out of the way and kisses my neck. I try not to breathe into the sensations he’s stirring within my body, but I cannot help it. He knows exactly how to treat a woman, and it’s infuriating as much as it is intoxicating. “Wanna know what else I think?”
A traitorous moan that escapes me and my pleas of “S'il te plaît, s'il te plaît,” spur him on.
“I think you like me a lot more than you let on. I think you like the way I feel against your body, and inside it.” He slides his hand between my legs. For a single heartbeat, I think about telling him no, about pushing him off, but his deft fingers find my clit and he has me panting within seconds. “I think you love to fight with me, but deep down you find me completely charming.”
I scoff. “You are not charming. You are far from charming.”
“And yet you’re naked in my bed, begging me to make you come.”
God damn him, he’s right. Oh, how I hate this man, with everything ... oh, but I do not hate his talented hands, and I did not hate his tongue piercing last night, and I do love the way my body stretches to accommodate him, that delicious torture of pain blending with pleasure and heightening all my senses.
His fingers leave the space between my legs, and I feel him roll over, rummaging on the nightstand. The sound of him tearing a condom wrapper with his teeth sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine, and then he moves closer. He slides the head of his cock across my ass, and down the seam, dipping into my wetness and teasing me. I shift my leg, giving him room to slip in, but he pulls back and teases again. That rat bastard is enjoying this.
“Levi,” I beg, and I hate how whiny I sound. Like a pathetic mewling little kitten. I hate him. I hate how he makes me feel. I hate ... mon Dieu! I love his cock. He glides it over my flesh, pushing just the tip in enough to leave me holding my breath.
“Say it, Brie,” he whispers, catching my earlobe between his teeth.
“Stop teasing.” I hiss.
He chuckles. “Not what I want you to say, and you know it.”
“Fine. I find you charming. In your own very annoying way. Now, can you please shut up and fuck me?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He sinks in deep, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Our love-making is slow, sweet, something I never thought a man like Levi would be capable of, but he knows how to worship the female form. He knows how to work my body in just the right ways so that I sing for only him. He knows exactly how to get underneath my skin, and worse still, I like him there.
You cannot lose your heart, Brielle. I remind myself again, but I fear it’s already lost, and I doubt this man is likely to ever give it back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
INK AND MILK
BRIELLE
I lean against the doorframe and watch him play. A sad melody fills the space between us as his hands make love to the keys. It’s late, close to 2:00 a.m., and I woke in his bed with no idea how I came to be there. The sorrowful notes seemed to call to me from the ballroom, and so I followed them up the stairs and down the hall as if he were the pied piper, and I was a hapless child.
There is a bottle of whisky on top of the piano, and an empty glass. Of course, he is drinking again. He is never long without a whisky or wine in his hands, and I don’t know which makes him happier, sex or alcohol. I wonder if he knows how to have one without the other.
I move closer, trail my fingers along the ink that marks the hard muscle over his shoulders and down his back. My insides tighten. Levi turns and faces me with a curious expression. I retract my hand and stare into the hazel eyes so full of anguish and torment, and I want to erase his pain, but I don’t know where to start.
He grabs my hands and tugs me closer, setting me down so that my arse smashes the keys. He runs his hands up my sides, finds the sash on my robe and tugs, exposing my silk chemise underneath. Levi runs his thumb over my nipple, and my body breaks out
in goosebumps. He kneads my breasts and stands, kicking back the stool. It lands with a loud clatter in the empty room. He slides his fingers into my hair, gripping it roughly as he meets my lips with vigour, and passion, his need as intoxicating as his misery.
I kiss him back, wanting more of this delicious, ridiculous man who more often than not borders on insanity. He tugs at my robe, ripping the fabric from my shoulders, and jerks me closer, devouring me with his mouth on my neck, my shoulder, my breast. He tears the silk of my chemise and I’m laid bare to him, exposed and vulnerable but revelling in it all the same. Levi squeezes my breast while his mouth covers the opposite nipple. He lifts me onto the piano, the keys protest under the soles of my feet, making a strange and beautiful music all of their own as he splays a hand over my abdomen and pushes me back against the sleek white surface of the piano.
I rest my feet on the keys and that dissonant noise comes again as he trails his hands over my chest and belly, and down my thighs, avoiding my pussy altogether. Grasping my knees, he spreads my legs, so I am splayed for him. Wide open and vulnerable.
“Jesus, you’re fucking beautiful.” He lowers his head, and kisses the inside of my thighs, all the way up to my pussy where his finger dips between my lips. His tongue laves at me, opening me little by little, and then all at once, he thrusts inside. I cry out. Wanting more, but too afraid to demand he give it to me. Too afraid his drinking and silence means he’s still pining after another woman while his mouth and hands make promises to me that he cannot keep.
The thought of being just another plaything to him boils my blood, and I grab hold of his hair and tug him closer, grinding my pussy against his face. He moans, the sound reverberating through my flesh. It makes me shiver all over. My legs are shaking. I can’t keep still and every time I move, the keys groan again with more discordant notes, shattering the silence. Levi grabs my ankles and thrusts my legs forward, so my knees rest on my chest. The position makes my already sensitive flesh sing. I arch my neck so that I’m looking into the mirror on the wall behind us. We make a handsome couple. His shock of thick black hair and pretty face buried between my thighs, one inky hand under my arse, the other grasping my breast. My milky skin flushed with desire, and perhaps the most erotic of all, my ravaged and torn chemise exposing my body to him.
TAINTED: THE COMPLETE DUET Page 42
