Her brows pinch together. “What do you plan to do with them?”
“If you quit talking, you might just find out.”
An impatient huff comes from her, and I take one end of the loop of pearls and place it in my mouth, then I lower my hand and slowly push them inside her body. She hisses out a ragged breath. Once I have a decent length inside, I slowly drag them out. One by one, pulling them up through her lips so that they slide across the slick flesh around her clitoris, essentially jerking her off. She comes in seconds, screaming for God again. When her body settles, and her pink flesh calms she opens her eyes and pleads, “Again, please?”
How could I say no?
“I told you that you’d like your gift.”
“Where did you learn to do that?”
I laugh. “A little thing I like to call Porn Hub, babe. Taught me practically everything I know.”
“Encore,” she pants, “again.”
“Now who’s the bossy one.”
“Not bossy, just impatient.”
“Just insatiable,” I say, kissing her lips. “Just perfect.”
“Just going to murder you if you don’t make me come again,” she whispers.
I chuckle and climb between her legs, lowering my head to her perfectly pink, wet pussy. I dart my tongue along the length of her lips, tasting her. So fucking sweet, and then I bury my face in her, lapping at the cream from her tight cunt, sealing my mouth over her and sucking her clit until she comes beneath me.
Brie’s whole-body tenses. She tries to pull away and begs in French for me to let her go, or at least that’s what I make of it, but I don’t know because I don’t fucking speak French. I’m not done with her yet. We are far from done.
I hold her down and flick my tongue over her clit, wrenching another orgasm from her. When I can no longer stand the ache in my balls, I get up and lose my jeans, tearing them off and discarding them on the floor along with her dress. I grab a condom from the nightstand and roll it on. I’d prefer to ride bareback, but Brie isn’t on the pill, and we already fucked up last week by getting caught up in the moment. Now, she won’t let me near that glorious cunt without a raincoat. Not that I blame her. When it comes to pretty pussies, I haven’t always used common sense.
I grab her ankles and flip her so that she’s on her stomach. Brie lets out a startled laugh and I climb up her body, seize a fistful of that glossy dark hair and yank her head back so that I can kiss her mouth. Holding her hair in my hands, I slide my other arm beneath her body and push her back, so she’s on all fours. “I’m gonna fuck you like a goddam animal, Angry French Girl, and then I’m going to watch my cum spill out of your hot little snatch, you got me?”
“Oui, baise-moi. S'il te plaît,” she begs, and I pull her hips towards me and skate the head of my cock along the seam of her arse. She flinches, but I don’t want her like that. At least not right now. I want inside her pussy, because I can. Because it was never a goddam option with Ali. Because there isn’t another man laying claim to Brie. Because right now, in this moment, she’s mine.
I sink inside, drawing a gasp from her lungs. I thrust deeper, feeling her stretch around me, accommodate me, as if she was made just for me. Only me. And she is. Right now, in this room, she’s mine alone, and I don’t intend to let her go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SAVAGE BEASTS
BRIELLE
I arch my back and stare at my cello in its stand. We’ve been making great progress. We already had seven songs, and I was recording the eighth when Levi could not stand it any longer and had taken me on the ballroom floor. I had just enough time to place my cello in an upright position before he stalked towards me and kissed me stupid. The next second, we were on the ground, and our hunger was insatiable.
I shift in his arms. The beast wakes from his slumber and pulls me close. He shoves his nose into the crook of my neck and inhales. “Mmm, you smell good.”
“I am good.” I laugh, tracing the tattoos on his hands and forearm with my fingertips. I wonder if I’ll ever grow tired of finding new patterns and shapes in the ink. “But I smell like you.”
“Probably taste like it too,” he murmurs, shifting his arms from around me and sitting up. “Let’s find out.”
He crawls on the floor, a lion stalking prey, his tattoos rippling, taking on new life with each movement on his corded muscles, and sets upon me. Not by lowering his head to my pussy, but by sliding his hands under my arse and lifting my sex to him. He wraps one arm around my waist and drags me closer, sealing his mouth over me. I moan, my hands grapple for purchase on the smooth parquetry floors.
My phone rings. I ignore it, but the longer the vibrations cause it to shift closer, the more my head gets the better of me. Maman. Something could be wrong with mon père. It’s been a few days since I checked in, and though Levi arranged for a fulltime nurse to be sent to the house, I can’t help but feel I’ve let them down. I reach out and grab the phone.
Levi lowers his mouth from my pussy. “Don’t answer it.”
“They will just continue to call.”
“And I’ll just continue to eat you out,” he says, trailing kisses over my sensitive flesh.
“Knock it off, I have to take this.”
“And I have to taste you ... again.” His grin is wicked, and I can see why women the world over fall in love with him.
I hit the green circle, and accidentally let out a startled gasp as Levi bites my inner thigh and covers my pussy with his mouth.
“Brielle,” my mother’s voice is broken, and I attempt to sit up, but Levi splays a huge hand over my lower abdomen and holds me in place.
“Maman, what is wrong?”
“Ton père, he is gone,” she says in French, her voice hoarse, as if she’s been crying for some time.
“Non.” Tears well in my eyes, and I wriggle free of Levi’s grasp. He can’t be dead. “He can’t ... I did all of this for him. So I could take care of him.” Even as I say those words, I know they aren’t true, and I see the way Levi’s face pinches before he locks the unfazed rock star persona back in place. My heart pangs with sadness and guilt, and jealousy. I get to my feet, desperately searching for my clothes. Though the ballroom is empty, I find only my skirt and panties, no bra, no shirt, and I stalk out of the room and down the hall to the bedroom I have seldom used since we returned from the vineyard.
“Brie,” Levi calls, but I ignore his words and the fact that he is following me closer than my shadow.
“Maman, I am coming. I will be on the next plane home.”
“I am sorry, I did not want to tell you this way, mon petit chou.”
I fight back the tears that threaten to spill over. “I am coming. Piaf will pick me up from the airport.” My throat is choked, tight, and I cannot swallow properly. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.” I say into the mouthpiece, but I barely hear the words coming out of my mouth much less believe them. My père is dead.
“Brie, what the fuck is going on?”
“My father is dead,” I shout. The words echo off the high ceiling, and the walls around us. I want to collapse on the floor in a heap. I want to scream and shout, have my tears kissed away, and be held in Levi’s arms, but I can’t. I won’t do any of those things, because I have to be strong for my mother. I have to go home.
“He died,” I whisper, staring at Levi’s shocked face, his pitiful eyes. “While I was here with you. My father died.”
“Brie, I’m so fucking sorry.” He steps towards me, but I shrink back.
“Don’t touch me. I spent all this time, wasted all this time with you, and now I will never get to see his face, or say goodbye. I will never have that time again.”
He looks like a sad puppy when he says, “You couldn’t have known.”
“But I did,” I snap. “I knew how sick he was. I knew, and I stayed here with you, when I should have gone home.”
His brow creases, and he looks both angry and hurt. Good. I want him to hurt.
He should hurt. It is Levi’s fault that I am here now. “Get your shit together. I’ll drive us to the airport.”
“Us? There is no us.” I abandon my hasty packing and grab a T-shirt and throw it on. Then I swipe my purse and a light sweater from off the bed and face him. “My father is dead. He’s dead and I wasn’t there. You took that from me.”
His jaw ticks, and I can see him debating whether or not to argue. “I took that from you? Are you fucking kidding me? I didn’t force you to stay. You stayed because of the money, because I paid you to.”
I shake my head. For weeks I’ve been obsessed with this man, smitten, bewitched, but no more. I was crazy to agree to this, madder still to enjoy spending time with him. To begin falling for him. When I turn, Levi is standing in the doorway. His face resigned.
“Brie, don’t go alone, let me come with you.”
“Why? What can you do to help? My father is dead. What can you possibly have to offer me?”
“Me,” he shouts. “Me. That’s it. That’s all I got.”
“I can’t. I have to think of my mother. She is alone now, and—”
“Fuck!” he roars, grabbing my wrist as I try to pass. “What about thinking of you for once? Huh? What’s wrong with putting you first. What do you want?”
“You can’t give me what I want,” I seethe, wrenching my arm from his grasp. “I want the time back that I lost with my father. I wish I’d never taken this job. I wish I’d never played that damn wedding. I wish I’d never met you.”
“Then go.” His lip curls in a sneer. I stalk past. Already I’ve spent too much time arguing with him. “I’ll be sure to wire you the full two hundred thousand euro.”
I swallow hard and turn on my heel, retracing my steps, I slap him across the face. “Vas te faire foutre, fucking pig!”
He laughs humourlessly, grabbing my wrist so I cannot hit him again. “You gotta pay extra for the pleasure of beating me, darlin’.”
I wrench free and walk away. The tears fall freely by the time I reach Margaux in the kitchen and beg her to take me to the airport in Nice.
“Bien sur, mademoiselle.” She grabs the keys from a holder in the pantry. I follow her through the empty house. Levi is nowhere to be seen, but I hear him in the echoes of crashing furniture and splintering wood.
I can’t think about him right now, because my father just died, and instead of being there with him, I wasted those weeks with a drunk, a stranger. I let my body and my heart twist my judgement, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KNOW YOUR ENEMY
LEVI
A week after Brie left, Margaux dashes into the living room. The curtains are drawn, the TV is on, playing some French shit that I can’t understand so I make up words for them. Far as I’ve surmised, all the women on this show are lying cunts who love men and leave them broken-hearted. Yeah, I know that’s different from the usual “he’s sleeping with the twin sister I never knew I had” plot line used in soap operas, but let’s just go with it.
“Monsieur, monsieur.”
“What?”
“Telephone for you.”
I glare at my housekeeper. No one has my phone number here. I don’t even have it, because I didn’t know we still had a landline. I take the phone from her outstretched hand and answer it. “Bonjour, motherfucker.”
“Well hello to you too,” my bandmate Ash says, and I heave a sigh. I’m not sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.
“How did you get this number?” I push Dog’s head out of my crotch. For some reason the little asshole thinks my Johnson makes a nice pillow.
“I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you so ... you got any hookers there? Your maid says you’ve been walking around butt-naked for months.”
“Nope, there’s just me and Dog. He’s naked too.”
“I hope to Christ Dog is a fucking mutt, because I just pulled up on your doorstep and I’m cool with it if that’s your thing, but I’m not ready to see your junk all up in some other guy’s arse. I’m still trying to void the mental image of you and Coop sticking it to Red in that lift.”
“Thanks for the reminder, arsehole,” I bark, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything but pure, unadulterated numbness thanks to the empty bottle of whisky on the floor beside me.
“Nice place you got here.” Ash walks into my living room. He hangs up the phone and tosses a cushion at me. I cover my junk. Dog runs over to him, tail wagging as he sniffs the newcomer.
Such a shit guard dog.
“Bite his fucking arm off, Dog. Attack.” Dog huffs, and sits back on his haunches, his head tilted and his tongue lolling to the side as Ash pats his head. “Fucking traitor.”
“Hey, I’m not the enemy, or did you forget?”
“Everyone who isn’t booze is the fucking enemy right now.”
“It’s two months, man. You’re really still this fucked up?”
“Yep, only now I’m fucked up over a different piece of pussy.”
“Jesus Christ, Quinn.” He flops down on the couch beside me.
“So, what’s your excuse?”
Ash frowns. “My excuse for what?”
“For looking like shit.”
He just grins. “I’m fine. A little jetlagged, but I’m good.”
“Don’t bullshit me. You’ve been saying you were fine since before Red ever came along.”
“That’s because my arse is fine.” He grins and shakes the arse in question. “All the girls say so.”
I laugh. “What the fuck are you doing here, man?”
“Just came to see if my best friend is still in the land of the living. There something wrong with that?”
“Well, you found me. I’m not dead yet.” I light my pipe and pull back several puffs. “How did you find me?”
“I’m the next of kin on your paperwork, you dick. When the bank noticed you’re dropping a few mil on this house and wiring several hundred thousand dollars to a French woman, they get a little suspicious. Seems they couldn’t find you to get in touch with because your phone no longer works.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, arsehole, shit.” He clears his throat. “When did you get a dog?”
“I don’t know.” I pause and look at the mutt in question. It’s strange that he wound up in my car during my drunken voyage through the south of France, and yet I didn’t make a single pitstop. “I think I may have stolen him.”
“Okay ... should I be worried?”
“I’m not fucking my dog, dumbarse. I was fucking the hot French cellist from Coop’s wedding.”
“What? How did you get from their wedding to fucking the hot cellist?”
“It’s a long story, involving a shit tonne of wine, a wheel of Brie, and a business card.”
“Oh Jesus, she’s the woman you wired money to? Is she a hooker on the side?”
I whack him upside the head. It’s a little clumsy given that I’ve been in a state of perma-drunk since Brie left. “No dickhead, she’s not a hooker. I paid her to play for me.”
“And you had sex with her? Sorry, dude, I’m not really seeing the difference here.”
“We weren’t fucking ... at first. I offered her seventy-five large to stay the week and play her cello for me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t fucking know. Because I was drunk, and it sounded like a bang-up idea at the time? Because when she got here, I realized how fucking hot she was. Because once she stalked into my house with her bitchy attitude and her obvious disdain for me, I had to get all up in that pussy. Take your fucking pick, any one of those answers will do.”
“Christ. You sure can pick ’em.”
“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”
“So, where the hell is she?”
“Gone,” I whisper, my throat constricting around the words. “I offered her two hundred thousand to stay for the month. Her dad was sick, they needed the money. I knew she’d stay for him.�
�
“Dude, that’s cold.”
“Yeah, guess the joke’s on me though, huh?”
“You really are fucked up over her, aren’t you?”
“Just like old times, right?” I shrug. “Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t losing my heart to a bitch who doesn’t have one.”
“Well hey, at least you’re over Red. Does that mean you can come back and play nice with Coop now?”
I glare at the arsehole who’s supposed to be my best friend. “Do you want me to beat your head in?”
“Oh please, like you could take me.” He settles into the couch cushion beside me and yawns. “You are coming back though, right?”
Back. Back to the band, the music, and the groupies. Back to Cooper fucking Ryan’s smug-as-fuck face? I don’t know if I want to go back at all.
“Right?” Ash prompts.
“Right,” I agree, but I don’t mean it. I don’t know what I want.
You can’t give me what I want.
I push the thought of her from my mind, grab my Mac off the coffee table, and pull up the songs Brie and I had recorded. I hit play on the piece we were working on before she left. My vocals aren’t as great as Cooper Ryan’s but all the emotion is there, and her heart bleeds out from her strings accompanied by my piano. Ash’s face is contemplative as he listens. I see him forming the bassline in his head as he nods along with the music. The song ends because it was never finished. It’s written, but I’d distracted her before she could finish playing the piece, and then that fucking phone call came.
“You wrote this?” Ash says, grabbing the Mac from my lap and scrolling through the list. “You’ve got almost eight songs here, man.”
I nod, but don’t say a word. He clicks on another track and the violent strains of Brie’s bow sawing the strings fill the room. I see her in my mind, eye’s closed, head tilted, and her face pure torment as her fingers plucked furiously at the strings and her bow stuck with a recklessness I wouldn’t have thought her capable of. I’d never seen anything more fucking beautiful than the wild abandon with which she played.
TAINTED: THE COMPLETE DUET Page 44
