French Kiss

by Susan Johnson

  “Maybe—if you’re good.”

  “What do I have to do to be good?”

  “Fuck me—when, where, and however I say.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” But she was so aroused he had to have felt it.

  “You have to anyway.” As if she wouldn’t with a cunt that wet.

  A shameful excitement pulsated inside her. “Perhaps I might want to after all,” she breathed.

  “With an insatiable pussy like yours, I’m guessing you do.”

  “With a cock as big as yours, why wouldn’t I?” Quick as a flash, she was her old insubordinate self.

  “So you’d fuck anyone with a big cock?”

  His wolfish smile alarmed her, his tone no longer ironic. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Guess.” His voice was rough, brutal. “And you’d better be right.”

  “I only want your cock.”

  His smile was silken. “Smart girl.” Inexplicably, her answer mattered. More incomprehensible, the thought of her fucking other men was anathema. “Put your legs around my waist,” he ordered, gruffly, dragging her closer. “And make me feel that cunt of yours up and down my cock. Now, babe—get a move on. I want to see some action.”

  She shouldn’t have responded to that growl. With anyone else she wouldn’t have. But the pressure of his penis was producing fierce sensations of pleasure and longing she was powerless to resist.

  She obliged him.

  And he gave her pleasure in return—more deft and proficient than brutish.

  The heated rush of his breath grazed her throat as he matched her rhythm. She could feel the tension in his arms as he guided her hips, moving her, holding her, easing his grip so she could glide more freely. Until wildly impatient, he abruptly pulled her legs from around his waist and raggedly muttered, “Wider. Spread ’em wider.”

  And he plunged deeper with a desperation she eagerly met.

  They were both in a fury that might have been alarming had they been capable of rational thought.

  But neither were, helpless against the tempest, shaken and shaking, grunting and crying out, lustful and ravenous, the violence of their passions reaching fever pitch.

  Until their mania reached climax and soon after they collapsed.

  It was eerily quiet after the storm had passed.

  Lying on his back, one hand over his eyes, Johnny dragged air into his lungs and said on a breathy exhalation, “Sorry. I’m… never—like that.”

  Nicky’s gaze was trained on the ceiling, her breathing labored. “Me… either.”

  “It was—just play.”

  “I—know.”

  “I apologize… for giving orders.” He mostly wished he hadn’t fucking meant them.

  “I probably—said a few… things, too. Let’s just forget it.” As if, she thought, wanting him still without reason or rationale.

  Lifting his hand away from his face, he turned, and feeling more in control, smiled at her. “Forgotten. Right?”

  “Absolutely,” she replied, meeting his gaze, hoping her lack of conviction didn’t show in the shadowed room.

  Abruptly rolling over her, he settled between her legs, as though having been exonerated he was suddenly free to indulge his desires again. “We’re gonna need a bath or a shower soon. You’re all sticky.”

  She could see his smile in the darkness. “It’s not my fault we’re sticky,” she said. Keeping it light worked for her, too.

  “I guess that means I’ll have to do the washing up.”

  He didn’t sound unhappy about it. And she could tell she wasn’t going to be unhappy, either, his penis already rigid against her thigh. “It’s up to you.”

  He liked the sound of that.

  He mostly liked that she was in the bedroom next to his.

  Available 24/7, he was thinking.

  “Ready?” he murmured.

  “Need you ask?”

  “I was being polite.”

  “Is that so,” she said in a skeptic’s tone.

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “I know.” She grinned. “I was just making you squirm.”

  “Squirm on this babe.”

  Christ, was she lucky or what?

  “Ummm… ummmm.” Definitely lucky.

  Thirty-five

  The next morning, Johnny excused himself after breakfast. “I have an appointment in the city,” he said, coming to his feet. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” He glanced at Jordi and Vernie. “You girls have plans for the mall—right?” He turned to Nicky. “Are you going to work?”

  “Since I have a business to run”—Nicky pointedly met his gaze—“yes I am.”

  “Why don’t I stop by your office after my appointment?”

  “For?” She wasn’t sure how closely she wished to be monitored.

  He grinned. “I don’t know. Coffee break?”

  “I’ll call you if I leave the office. I wouldn’t want you to make an unnecessary trip,” she said with just a hint of crankiness.

  “Good idea,” he said, blithely ignoring her fretful look. “Sayonara, girls.”

  And with a wave he was gone.

  * * *

  Unbeknownst to Nicky, she had a bodyguard that day, although Barry had orders to stay out of sight. Johnny didn’t want her to freak after their discussion, i.e., argument, over the issue of bodyguards and privacy late last night. But he was making his own rules on this one.

  He wanted to make sure she was safe.

  Yuri and Raf weren’t the nicest guys in the world.

  In one of the more fashionable apartment buildings on Russian Hill, Johnny gave his name to the doorman and was passed through the opulent lobby to a private elevator that served the penthouse. The doors on the elevator opened with a whisper as it came to a stop on the twentieth floor, and he walked into a large foyer paneled in golden teak. The floor was an intricate patterned parquet, the space lit with ancient torchieres, the room dominated by a brilliant red lacquer suit of Tokugawa armor centered beneath a glass domed ceiling. The centuries-old armor never ceased to dazzle him with the exquisite craftsmanship and magnificent splendor that overlay its purely functional purpose.

  “This way, sir.”

  A white-coated servant had appeared seemingly from nowhere.

  He gestured Johnny to follow him, and a few moments later, he swept open a tall, bronze-embellished door.

  “Mr. Patrick,” he announced, softly.

  “Johnny, come in, come in,” a familiar voice proclaimed.

  Stepping over the threshold, Johnny walked into a sunfilled room with a breathtaking view of the bay.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” Fukuda Kazuo said with a smile. “Coffee, tea, or something more interesting?”

  The man Johnny had called yesterday in Tokyo was lounging on a wheat-colored sofa, his arms spread wide along the back. He wore a gunpowder green silk robe, embroidered in a crane motif, his long black hair resting on his shoulders, his lean, wolfish face creased in a smile. He and Johnny had met years ago on the club scene in L.A., both handsome, young men enjoying the fast lane with reckless disregard for life, limb, and moral convention.

  “Make it coffee,” Johnny said, sitting down in a sleek leather chair. “I gave up the ‘more interesting somethings’ a long time ago.”

  A servant materialized from behind a screen in the corner.

  “Just thought I’d ask,” Kazuo said, as his servant poured Johnny’s coffee. “Although, I know how much you value your family.”

  Johnny grinned. “I just figured Jordi deserves a dad who knows what day it is.”

  “My wife assures me such deprivation would do me good as well.” Kazuo waved off the servant.

  “I recommend it.”

  “I’m seriously considering it. I will soon have a son.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Kazuo smiled. “Thank you. My father is ecstatic.” His gaze softened. “As am I. I have other interests now, so perhaps, I, too, will embrace
a more conservative lifestyle. I’m funding an institute to study the impact of global warming on marine life.” He smiled faintly. “My wife is a marine biologist, so I have an incentive.”

  “Whatever your reasons, it’s great you’re investing in the future. If you’re looking for contributions, hit me up.” Kazuo’s degree in finance from the Sorbonne suited him to the role of CFO. A position he held in his father’s organization as well.

  “I may, although, it’s a private concern at the moment.” His brows rose. “My father prefers I keep a low profile.”

  “Got it.” Kazuo’s father ran the largest yakuza—organized crime syndicate—in Japan. And while government and law enforcement in Japan had a long-standing, live-and-let-live relationship with the yakuza, Johnny understood that discretion was required.

  “So give me the details, mon ami. Where are we going; what are we doing?”

  “I need to put the fear of God into Dutov’s son. He terrorized a woman I know.”

  “Know?”

  “Care about.”

  Kazuo’s brows rose. “In what way?”

  Johnny shrugged. “Don’t know. But it pissed me off when they broke into her house and frightened her. I want him to pay.”

  “How much?”

  “Just enough, I guess. I’m not unreasonable. I understand Dutov’s power. That’s why I needed your help.”

  “Because my father outranks Dutov.”

  “Yes.”

  Kazuo grinned. “And it doesn’t pay to cross my father. You’re talking about Yuri, I presume. He’s a bully.”

  Johnny grimaced. “So I understand. He’s a real prick from all reports. My ex got mixed up with him, involved me and, by extension, this woman. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but I needed your clout.”

  “Don’t apologize. What are friends for? Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you saved me from that narc.”

  Years ago in L.A., Kazuo had made a deal for a delivery of ecstasy, and Johnny had tipped him off that his contact had been flipped by the DEA. While Jimmy Gordon, a fellow surfer, had said he’d been enjoying a month in the stews of Bangkok, he’d actually copped a plea with the DEA and had been doing time at the white-collar camp in Leavenworth.

  “I’m guessing Yuri just needs a talking-to,” Johnny murmured. “To set him straight.”

  “That should be enough. Without his old man”—Kazuo shrugged—“he’s an empty suit, and his old man isn’t going to take on my father. Do you know where to find him?”

  “I’m looking into it. He has to deliver a ring somewhere.” Johnny grimaced. “Which was the reason he rousted this girl in the first place. Fucking Lisa had stolen the thing and then dumped the box into Nicky’s purse in my car.”

  “What the hell did he need the box for?”

  “Good question. But obviously he did. Fucking prick.”

  “We’ll have to teach him some manners,” Kazuo said with a smile. “So, tell me, where did Lisa’s little theft take place?”

  “Paris.”

  “Ah, I love that city. Make my day. Tell me we’re going to lean on Yuri there.”

  “I don’t know yet, but my men are on it. I should get some info shortly.”

  “So tell me about this Nicky. You’re going to a lot of trouble for her.”

  “She’s an architect. She’s building a tree house for Jordi.”

  “And?”

  “And she turns me on, I guess.”

  Kazuo smiled broadly. “Why do I ask?” He half lifted his hand. “And yet, how many women have you known who’ve turned you on?”

  “Why did you marry?” Johnny countered, not sure whether he was avoiding the question or asking a serious one.

  “My father picked her out.” Kazuo grinned. “But Chiyo’s turned out to be an admirable choice. She’s independent, intelligent, and not afraid of me. You wouldn’t be thinking about getting married again?”

  “God, no. Not after the fiasco with Lisa. I’m gun-shy.”

  “If you do, I’ll expect an invitation.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “Whatever.” Kazuo didn’t argue with his friend, but he’d known Johnny for a long time, and he’d never seen him go out of his way for a woman. If he was a betting man—which he was—he’d put some money on this Nicky. “Let me make a few calls and see if I can track down Yuri. My people might be able to pick up his trail.”

  “He travels with Raf Cartegna.”

  “Ah. A weakling and a playboy.”

  In contrast, Kazuo was honed to the inch, an expert in the martial arts. In his youth, he’d lived in the mountains, studied under a legendary master, and become a deadly force.

  Johnny came to his feet. “If I hear something, I’ll let you know. Cole’s seeing what he can find out. Barry’s guarding Nicky, but I want to check out her security myself.”

  “If my people come up with an answer first, I’ll give you a call. We should be ready to go by”—Kazuo shrugged—“evening at the latest, I’d guess.” He grinned. “Unless you want to spend the night with your lady.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Seriously, Yuri can wait. You have guards on your honey. He can’t hurt her.”

  Johnny thought about disputing the term, honey, but decided against it. Why make a federal case over a casual designation. And if truth be told, she was sweeter than sweet. “I’ll stay in touch.”

  “I’ll be waiting by the phone, darling,” Kazuo said with a grin. “And when this is over, you’ll have to introduce me to this unusual woman.”

  Johnny’s gaze narrowed. “You’re not exactly trustworthy.” The propensity for serial sexual encounters had been common with both men.

  “I’ll have you know I’m a married man.”

  “If you tell me you’re faithful to your wife, I might actually believe in miracles.”

  “Let’s just say, I’m thinking about it.” Japanese tradition had always allowed men wide latitude outside marriage.

  “Seriously?” Johnny’s surprise showed.

  “Seriously.” Kazuo smiled. “My wife is better than all the rest.”

  As Johnny left the apartment, Kazuo’s words—better than all the rest— ran through his mind. It wasn’t a completely new thought. When it came to Nicky, he was beginning to feel the same way.

  Although, damned if he knew why.

  But there it was.

  And the feeling wouldn’t go away.

  Thirty-six

  Johnny stopped by Nicky's office shortly before lunch. Deliberately. After being introduced around, he said, “Do you have time for lunch at Chez Panisse?”

  “No, but maybe I could make time, if you felt like paying me back later tonight,” she said with a smile.

  His plans were highly equivocal, but he lied and said, “Sure,” because he wanted what he wanted. A bad habit, perhaps, but one of long standing.

  And as though lying always required its reckoning, as they were eating lunch, Johnny’s cell phone rang. Kazuo had information on Yuri. Johnny tried to keep the conversation short, but even though he spoke as vaguely as possible, by the time he hung up, Nicky was looking at him strangely.

  “That was mysterious. Is some woman on your trail? Not that it’s any of my business,” she hastened to add.

  “It wasn’t a woman,” Johnny said, quickly. “Just a friend of mine I haven’t seen for a while.”

  “A friend who’s apparently going to Europe.” The word Zurich had come up.

  “Yeah.”

  “I got the impression he wanted you to go along.”

  Johnny debated his reply. Although, he’d have to tell her eventually that he was leaving—like soon with Kazuo warming up his plane—would it be better or worse if he let her know now. Fuck it—what was he waiting for? “Actually, I might fly out with him this afternoon. He wants me to scout out a hot new band with him.”

  “This afternoon?”

  “You’ll be safe. Barry and Cole are on duty.” He felt like sayi
ng Yuri was meeting his buyer in Zurich, so you really are safe. But that might give a clue to why he was traveling to Europe. And the less Nicky knew the better. He didn’t want her involved in this. He didn’t want her to ever have to think about Yuri and Raf again. Mostly, he didn’t want her to worry. Like Jordi, he wanted to protect her from all the major and minor road bumps in life.

  “On duty?” she hissed, her gaze heated.

  “Look, it won’t be for long. Just until things settle down a little.”

  “Until I met you, I didn’t have to worry about things settling down,” she muttered.

  “I know, and I apologize. Believe me, people like Yuri and Raf aren’t normally in my life, either.”

  “But these honest-to-God gangsters are in your ex’s life! Don’t forget that!”

  The waitress who had come up with their desserts looked startled.

  “We’re discussing a movie script,” Johnny said with a smile. “The creme brulee is mine.”

  “You lie well,” Nicky murmured, as the waitress walked away.

  “Would you prefer I tell her the truth?”

  “No, I suppose not,” Nicky said with a sigh, knowing he’d prefer not dealing with his ex’s friends any more than she. “It’s just that all of this is so outside the normal context of my world, I’m not sure which way to turn.”

  “Eat your chocolate cake. You’ll feel better.”

  “Do you mind? I’m not a child.”

  “Sorry; I didn’t mean it that way. I promise this will all go away. Very soon. Guaranteed.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Her voice had taken on an edge.

  “I’m just trying to be reassuring.” White lies weren’t really lies were they? They were just social necessities. “Look, I’ll be back before you know it. In the meantime, though, I have a favor to ask. After work, would you mind going to that store with the rope swings with Jordi? She’s been nagging me something fierce about taking her. She wants to pick out a rope swing for her tree house, and that’s more your territory than mine.”

  Nicky gave him a jaundiced look. “Are you changing the subject?”