Two Weeks in Geneva: Book Two

by Lydia Rowan

  She hugged and kissed Ethan and headed out the door.

  ••••

  “We’re on our own, eh fils,” he said as he picked the baby up out of his bouncy seat. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re Montagues. We can take care of ourselves. At least for a few hours, oui?

  Ethan cooed and giggled, and Alexander took that as agreement. He transferred the baby to his other arm and began laying out what they’d need for the day’s adventure. It struck him that he’d never even held a baby until meeting Ethan and now, he was actually good at it. His confidence and strident insistence that he could handle the baby had initially been a little bit of a front. Inside, he’d been terrified, worried about every little thing, afraid that he’d drop the little guy or something.

  But he hadn’t. And between Quinn and Lily, he’d gotten a crash course in Baby 101. Some of it still confounded him, like why, for the love of God, did Ethan insist on staying awake when he was sleepy, so instead of sleeping, he was fussy, and a fussy baby was no fun at all. Or the sheer amount of stuff a person who weighed thirteen pounds could accumulate. And, although he considered himself a seasoned parent now—he could hear Lily’s light, knowing laugh at that idea—he still hadn’t quiet gotten over the fact that he loved one being so much. Even calling it love felt inadequate; what he felt for Ethan was so much deeper than anything he’d ever experienced before that he didn’t think there was a big enough name, but what he did know was that he’d do absolutely anything for that boy. But to look into eyes so like his own, see the boy smile and reach for him, respond to his voice… It was incredible!

  And, despite his anger, he was smart enough to acknowledge that Quinn had a hand in all this. He thought of the women who could have been mother to his children and sent a silent prayer of thanks. The circumstances were less than ideal, and there was hurt, deep and broad, at what she’d done, but he couldn’t imagine having had Ethan with anyone else. Didn’t want to. Her devotion to him was unquestioned, and beyond that, seeing her here, in her home and in her real life, had revealed depths only hinted at during their time in Geneva. He knew she was a good person, if not prone to the occasional colossally bad decision, but what he hadn’t had a chance to see was how strong and true she was. She didn’t slink away and hide, try to push him away and continue to pretend he didn’t exist, even when it would have been easier, and she approached everything, from the mundanity of diaper changes to the grossness of puke cleanup with a can-do attitude that he found infectious. And it had been true what he’d said this morning. She’d looked glum because of the things she relied on others for, seemingly unaware that they did them because they loved her.

  And there was, of course, the attraction still shimmering between them. Quinn had tried to ignore it, but he’d seen the longing in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking, which no doubt mirrored his own. He’d spent countless hours lying awake debating whether to go her, just down the hall, all alone in her big bed. Had imagined her longing for him, thinking of him as she stroked her silky brown skin. This morning in the kitchen had proven she still desired him. He’d seen it in her dilated pupils, the erratic little pulse at the base of her neck, the way she tilted her lips, as if waiting to receive him…

  But he wouldn’t push it; they’d do this on her schedule because he was in no rush. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not without Ethan and not without her.

  Satisfied that he’d laid out everything they would need, he now noticed that Ethan had the glassy look in his eye, which meant nap time.

  “Come on, mon ange. Sleep now, and then we go to the park.”

  Alexander jogged up the stairs and laid Ethan in his crib, chuckling when the boy fell asleep before he’d even left the room and went back downstairs. He’d have time for his conference call. He phone rang, and he answered without looking.

  “’Allo?”

  “Alexander, my son,” Pierre Montague began. Alexander almost hung up. He didn’t have time for this.

  “Hi, Papa. I need to call you later. I’m busy,” he said in French. While true, it was more true that he had no interest in what he knew his father wanted to discuss.

  “Alexander, it is time to end this charade. You have obligations, responsibilities…family, back here at home. You can’t throw that away for some woman and her—”

  “Careful, Papa,” Alexander said in warning. He’d had this conversation with his father and had no interest in having it again. “I am aware of my responsibilities, and I am taking care of them, so stay out of it. And tell Mother to do the same. Understand?”

  “Aye, Xander, we only want what’s best for—”

  “Then stay out of it. I must go. Au revoir.”

  He father exhaled a long sigh, clearly not ready to drop the topic, but he conceded for now.

  “We’ll talk later,” his father said and hung up.

  Alexander dropped wearily onto the couch, the two-minute conversation with his father having zapped a good chunk of his energy. Despite his father’s worries, he was well aware of the obligations facing him at home, and had no idea how to handle them right now, so he was just going to focus on being with Ethan and Quinn and worry about the rest later.

  Resolved, he jumped into the day’s conference call, anxious to get it over with so he could get back to spending time with his son, the person he now loved more than anyone else in the world.

  Chapter Eight

  Quinn returned home after a grueling but useful workday, happy to see Ethan and, truthfully, happy to see Alexander as well. When she entered and went through the house, she found Ethan in his bouncy chair while Alexander moved about the kitchen, the most amazing smell coming from the pots lined up on the stove.

  “Hello, Alexander,” she said and then to Ethan, “How’s my boy?” Cooing laughter was his response.

  “Be back in a minute, okay, Alexander?”

  He nodded curtly and then went back to his cooking, and then Quinn dropped her computer bag and purse on the table and ran up to her bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, she reemerged after a quick shower and changing into the comfortable loungewear that she loved to sit around the house in. She briefly considered trying to jazz the outfit up a bit, but decided against it. This was co-parenting, not date night.

  “I missed you!” she said to Ethan as she picked him up and held him close, inhaling that baby scent she loved so much.

  “You didn’t miss me?” Alexander said, and when she looked up, his face was the picture of inquisitive serenity.

  “Uh…” She floundered, considering whether she had—turned out she had—and whether she should admit it, but before she could speak, he smiled, full and bright.

  “Just kidding, Quinn. You like your steak medium, right?”

  “Medium well.”

  “An abomination,” he said as he turned back toward the stove. “How can you taste the meat if it’s burned?”

  “I’m sorry that I prefer my food cooked, monsieur,” she said as she walked over to the table with Ethan.

  “One day you will see the error of your ways,” he retorted and then refocused on the task.

  As she bounced Ethan and made silly faces at him, she considered the domestic tableau before her. They could be any parents anywhere, settling down for a meal after a long day. Recently, many of her days had ended like this with her or Alexander making dinner while the other attended to Ethan, followed by bath time. And Alexander more than did his part, not hesitating to take part in daily routine, standing as a partner with her in the day-to-day minutia that was so a part of life with a baby. Alexander had proven his commitment to work early in their acquaintance, but this full-throated embrace of this life was impressive.

  And arousing.

  Achingly arousing.

  Add his physicality to the mix, the way he managed to look like a cover model whether it was noon and he was headed to the park or 4:00 a.m. on those mornings Ethan decided predawn was the perfect time to play. She’d felt like a schlub on more than one oc
casion, but mostly, she couldn’t shake the near-irresistible desire to kiss him, hold him close, feel him moving inside her.

  Today was no exception. The black sleeveless T-shirt he wore clung to his pecs and abdomen, outlining the hard muscles she knew lay underneath, and his shorts, though loose, pulled tight around his cock, cupping it as lovingly as she would have liked to. Quinn’s fingers practically itched with the need to touch him.

  This is how you got into this in the first place, stupid! she scolded herself but to no avail. As Alexander moved around the kitchen like he owned it, like he belonged there, with them, she wanted to scream with desire, unbidden images of all the things Alexander had done to her, things she still wanted him to do, flashed through her mind. Dinner and bath time passed in a blur, and after they lay Ethan down, it just the three of them: her, Alexander, and her raging arousal.

  She stood at the sink, washing and rewashing the same plate, when Alexander whispered into her ear. “I think it’s clean, Quinn.”

  She shrieked, not having realized he was so close, or that she was so distracted, and then tittered at her own response. Tilting her head toward Alexander, she looked up, the words on her tongue freezing in her throat when she saw the naked heat in his gaze. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he reached over and turned off the faucet and then trailed his hand up her forearm, making the hairs there stand on end. Up he went until he reached her jaw. He traced the skin of her jaw and then trailed his fingers across her lips, which tingled at the contact. And still he looked at her, eyes blazing, the rich brown color almost eaten by his dilated pupils.

  “I told myself I’d follow your lead, let you set the pace,” he whispered, still stroking her lips. “But I know you feel it, this thing between us. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  Unable to stop herself, she stepped closer, leaning in toward him, the action pushing his finger hard against her lips. Instead of responding, she opened them and took the tip of his finger into her mouth, swiped it with her tongue, eliciting a moan. Encouraged, and more turned on than she’d been in a year, she grabbed his T-shirt, uncaring of her wet hands, and pulled him close, relief flooding her when she felt his hardening cock pressing into her belly.

  And then, a wicked smile curving his lips, Alexander took over. He swooped down and captured her lips in a soul-searing kiss, hands, tongue, mouth, him everywhere. Her pussy throbbed with the need for him, and a shift of her hips revealed the moisture pooling between her thighs.

  As he moved his lips lower to kiss her neck, he drifted his hands down and cupped her ass, the ample flesh, unrestrained by underwear, yielding to his touch. Her clit was pressed against the fabric of her pants and his movements jiggled her, causing the fabric to scape against the engorged flesh and making her moan, the sound escaping into his mouth, which still covered her own.

  Apparently not satisfied with the contact, Alexander slipped his hand into her pants, the feel of his hot skin against hers making her moan again. Moving lower, Alexander stroked his hands down the curve of her ass cheeks and delved between her thighs, opening her as he went, exposing her core to his touch. She moaned as he slicked his fingers through her wetness and rocked his hips, pressing his now fully erect member against her. Then he slid his hand down farther, gasping her thighs and lifting, urging her up. She complied and wrapped her legs around his lean hips, any concern about whether he could hold her weight fleeing at the feel of his hot, hard cock pressed against her cleft.

  Unable to resist, she rocked her hips once, twice, moaning at the riot of sensation the movement sparked.

  Alexander again captured her lips in a feverish kiss as he walked her to one of the couches and settled her there, sliding down her body to rest between her legs, eye level with her breasts. In a flash, he’d slid her pants down her legs and tossed them aside and was now at work on her shirt, which proved no match for his talented fingers. Now dressed in a bra and nothing else, Quinn remembered that he hadn’t seen her since the baby, and she wondered if the changes in her body would—

  She shrieked at the pleasure that shot through her when Alexander licked a wide stripe down her still-covered breast.

  “Stay with me, Quinn. Here with me right now.”

  Like she’d go anywhere else, especially if he continued to lick and touch her the way he just had.

  Oh, well. The lights were low. That’d have to be enough, because there was no way she could stop now. She reached for the hem of Alexander’s sinful T-shirt and pulled the garment up his torso, her way of making it clear exactly where she was, both mind and body.

  At the first touch of his heated skin, the feel of the hard muscles rippling in his back, she couldn’t help but release a sigh, and when she’d finally pulled it over his head and pressed her bra-covered breasts against his chest, the heat of his skin nearly scorching her, even through the fabric, she moaned and arched into him, waiting to meet him wherever she could. As she arched, he reached behind her and made quick work of her bra, freeing her breasts for his touch, his gaze. He used both, eyes zeroing in on her breasts, thumbs stroking the puckered buds of her nipples in an erratic rhythm that mirrored her heartbeat. He then cupped her, plumping the tender flesh that overflowed his hands.

  “So full, so beautiful,” he said reverently before he leaned down and captured her left nipple between his lips, circling the swollen nub with the tip of his tongue before sucking hard.

  She whimpered at the action, the intense pleasure leaving her little ability to do anything else, especially when he repeated the action with the right breast. She curled her hands around his back and arched even higher, silently begging for him to continue, to push her to her release.

  “Not yet,” he said with a chuckle in response to her unspoken request. “I still want to play.”

  He pulled back, and she opened eyes she hadn’t realized were closed to see him slide his shorts down, carefully maneuvering around his cock, until he was fully, finally, naked.

  Her heart pounded triple time at the sight of him kneeling before her, his cock jutting proud and strong, the faint light of the room glinting off the moisture that clung beaded at his slit. How many times in these past months had she imagined this, longed for him, and now he was here, as if ripped from a dream.

  The fabric of the couch felt rough against her sensitive skin, and as Alexander put one hand on each of her inner thighs, urging her legs farther apart, the brush of the cooler air of the room against her heated clit had her squirming and moisture seeping from her. Alexander leaned forward and feathered a kiss at the juncture of her thigh, before licking that same crease. She cried out, the barrage of sensation making her reel while leaving her desperate for more, desperate for him to move his tongue just an inch or two, right to that spot…

  “I missed this, Quinn,” he said, his voice thick with arousal, his puffs of breath making her squirm harder as they hit her clit. “I dreamed of you, your scent”—he rasped his tongue over her clit, eliciting a strangled cry that ended in a whimper—“your taste. And now I have it, have you, again…”

  He trailed off as he dove his tongue between her lips, slicking up one side and then the other, his breath still tickling her clit, which stood prominent and practically begging for his attention. Which he denied, instead circling her opening with his tongue and then retreating to swipe her sex again and again. Even without the touch to her clit that she craved, she was on the edge, the tension of his presence, the longing she’d felt in his absence, all combining into an explosive bundle of energy that had her muscles locked tight, limbs thrumming with the need for release.

  And then he touched her, circled her clit with his tongue before swiping over the bundle of nerves and pressing down, the pressure shooting through her womb and into her gut, triggering her release. The orgasm hit hard and fast; there were no gentle waves, no stars behind her eyes. This pleasure was rough, jerky, made her fear that she’d come out of her skin with the intensity of it. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t moan;
she could only lie there as the pleasure racked her body, spiking so high that it was threaded through with hints of pain. Through it all, he was there, holding her, arm latched across her waist, licking at the juices that flowed freely from her now.

  As the intensity ebbed, leaving her sapped in its wake, she noticed that he was kissing his way up her stomach, grazing her nipples with his teeth before he stopped at her lips. Before she could speak, her captured her mouth in a kiss, and her flavor exploded across her tongue as he stroked it in and out of her mouth, the motion making her ache with the need to feel his cock inside her. On instinct, she widened her legs and then felt his cock press against her opening, the first time he’d touched her skin against skin in such an intimate way. She reveled in the contact, at the thought of him plunging inside her, filling her.

  And then she froze, the realization hitting her like a lightning strike. He stilled and pulled back, breaking the kiss.

  “Look at me, Quinn,” he commanded.

  She opened her eyes and was immediately caught in his gaze.

  “Trust me,” he said, his voice low, yet fervent, the deeper meaning underscoring his words.

  She hesitated a single moment and then nodded.

  His smile, as bright as it was brief, broke and was replaced with his heated gaze in the blink of an eye.

  And then he thrust.

  But, rather than the expected—and desired—invasion, the head of his cock brushed against her clit, and his shaft nestled between her labia. With each move, she felt her juices coat his shaft, the smooth glide of his skin against hers, the slap of his sac hitting against her ass as he moved floating up to her ears and blending with their increasingly pitched moans to create a symphony of passion. He continued to thrust, his cock now fully coated with a mixture of her cream and his precum, and with each movement, the head of his cocked bumped her clit and sent pleasure spiraling through her until she felt that familiar rising in her stomach, so surprising after the pleasure-pain intensity of her last orgasm.