Yanked (Frenched #1.5)

by Melanie Harlow

  Copyright © 2014 Melanie Harlow

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. References to real people, places, organizations, events, and products are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real.

  “Frenched is perfectly paced, elegantly written, and deliciously sexy." —M. Pierce, bestselling author of the Night Owl trilogy

  "One of my favorite romances ever, Frenched has it all, from the sexy charming hero to the clever dialogue to the dreamy Parisian setting. And it has the most delicious treat of all--sweet, scorching, passionate, toe-curling, fan-me-with-palm-fronds sexy scenes." —NYT and USA Today Bestselling Author Lauren Blakely

  "Frenched was a fun, sexy romantic escape!! I read it in one sitting this afternoon and it was just a wonderful little getaway to a beautiful city with loveable characters, steamy hot sex and a whirlwind romance!!" —Aestas Book Blog

  "Frenched is FLAWLESS. I can be extremely nitpicky, and there isn't one single thing I would change about this book. It was expertly written, with the perfect level of humor, charm, romance, wit, and heat (my God, the HEAT)!" —Kyleigh Jane, Smut Book Club

  "I love Melanie's writing...everything about it. It's light and has a great flow, her tone is spot on for me and has this fantastic blend of happy, fun, and flirty with emotional, powerful, and sexy." —Lisa, True Story Book Blog

  If not, I highly recommend reading that before you read Yanked. While Yanked could stand alone, it will be much more enjoyable if you read the story of how Mia and Lucas met in Paris and fell in love first. Yanked is the sequel novella and picks up their story eight months later.

  Thank you for reading!

  Find Frenched here:

  Amazon

  Amazon UK

  Amazon CA

  Barnes & Noble

  For fans of Frenched who asked for more.

  Thank you.

  In the eight months Lucas Fournier and I had been dating long distance—me in Detroit, Lucas in Paris and now New York, I’d learned there was only one good thing about a long distance relationship.

  Phone sex.

  Needless to say, I had never had phone sex before. In fact, I’d spent much of my sexually active life with Tucker Branch, a man who thought “changing things up” meant fucking me on his side of the bed instead of mine, after which he’d immediately insist on changing the sheets due to his aversion to bodily fluids. One time I tried to flip around so my head was at the foot of the bed just for some blessed relief from the monotony of his two Approved Positions, and he looked at me like I might need an exorcism.

  What I needed was an orgasm.

  I finally got one after Tucker called off our wedding (thank you, God), and my two best friends convinced me to take the all-expenses-paid Paris honeymoon by myself. It was there I met a sexy half-French, half-American bartender who taught me about wine, cathedrals, and simultaneous O’s.

  But I digress.

  Phone sex—I was a virgin.

  Lucas claimed he was as well, although he’d always had a dirty mouth—it was one of the things that turned me on most about him. He was unafraid to articulate even the most graphic of his thoughts and desires. I, on the other hand, had to teach myself not to be inhibited by the shape of certain words on my lips. The sound of them in my girlish voice. It was one thing to think them, but saying them out loud took a fearlessness I hadn’t learned.

  I was a quick study.

  Soon, I began to enjoy the way such raw words empowered me. At work during the day I’d think of new ways to piece them together, new fantasies to describe to him, new descriptions of what he did to my body and what I wanted to do to his.

  And then there were the outfits.

  Lucas always liked to know what I had on, and I knew he enjoyed seeing me in lingerie—beautiful lacy things in pink or white or black, classy with a hint of kink. He’d sent me a few gifts, but I also shopped a bit for what I thought of as my Phone Sex Wardrobe, and he loved it when I’d message him a picture of me in something new.

  OK fine, once, one time, I told him I was wearing a corset, thong, and high heels when I really had on flannel pants with bunnies on them and a gray Detroit Tigers tee shirt with the neck cut out. I was unprepared, all right?

  But mostly, our conversations went like they did tonight.

  “So. What are you wearing?”

  “Mmmm, nothing too sexy, I’m afraid.” Sometimes I teased him, let him think I had nothing but good-girl intentions when I picked up the phone.

  “It’s sexy if it’s on your body. Tell me.” His voice had dropped to that low, distant-thunder pitch that told me he was turned on. Sometimes we’d talk for hours before he’d use that voice on me—other times, like tonight, only a minute or two would pass between “Hello” and “What are you wearing?”

  “White panties. Black lace around each thigh. Little black bow at the top.”

  “That’s it?”

  I laughed softly. “Yes.”

  Silence, during which I imagined him starting to get hard. It made my nipples tingle, my breath catch.

  “Are you in bed?” I pictured him in his New York apartment, lying in bed, shirtless, blankets thrown back, stroking himself. Arousal licked at my insides when I pictured his hand wrapped around his solid cock—God, I wanted it.

  “Yes.”

  My right hand drifted to my inner thigh. “Are you hard?”

  “Yes.” His breathing grew heavier, as did mine. “Touch yourself through your pretty little panties, Mia. Drench them.”

  I shimmied down onto my back, let my knees fall open, and rubbed slow circles on my clit until the sheer material grew damp beneath my fingers. “I’m thinking about your cock,” I whispered. “It makes me so wet.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” I closed my eyes, imagining him above me. “If you were here, you would get inside me so easily.”

  “My tongue first.”

  “Fuck. Yes, your tongue first.” I moved my hand faster, pressed harder, encouraging the low hum building between my legs. “Lucas, it feels so good. Can I take my panties off, please?” I was already working them down my legs, but I knew it turned him on when I asked permission like that. Hell, it turned me on too.

  “Such a good girl to ask, Mia. To say please.”

  Oh my God. His accent had crept beneath his words, and it nearly pushed me over the edge. Although he spoke perfect English most of the time, sometimes a trace of his French upbringing revealed itself when talked to me like this. He once told me it was because he can’t think straight when he’s so turned on and his two languages mingle in his head. I love that—his dirty thoughts about me run through his mind en fucking français.

  “I am a good girl.” I flung my panties off my foot into the middle of the room and brought my fingers back to the silky heat between my legs.

  “You are. And I like to kiss that sweet good-girl pussy of yours. I like your taste in my mouth, like candy. I like to make you wetter with my tongue.”

  “Mmm…” I listened to his words and closed my eyes again, imagining my fingers were his mouth and tongue on me, licking, swirling, sucking. I loved the way he used his hands to spread me open, the unabashed way he buried his face between my legs and fucked me with his tongue before sliding up my body and—“Oh God, I want you there,” I whispe
red. In my mind I saw his dark, tousled hair between my pale thighs, I felt his scruffy jaw against my bare, sensitive skin. My entire lower body tightened and thrummed. “And I want to suck your cock, I want you to watch me do it. I love when you put your hands in my hair, pull me to you and fuck my mouth. I love to feel you come that way, right at the back of my throat.”

  “Jesus, Mia. I want to be inside you. I want to come inside you.” The words tumbled out between strangled breaths.

  “I want it too. Right now.” Even though I didn’t want to come too quickly, my hand moved as if my mind wasn’t in control of it. Patience was overpowered by lust. I was close already.

  “Are you ready for me to fuck you?” His voice was gruff and tense.

  “Yes.” More than ready. “God, I want you so deep. I want to wrap my legs around you and pull you into me. I want you to fuck me until we explode.” I let the phone fall onto the bed next to my ear so I had two hands free, one to touch my aching breasts and one to rub my clit. I was beyond the point where I could form a coherent sentence anyway, but I could still hear him.

  “You want to make me come. Right now. You want me to.” His voice trailed off and I knew he was on the verge.

  “Yes. Lucas. Lucas.” His name fell from my lips over and over as I imagined him above me, pounding into me so hard it hurt, but making me so delirious with desire all I wanted was more. I’d dig my fingers into his ass so hard I’d leave bruises to match the scratches on his back, the teeth marks on his shoulders. “Yes, yes, yes…”

  “Fuck…oh God…” His groan of pleasure burst me wide open, and I cried out as I came, knowing how he loved to hear my abandon in that moment.

  As the pulsing pleasure subsided, my breaths came in ragged gasps, and I couldn’t seem to close my mouth or open my eyes. Jesus, that was so intense. How can it be so intense when he’s not even here?

  “Mia.”

  I’d never get tired of the way he said my name after an orgasm, his voice flavored with awe, contentment, tenderness. “Yes.”

  “I love listening to you when you come. I know just what your body does and how it feels on mine. I want it all the time.”

  I smiled, even though I felt a little sad—I wanted it all the time too. But I lived in Detroit, had a business here, and he lived in New York City, taught college there. At this point, neither of us could just pack up and leave our lives, not that we’d ever really talked about it. In the eight months we’d been dating, we’d actually only seen each other six times—he’d come to Detroit three times, I’d flown to New York twice, and one magical weekend last fall, we’d met each other in Miami.

  At least I think it was Miami. My memories from that trip are a bit hazy.

  Five Things I DO Recall

  About Vacationing With Lucas

  1) The way the high thread-count sheets felt fisted in my hands. (Divine)

  2) The view off our balcony as Lucas pinned me to the railing and fucked me from behind. (Stunning)

  3) The way one of my high heels poked a hole in the upholstered headboard. (Oops)

  4) The incredible taste of crispy room service bacon at four in the morning when you haven’t been to sleep yet. (Mmmmmm)

  5) The way it felt to sit on Lucas’s lap and rest my head on his shoulder as we watched the sun rise on the balcony, and how he carried me inside afterward, closed the drapes, and held me as we fell asleep, our fingers linked against my chest. (Perfection)

  “I want it all the time, too,” I murmured, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “Yes, it would. Give me a minute to clean up, OK?”

  “OK. Me too.”

  A few minutes later, I got back in bed, dressed in cotton panties and a soft blue tee shirt of Lucas’s I liked to sleep in. Pulling the comforter up to my shoulders, I turned onto my side, the phone under my ear. The plantation shutters on my bedroom window were closed but the slats were open, and through them I saw lazy snowflakes drifting to the ground.

  Lucas picked up his phone a minute after I did. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I snuggled deeper into the bedding, hugging my knees to my chest. If he were here, he’d wrap me in his arms and keep me warm. We’d watch the same snow fall and breathe the same air and rest our heads on the same pillow. “Is it snowing there?”

  “Not yet. I think it’s supposed to hit us tomorrow. Snowing where you are?”

  “Uh huh. We’re supposed to get another six to eight inches during the night.”

  “You love getting eight inches at night.”

  “Ha, ha. Only when they’re yours. The snow is pretty right now, but I’ll hate it in the morning when I’m trying to drive to work.”

  “I worry about you driving on icy roads. I wish I were there to take you to work tomorrow.” The concern in his voice made me smile. “Or better yet, insist the weather is too horrible for you to leave the house and demand you play hooky.”

  I laughed. “That sounds perfect. I wish you were here too. Actually, no, I wish we were both in Miami again. I’m so damn tired of this cold.”

  “So let’s go. Meet me in Miami for a long weekend.”

  “Ha. Right.”

  “Why not? All that cold snow under your boots tomorrow morning could be warm sand under your toes tomorrow night.”

  “Mmm, so tempting.”

  “So give in. I’m serious.”

  Was he? I squinted into the darkness of my room. “Hello! Have you forgotten who you’re talking to here? It’s me, Miss I-Plan-Everything-In-Advance. I can’t take a vacation without making at least ten lists about it.” I said it jokingly, but it was pretty much the truth. I was not a last-minute travel kind of girl, especially not on a plane. Just the thought of it made my left eyelid twitch.

  Lucas sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Spontaneity is not your thing.”

  He sounded so disappointed, I felt bad. “I’m sorry. You know I want to…I just can’t. I have to work this weekend.”

  “You don’t have to apologize, it’s OK. I know who I’m talking to. I just miss you is all.”

  “I miss you too.” I closed my eyes, melting into the slow, warm hush of his breathing while the icy wind whistled by outside my window. If he were here, I’d roll over and lay my head on his bare chest, listen to his heartbeat.

  “You know,” he said softly, and I fantasized that I could feel the vibrations from his voice on my cheek, “sometimes I just want to leave our phone connection open all night just so if I wake up, I could hear you breathing.”

  “Really?” Warmth pooled deep in my belly. “That makes me happy.”

  “Good. I want to make you happy, Mia. Every day.”

  My eyes flew wide open. Every day? What did that mean? I chewed on my bottom lip and wondered how to respond. Was he hinting at something?

  Don’t get too excited. Maybe he’s just planning to visit more often.

  Which was totally fine, I’d love that and all, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t looking for a little more reassurance about what the future held for us.

  When we’d agreed to make a go at a relationship, I’d had to basically give up my dream of being married and starting a family by the time I was thirty. That had always been my plan, but Lucas had been very open about his aversion to marriage, his ambivalence about having a family, and his frustration with what he called my “life deadlines.” Because I was so crazy about him and we had so much fun together, I’d agreed to stop worrying about the future and simply enjoy each other when we could.

  But eight months later, it still didn’t come naturally to me. Every time we were together, I fell deeper in love and silently wished he would reconsider discussing the future. Because even though he’d said in Paris that “anything was possible” for us, I felt a little uneasy about such an open-ended relationship. We didn’t date other people, but I had no idea what he actually thought of…us. Where this was headed. And since our time was so limited on visits, I’d never brought up the subject
of the future again, unwilling to risk spoiling our precious days together with heavy conversations or, worse, an argument.

  “So quiet. Did you fall asleep on me?”

  “No. Just thinking about what you said.” I took a breath and continued, “Happy every day sounds amazing.”

  I was hoping he’d elaborate, and when he didn’t, I bit my lip before I could ask him if he’d changed his mind about marriage and family. That was not a discussion I wanted to have over the phone at midnight on a Wednesday with an early meeting Thursday morning. But in my gut, I knew that if we were to continue this relationship, it was a discussion we’d have to have.

  Soon.

  Otherwise I was only setting myself up for heartbreak down the road, because no matter how much I loved Lucas, I wasn’t willing to give up having a family for him, nor did I think he’d ask me to. It didn’t have to happen right away—I wasn’t putting a deadline on it, but I had to know if he saw that happening for us. Because if not…

  No. Don’t even think about it.

  “I should let you go, love,” Lucas said softly. “You get up so early.”

  Saying goodbye every night always made my chest ache a little, but I knew he was right. And I didn’t really trust myself not to bring up The Future. “OK. We’ll talk tomorrow. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  I ended the call and set the phone on my nightstand, my brain still clicking.

  I want to make you happy every day.

  Chills swept down my arms, and I buried myself deeper under the covers. What would it be like to wake up next to Lucas every morning? To fall asleep in his arms at night? To know that after a tough day at work, he’d be there with a glass of wine, a sympathetic ear, a hug?

  Or a spanking.

  Those were good too.

  I smiled, imagining all the fun things Lucas and I would have time to explore if we had unlimited days and nights together. God, I wanted that. Would he think I was crazy if I brought it up? After all, even though we’d met last June, if you strung together all the time we’d spent in each other’s actual presence, it would be less than a month.