“Prends-moi sauvagement. Tu sais que t’en as envie. Sers-toi de moi, Parker. Sers-toi de ma bouche pour ton plaisir.”
Basically, the equivalent of saying, “Take me hard. You know you want to. Use me, Parker. Use my mouth for your pleasure.”
And she doesn’t stop.
“Sophie, baby, if you don’t want to take me down your throat, you better pull off,” I warn, the base of my spine tingling while I thrust shallowly into her beautiful mouth.
Instead of stopping, she moans, wraps her hand around the base, and jerks me in perfect sync while sucking the living hell out of my cock.
I can’t help it. I grip behind her head and thrust into her mouth. Over and over she takes all of me until my body starts to tremble. A tension builds in my lower half, my balls drawing up, wanting in on the action. That familiar sizzle starts at the base of my dick right before I go off. Stream after stream of my release coats her tongue, and she swallows it down like a champ, wringing my dick, and sucking everything I’ve got left until there’s nothing more to give. I’m drained. Physically, emotionally, and mentally.
I bend down and tug her up into a hug, my dick soft and sated between us, throbbing against her belly.
“Shit, Sophie. Is there anything you can’t do?” I gasp in awe.
She giggles and kisses my neck. “Good suck job?”
I grin against her neck and lay a kiss there. “Baby, it’s a blow job.”
“But, I did not blow on you; I sucked you.” She smiles devilishly. “And licked you.” Her lips press against my jaw. “And I kissed you.” She licks my bottom lip, and I groan, taking her mouth, tasting a little of myself on her. Her normal spicy scent is mixed with my natural musk, and on her, it smells divine. Tastes even better. She could bottle that shit up, and I’d spray it on my body every fucking day.
“I feel the need to reciprocate.” I grind against her, my dick already taking notice.
“Already?” Her eyes widen, and she backs up.
“What can I say? You’re hot.”
She smiles wickedly while looking down at my cock. “I think that is a better way to blot the lipstick. Do you not agree?”
When I glance down at my cock, there’s a perfect red ring right at the base. “Shit.” I tighten my fists as my dick takes notice, slowly rising right before our eyes.
“I am hungry.” She backs up one step, then another, her heels clicking on the tile floor.
“I am too,” I grate through my teeth. My gaze zeros in on her body, and I’m thinking about nothing other than laying her flat and going to town between her legs. I lick my lips and prowl after her.
She lifts her hand and wags a finger at me. “No, no. You promised me a date. A real date. I have never had a man go all out for me before. I am looking forward to this.” Her lips form a small but meaningful pout.
At the sincerity in her words I stop where I am, tuck my cock back into my boxer briefs, and do up my pants.
“Fix your smudged lipstick. I can’t look at you like that all night and not think about you down on your knees.”
Her eyes widen, and a secret smile spreads across her lips. “Oui, Mr. Ellis.” Her hips sway as she walks past me back to the vanity.
I groan, pull at my hair, and look up at the ceiling. “It is going to be a long freakin’ night.”
8
When François lets us out at the entrance of the area that leads to the Louvre, Sophie spins around in her sexy-as-sin heels, a bright smile on her face, her dress swaying delightfully in the breeze.
Thank Christ I made her put on a jacket, or we’d have a horde of horny men eyeballing her like salivating dogs in front of a thick steak. I don’t want any man’s eyes but mine on her luscious bare skin . . . not tonight.
Tonight is for us. For taking this friendship between us to a more physical level. We both know it isn’t going to last forever, and I, for one, want to soak up what we can. I have an inkling that Sophie is on board with that plan too. She definitely hasn’t said otherwise, and that’s omission enough for me. Besides, the insanely hot blow job she gave me earlier is still working my libido.
“You have brought me to the Louvre, Mr. Ellis. The most common of tourist destinations aside from the Eiffel Tower, which you have also taken me to.” Her corresponding giggle is adorable.
I grin and hook my arm around her waist, leading her through the stone archway and toward the pyramid-shaped glass structure.
“Well, one, I hadn’t been to the Louvre before today when I came to set up. And two, I highly doubt a private dinner surrounded by some of the most exquisite paintings in the world is your average, run-of-the-mill dinner date.”
“We are eating here?” Her eyes light up with excitement.
“Yep.”
I lead her toward the small line at the entrance of the glass building. At this time of night, the museum is near closing, which means very few will be able to get in, and most will be leaving. I’ve already ensured a private showing of the most adored paintings and sculptures, and also a small private dinner in a cornered-off section of the museum all to ourselves. Thank God the guys and I went to school with one of the curators, or I’d never be able to pull something like this off. Nor would I be able to afford it without taking a serious hit to the pocketbook. It didn’t hurt that once my friend found out who I was bringing today, he bent over backward to please a potential future donor of Sophie’s caliber. He hooked me up with a private chef who has a catering gig: full dinner and beverage service at the ready.
We take the escalators down two floors to the open area where you can choose to go to the special exhibitions, ticketing, or the entrance to the section that is the primary entrance of the museum. When I came earlier to check the place out and get a feel for the lay of the land, I found it odd that half of the museum was underground. There is also an entire network of stores, boutiques, food, and the metro under the Louvre. France has it going on when it comes to ingenuity.
Sophie clings to my hand as we skip ahead of the line and go to the attendant that my buddy, Mark, introduced me to. She waves us through with no problem. I watch people mill around, going up and down the massive marble stairs leading in opposite directions. The entire building is enormous and feels mazelike when you’re attempting to maneuver through it. Hence, the reason I came early. I know exactly where to go and how best to get there.
“Where to first?” Sophie asks, an excitement to her voice I haven’t yet heard, but enjoy very much.
“No questions about tonight, just about us.”
I place my hand on her back and usher her into a private elevator set into the wall. You need a special key to use it, which I have, because Mark gave it to me. We take the elevator up into a cornered-off section that isn’t yet open to the public. The new exhibit will feature the work of the late Georgia O’Keeffe, an artist from my neck of the woods.
Sophie’s heels clack on the marble floors until we turn a corner, and she gasps, her hands going to her mouth. Set in the center of the new exhibit is a table for two, Champagne already chilling on a stand near a decked-out table, complete with fresh flowers, candles, plates, and stemware. The chef and catering company I hired to cater our little festivity have outdone themselves. I’ll have to thank Mark for the hookup with a special donation to the museum from International Guy Inc.
As we enter, a man in a black suit with a white cloth over his arm greets us both and pulls out Sophie’s chair.
Sophie removes her jacket, placing it over the back of her chair, and takes her seat, as do I.
“Would you like some Champagne to start, along with your first course?” he asks.
I nod. “Please.”
Sophie looks around, her eyes wide and glowing with glee. “This is incredible. And the art . . . my goodness.”
“It’s an exhibit they haven’t opened to the public just yet. It goes live next week.” Lucky for me, I scored with my timing.
Her eyes narrow as she stares at one very fa
mous painting of a white flower with a green center and background.
“These are paintings by Georgia O’Keeffe.” I gesture to the one she’s looking at.
“Oui! I thought I had seen this work before.”
“She’s best known for her flowers and New Mexico landscape paintings. She’s actually from the States and has been labeled the Mother of American Modernism. We lucked out on getting a private showing.”
The waiter pours our glasses and leaves us to our privacy.
“Grab your glass. Let’s take a closer look. But be careful. That painting over there”—I point to one of the most famous—“is on loan to the Louvre, but it was last sold for over forty-four million dollars.”
Her mouth drops open, and I’m reminded of the pretty red ring I have surrounding my dick. I inhale a long, slow breath and focus on the work. The muted track lighting above does a perfect job of highlighting the painting’s unique brushstrokes and color palette.
“This one is magnifique.” She whispers as if she’s so taken with it she’s afraid to speak too loud.
The bold oranges and reds practically jump off the canvas. I lean toward the gold placard to the left of the painting. “Oriental Poppies, 1928. Almost a hundred years old, yet they look so real.”
She hums, sips her Champagne, and moves on to the next, a New Mexico landscape. The deep royal blues and greens swell and roll with the hills and valleys in a faraway yet completely relatable way. It’s hard to comprehend that it’s not real.
I follow Sophie to another that’s of a bull’s skull. Her expression contorts into an unpleasant one.
“You don’t like the bull?”
“I do not like pictures of death,” she breathes.
All righty then. I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole, especially so close after losing her father.
When she gets to a white seashell with a red background, she tilts her head to the side, shrugs, and moves on, nonplussed.
I chuckle. “Now what’s the matter with shells?”
“Nothing. A bit dull.” She wanders to the next painting, and her entire body becomes perfectly still.
The painting is another of O’Keeffe’s flowers, this one red, pink, and white. “Flower of Life II, painted in early 1920s,” I announce out loud while reading the placard. Sophie simply stares at the painting, lost in her own thoughts.
I press myself up against her back and wrap my free hand around her waist, bringing her flush against me. She sighs before leaning some of her weight more heavily along my chest. With my breath close to her ear, I whisper, “People say her art looks like genitalia, because she more often than not presented the sexual anatomy of the flower, found in the center. It was thought that she was saying something about her own gender. What do you think?” I let my mouth hover over her ear, then run my chin down the side of her neck, resting it against her shoulder.
Sophie shivers, and that slight tremor works through my body, sending pleasure messages to my brain and cock that I ignore for the time being. There is time for that later. Much later.
She doesn’t so much as glance away from the painting before her, completely enchanted by it. “It makes me think of sex. Beautiful, wanton, glorious sex.”
I kiss her bare shoulder, squeeze her body closer, wanting to bite into her flesh but choosing to keep myself in check. “I’m going to need another drink and a seat before we view the rest.”
She laughs and turns in my arms before placing a sweet kiss on my lips. “Thank you for bringing me here. This is already the best date I have ever had.”
“But it’s just barely begun, ma chérie.”
Her cheeks pinken every time I call her my sweetie. “Well, in case I forget to tell you later, I had the time of my life, chéri.”
I wrap my arms around her, holding the empty glass between my fingers. “Me too.”
She precedes me back to the table, where I refill her glass just as our waiter brings out the first course, which is a charcuterie board of meats and cheeses.
I pick up a cracker, place a piece of prosciutto on top, then spread a layer of goat cheese, followed by a cube of quince paste to give it that jammy flavor. I hand the first concoction to Sophie before making my own. Together we take a bite, and both of us end up moaning, after which we start cracking up, laughing at one another.
“All right, since we both know where this is going to end up at the end of the night, let’s talk about sex.” I grin and continue, wanting to build up the anticipation of the latter part of our evening. “Best place you’ve ever had it?”
Sophie purses her lips. “The French are pretty open with their sexuality.” She taps at her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I fear I am going to let you down. I would have to say my most risky would have to be in the pool at my house with my high school boyfriend.”
“Nice. I like it.” I waggle my brows.
She shakes her head, laughing. “Your turn.”
Yowza. Note to self: never ask a question that can be turned back on you.
“I’d have to say on a Ferris wheel at a carnival.”
Sophie’s shocked expression says it all. “Details. I must have details!” She chugs back a large swallow of her Champagne.
I snicker. “Okay, I was a freshman in college. I was gone for this girl, and we were hot and heavy. It was all about sex with her. She got off on doing the deed in a variety of interesting places. Turns out she was an exhibitionist and almost got me thrown in jail for public indecency!”
She laughs, covering her mouth. “Mon Dieu! I cannot even imagine the mechanics behind that.”
Leaning back in my chair, I puff out my chest dramatically. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
I can only hold the position for a second before I end up in a fit of laughter once more, Sophie right behind me.
“My turn! What is your favorite sexual position?” She shimmies her shoulders, giving me an eyeful of jiggling breasts. Damn, I can’t wait to get my hands and mouth on them. Bite and torture her sweet little nips.
“Whew!” I shake my head, bringing it back to the question at hand. “Hmm.” I suck in a breath between my teeth. “I’m torn. Love taking a woman from behind, because the power I have to control her body is”—I pinch my fingers together and kiss the tips—“as you say . . . magnifique ! Then again, I also love watching a woman’s face when I make her come. There’s something special about that and unique to each woman.”
“I agree. We should do both of those,” she admits with zero humor added to her tone.
Chuckling, I make us another concoction. This time, bread, cheese, and fruit paired together. The honeyed pear rolls over my tongue, combining with the triple-cream brie, and I groan. “So good. Damn!”
She nods. “Oui. And this is only the starter.”
After we spend a few more minutes of trying to top one another’s “best pairings,” the waiter brings our next two courses. A salad and our filet mignon with garlic mashed potatoes.
Eager to know the basics about Sophie, I go back to asking questions. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Would it sound silly to admit that it is pink?”
Pink. Soft, lovely, and all girl. I love it.
“No, SoSo, it suits you. Although we didn’t get you any pink that I can recall, so we’ll need to rectify that situation.” I pull out my phone right then and there. The girl loves pink; she should have some of it.
To: Lovemaker
From: Parker Ellis
Buy Sophie some pink blouses. It’s her favorite color.
“You did not have to do that!” She pats my hand, and I take her fingers and kiss each one of them.
Bo responds instantly.
To: Parker Ellis
From: Lovemaker
On it. Will have it taken care of tomorrow. Does she need anything else?
Lifting the phone, I show Sophie the screen.
She smiles and shakes her head. “I think you boys have done more than enough.
Though I am still nervous about the board meeting this weekend, especially after what Royce found. Also, Mr. Girard will be back tomorrow, according to his supervisor. He has been out sick the last few days. Not sure I believe him. The time away has given me a good amount of time to prepare my case. His father is not going to be pleased.”
“It’s hard, but not all of these negatives are going to be controlling your regular day-to-day. What did Roy find that was so important today?”
“A serious issue with our chemicals. One of them we have been using regularly has been expired. The lead in that area took it upon himself to choose to save his budget and use the expired product anyway. That leaves us with several different risks. It could change the chemical makeup of the perfume, change how it reacts to the skin, a variety of different things. My scientists are angry; they did not sign up for working under these conditions. It is another loose end I am going to have to fix, and I am not looking forward to it.”
I scoot my chair over to the side of the table and lay my hand on her shoulder. “Hey . . . look at me.”
Her chocolate eyes lift to meet mine.
“You’re gonna get through this. Remember, you are the daughter of the great Jacques Rolland. He created this empire, and you, my sweet Sophie, are going to keep that legacy and make it even greater. Believe in yourself. You can do this. I know it, Royce knows it, Bo knows it, and your staff and board members are going to as well.”
She shakes her head and frowns. “I am just not sure. I have worked hard over the past couple of months since I lost my father, trying to be what the company needs, but these things keep coming up.”
“And you’ll deal with them one at a time. That’s all anyone can do. You are no different than any other chief executive officer. Don’t you see, Sophie, you’re already doing the job, honey.”
Her gaze narrows on our mostly eaten dinners before a slow smile starts to form, then turns into a huge, all-out, gummy grin.
“I am, am I not?”
“Yeah, ma chérie, you are, and very well I might add. Now tell me about how you plan to fix the expired chemical issue and what you’re going to do about the team lead.”
International Guy: Paris, New York, Copenhagen (International Guy Volumes Book 1) Page 9
