by Avery Aster
“You mean sex.” I trail my fingers through the wet ring the condensation from my glass has left on the coaster.
“Yes. Does that shock you?”
“Coming from you? No.” While his words don’t shock, they do send shockwaves through my body and down to my clit.
He regards me with a knowing-fucking-smile, like he has a pretty good idea what effect his words have had on my bits and pieces. He fits a finger beneath my chin and tilts my face toward him. “I want more than a simple sexual encounter with you.”
“What do you want?” The shockwaves are moving along, causing a delicate shuddering sensation between my legs. I wet my parched lips.
Christophe continues to hold my gaze. “I want all of you, Tessa.”
“What does that mean?” The words are soft. Breathless.
“To find out, you must accept.”
I swallow, my throat now as parched as my lips.
“Do you? Do you accept?”
“Yes,” I finally say. “I accept.”
“Good. You won’t regret it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Chapter Nine
I’m tempted to kiss him. So tempted. Like, licking my lips in preparation to kiss, tempted. Actually, I’m tempted to do much more than kiss. I want to know what sex with Christophe would feel like. The kind that is better—supposedly—than my frenetic-style-of-fucking (I’m paraphrasing).
But I don’t. I don’t know why. Not eagerly giving into my sexual desires is very un-Tessa-like. I must be waiting for Christophe to make the first move. And, while I’ve essentially consented to getting intimate with him, I still have this need to play it cool and to not be my normal, overzealous self.
When Christophe does not kiss me, when he just stares into my eyes with that intense, mysterious gaze, like he’s searching out my soul, I feel so…out of sorts, I change the subject completely.
“What’s on the agenda today?”
He takes a moment to process my question. His lips turn up and his eyelids lower. “Would you like to get dirty?”
A spike of pleasure pierces me from throat to abdomen. Wow. The man does not mess around, does he?
“Umm…yes?”
“Excellent. Go change into something you don’t mind getting muddy. We’re going off-roading.”
* * *
Christophe organizes a car to take us to the middle of the jungle. Man, this island is so much bigger than I first thought. We don helmets, which gives me pause. I mean, what the hell are we going to be doing that requires helmets?
Then I see the vehicle we’ll be driving. It’s not a truck like I imagined, but a dune buggy/car, with roll bars and big tires. Five seconds into the ride I know exactly why we need helmets. Christophe drives the thing like we’re in a world class race. I don’t know who we’re racing against. The island? Time? His inner demons? But the wheels are spinning and mud is flying.
The way he drives? Damn. He shifts from one gear to the next with such fucking authority, making the car do his bidding, like it’s an extension of his body, the engine alternatively whines and purrs like it’s a woman’s body, not a machine, and he’s making love to it, bringing it to the verge of orgasm and then slowing down again, petting it, only to rev it up again and forcing it to newer and greater heights. The whole thing is terrifying and incredibly sexy at the same time.
The result of all this?
Tessa is turned on in a big way.
So fucking turned on.
By the time we get back to the villa, I’m all hands and Christophe does not seem to mind one bit.
“You miss racing,” I say.
“Sometimes.” He grins, opening the door for me. “I like going fast. Sometimes I miss the competition. The danger. It makes me feel alive. But…” He closes the door and then stops me from moving down the hall. He backs me up against the wall, staring directly into eyes. His breath is suddenly in tune with mine. “When you’ve experienced something so much greater, so much more fulfilling, so much more enlightened, those thrills seem almost mundane.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Let me show you.” I have nowhere to go because he is right there, taking all the space, all my breath.
He reaches for me, cupping my jaw and running a thumb along my lips before trailing it down, exploring my collarbones and shoulders and then moving lower to cup my breast. Instead of squeezing and tugging, he waits, gazing into my eyes as his hand rests on me, the heat from that appendage spreading through my chest, searing me with a beautiful glow.
“So,” I say thickly. “Tell me how what you do in the bedroom differs from regular old-fashioned sex?”
“To begin with?” His hand slides lower, covering my belly now. “There is no goal.”
“No goal?”
His head moves back and forth, slowly, as his hand inches lower. “There is only awareness.”
“Awareness,” I repeat without thinking because in my mind I’m urging his hand lower. My clit is still pulsing from that thrilling ride and I’ve been nursing a girlie hard-on for hours.
His hand slides between my legs and my automatic response is to grind against him. Oh yes. So nice.
But he merely cups me without providing the delicious friction my body craves.
“You are holding so much tension here.” He says softly, leaning into me. His touch is gentle yet firm.
Mmmm. Yes. That’s better. I gyrate some more, letting him know with my body that I am ready and eager for whatever ‘lessons’ he may want to teach me.
He stares into my eyes as he cups my mound. Desire is mirrored from my eyes to his and back. “The first thing you must learn is to relax.” He makes a gentle circle with his hand, his voice deep. “Right here.”
Heaven help me, what he’s doing feels good. I fumble with the button on my shorts and release the zipper. “Slide your fingers inside and I might relax more.”
His smile grows at the same speed his hand moves away, dammit! “Not yet.” He turns and starts to walk down the hall, presumably to his room.
“Where are you going,” I pant, unable to move away from the wall.
“I’m going to shower and then for a swim.”
“A swim?”
“Mmm.”
“Why?”
“I need to cool down.” He turns, giving me the once over. “And, I’m dying to see naked and wet.”
* * *
Frustrated, I go shower…again. I know exactly what game Christophe is playing. From the moment I met him, it’s been all about heating me up…only to cool me back down agaon. Heat up, cool down. The result is that I’m perpetually turned on. Even more than usual. Now, all it takes is a mere glance from Christophe, the scent of his cologne, a whispered word, and I’m primed to go like a racehorse at the gate, muscles taut and ready, nostrils flaring, all systems go.
After showering, I change into my brand new bikini; hot pink with ties everywhere for easy on/easy off and head out to the private pool. I’m surprised to find Christophe isn’t there yet, so I climb in and float on my back, letting the cool water ease the tension out of my shoulders while I wait for his arrival. Picturing him heating me up again as I let the water cool me down.
I don’t have to wait long. Christophe appears from the French doors that must lead to his bedroom, walking confidently toward the pool. Completely and glorious naked.
Fuck me!
The man is fucking...perfect. Lean and muscular, with a lovely patch of hair nestled between taut pectorals and drawing a line down to that completely male, completely virile part of him, he is unbelievably and irresponsibly masculine. And speaking of his masculinity, the man is the perfect size, in every way.
Oh good lord.
“What the hell are you doing?” I point at him. “You said we needed to cool down. Swimming with you naked is not going to accomplish that very well.”
He grins and his eyebrows waggle. “It’s a lesson.”
“If the lesson i
s about how long it takes for Tessa Savage to jump your bones, I’m saying not long.”
“You need to learn patience.”
“So I’ve been told. I say patience is overrated.”
“Hence the lesson.” He moves closer.
“Stay back,” I say. “If you come closer I will not be responsible for my actions.”
“Yes you will.”
“No,” I shake my head, eyes flicking between his gorgeous gaze and his gorgeous growing hard on. “No, if experience is any guide, I most definitely will not have control.”
“Take off your bikini.”
“Ha!” I point at him accusingly. “You are not playing fair.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No. I swear, I don’t even know what game we’re playing but I know that it’s not fair and that this is not nice.”
“Take off your bikini, Tessa, and tell me if you find me desirable.”
“Fuck you.” I undo my top and toss it to the side of the pool. Why? Because Christophe-fucking-Chevalier told me to, that’s why.
He grins. “Good. I like this truthful side of you.”
“I’m always truthful.”
His one raised brow tells me he thinks otherwise.
“Monte Carlo was an exception.”
“Stop swimming away from me. I’m not going to ravish you.”
“Maybe that’s what I’m hoping. Maybe I want you to chase me, hold me down and ravish the hell out of me.”
He laughs. God, is there anything sexier than a naked, wet man, dripping and aroused, laughing with genuine amusement all while looking at me like he wants to gobble me up? Nothing comes to mind at the moment. Of course, my mind is pretty much blank because all my awareness is on my pinched nipples and my throbbing pussy.
“Can I ask you to do something for me?” It’s a question, but his tone is so damned commanding that I’m unable to say no.
“Yes.”
“Come here.”
“Okay.” I slowly swim toward him.
“Take off your bikini bottoms.”
The closer I get, the quieter and deeper his voice gets. I feign frustration, but with him so close and my body so tuned into him, I can’t help but obey, though the ties don’t seem to want to come undone.
“Do you need help?”
“No.” I yank my bottoms off and toss them in the general direction of my top.
He gazes at me, taking me in completely. “You keep your pussy bare,” he says, his hand moving in that direction but stopping before touching.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Fucking lovely.”
Inching closer, I reach for him but he captures my hand in his and holds it, takes it to his face and kisses my palm.
“Tell me how your body feels. Your pussy.”
“Lonely.” I say and my pussy twitches at the use of her name.
His eyes crinkle around the edges. “Describe for me.” He comes closer. “How you feel in the water?”
“Nice.”
“You can do better.” He reaches for me underwater. At first I think he’s going to cup me again, but he doesn’t. He swishes his hand back and forth creating an underwater whirlpool. “Close your eyes and tell me how it feels.”
“It…tickles a little.”
“Spread your legs.”
I do.
“Feel the water. The movement. The temperature. How does it feel on your skin? Your clitoris? Inside?”
“It’s cool, particularly when I open my legs.”
“Mmm.”
“It’s soft, it feels good.”
I feel Christophe inch closer. He’s not touching me, but he’s there. “Would you believe,” he says quietly, “that I can feel the heat from your pussy through the water?”
I open my eyes. “You cannot.”
“I can.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His eyes connect with mine. He takes one tiny step closer and he guides his cock right between my thighs. I feel the pulse of him against my leg. Bending down, he whispers, “I am very sensitive.”
I swallow. “Lucky you.”
“Mmm.”
His hand is on my hip and then slips around to the back of me, curving around my ass, barely skimming my skin.
“Imagine,” he whispers. “If I can feel the heat of your pussy through the water, how good it would feel to be inside of you.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
Fuck!
I should jump him. Right now.
But, do I?
No.
Do I want to?
Yes, absolutely.
So why don’t I? Why do I stand in the water, limp and lifeless, like Christophe’s voice is the secret to sapping all of Tessa’s power to move? Although I do have the power to twitch which is what I do to my hips so that his fingers are positioned where I want them.
“Do you remember the taste test in Monte Carlo?”
“Mmm.” I don’t hear what he’s saying. I’m too busy gyrating my hips to direct his hand between my legs.
“Tessa?”
“The scotch thing?” I ask, hazily.
“Yes.” His fingers move gently, stroking my ass, my pussy lips, never quite reaching my clit.
“Of course I remember.” I try to anticipate his next move, twisting to catch him off guard and forcing his touch where I want it.
“This is the same.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It is.”
I stop gyrating under the water. I open my eyes. “Sex is nothing like the scotch thing.” I bring my legs together and move back, away from his scorching body. “I am the first to admit that I know nothing about drinking scotch. However, at the risk of sounding arrogant,” I pull my hand from his and rest it lightly on his chest, “I do know a thing or two about sex.”
“Is that right.”
“Yes.” My hand snakes down to between his legs.
“You’re an expert.”
“Well,” I shrug. “If you say so.” My fingers flick lightly along the length of his shaft.
He leans in. “So am I.”
“Really?”
He fits a hand between us and slips it between my thighs, fingers curved up, dipping into my heat. “Yes.”
“So it comes down to who is the bigger expert.” I grip him firmly, watching his expression as I expertly stroke him. His breathing deepens and his lids flutter as if it takes effort to keep his eyes open.
“Let’s see.” I slide my hand down and around, cupping his balls and Christophe lets out a small gasp. I smile. Softly I say, “I may not be a professional race car driver, a deep sea diver, an IRONMAN competitor, or skydiving-junkie—”
“You’ve done your research,” he says the words raggedly, his head lolling back.
Using two hands now, I continue to cup his balls with one, while sliding my other hand up and down his rigid length with the other. “While you were busy doing all that, I’ve been busy concentrating my efforts in two endeavors: fixing businesses that are broken…” I squeeze with one hand. “…and making love.” I stroke with the other.
I lean closer, resting my breasts against his chest. Oh God, it feels good. “They are my specialties,” I say on a soft exhalation.
He groans. “You make a valid point.”
“Mmm.” Feeling buoyed by his response to my touch, I decide on the spur of a moment to make a suggestion. “Why don’t we conduct an experiment. A taste-of-sex test of sorts. Combine it with a little wager as well? What do you say?”
“I’d say, you’ve piqued my interest.” He moves out of my grasp and turns me in his arms so that my back is flush against his chest. His hands come around my front, both of them, his fingers working the inside of my thighs, gently massaging, barely brushing my engorged clit, hinting at penetration while exploring all of me from thighs to ass.
Holy fuck. I can’t breathe. I just want his fingers inside of me. The teasing is driving me insa
ne.
“What’s the bet?” His voice is deep and authoritative.
When I don’t answer, he pulls me in closer, nibbles on my neck and gently circles my clit. “What’s the bet, Tessa?” His words are a whispered challenge.
With my eyes closed, I murmur, “We’ll make love my way and then we’ll make love your way. Afterwards, we’ll decide who wins.”
Gently he turns me in his arms so that we are facing one another. His eyes are burning with playful desire. “What are the stakes?”
“Cash to our charity of choice?”
“No. Something more personal. The stakes should be much higher.”
“Like what?”
“The winner should decide on how this relationship proceeds.”
My hand moves automatically to his chest in a defensive gesture. “What do you mean?”
“If you win, you can leave, like Tessa Savage always does. If I win…”
“What?” I try to pull away, but he won’t let me, his grip on my wrist is too tight. He tugs me close, tilts my face up to his and says, “If I win, you are mine.”
Chapter Ten
The casino at the resort is small by Monte Carlo standards, and puny by Vegas standards, but it’s got to be the most unique casino I’ve ever visited. It’s part glitz, part cabaret, part sex club. The atmosphere is frenetic, lights, bells, pounding music, people dressed up, people in various stages of undress, people making out, people doing a hell of a lot more than that…
“Wow,” I whisper to myself, taking in the surroundings. Normally, this would totally be my scene. But tonight I do not feel normal. My stomach is churning and my skin is flushed from my racing pulse.
What the hell have I agreed to? Not that I don’t think I’ll win this little bet with Mr.-Big-Shot-Christophe-Chevalier, it’s just that…damn, the stakes are high. I mean, what the hell? I can’t promise I’ll stay with him if he wins. How can I—Tessa Savage, the woman who never stays—ever promise a thing like that? It’s impossible.
Which is exactly what I’d said to him earlier.
Do you know what his response was?
“Believe me, if I win, you’ll want to stay. There won’t even be a question of leaving.”
