Red Hot Bikers, Rock Stars and Bad Boys

by Cassia Leo

  The nobles and royals congratulated her and Alex, though their comments seemed just a little snarky and condescending to him, but his easy smile remained amused as he took it in.

  Flicka’s husband Pierre held Georgie’s fingers just a beat too long while congratulating her, and she plucked her hand out of his while thanking him. Nobody else seemed to notice the creeper vibes.

  Georgie downed two tall glasses of champagne, trying to stop the shakes, and then she was afraid she was going to belch like an elephant.

  Alex lounged in his seat beside her, drinking champagne, and they did indeed have a few moments to talk about Wolfgang Rihm, both of them expounding their theories and having lots of examples to back themselves up, and then laughing because Wolfgang Rihm had composed over five hundred pieces and they could support any crazy theory they wanted.

  Alex’s eyes glittered with good humor, intelligence, and heat the whole time they talked. That gorgeous man riveted his full attention on her. He had intelligent ripostes for what he should but conceded other points gracefully.

  He reached over and toyed with her finger, a subtle approach.

  Georgie rubbed her thumb over his fingertips, which were rough and deeply callused on the ends, and his nails were trimmed back short. He played some sort of string instrument, and he played it a lot.

  As she rubbed his fingertips, he stopped speaking for a minute as if he had lost his train of thought, then held her hand more firmly in his.

  Georgie was having a hard time not leaping into his lap and necking with him. They both drank flutes of champagne as if to drown inappropriate urges.

  A DJ wound up some good music, so she danced with Flicka, Rae, and Lizzy, still amazed that no one was laughing and pointing at her.

  As Georgie wove on her feet and through the crowd back to the table, she felt a tug on her elbow. When she started to turn, Alex pulled her away from the crowd. She grabbed her purse hanging off the back of her chair as she trotted after him because even though she was tipsy, she still kept track of her passport and phone.

  She tightened her hand around his, and he led her out into the corridor, the blond ends of his long hair fluttering around his shoulders as he strode ahead of her.

  Once out the huge doors near the elevators, Alex whirled, shoved her up against the wall behind a plant, and kissed her hard, his tongue forcing her mouth open and his hands first on her arms, then behind her neck and around her waist. Georgie slid her arms around his neck and curved her body to his.

  He broke away, his breathing ragged. “You were magnificent. I know how hard performing was for you, and I waited as long as I could stand so as not to scandalize Flicka and company. God, I want to touch you,” he growled near her ear, his lips on her neck. “I want to fuck you until you scream. Your room or mine?”

  “Yours,” Georgie gasped as his hand cupped her breast through the thin silk of the dress. Lizzy might not think to check for their hair-scrunchie-around-the-doorknob signal in Paris.

  “Bold. I like that.” Alex kissed her again, his hand almost sliding up into her hair, but he stepped away and led her to the elevator.

  #GETAROOM

  Georgie

  In the elevator, Georgie stood against the back wall while Alex slid a keycard into a slot above the buttons, backed away from her, and stared at the flickering floor display the whole time, which just about drove her insane until she saw the black dome embedded in the ceiling.

  Okay, Georgie didn’t want to end up immortalized as a GIF entitled #GetARoom, either. She twirled her purse dangling from her wrist to pass the long, drawn-out, agonizing seconds while the elevator ascended, the increased velocity dragging at her feet.

  Far up in the hotel, the elevator doors parted, and Alex seized her hand again and tugged her out of the elevator. Three doors led off the short hallway, and Georgie realized they were up in the suites.

  Alex said, “It’s small. The hotel was sold out. Flicka and her wedding party booked the better suites months ago, so I was only able to get a deluxe.”

  Georgie’s heart jumped in her chest, and her hands felt empty because she wasn’t touching him. “Just get us in there.”

  His grin bore a touch of desperation as he flung open the door and pulled her inside after him.

  Georgie caught a glimpse of a blue and white living room and a dining room with a table for six, and the scent of the white rose bundles filled the rooms as Alex pulled her through the suite. In the bedroom, golden silk draped the bed, and a breeze fluttered the white curtains over the window that was open to a view over the skyline of Paris. She tossed her purse on a nightstand.

  Alex grabbed her arms, whirling her around, and he pushed her against the closed door and kissed her. The scent of sweet champagne flooded her mouth, and she breathed deeply. His forearms were braced against the door around her head, almost caging her as he bent to her. Georgie wound her arms around his neck, her fingers sliding into his long hair at the back of his neck. Alex groaned against her lips and reared back, then dipped his head to run his teeth over her neck. He shrugged his suit coat off behind himself, the dark blue fabric falling on the carpeting

  She dropped her hand, caressing his side through his shirt. Bulges of muscle rippled under her fingers. Even while his hot mouth blew champagne-scented breath on her neck, Georgie explored his body with her hands. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling the fine cloth out of his waistband, and she ducked her hand under his shirt and soft undershirt beneath.

  Ridges of muscle met her palm. He panted against her shoulder as she ran her palms and fingers into the furrows between his abdominals and up to the lean bulges of his pecs.

  His hands smoothed over her hips, reaching for the zipper down her backside.

  This felt tawdry, a quick fuck at a wedding with the guy she had performed a song with, and that was fantastic. Long-term relationships and even repeat sex weren’t on her agenda. Alex probably lived in Europe, and if they ever ran into each other again, they could be amicable and polite, and he would be just another guy that she used to fuck.

  Perfect.

  She slid her arms around his waist and down, stroking her hands over his tight ass. He gasped against her neck, then he found the zipper down her butt, unzipped it, and had unhooked the clasps that held the neckband up. The black silk slithered down her body and fell to her feet.

  She was wearing only a thong under it because her boobs were small and her legs were tanned, plus she hadn’t wanted panty lines, and Alex’s fingers slipped over her bare skin, feeling her skin and flesh. “You’re strong,” he whispered.

  “You bet.” Georgie was sliding the buttons of his shirt through the tiny buttonholes while his hands roamed her body, kneading her flesh. She struggled to reach the button under his tie. “Just so you know,” she panted, “I’m on the pill, but I always use one, but I don’t have any in my purse.”

  His hoarse voice roughened further when he said, “I have some, and I always do, too.”

  Alex wrenched his tie to the side, loosening it, and he dragged his shirts and tie over his head and threw it all aside. From under his shirt, the scent of his green, woodsy cologne and masculine musk—like he was a forest beast—puffed into the air, and she leaned toward him to breathe him in. A fine down of manly chest hair brushed her cheek, pale brown silk threads the color of his hair above the bleached ends.

  Blue and green feathery tattoos crept over his shoulders and down the backs of his arms and covered his back in watercolor shades like the sea.

  Georgie only glimpsed what she really wanted to spend some time looking at—his broad shoulders, long, lean body, and abdominals like a brick wall—before he was on her again, lifting her against his strong chest and behind her knees and carrying her to the bed. Georgie brushed his hair back behind his shoulder and kissed his skin, and his thick pecs rose and fell beside her.

  He laid her on the bed and stripped her panties off, and his hungry gaze lingered on her before she whispered,
“Your pants, take them off.”

  Alex pushed his pants off, taking his shoes and socks with them, and he clambered onto the bed beside her. Again, he moved so fast that she only caught a glimpse of his thick cock, rosy on top and thick down the stalk, nested in brown fuzz at the base. He grabbed at the lid of his suitcase and threw a long ribbon of condoms on the bed beside her.

  Oh, she liked ambition like that.

  He was on her again, and Georgie clutched him around his neck. Under her hands, the skin on his back was rough, like furrows ran across it. Must be his tattoos.

  His ravenous kiss and clutching hands stoked her passion, and within minutes, she was keening for him, desperate. She pushed at his hard, lean body, trying to shove him between her legs, but he mouthed her breasts, drawing them up with his hot mouth, as her body hummed with desire. She whispered, “Please.”

  He picked his head up, and his grin may have been blurred with passion, but he licked three fingers and reached down between her legs, still watching her eyes.

  As his wet fingers slid on her swollen skin, shocks ran up her body. He massaged her, his fingers slipping easily, and Georgie felt herself begin to tighten. She arched her back, pressing down on his fingers, gasping.

  Alex knew what he was doing. Georgie might joke that she was falling in love, but damn, it was incredible to go to bed with a guy who liked to get a woman off.

  He rubbed deep in her, sliding over her clit and deeper, dipping into her, his fingers taking on a perfectly metered rhythm that echoed her heartbeat. She whispered, “Alex!”

  He leaned over and sucked on her breast, syncopating with his mouth, driving her higher.

  She whispered, “Alex, I’m going to come.”

  His fingers dipped deeper, sliding quicker in her center, and his thumb found her clit, rubbing both so-sensitive places with an insistent rhythm that tightened until she fell over the edge, and her body throbbed like a deep bass drum pounding through her.

  She held him around his shoulders, her fingers tracing the rough rows on his shoulders, crying out with the intensity of it, her body contracting around his hand, and Alex crawled up her body. He kissed her hard, his hardness rubbed on her stomach. Her body still pulsed with the orgasm, and she panted and wiped the tears away from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Alex. That was—”

  “Not done yet,” he whispered.

  He reared up above her—his muscled body glorious in the late afternoon golden sunlight streaming in the windows from over Paris—flipped her limp body over, and grabbed her hips, hoisting her ass into the air.

  “Oh!”

  The sound of plastic ripping reached her ears, and Alex drove himself into her center, still sensitive and quivering from the orgasm.

  She cried out again and arched, not from exactly pain, but he filled her so deeply in her wet skin and trembling center that it overwhelmed her.

  He stroked into her—long, hard strokes—rubbing inside her sensitized skin that felt almost raw from the intense orgasm, and the pressure inside her began to build again from deep inside.

  Georgie rocked back, taking him in deep, his hardness pressing inside her with every stroke.

  He held her hips, pulling her body back onto him, and Georgie gathered her elbows under herself so she could push back farther. He growled above her, and he leaned over her back, biting her shoulder.

  Alex wrapped one arm around her waist, yanking her all the way up to her hands, and his left hand slid past her belly button, around the curve of her hip, and between her legs again.

  She almost told him to stop, that her skin couldn’t take it, but his rough, callused fingers dragged on her folds, found her clit, and he pressed his fingers there and vibrated his fingertips like he was drawing a tremolo out of a violin, a shuddering, quaking oscillation in the note, and his fingers shook Georgie to her core.

  She was coming again, immediately, so strongly, a blinding tightening and shattering release that reverberated through her body.

  Georgie clutched the gold bedspread in her fists, her breath panting and crying out with each pulse, her legs shaking, as Alex punched up into her and grunted as he spent himself inside her, his body contracting with the force. He kept his weight off her with one arm braced on the bed. His long hair slid around her sides, and his warm forehead rested on her back.

  His hand fell away from her clit, and he struggled to rise off her and pull himself out.

  Georgie collapsed and rolled to her side, and after a few seconds, Alex lay beside her and drew her into his arms. His chest rose and fell under her hand, his thick muscles contracting and releasing with each breath. His heart pounded under her palm.

  “That was incredible,” she said.

  “You’re incredible.” His grating voice sounded more hoarse.

  They lay there for a few more minutes until they could breathe normally. Georgie ran ten miles on most days, but this strenuous exertion had consumed her.

  Awesome.

  She asked, “You mind if I use your shower real quick?”

  “Go ahead,” Alex panted, his ribs and hard abdominal ridges still expanding as he breathed deeply. “Better yet, I’ll wash you.”

  “We’ve got to get back down there before we’re missed.” Georgie scooted away from him and stood up. Her wobbling legs barely held her. Her sore folds slipped against each other. “We don’t have time for Round Two.”

  “I messed you up,” he said. “I should clean you.” Something glinted in his eyes, something mischievous.

  “Oh, come on.” Georgie rolled her eyes and walked away from where he sprawled on the bed, and he did sprawl. He had to be several inches over six feet.

  Alex rolled off his side of the bed and followed her in.

  The bathroom had a large, glassed-in shower stall and a tub along one wall, all built out of shining marble. It wasn’t as opulent as the master bath of the Empire Suite, which had an enormous soaking tub in the center of the room, but it was a really nice bathroom. Georgie snagged a thick towel off the rack and started the shower.

  Alex followed her in. The large shower stall had more than enough room for both of them. He had grabbed a rubber band off the counter and twisted his long hair into a man-bun on the back of his head.

  “You really shouldn’t use naked rubber bands,” Georgie said, finding the soap. “They tear your hair.”

  “Do they?” Alex frowned. He took the bar away from her and soaped a washrag.

  “Yeah. You can buy covered ones anywhere.”

  “I’ll make a note of it.” He lifted her arm and spread the warm soap foam over her skin.

  “I’ve had long hair most of my life,” Georgie said.

  “I just grew this out a few years ago.” Alex washed her back and bent his knees, wiping the foam down her legs. She looked down, tracing the aqua and teal tattoos that covered his back like paint had been splashed on him. A treble note peeked out of the color on his shoulder like it was drowning in a raging ocean.

  “How come?” she asked, fascinated with watching him wash her. His hands on her were erotic, even though he wasn’t trying to be sexy. It felt very caring, even possessive. The only reason that she didn’t freak about it, she assumed, was because she knew that she would probably never see him again after she flew back to the States. With that very British accent, he must live in Europe.

  He shrugged. “I suppose I wanted to look like a Bohemian musician.”

  “But you’re not a professional musician,” she said.

  “Not to speak of.” Alex lifted her thigh, placed her foot on his knee, and washed every intimate fold between her legs.

  Yes, this felt very possessive. “So what do you do?”

  Alex said, “You can’t tell from my name?”

  “Alexandre?”

  “Flicka introduced me by my duchy, probably just to rankle me. She needles everyone she can, every chance she gets. Plus, when she introduces people like that, she can’t be accused of omitting titles, which pisses som
e people off no end.”

  Georgie laughed while Alex soaped her other leg, then turned her to soap her torso and her other arm.

  Georgie asked, “So what’s your name, or your title, or whatever?”

  “It seems ridiculous to introduce ourselves now—”

  Georgie laughed some more.

  His amused glance up at her seemed like he approved of her laughter. “My given name is Alexandre. My family name is Grimaldi.”

  “And the other thing, Valentinois?”

  He smiled a wry, sarcastic smile and stood. “It means that one of my ancestors was Princess Charlotte of Monaco, who was bestowed the title of Duchess de Valentinois, a French Duchy. The French, however, cite that inconvenient revolution of theirs as the reason why they have no nobility, so it means that I own a large house and some vineyards in France, even though I am Monégasque.”

  “So you’re, um, a Duchess?” She tried not to look at the fishing tackle swinging between his thighs.

  “I am Alexandre Grimaldi, the Hereditary Duc de Valentinois.” His accent became more sibilant French, sliding around the consonants, but his acerbic tone mocked himself.

  “And that’s why you’re at Wulfram’s wedding.”

  “I’m Pierre’s cousin, and so I was invited to Flicka and Pierre’s wedding last night, plus Flicka was a close friend in school because we were both interested more in music than the other things that went on, so I would like to think that I would have gotten an invitation, anyway. We were often transported to outside lessons together. She’s a few years younger than I am, but we became friends.”

  “So what instrument do you play?”

  He blinked his large, brown eyes. “I play several passably, not terribly well. I am one of those despicable, idle rich men who dabbles in music. You’re done. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  Georgie was indeed squeaky clean, and she stepped out of the shower while Alex cleaned up. She found her dress crumpled on the floor and her thong among the snarled bedsheets and pulled them on. Alex’s wood and clean-grass cologne clung to her dress as she slipped it over her head.