26 Hours in Paris

by Demi Alex

  “Yes, baby.” His body objected to the lazy lingering, but his heart wanted to remain in the gentle moment. He wound his arm around her waist and settled his hand on the curve of her hip.

  “I . . .” She sucked on her lower lip and exhaled. She tried again. “I . . .” Her lip trembled.

  “Sh,” he breathed, cupping the back of her head and brushing his lips over her forehead. “I know, bella. I know.”

  Kat released a low breath, then pressed a kiss against the side of his neck and relaxed on his shoulder. “You do know.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Warm from the spiced wine and the euphoric effects of the time she’d shared with Marko on the terrace, Kat skipped into the bedroom and tossed her coat on the lounger.

  “I can’t believe you really picked out clothes that are appropriate for a sex club,” she said, sitting on the edge of the mattress and pulling off her right boot.

  “Truthfully, you don’t need clothes for the club. Your birthday suit would be nicely welcomed, but I’m not about to share that exquisite vision with anyone else.”

  She dropped the left boot to the floor and turned to find Marko, who stood in the doorframe with his arms folded menacingly across his chest. Her body heated beneath his dark gaze, and she was compelled to go to him, to feel his touch.

  The Chloe design swept across her calves, reminding her to sashay rather than walk, but in all honesty, she wanted to run across the room. She had to make an effort to move slowly, but when she reached him she had to feel him. He radiated pure masculine sexual prowess. As her eyes followed the defined lines of his forearms, strength and resolve traveled from her fingertips to her core. She shifted on her feet, trying to minimize the tingle spreading between her legs.

  “Has my gentleman turned into a he-man?” Kat asked, looking up through her lashes and trying her best to portray a shy maiden.

  “I’m invoking my two hours once we arrive at the club. Strip, Kathryn.”

  Kathryn! Strip! “Just because I was issued an invitation to a sex club?”

  “No.” He glanced at the time, then walked to the closet. “Because you belong to me, and I’m taking you to a sex club. Have you had a change of heart? Or are you procrastinating?”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied, not exactly sure why she was apologizing. She just didn’t want to disappoint him and ruin their perfect evening. Lifting the lovely dress over her shoulders, she placed it on the bed, and shook out her beret hair. She wanted to look perfect for him.

  “Come here,” he said, stepping from the closet and holding out a black leather mini-skirt. He knelt and waited for her to approach. When she did, he lifted each of her feet in turn, caressing under the arches and over her instep, and then raised the softest of leather to her hips. He reached around her and zipped the skirt into place. “Pretty.”

  His approval drew a smile. Kat couldn’t look away as he rose to his full height and ran a finger over her lips. Of its own accord, her tongue flitted out and tasted.

  Marko retracted his finger and returned to the closet. “In the club, you will touch when I allow you to. You must listen to instructions. You need to trust that I will take care of you.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  He opened the top drawer of a built-in dresser, and brought out a skimpy black bra hanging from his fingers. Slowly, he fit her hands through the straps and settled the sheer material over her breasts, hooking the front closure with meticulous tenderness.

  “I haven’t worn a front-closing bra since high school,” she admitted, not voicing her concern about how much support it could possibly offer.

  “We can reserve that fantasy for a different night. Tonight, I own you.”

  With no material to contain the moisture, her thighs were coated with her excitement. Thankfully he’d allowed for the stockings and had thought ahead to leather.

  He slipped her feet into the boots, then stood back and looked at her. He raised an appraising brow and shook his head. “Merde, tu es belle.”

  Smoothing the back of two fingers down her cheek, he dipped lower, over her shoulder and outlined the swells exposed above the bra. Her breasts grew achingly heavy. She arched her back for control, but her nipples had hardened and were straining against the transparent covering for his attention.

  “Beautiful and ready,” he said, trailing his knuckles over her right breast and capturing its crested peak between his fingers. “No boundaries. No reservations. Completely mine.”

  She was his. She placed her faith in him. Having only read about the famous sex clubs in Paris, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Would there be orgies on the dance floor? Were sadists breaking the physical limits of their slaves? Did couples interchange partners and loan out sexual desires? The carnal possibilities were too many to consider, and the excitement for the experience mingled with fear.

  Curling tense fingers around his wrist, Kat brushed her thumb across the heel of his palm and looked into his eyes. He lowered his head and his breath warmed her lips.

  “I’ve got you, Kathryn,” he said in a low voice. He slanted his mouth over hers and a sense of safety seeped into her. Secure in his capable hands, she was his.

  Flames licked over her skin. The heat between her legs burned. His.

  He pulled a leather jacket from the closet and fit it on her shoulders. Taking the red wrap off the bed, he settled it around her neck and nodded. “Allons-y.”

  * * *

  Marko cursed the cold. The small leather jacket did little to keep her warm, but walking into the club with a coat or warmer clothing wasn’t an option. Additional coverage would make her stand out in the wrong way. Kat needed total immersion in the night’s experience. There was no room for any discomfort.

  “Walk fast, sweetheart,” he said, squeezing her hand as they stepped onto the bridge. “There’ll be plenty of other opportunities for a casual stroll.”

  The red cashmere, tucked into the lapels of the jacket, covered her chest. The unprotected legs and pussy were a different story. The boots and skimpy leather left too much exposed. Angling to her left, he hoped the length of his coat cut the effect of the wind.

  The convenient location of the Pont Louis-Philippe was the greatest benefit to using that specific crossing. Only meters from their door, it was rarely crowded with pedestrian traffic at night. It didn’t have the romantic allure of promised kisses from strangers like the Pont Marie, nor was it weighted down with street performers like the Pont Saint Louis. They walked quickly, and in silence, into what Kat had identified as their future. A car, with impeccable heating, waited on the Right Bank.

  Seeing the driver’s door open, Marko waved her off and steered Kat to the waiting vehicle. He opened the rear door and a blast of warm air surrounded them. “Hurry out of the cold, bella.”

  She scooted inside, and once she’d folded her legs close to her body, she rubbed her soft gloves over the sheer stockings. Marko settled beside her and hastily removed the red shawl from her chest to wrap it around her legs. He rubbed one hand up the side of her right thigh, while he pressed the left against his coat.

  “Bonsoir, monsieur et Mademoiselle Kathryn,” a sweet feminine voice called from the front. “Heureux que vous êtes hors du froid. Et merci de me garder hors de lui.”

  Kat turned to look at him.

  “Merci, Stella. Nous allons au club par les Champs Elysées.”

  “Oui, monsieur,” Stella replied.

  “Stella said she’s glad we’re out of the cold. She’s grateful she was able to stay in the car and keep warm,” he explained. The privacy glass promptly lifted into place. Done with the formalities and greetings, Marko smiled down at her. “Better now?”

  “Much. That wind was vicious,” she said, snuggling closer to him and fitting her legs beneath his knees. “Where’s Jean-Luc?”

  “He’s off on Friday nights.” Marko cupped her cheeks and circled his thumb over the bright red in the center. “Bella, it’s important you decide on an easy s
afe word before we arrive at the club.”

  “I don’t need a safe word. I’m with you.”

  Elated by her reasoning, he pressed his lips to her mouth and kissed her until the oxygen in his lungs was spent. The woman, who had insisted on taking care of everything on her own, felt safe with him. Merde, he wanted to break out the champagne and celebrate her gift.

  “The scenes are not always exclusive. There may be things that make you uncomfortable, and admittedly, some of those things will be rewarding if you choose to explore them, but you do have limits. I’m not a sadist, Kat, but we may reach a limit that you do not wish to explore. The safe word is for your comfort.”

  “I trust your judgment.”

  Damn if his cock didn’t stand and salute.

  “You need a safe word, bella,” he insisted.

  She didn’t reply; rather, she placed her cheek against his chest and rubbed her hand over his heart. Nothing had ever felt so right. He would fulfill her fantasies, just as she had just fulfilled his greatest aspiration. They stopped at a traffic light, and the perfect word pulled up beside them. He dropped a kiss atop her beret.

  “Your word is Porsche,” he said. “When you feel that you want to stop any activity or you want the evening to end, you will say Porsche.”

  Worrying her lower lip, she looked up at him.

  “You will make me proud, not disappoint me, by using your safe word if you feel you’ve reached your limit,” he explained. “I’m very happy to own your trust, Kathryn. It means everything to me. But my job is to show you pleasure like you’ve never experienced. I will push your body, and I will push your mind. There will be times when you may question my actions, but I will not hear those questions from your lips because you will not dare voice them. Your safe word is Porsche.”

  “Okay,” she said, her eyes darker than usual. The chill had left her skin, and her cheeks burned pink. “Porsche. I got it. Okay.”

  With a gentle nudge on her chin, he angled her face up and brought his mouth to hers. “Okay is officially my favorite word.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The car stopped before a brownstone structure. No neon lights. No flashing billboard. The only indication that they were at the correct address was the scrolled sign beside the door. It read CLUB PRIVÉ.

  Assuming the burly man in the dark coat was Jacques, she practiced silently mouthing his name in the privacy of the car.

  Stella came around to open the door. Marko stepped out and offered Kat his hand. She accepted it and, careful not to flash Jacques, she exited the vehicle.

  “Je vais attendre de votre appel, monsieur,” Stella said, lowering her gaze in obvious respect with her offer to await his call and instructions.

  “Merci, Stella.” Marko smiled down at the petite young woman.

  And in a very unexpected move, the pretty driver did the bise thing and peppered kisses on either side of Kat’s face. “S’amuser, Mademoiselle Kathryn.”

  Stunned by the intimate gesture and suggestion to enjoy, Kat barely remembered to smile back at the other woman. “Thank you, Stella.”

  “Welcome, Marko.” Jacques opened the door and motioned for them to proceed.

  “Jacques,” Marko replied with a nod and confirmed Kat’s assumption. He placed a hand at the small of her back, and led her inside the club.

  “Has Stella been driving for you long?” Kat asked, confusion over what had just happened spurring the curiosity.

  “No,” he replied flatly. “She’s been with me for two weeks.”

  He pushed past her and took her hand. “She is a friend who needed help. I gave her a job and an escape. Now, enough with the questions or there will be consequences to pay. We’ll check our coats to the right.”

  Her gaze darted to his face and then down to her almost bare chest. She didn’t voice the question.

  “Clarification,” he said, sliding a finger down her nose and circling her open mouth. He pushed between her lips, then stroked gently over her tongue. “We’ll check my coat and my good girl’s wrap.”

  Handing over the red cashmere, she released an audible breath. Her poor jacket must have gotten confused as well. Between the hard pounding of her heart and the sudden whooshing of air, it had dropped open and exposed her left breast. She shrieked and quickly yanked it into place, gripping it so tight that her fingers hurt.

  Marko laughed, removing his coat and placing her hat and gloves in one of the inside pockets. He then threaded the wrap through the sleeve and passed the articles jointly to the attendant. Still chuckling, he leaned down to kiss behind her ear. Slipping a warm palm inside the jacket, he cupped her breast and feathered his thumb over the peak. “Thank you. That’s a very pretty nipple, sweetheart. Tell me your safe word, Kathryn.”

  “Give me a sec,” she said. Her hands worked on securing one more of the buttons.

  “No,” he insisted and stilled her hand. “We are inside the club, and in order to continue, I need to know that you remember it.”

  At that moment, a very good-looking man, dressed in faded jeans and a tight fitting T-shirt, and a tall naked woman crossed their path. A fine, thin chain hung from gold nipple hooks and was linked to a second thin chain the man held between his fingers. He led her down a slate-colored hallway with sure steps. She followed quietly, her gaze lowered to his heels. He didn’t look back to check where she was, but he held out a hand and she took it. He turned and kissed her until soft moans filled the hall.

  Clearly, the tall woman was a submissive, but she had a serene and happy look on her face. Her perfect body was flushed with heat and her gait was more than willing. Having her body adorned with gold chains, kissed until her legs buckled, led by a handsome man to a pleasure chamber, had its appeal.

  Kat couldn’t stop looking at them.

  “Porsche,” she said, against Marko’s ear. “But I don’t want to leave.”

  “I know that, sweetheart.” He nipped up the curve of her ear, and played with her nipple between his thumb and finger. “When will you use your safe word?”

  “When I’m uncomfortable and have reached my limit. If it gets to be too much, and I want to stop or go home.”

  “Very good,” Marko said, removing his hand from her breast and rearranging the jacket. “We’ll start at the source of that lively rhythm. Feeling the beat helps welcome most newcomers to the scene. It’s a public space.”

  “It’s just a different kind of dance club. A little more explicit than others, but a club with lots of people,” she whispered to herself, her shoulders lifting in a tiny shrug. “Same music as the Marquee and Space.”

  “Whatever gets you through the night, sweetheart.” He took her hand and started down an electric-blue hallway. “We’ll sit at the bar.”

  Controlled by motion sensors, the automatic doors swept open. The room glowed and music roared. There were the neon lights to indicate the club scene and black lights to accentuate the white furnishings. A long bar curved around the dance floor for optimum access. There were more candy dishes full of condoms—condoms of all sizes and flavors, she noted on closer inspection—than drink glasses on the bar and end tables. Tall, backless bar stools, spaced in no apparent pattern, allowed for a lot of standing room.

  Most impressive was the ballet-style chrome barre that rimmed beneath the long surface. Patrons gripped it for support while they engaged in a variety of sexual acts.

  “I may be overdressed,” Kat said, glancing around the room. Women in corsets were most common. Some wore only lingerie. Others were completely nude.

  “You’re perfect,” Marko said, straddling a stool and pulling her up against him. He fit her between his thighs, with her back to his chest, and dropped a protective hand on her abdomen.

  Kat couldn’t look long enough to take in all the action. People in all states of dress, or undress, jammed the dance floor and lounge areas. Nearest to them was a couple squeezed onto an armchair. The woman, in only a demi bra and heels, bent over the arm and arched back
ward as her partner pounded into her. A second woman kneeled before them, alternating between lapping on the first woman’s breasts and sucking a man’s cock.

  Then there was the young man with a collar secured around his muscular neck. A leather pouch squeezed his scrotum and cock into a confined package. He was doubled over the back of a couch, a man’s cock in his mouth, a woman fucking his ass with a dildo, while a different man ate at her pussy.

  “She’s punishing him with the straitjacket,” Marko said. “The pressure doesn’t allow for an erection, yet he must perform.”

  A few feet further down, a groom held his bride on the bar, her gown around her waist, and her legs spread wide to accommodate the blond head of a bridesmaid. With every couple of bobs of the neatly coiffed head, the bridesmaid would pull back, finger the bride, then offer the groom a taste. A groomsman fell in line behind the bent-over bridesmaid. He lifted her skirt, and exposed a naked ass. Without warning, he drove into her and thrust her face up against the bride’s pussy.

  A man wearing a mask that concealed his identity brought himself to release on the bride’s face, and a second masked man came on her heaving chest. The groom snapped the strap holding the plunging A-line bodice in place and exposed the bride’s breasts, kneading the flesh with force. He rubbed the other men’s release on the pebbled nipples, then motioned for two more men to shoot their loads on her face. Cum, mixed with makeup, smeared over her face and dripped down her chin.

  Shuddering, Kat turned and glanced at the mirror over Marko’s shoulder. The romantic euphoria slipped away. There was sex everywhere. Women with men. Women with women. Men with men. Couples, threesomes, foursomes, and more.

  “She wants it. The bride is what is known as a cum slut. There is no judgment and there are fewer limits in the club,” Marko said, smoothing his palm down the side of her face. He looked into her eyes and trailed his thumb over her lips.

  Kat wanted to ask how often he partied here, and she wanted to know if he enjoyed participating in the orgies, but he’d said no questions. Did that mean no objections or argumentative questions? Or did it mean no questions of any sort?