BUTTERFLY: A Standalone Romantic Suspense

by Nelle L’Amour

  “Good, baby.” Baby. “Now unbutton my pants and pull down my fly.” It takes everything I have to pull my eyes off his chest, a vision of sculpted beauty. And his equally magnificent arms.

  Trembling and feverish, I fumble and finally manage to get the button through the hole. Without overthinking it, I pull down his fly. The hiss of the zipper sends a chill down my spine.

  “Butterfly, I want you to feel what you do to me.”

  Nuzzling my neck, he lowers his pants and guides my hands below his waist. Beneath his black silk briefs, I feel his arousal. A bulge so big, so heated, my fingertips burn. I long for him to be inside me, but trepidation creeps into my bloodstream. I don’t look down.

  “R-Roman, I’m a—”

  “Shh,” he says like he’s read my mind. He silences me with a tender kiss on my lips. Somehow, this loving gesture is like a balm, and I feel myself calm when he slips his hand between my thighs. And caresses my sex.

  “So hot, so wet. So perfect . . . ”

  So reverent. Melting, I let him haul me into him. He kisses me everywhere he can before his fingers move to my clit. Rubbing it. Circling it. Harder and faster.

  How could anything feel so good and unbearable at the same time? My back arches and I moan his name.

  “Let yourself go. Stay in the moment and set yourself free, my sweet beautiful butterfly.”

  I nod like a bobble head doll. My breaths come out in gasps and pants. One hand grips my lucky butterfly pendant, the other his hard-as-enamel cock. My orgasm takes flight.

  “Roman, I’m going to come!” I cry out.

  Then, just as my release takes hold of me, he slides a long finger inside me. I hear him hiss as it blissfully fills me. Still rubbing my clit vigorously, he pumps me slowly, methodically, each thrust going deeper, hitting a hypersensitive spot I never knew I had. Holding on to his shoulders, I begin to shriek.

  “Relax, baby. Relax,” he coaxes, his voice tender and encouraging.

  An intense fluttering sensation that feels like a swarm of butterflies inside me overtakes me. I start to convulse. Fall apart around his fingers—the one gliding in and out of me, the other circling my nub. I dig my fingernails into his biceps, crying out my release.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  CHAPTER 43

  Roman

  I’m delirious. I don’t know if I’m finger-fucking her or making love. Everything’s a blur. All I know is she’s so tight and so wet. And so fucking responsive. I thrust harder and faster, until she practically does a backbend in my arm and screams out her climax.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God!” The words are on replay. But I’m not done with her. I’ve only just begun, and next time, she’s going to scream out my name.

  I slide out my middle finger. Glistening, it’s coated with her juices. And in the dimly lit room, I can also see it’s coated crimson. Just as I thought. My butterfly’s a virgin. I suck my finger clean. Fuck, she tastes delicious. My cock throbs with need. But despite how painfully hard I am, how much I want to be inside her, it’s time to slow down my pace. To make her first time a beautiful one. A special one. And to savor all her sweetness. Holding her in my arms, I ask if she’s okay. With a faint smile, she nods and murmurs something that sounds like “uh-huh.” I grip the back of her neck and kiss her passionately again. She moans into my mouth and melts into me.

  Stepping out of my pants, which are puddled by my feet, I swoop her into my arms and lay her on my bed, flat on her back. How ravishing she looks, her delicate porcelain body splayed on my black satin sheets. Her face enraptured. Her hair fanned out. I mentally take a snapshot and am almost tempted to get my phone so I can have this image to look at forever. I follow her onto the mattress and sit back on my calves. Her heated gaze meets mine. Her chest rhythmically rises and falls with each breath, her exquisite breasts quivering. They’re even more exquisite than I imagined. The size of old-fashioned champagne saucers, as white as snow, the nipples pert and pink like a fine rosé.

  They call out to me. The need to have them in my mouth momentarily trumps my need to be inside her. Anchoring my hands on the bed, I lean over and put my lips to them, tenderly sucking and nipping. She squirms, the cutest erotically charged sounds gurgling in the back of her throat.

  “Oh, Roman! Please make love to me. I want you so badly.”

  She’s begging for me. So aroused by her own arousal and her need for me, I slip one hand between her trembling thighs, astonished by how hot and wet she still is.

  “Soon, baby. Soon. I need to taste more of you.” Cupping her breasts in my hands, I drag my tongue down her torso, along her flat abdomen, stopping to dip the tip in her belly button. An adorable little innie. My butterfly giggles, but she won’t be giggling for long. I’m so close to her pussy I can smell her libido. About to get my first taste of it, I am stopped by a question that pops into my head. So enraptured, I almost forgot to ask.

  “Butterfly, are you on birth control?”

  She nods. Thank fuck, because I’m not going to shroud my cock in a condom. There’s no need. It’s been ten long years since I’ve been with a woman.

  “Good,” I murmur as my mouth touches down on her pussy. Jesus Christ. She tastes so good. My head buried between her thighs, I suck and lick it, lapping up its goodness, before my tongue focuses solely on her clit, licking and flicking it.

  “More!” she moans.

  More. The best four-letter word a man could hear. My cock throbbing, I’ve got to be inside her. I can’t wait a minute longer.

  Sitting up, I scramble to take off my briefs. I finally free my cock.

  And a gasp that could wake up the dead fills the room.

  CHAPTER 44

  Sofi

  It’s so, so big! So beautiful! For a brief moment, I flash back to that pedicure I gave him months ago and remember thinking that his massive feet were a clue to his size. But it’s bigger than I ever imagined. Way bigger! At least ten thick inches of taut, swarthy manhood. My awe is cut short by a disquieting thought. Dear Lord! How will he fit inside me?

  “Butterfly, it’s going to be okay,” he whispers against me, picking up on my trepidation. “Way more than okay. Give me your hand.”

  In a state of semi-shock, I do as I’m asked and watch as he coats my right palm and digits with his deft tongue. Not missing an inch.

  “Now, wrap your hand around the base of my cock.”

  “Okay,” I stammer. My fingers barely manage to curl around his rigid length. I’m shocked not only by its girth, but also by how velvety hot it is.

  “Now rub it up and down. Coat it with your hand. All of it. From the base to the crown.”

  Again, I silently do as I’m asked, the heat of it singeing my palm as he hisses. I can feel it pulsing. The more I hold it, the more sublime it becomes. The more sublime he becomes. My fear gives way to insatiable desire. A fire ignites inside me.

  He smiles. “It’s time to spread your wings, Butterfly.”

  On my next rapid heartbeat, he flings my legs over his broad shoulders and then plants his hands on either side of my head, stretching out so he’s hovering over me. His eye shines in mine. His breath heats my cheeks. My heart hammers in my chest. Out of the blue, unable to stop myself, I blurt it out.

  “Roman, I’m a virgin!” I said it!

  A sweet smile lifts his lips. He tenderly traces my jaw. “I know, Sofi. You’re so beautiful. So pure. So special. And you belong only to me.”

  He knows. At his loving words, a single tear rolls down my cheek. He brushes it with the tip of his index finger and writes on my chest. One letter at a time.

  M-I-N-E.

  Then kisses the tear away.

  “I want you to relax, my beautiful butterfly. To trust me. It may hurt a bit at first, but you’ll get used to me. If it ever gets to be too much, I want you to tell me. Use a safe word. Can you come up with one?”

  “Luna,” I murmur, hoping I won’t have to say it.

  Another smi
le. “Now, baby, I want you to put the crown where you want it.”

  I know where I want it. Right where he wants it.

  With unbridled determination, I put the wide tip of his cock to my entrance and then he meets my hand and guides it inside. Slowly, reverently, one thick inch at a time.

  Clutching his shoulders, I can’t help but cry as he splits me apart. Scalding tears sear my cheeks. I bite down on my bottom lip to quell a sob.

  “Relax for me, baby,” he repeats. “I’m going to make it beautiful for you.”

  I bite down on my lip harder, digging my fingernails into his skin. I’m sure I’ve drawn blood.

  “Take all of me,” he coaxes. “You can do it.”

  He pushes in deeper, still slow and steady. “Jesus, Butterfly, you feel so fucking good. So tight. So wet.”

  All I need are his words of adoration to let my muscles relax and stretch to accommodate him. Yes, it still hurts, but not as much. I’m growing used to his size. He takes me to the hilt and then he slides slowly back down. He gets into a pattern of slow, deliberate strokes, and as he showers me with kisses along with words of encouragement and love, the pain grows delicious. And I can’t get enough of him. His allness. So this is what it’s like to make love. With a man who adores you. The man you love.

  “More,” I moan. “Please. Harder. Faster.”

  On cue, he picks up his pace, moving one hand back between my thighs, working my clit again. Arching my back, I begin to whimper, my fingers now tugging his mass of thick, silky hair. My eyes squeezed shut, I hear him panting, our bodies so entwined. In sync. Our ragged breaths mingling.

  Something’s happening inside me. It’s like I’m caught in a whirling dervish of butterflies. Lifting me higher and higher. Spiraling out of control. I’m having an out-of-body experience.

  “Oh, Roman . . . ” I cry out, unable to complete my sentence.

  “Stay with me, baby. Open your eyes and watch me come with you.”

  I do as he asks, and an unbearable lightness of being seizes me. I leave this planet as euphoric waves of ecstasy soar through my core. The expression on his face is one of impassioned determination. With one last forceful thrust, my beautiful Blue Morpho lets go, and I feel his hot release pour inside me. We fly together to heavens unknown. In a vortex of love. Returning to earth, I sob out his name and he collapses on top of me.

  Breathless, he whispers against my breasts.

  “Yes, my butterfly.”

  I wrap my arms around his sweat-slicked body and hold him tightly as his sobs join mine. The cathartic sobs, filled with joy and relief.

  As if the two of us have been lost and found.

  CHAPTER 45

  Roman

  I spoon her in my arms, her warm, lithe body against mine. She’s sleeping soundly.

  Tonight, I emerged from a dark chrysalis.

  I went flying. With my beautiful butterfly. Soaring into the stratosphere.

  She set my soul free. Gave it wings.

  I kiss Sofi’s hair, inhaling its fragrant essence.

  I love her so much.

  So fucking much. But I’ve yet to tell her.

  Against her neck, I whisper those three little words:

  “I love you.”

  She stirs, and I’m not sure if she’s heard them or not.

  Then, she smiles.

  Under Ava’s approving gaze, I draw her closer to me and close my eyes.

  CHAPTER 46

  Sofi

  Sex with Roman becomes part of our routine. He wants me as much as I want him. We can’t get enough of each other. Though I have no one to compare him to, he is the most generous and creative lover imaginable. As much a creative genius in the bedroom as he is in his studio. Always inventive, trying new positions, bringing me to new heights of ecstasy. And always telling me how beautiful I am though I’m always humbled by his words.

  There is a marked change in his demeanor. The mercurial, brooding man is gone, replaced by someone with a joie de vivre. Smiling and laughing. Socializing. Spending considerably more time in his atelier, working with Madame DuBois and her team to finalize his collection. My job is more or less done, but to keep him inspired, I stay by his side, offering my opinions and often serving as a fitting model. The couture gowns, most still works in progress in various stages of completion, are dazzling. Every time I’m asked to put one on, I’m transported. Though not as much as by his stolen kisses, which send me soaring each time. Or by our secret excursions to his bedroom upstairs.

  In my free time, I’ve gone back to painting canvases and have set up a small studio of my own in the corner of the atelier. Secretly, I’m working on painting a Blue Morpho, which I will surprise Roman with when it’s done.

  Only one person knows I’m sleeping with Roman. Madame DuBois. She knew it immediately—that morning after I lost my virginity. I almost missed my breakfast with her and I was walking oddly from the soreness between my legs. Then, Roman confirmed it when he showed up a few minutes later, his good eye twinkling, and singing opera in Italian no less! Later that day, she confided in me and told me Roman hadn’t come down for an early breakfast since Ava’s death nor sung like that. “Sofi, my chérie,” she said, taking my hand, “you are so good for him.” And she left it at that.

  My parents have no clue about my relationship with Roman. They know I’m still working for him and am happy at my job. So, so happy! I love my job! I love him! Eventually, I’m going to have to tell them, but I’m worried about how my dad will take it. He’s very protective of me, and I noticed how he didn’t warm to Roman when we went to their house for his birthday. Mom says he hasn’t been feeling well lately and I wonder if it has to do anything with his concern for me. Worried about him, I’ve been tempted to visit them again, but with the deadline to get the collection completed, there hasn’t been time. Everyone’s been working overtime, including on weekends.

  To my great delight and surprise, right before the July 4th weekend, Roman invites Vincent to the atelier to get a feel for the collection. True to his word, he’s going to let my dear friend be the principal photographer of his upcoming couture show and upload the photos on his website and other social media.

  “Man, these gowns are amazing,” he gushes while Roman pins a gown decorated with my hand-painted butterflies on me. “Where are you going to hold the show?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Roman replies, nipping the waist. “I need to figure that out soon.”

  “You should let Sofi be one of your models!”

  Standing on a foot-high fitting platform, I blush with embarrassment and almost lose my balance. “I. Don’t. Think. So.”

  Roman looks up at me adoringly, love and lust in his one eye. “Garcia, that’s a great idea. Sofi is perfect.” He pauses, the tone of his voice growing low and seductive. “So perfect in every way.”

  He gives Vincent a conspiratorial wink, and at that moment, I know my good friend knows about us. He shoots me a told-you-so grin, and I feel myself redden further. Like Roman, Vincent, with his keen photographer’s vision, can see more than most people do. More than meets the eye.

  “Hey, Sofe. The bet’s still on.”

  Roman gives him a puzzled look. “What are you talking about, Garcia?”

  Vincent gives him a wry smile. “You’ll see.”

  Roman looks at me.

  I simply shrug.

  July sails by. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been working for Roman for over four months. Despite our so-called “contract,” I’m not going anywhere. I’ve never been so happy in my life. So fulfilled. So in love.

  As the deadline to complete the collection nears, a new routine sets in. Fuck. Eat. Work. Repeat. As usual, my only distraction is Harper, now Mrs. Derek Plimpton III, and the proud occupant of a two-bedroom Sutton Place condominium, a wedding gift from their mega-wealthy parents. She’s in the process of decorating it, and I’ve been besieged by texts, showing me detailed pics of everything she’s picked out, from her rasp
berry velvet Hollywood Regency couch to the twenty-four-karat gold fringe she’s trimming the throw pillows with. She wants me to see the apartment and begs to have lunch with me. I finally give in and make a plan to see her while Roman is at his shrink appointment.

  The last time I saw Harper was at her wedding over Memorial Day weekend, so it’ll be an opportunity to catch up. Plus, I can give her a long overdue wedding present—an oil painting of a South American Painted Beauty, a stunning butterfly whose rare pink-hued wings will go well with her new décor. Vincent was kind enough to get it framed at Blick, where he still works part-time. I hope she likes it.

  Packing it in a shopping bag, I take the subway uptown. It takes me only fifteen minutes to get to the chi-chi restaurant she’s chosen and arrive there at exactly one. Glad to be rid of the oppressive August heat and humidity, I’m shown to the table she’s reserved. As I sit down, I get a text from her. She’s running twenty minutes late and tells me to order a drink. Some things never change, I think as I peruse a menu.

  “Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here.”

  The tart, haughty voice sends an icy shiver down my spine. I look up.

  It’s Kendra, dressed as usual in her designer duds and carrying an oversized leather bag. I haven’t seen her since the Bernard Altman meeting.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Meeting with another potential investor. In case you don’t know, Roman’s going to be out of business shortly if I don’t find someone . . . all thanks to you.”

  Her accusatory words rattle me. “What do you mean?”

  Her eyes grow venomous. “You’ve been nothing but a distraction to Roman. You cost him the Bernard Altman deal. It could have changed our lives.”

  “He made that decision. I had nothing to do with it. Except I encouraged him to follow his heart.”

  “His heart!” snorts Kendra. “As if he has one.”

  “Roman has one of the biggest hearts in the world!”