Dirty Player: An International Alphas Romance

by Lula Baxter

  He exhales, then shrugs, biting into his nectarine. “I’m just a simple man who likes riding his small boat along the French coast.”

  I laugh. “I find that hard to believe,” I mimic, then squint one eye at him. “What is it you do for a living, Alexandre?”

  He just raises his eyebrows provocatively. “If you had to guess, what would you say?”

  “Now you’re just obfuscating,” I say, then I tilt my head to consider him. “International man of intrigue? Top secret spy? Hired assassin?”

  “Hmm, she’s figured it out. My cover is blown,” he muses, making me laugh.

  “Seriously,” I prod. “I told you about myself, now it’s your turn. You said you spent the first thirteen years of your life in the States, then moved here? How’d that come about?”

  He raises his eyebrows at the shift in conversation, then looks off to the side. I get the feeling he’s deciding whether or not to tell me more. Perhaps I’ve landed on a touchy subject for him. I relax a bit when he brings his attention back to me with an amused smile.

  “My mother is from here, my father is American. They met when she was visiting Cannes and he was motorcycling through Europe. One look at her in a bikini is all it took, or so he told me.” His eyes wander down my body, which is decidedly sans bikini. I feel the self-conscious thrill of pleasure run through me.

  “That sounds romantic,” I say softly. “A chance meeting and instant attraction.”

  Alexandre laughs. “She made him work for it.” He leans on one elbow as he looks away again. “But by the time he left France, she was on the back of that motorcycle with him.”

  I sigh and lean back in my seat. “Definitely romantic.”

  “I’d say it was more the raging hormones of youth at play,” he replies with a cynical laugh. “But it worked out for them, which is lucky for me.”

  “So they’re living here now?”

  He doesn’t answer for a long moment, then answers. “My father is in the United States. My mother lives in France.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say. I hadn’t thought about them being divorced.

  “Don’t be,” he says with a small smile. “They had a happy life together while it lasted. I was blessed.”

  A change comes over his face and he leans in closer to me. I can smell the mix of fruit, sea salt, and some masculine musk that has me heady with confusion.

  “So tell me, Astrid. Did you come to Europe in the hopes of finding some dashing man to ride behind on the back of his motorcycle?” he teases.

  I smile. “Maybe it’s just my youthful, raging hormones at play.”

  He looks at me, reading every inch of my face, then kisses me.

  And I let him.

  I can taste the nectarine on his tongue as it slips past my lips, taking the salt they are covered in with it. It creates some intoxicating cocktail that has me greedily sucking on it. I close my eyes and soak up his flavor, loving the feel of his soft lips against mine.

  He pulls away suddenly, leaving me groaning in frustration. My eyes fly open and I stare at him questioningly.

  “What?” I say breathlessly.

  “I want to taste you, Astrid. Every part of you.”

  I exhale a long, slow breath. Then my lungs suck in air, trying to keep up with the suddenly rapid pace of my beating heart.

  He nods his head toward the bench behind us. “Lie down back there.”

  Alexandre’s voice has me hypnotized. Or maybe it is just my “raging hormones of youth.” Either way, I eagerly obey him, pulling myself out of the seat to settle on the bench behind us.

  “Face me,” he orders, as soon as I sit down on the cushion. “Spread your legs open.”

  I actually do it. Everything I tried hiding before is revealed as I slide my ass to the edge of the bench as far as it will go and lean back against the backrest. I shiver as I feel the warm air hit the wetness that lies between my thighs. It only causes my juices to flow that much stronger. I lie back and spread open wider for him, enjoying the thrill of it.

  I stare up at him, reading the hunger in his eyes. Even if that weren’t evident, his proudly erect cock tells me all I need to know. His wanting me makes me want him, in turn. It makes me want to do any and everything he tells me to do.

  It’s so wrong.

  Chapter Eight

  Alexandre

  I can still taste the mixture of nectarine, plum, and Astrid’s lips on my mouth. I stare down at her laid bare before me, spread open to give me even more of a taste.

  I grab the ripest nectarine from the bag and carry it over to her.

  “Bite,” I order, holding it before her lips.

  Her eyes stay focused on mine as she leans her head forward to take one hesitant bite.

  “More,” I growl.

  This time the bite is brazen, taking nearly half the flesh away between her teeth. The juice bursts under her fierce bite and falls in drizzles down her chin the way I wanted it to. Not once do her eyes leave mine.

  I break the gaze to watch the juice flow down her chin onto her chest in drips.

  “Good girl,” I murmur.

  She reaches in for another bite, but I pull the half-eaten fruit away with a cluck of the tongue. She moans in frustration, lifting herself away to follow the fruit. It adds even more acceleration to the blood flow to my cock.

  “Lean back,” I order.

  Her eyes flit back up to mine with guilty sheepishness, then she lowers them and leans back. They flash open wide when I bring the fleshy part of the exposed fruit to one nipple.

  “Unh!” she gasps, arching her back as the sticky wetness hits her already hardened nub.

  I smile as I caress it in lazy circles, enjoying the way the sun glistens against the wet, pink circle. Her nipples are already starting to fade into the rest of her tanned skin underneath the rays that have been hitting her most of the day.

  “Do you like that?”

  All she can do is sigh out some incoherent answer. I can feel the tremble of her body through the fruit as the slippery nectarine hits every nerve ending. Her chest rises and falls rapidly underneath my hand. Of course she likes it.

  I move to the second breast, matching the coat of nectar with the first breast. When both are slick, wet peaks, glimmering in the Riviera sun, I take a moment to admire my work. Then I lean in, following the path that the fruit has taken. Her breast is firm, yet yielding, under my mouth as I kiss up the mix of juice and salt water and sweat. When my lips encircle the nipple, it’s so hard that it feels like a pebble in my mouth. I dart my tongue around it, enjoying the way her body shudders underneath me.

  “Alexandre,” she whimpers.

  I don’t stop, moving on to the second breast to lick that one clean as well. When I’ve finished torturing her with my tongue, I pull away and look at her. Astrid just stares back with anxious anticipation.

  A smile comes to my face again as I bring the fruit down between her breasts. Slowly I trace a line down the middle, going over the slight rise of her diaphragm, then dipping down into the concave of her stomach, leaving a tiny pool in her navel. My tongue follows every movement, stopping for a moment to slurp the nectar where it has puddled in the middle.

  “Don’t!” she laughs, her body flinching with ticklish delight under my mouth.

  From there, I work my way down. She closes her eyes and her hips rise almost imperceptibly as I slide out of the curve of her stomach and over the slight crest above her pussy, my mouth kissing its way down to follow the trail left by the nectarine. Just before I cross the threshold where her lips join, I stop and pull the fruit away.

  Astrid’s eyes flash open, giving me a stare that is fierce and almost full of anger. I just chuckle, watching that reaction.

  “Patience, kitten,” I chastise.

  Her chest and stomach rise and fall, causing the remaining juice to flow in fits and starts, outlining each perfect curve. I take a bite of the fruit, stroking myself to ease the building tension that threatens
to erupt at any moment. Her eyes follow my hand and I can see the fascination and lust in her eyes.

  “My god, you’re perfect,” I say, just before falling to my knees between hers. I let the bite of fruit in my mouth turn to pulp then dive into her. Her scent is an intoxicating mix of animal desire and sea salt. Her taste is even more delightful.

  “Alexan—!” She gasps as my lips surround the hood of her clitoris, sucking gently. My tongue glides through the nectarine to search out the tiny nub underneath.

  This time there’s a cry of pleasure when I finally find it. I let it play, darting in and out, trailing small circles around it, and flicking rapidly. I suck at the nectarine pulp, swallowing hungrily as it mixes with her natural juices. The effect only intensifies the sensation and by now, Astrid’s hands are in my hair, grabbing on tightly, as though letting go would cause her to sink into an abyss.

  “Oh god, don’t stop, don’t stop…I’ve never felt so—oh!”

  She bucks her hips up to my face, smothering all of my five senses: touch, taste, smell, sight. I swear, I can even hear the heavy pace of her heartbeat as the blood rushes through the veins and arteries of her thighs clamped against my ears.

  I chance bringing a finger up to pierce the barrier that I’ve learned no man has trespassed, at least not in the biblical sense. I’m rewarded with a tiny mewl of pain above me, which sends such a wave of carnal rage through me that I groan with the need to hear it again—when I eventually use another body part to break it in. Fuck whatever non-boyfriend Astrid has back home in Boston, I’m going to be the first to claim this prize.

  She doesn’t stop me from proceeding even though I can sense the hesitation in the tautness of her body.

  “Alexandre,” she whispers and it’s filled with an ambivalence that warns me not to go too far, but begs for more.

  I pull my head away to read her eyes. The craving burns in her blue irises, but I can see the cloud of doubt worrying them.

  “I…I’ve never—”

  “I know,” I say, hushing her. I ease the finger in further, feeling the tight wetness engulf it. Fuck, she’s so tight it makes me wonder how I’d even fit when I do finally take her virginity, and I fully plan on doing just that.

  For now, I’m content watching her as I curl my finger up, finding just the right spot that makes her break eye contact with me and release a moan of pleasure.

  I furiously stroke myself now, imagining it’s the long shaft in my hand that’s causing her to react this way. I press my finger along the walls of her pussy, massaging that sweet spot. I can actually feel the coming orgasmic wave and when it does finally crash, she clenches so tight around my finger that it’s almost painful.

  “Oh god! Ohhh…” she screams out into the air, her back arching so hard it looks like she’s possessed by some demon. She falls back down with a whimper, whispering my name. “Alexandre….”

  That’s enough to push me over the edge and I feel the hot stream of cum erupt from the head of my cock and dribble down my fist.

  Any regret about not leaving her at the bar is gone.

  Now, my only regret is that she’s the daughter of Edgar Hawthorne.

  Chapter Nine

  Astrid

  “That was amazing,” I say, smiling down at him while my body recovers.

  Every muscle feels like it’s been run through the wringer, and in a way, I suppose they have. There are still aftershocks of pleasure firing through my body as I come down off that intense orgasm.

  I’ve gone past first base with men, but none of them have managed to find their way past awkward fumbling to achieve what Alexandre just did.

  “How did you know I was…?” Suddenly, I’m embarrassed to admit it.

  “A virgin?” he finishes for me as he rises back to his feet.

  “Yes,” I say tilting my head and biting my lip.

  “You wear it.”

  My head snaps straight up. “It’s that obvious?”

  “When you know women, you can tell.”

  “And how many women have you known?” I ask. I try to keep my voice in a casually teasing tone, but even I can hear the tinge of jealousy there.

  As though you have any right to be jealous.

  I dart my eyes away to avoid revealing any of the mild guilt I feel. I don’t care about Bruce, heaven knows he’s probably indulging in his own bit of fun back in Boston. Ours will be the very definition of a marriage of convenience, but I do feel wrong for having colored the truth in what I told Alexandre.

  Alexandre’s chuckle brings my gaze back to him. What is that look? Did he note the jealousy? Was he reading my mind about Bruce?

  Instead of giving me something to indicate an answer, he nods his head back toward the front of the boat. “We should get going. People might begin to wonder where you are.”

  The sun has made its way well into the western part of the sky. It sends a sudden rush of disappointment through my veins. Is that it, the end of our time together? Just like that?

  It isn’t just what happened, though that’s enough to have a starring role in my memories of this entire “Grand Tour.” I was actually having fun with Alexandre. For an older man, he’s so easygoing, but still exciting.

  Naturally, my mind wanders back to Bruce, who is all about appearances. He’d smash in anyone’s face if he even suspected they were poking fun at him. When I first met him, I was young and stupid enough to be impressed by his macho aggression and the respect, as well as the admiration, everyone seemed to show him. By the time the caveman mentality got old, and I learned all of the respect he garnered was due to the Campbell name, breaking up with him was unthinkable.

  I watch Alexandre pull up his jeans, not bothering to put on his underwear first. A smile creeps onto my face. Every part of him is tanned and toned. He’s muscular in that atheistic way that comes from working one’s body. It’s a stark contrast to the sort of beefcake build Bruce has from pumping iron every free moment he has. I swear he loves that stupid gym of his more than anything.

  I sit for a moment longer, enjoying the feel of being naked in the outdoors, now that I’m well past my initial hesitations about it. I wonder if I’ll ever have the opportunity again. I sigh and stand up to search out my bra and underwear. I have no intention of going back commando. It’s bad enough that I’ve disappeared for the day, I’m not about to add fuel to the fire by showing up with my bra and underwear stuffed into my purse. I smile at the reaction Mom would have.

  “Something funny?” Alexandre asks, glimpsing my expression.

  “Nothing,” I muse, as I slip into my panties. “I was just thinking about how my mother is going to react when I get back.”

  “She wouldn’t approve?”

  “No, for various reasons.” I won’t go into at least one of those reasons. Alexandre still has no idea that, at least for the day, he is the “other man.”

  “And your father? He would disapprove too?”

  “Oh he’s not here, but he’s dropping in to visit us today.”

  “A special occasion?”

  “No, just a visit, which is always nice,” I smile again as I think about it, hooking my bra behind my back. “He’s…well, he’s more free-spirited than my mother. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t done something like this long ago. Not the French Riviera, of course. He couldn’t have afforded to fly out here back then.”

  I pause to consider that. I’m lucky. I’ve got two loving parents. I’m going to a fine school. At least for the past several years, I’ve never wanted for anything. Even Bruce isn’t so terrible. Yes, he has his…issues, but there are worse men to be married to, I suppose.

  I find my focus when I realize that Alexandre is studying me. “A lot must have changed for him if he can send his daughter to Monaco and then come visit you?”

  I smile cynically. “This trip isn’t on him,” I say ambiguously. “But yes, I suppose these days a trip to Monaco isn’t a big deal.”

  “What does he do for a living
?”

  “He’s a scientist,” I say proudly. “Biochemistry. He started his own company when I was much younger and now….” I let the rest hang in the air as I figure out how to finish. “It’s doing well. In fact, he’s about to get funding to expand and launch a new product, maybe even go public.”

  “What sort of company?”

  “Pharmaceuticals mostly. Saving the world and all that jazz,” I say, using the same line he always uses with me, knowing most of what he does goes way over my artistic head. “He has a lot to be proud of.”

  A strange, soft sort of smile touches Alexandre’s lips. “You like him very much don’t you? He seems like a good man.”

  “The best,” I say, actually feeling myself smiling proudly.

  His smile brightens superficially and he exhales. “Well, we don’t want to leave him waiting. Let’s get you back so you don’t smell like nectarines and sea water.” He winks as he says it.

  Earlier today, I would have blushed at the reference, now I just laugh.

  He begins pulling up the anchor and I decide to risk turning on my phone. When I find my purse, I pull it out and as soon as it comes to life I see the series of text message balloons crowding my screen, all in the variety of “where are you?”

  I think about texting my mother back, before realizing that will only result in the phone call I was hoping to avoid. Best to just pull the band-aid right off. I press her number and she picks up after the first ring.

  “Good grief, Astrid, I’ve nearly had the police out searching for you! How could you just—?”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I say in the most reassuring tone I can muster. “I just wanted some time to myself.”

  “Who was that man?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering that I did indeed send her a picture of Alexandre. In retrospect, it feels like a dumb idea. Of course, when I first sent it I had no idea if he was a bad guy or not. Having spent the day with him, growing more than comfortable in his presence, I wonder how I could have ever thought that.