Dirty Player: An International Alphas Romance

by Lula Baxter

  “This feels almost as good as the first time,” he groans. “You’re so goddamned tight, Astrid. Talk to me, tell me how it feels. Tell me what you want.”

  It’s so filthy. So…dirty. I love it!

  “Harder. Pretend it’s your cock. Fuck me like you mean it, Alexandre.” It comes out like verbal smut, escaping a deep part of my brain I’ve never tapped into before. Maybe it’s the years of being the celibate little girlfriend, obediently “waiting until marriage” like some Victorian debutant, that has me wanting to be as obscene as possible.

  I hear the growl deep in his throat. “That fucking mouth on you. I should punish you for speaking to me like that. Maybe use my dick in your ass instead.”

  I think about the huge mass currently inside of me and wonder what it would be like in my ass instead. A shudder of terror and excitement runs through me at the idea of it. It inadvertently causes my hips to move faster, like a piston going at turbo speed. Alexander moves in time with me, both hands working just as fast to stimulate my ass and clit.

  That’s when I feel it, that same glorious swell inside of me that was so surprising the first time. I can already tell this one is going to be even more fierce.

  “Alexandre…oh…oh god. I’m coming!” I cry out as a shuddering orgasm runs through me.

  At this point, the flight attendants and even the pilots would have to be deaf not to have heard me. I don’t care. Let the whole damn world know how much this amazing, powerful, sexy-as-hell man is owning my ass. Literally. I actually laugh as I come, and come hard.

  I hear Alexandre groan as my pussy pulsates around his thick mass, milking it. His fingers pop out of my ass and the other hand pulls away from my clit so he can grip my hips.

  “My turn,” he growls, as he forces me back, impaling me with his huge shaft. He’s so fierce I nearly lose my grip on the sofa. I grunt in surprise and pain, but something about his ferocity turns me on. Alexandre literally uses me like a fuck-doll, my hips and pussy the inanimate object of his lust.

  “Oh…god…Astrid,” is all he can manage, in one guttural groan, before he sinks into me one last time and erupts inside of me.

  When he’s finished, he gently releases his grip on my hips and falls onto the couch next to me. I can feel the gaping hole he leaves. It’s almost as strange a feeling as when he entered.

  The fact that he’s still clothed, only his limp penis exposed through his open fly, is a glaring contrast to the fact that I’m still naked from both the waist up and the waist down. I’m on my knees, afraid to stain the couch with my wetness, but Alexandre pulls me in to his side.

  “The couch!” I exclaim, as my ass lands on the seat next to him. I’m still soaking wet and now the seat underneath me is as well.

  “Fuck the couch, Astrid. Let’s leave our mark on this whole fucking plane. When we land, I want them to know how thoroughly I fucked you.”

  He punctuates it with his mouth against mine, fucking it as fiercely as he just fucked every part of me. As his tongue plays with mine, I feel the heat surge in me again. I’m so hot for him, I could let him play with every hole, every part of me for the whole damn plane ride.

  I’m so damn glad I said yes.

  We’re seated back at the table again, awaiting dinner, as though nothing happened. The only thing giving us away are the surreptitious smiles we toss at each other. We’ve both cleaned up, and made ourselves somewhat presentable again, even though my dress is a wrinkled mess.

  As it turns out, one of our flight attendants is a trained chef and we’re being served our first course of “butternut squash soup with truffle cream sauce.” She doesn’t give away even a hint of having a clue what went on in this cabin just half an hour ago. I sip my glass of white wine to keep from giggling like a naughty schoolgirl.

  I can still feel Alexandre inside of me, his hands clasped around my hips as he grips them tight, his hot breath above me he slams into me. I clasp my legs together and bite my lip, but a soft moan still escapes from my mouth.

  Alexandre raises one chastising eyebrow at me, but I see the hint of a smile on his face. He knows exactly where my mind is.

  “So, is that what the next month is going to be like?” I ask as soon as the attendant leaves us.

  Alexandre laughs. “Well, I didn’t exactly put it on the itinerary, but I’m sure I can shuffle some things around to accommodate it.”

  We both laugh and fall into that easy comfort we had back in New York while eating pizza.

  “I have a question.” Alexandre says it casually, like he’s just trying to make conversation, but there’s something in the way his eyes glance over to me while he eats his soup. “If you could do anything in life, not just this month, but forever, what would it be?”

  I blink at the sudden shift in conversation. The question itself is innocuous enough, but I’m not under any illusion he’s just making small talk. When he first asked something similar back in New York, I was so startled that someone actually thought to ask what I wanted, I didn’t know what to say.

  “Anything?” I repeat, looking out the window to ponder that.

  “Think about what you wanted to do before you met Bruce Campbell.”

  Something about that draws the curtains back and I can see clearly all the hopes and dreams and passions and interests that consumed me before I was the future Mrs. Campbell. I feel a smile come to my face.

  “Art. I thought about being an art history professor. Early twentieth century specifically. There are so many different styles and schools from that period. Expressionism. Cubism. It’s really when abstract art had its start. Then, of course, who could hate anything that came about during mid-century? I know a lot of people think Pollock and Warhol are…”

  I stop when I realize I’m rambling. My eyes come back to Alexandre who is giving me a strange look, serious and searching, almost sad.

  “I hate that they dimmed this light in you.”

  When he says it, I feel it hit me in the gut like a punch. I hadn’t even thought much about art in a long time. Everything had centered around Bruce and making the Campbells happy. I would have been able to sit on the board of an art foundation—nothing too radical, of course—or maybe serve as a regent in a museum—none of the more provocative ones, naturally. The invisible constraints had tightened around my dreams like a boa constrictor, slowly sucking the air out of them until they all but died.

  “I guess I have more to think about than I thought,” I say softly.

  Alexandre leans in, his green eyes blazing. “You have no idea how beautiful you are when you show your passion about something. I want to see more of it. I want to be the one to create that light in you, Astrid. I want to be the one to make you shine brighter than the sun, the one to make you come alive again, not just your body, but your mind, your soul, every part of you.”

  I feel my heart rate gradually increase. With each beat, I feel it growing lighter and lighter until I think it might lift me right out of my seat.

  Even though I’ve promised myself to Alexandre for a month, I’ve never felt so free.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Alexandre

  Watching Astrid discuss art, even as a stream of consciousness ramble, was like watching a masterpiece being created. A single musical note or brushstroke that doesn’t sound or look like much yet, but has the promise of something special when it’s finally complete.

  That’s when I realize why I really wanted her for a month. It wasn’t to get her out of my system, it was to allow her to fully infiltrate it.

  In my world, cynicism rules supreme. Nothing is ever done without an agenda, whether that’s outbidding some other multi-millionaire on an acquisition or giving an obscene amount to charity simply to show your net worth. The only passion lies in the short-lived thrill of besting your opponent.

  From day one, Astrid has been a breath of fresh air. Everything is an adventure to her, thrilling for the sake of being daring. Even when she found out how wealthy I was, the
re was no change in how she treated me. I think back to the pizza we shared and smile to myself.

  Something about these thoughts nags at the back of my head, trying to tell me something. Before I can mentally investigate it further, our next course arrives.

  “Stuffed mushroom with escargot and fresh herb butter,” the attendant announces, placing the small dishes in front of both of us.

  “Speaking of passions, I suppose I also have you to thank for helping my mother’s scholarship foundation? The Ardant necklace was a nice touch. You should have seen my mother’s face,” she adds, before taking a bite of her mushrooms. “Mmm, this is delicious!”

  “And what makes you think I’m her anonymous benefactor?” I pose, before taking my own bite. It is quite good.

  “Okay, go ahead and play Secret Santa,” she says with a smirk. She sticks her fork into another mushroom, then starts laughing.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t even know why I’m laughing, it certainly isn’t funny.”

  “Now you have to tell me.”

  Her eyes roll up to mine as she chews, then she smiles and shakes her head before swallowing. “It’s just that when you mentioned anonymous benefactor, it made me think of something else. The thing that started this whole mess.”

  I instantly feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “What was that?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral as I fork a mushroom to eat.

  “He called himself Lord Wilmore. The person who originally sent the photos to my parents, Bruce, and me. The photos you probably saw on Twitter. I had to look up the name on Google to remember who it was, even though I’ve read the book before. The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas? Have you read it?”

  “At some point, but I don’t think I remember all the details.” It’s actually my favorite book, one that resonates with every ounce of my being. It has nothing to do with the name that I share with the author, but the similar life story I share with the protagonist. A dead father, betrayed by those he should have been able to trust. A son, hell-bent on revenge.

  “Well, Lord Wilmore is the identity that the so-called hero assumes to practice random acts of kindness.”

  Something in her voice irks me. “So-called hero?”

  “Let’s just say I had plenty of time to actually re-read the entire book once I got back home. I get that Edmond, the main character, was betrayed and lost everything, but…some of what he did I don’t completely agree with. There’s something to the saying, living well is the best revenge. But I suppose if he had just moved on with his life there would have been no story to tell.”

  “Some might say it’s more a story about justice than revenge.”

  “But look how many lives were destroyed by the ripple effect.”

  I feel the righteousness building inside of me. For some reason, Astrid’s criticism of Edmond Dantès feels like a personal attack. I let it subside. I have no intention of giving her any hint that I had anything to do with the “whole mess” she was referring to.

  “Besides, that doesn’t even begin to explain why this person would pick that name out of all the possible aliases the Count used. Did he think he was actually helping anyone?”

  “Maybe he thought he was doing you, your parents, or even Bruce a favor?” I pose, again trying to sound as neutral as possible.

  “Trust me, it was no favor,” she says with a sarcastic laugh before she eats another mushroom.

  “But you’re free now. He helped save you from a loveless marriage.”

  “And at what cost? Again…ripple effect. If Bruce hadn’t shown Conrad those photos, he never would have posted them on Twitter. My parents practically got on their knees to keep me from marrying Bruce when they saw them. And there I was caught in the middle of it all.”

  “With a way out, it would seem.”

  “I was perfectly fine marrying Bruce.”

  “Were you?” I say tersely, finally letting my anger seep through.

  Astrid inhales deeply, seemingly feeling her own bit of self-righteousness set in. “Well…even if I wasn’t, it was my choice to make. Lord Wilmore took that away from me.”

  I want to say more. Frankly, I want to reach across the table and shake some sense into her. But I know that the more I say at this point, the more suspicious it will look. In time, Astrid will see that I did the right thing.

  That’s when it hits me, this should be the point I actually tell her the truth. I stare across the table at her as she finishes her mushrooms. Her cheeks are still pink with indignation. She stabs a mushroom fiercely and shoves it in her mouth, chewing angrily.

  Telling her now would mean I’d lose her forever.

  And I don’t lose.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Astrid

  “Excuse me, mademoiselle, we are beginning our descent. If you would please buckle your seatbelt?”

  My eyes blink open from the light slumber I’ve fallen into. After that amazing meal and plenty of wine, I just completely nodded off. It doesn’t hurt that these chairs are more comfortable than some beds I’ve slept in.

  Alexandre stares at me from across the table with a smile on his lips. Did he get any sleep at all? After our heated little back and forth about Lord Wilmore, we cooled off and focused on more light-hearted conversation, enjoying the last of the meal in peace.

  Now, I feel the excitement set in and I quickly look out of the windows as I buckle my seatbelt. The last time I looked, we were still over water and dusk was setting in. Now it’s completely dark outside, so all I see are hundreds of tiny dots of light, which still tell me nothing.

  “So do I at least get a hint now?” I ask.

  Alexandre just smiles even broader. “I suppose I can give you that much. We’re going back to where it all started.”

  “Monte Carlo?”

  He shrugs. “My second home. I want you to experience it the way it should be experienced.”

  I smile, feeling giddy for some reason. Alexandre is introducing another personal side of himself to me. The pizza dinner seems to have nudged open some door that he’s now opening wider for me.

  When we land, another shiny black car is there waiting for us. I walk out ahead of Alexandre who is close on my heels. As soon as he reaches the ground behind me, one long arm reaches out to take mine and pull me back into him. He holds me close, not caring about the driver, flight attendants or pilots who can see us even in the moonlight.

  “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with me, Astrid.” Those green eyes are as dreamy as ever, even in the darkness, as he gazes down at me. A girl could positively get lost in them.

  “I know I will,” I say, smiling up at him.

  When he leans in to kiss me it feels positively romantic, like something from one of those lovey-dovey commercials on TV. I remember my first time here, which seems like a century ago. I thought visiting Monte Carlo would feel like being in a movie from the golden age of Hollywood, or an adventure like a James Bond film. What I got was so much more.

  I think this time around might be even better.

  In the car, he holds my hand as we drive through the same winding streets I walked down on that day when I first met him. Eventually, I can see we are headed to the marina again. It’s night time and the same bars that were empty when I first saw him on that motorcycle are now packed with partiers and drinkers. Loud music drowns out everything. It’s a far different scene.

  “Are we going back on your little boat?” I ask with a laugh.

  “Not quite,” Alexandre says with a mysterious smile.

  This time he leads me past the smaller boats until we’re at the larger yachts, which really do look like floating mansions this up close and personal.

  He leads me up to a sleek black and gray yacht and I feel my heart both beat faster and drop at the same time. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this isn’t it. I can’t help but compare it to my first boat ride with Alexandre. That was when we w
ere still two strangers, neither trying to impress the other, just having fun.

  I have a feeling the door Alexandre has opened up to me is only allowing me access to a certain part of himself. It’s the one he thinks I want to see, instead of the real him, raw and unfiltered. Still, I won’t ruin his surprise by showing my disappointment. This is all obviously meant to win me over—not that he needs it at this point—so I’m happy to indulge him.

  “This is where we’ll spend the first week,” he informs me, as if he’s my own personal travel agent. “We’ll visit every little beach and cove in the French Riviera.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I say, putting a smile on my face.

  “Let me give you a tour of the boat.”

  While our bags are loaded, he shows me around. When I referred to these boats as floating mansions, I was mostly being facetious. But after seeing the three spacious bedrooms, movie theater, eight-person dining table, multiple sun decks, and so much more, all decorated as luxuriously as the finest hotel, I can see that my label was more than accurate.

  By the time he’s done showing me around, we’ve departed from the marina. We’re in a large open room, with a wide, circular couch and practically a 360-degree view of the Mediterranean, which looks just as gorgeous at night as it does during the day. I always was a sucker for a terrific view. The lighting in here is romantically low and I’m standing there looking out of the windows in awe as Alexandre walks over to the cabinets behind me.

  “I thought we could celebrate first,” he says. I turn to see him walking over with a bottle of champagne and two flutes.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I say with a smile.

  “Maybe just a little lubricated,” he says with a grin.

  He hands me the glasses and opens the bottle with a loud pop. I laugh, suddenly enjoying the moment again. Even if this wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, I’m with Alexandre. Just being around him makes any experience more exciting.