Automatically, I lower my hand on it, relishing the feel of him, how hot and rigid and soft he is. There’s a warm flutter of want between my legs, even though I’m a bit sore everywhere from yesterday.
“This isn’t a dream, is it?” he asks as I gently start stroking him, my palm sliding over him, my grip loose to start.
“I wouldn’t think so,” I tell him. “Unless I’m sleepwalking.”
“Sleep fucking, that’s a new one,” he muses, and I tighten my grip, causing his eyes to roll back in his head, his mouth to drop open and let out a moan. When he opens his eyes, his brow is knit together in stark determination to have me.
I don’t have time to react. He’s on me in a second, flipping me over so that I’m on my back and he’s on top of me, his cock pressed against my pelvis, his hands taking hold of my wrists and pinning them above my head. I watch the strain in his biceps as he holds me, transferring the weight to one hand as he reaches down with his other and slips his stiff cock between my legs.
“Condom?” I ask. It was a major momentary lapse of judgment that we didn’t use one the first time we slept together. Out there on the beach, it was like all logic and reason went out the window, and I was a slave to my desire for the very first time in my life.
He pauses and nods, reaching over into his bedside table to take one out. He slowly slips it on, and I enjoy watching him do it until he’s ready.
I smile up at him in anticipation, spreading my legs for easier access.
“No,” he says, bringing his mouth to the spot below my ear and giving it a long lick, causing me to erupt in an explosion of shivers. “Keep your legs together.”
I do as he says, and when he tries to push his cock inside me, the tension between my legs only makes me throb and ache harder for him.
“Oh.” I let out a small gasp as he slowly, deliberately pushes in. I feel myself trying to expand, but the harder I hold my legs together, the tighter it is. “I don’t know if you’ll fit this way,” I say, my heart starting to whoosh loudly in my ears.
“I appreciate the compliment,” he says, his lips coasting down my neck. “But the fun part is trying. Just breathe.”
So I do, willing myself to relax while still making it tight for us. He’s able to push in deeper, though the fact that he has to go so slowly is making him shake with tension, his neck corded, his jaw grinding together as he drives in to the hilt.
“Fuck,” he swears, hair falling over his eyes. Whatever innocent Pascal I saw this morning is gone and has been replaced by someone wild, primal, raw, and I’m trapped in his feral stare. “You feel so fucking good, Gabrielle. I am all but lost to you.” He slowly pulls back out with a groan, but his eye contact doesn’t break. “I’m not sure I want to be found.”
“I don’t either,” I tell him, and as he pushes in again, I have to close my eyes. The intimacy is too much, and it feels too good. My proverbial heart is starting to rise and fall with his words, with his look, his touch. I am losing myself to him, body and soul, and it scares me that I may never get the me I know back.
What if I belong to him forever?
Would it be so bad? To be fucked like this? To be wooed like this? To have such sweet words from a bad man? If he’s only good to me, does that make him good?
“Stop thinking,” he says roughly, and when I open my eyes, his face is inches from mine. He’s searching me with a raw intensity, determined to find something. I just don’t know what he’s looking for. “Stop thinking and start feeling. I know you feel, Gabrielle. I know you feel me.” He slides his hand over my clit, which sends sparks out along my nerves, like I’m constructed of live wires. “Feel me.”
“I feel you,” I say through a groan, my voice throaty, breathy, lost in his touch.
“Don’t stop.”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
He pistons his hips into me harder, a bit faster, the force causing my legs to come apart. His grip tightens around my wrist, and he takes his hand off my clit for a moment to slap my breasts as they bounce up and down. “Keep them together,” he grinds out. “Feel me.”
I feel nothing but him.
Every stroke of his cock as it drags along each sensitive spot inside, the feel of his hips as they slam into me, the way his hand feels around my wrist, keeping me bound and in place. I would have thought this type of sex would have triggered me in some way, but with Pascal it’s cathartic. It’s something that’s real, about bringing me pleasure, making me feel wanted, needed, desired.
Respected.
“Come on, little sprite,” he says, placing his lips on mine in a quick and messy kiss. “I want to hear you come undone.”
I moan into him, the sound becoming louder, wilder as he starts stroking me again, fingers slick and slippery against me.
I’m coming.
“Oh God!” I scream, the orgasm taking hold of me, making me feel open and new. My head goes back, my back arches, my legs fall apart as it rides through me, wave after wave. “Fuck, fuck . . . oh, Pascal . . .” I trail off, unable to keep the words from coming from my mouth.
“God, that’s so hot,” he says, and he starts driving in deeper, deeper, every muscle in his body shaking from the exertion. “I’m going to come just from you saying my name.”
And he does come, driving in so deep that I can’t breathe and I cry out, my body still throbbing around his cock as he shoots into the condom. He grunts out a string of expletives as his body finishes, and then he slows, sweat dripping off his body onto mine, his abs straining.
“Jesus,” he swears, pumping once, twice, and then nearly collapsing on me. His sweaty chest is rising and falling against my breasts, and he brushes the hair off my face, staring at me with a sated expression. “Tell me I’m yours. I need to know it. I need to feel it.”
I don’t hesitate, though maybe I should.
The words just come out.
“I’m yours.”
“I don’t want to go home,” I say quietly, staring at the glowing blue pool, the dark sky with endless stars above us.
Pascal reaches for the wine from the small table in between us and nods, having a sip of the cold, crisp chardonnay. “I know.”
It’s ten o’clock at night, and we’re lying on the lounge chairs by the small lap pool at the side of the house. We’re covered up by towels from the slight chill that comes off the sea some evenings, but we’re both completely naked underneath. We’ve been here in Mallorca one week now, and we’ve lapsed into just being naked around each other all the time. It’s absolutely freeing, being able to do this with someone, plus we’re screwing twenty-four hours a day. It’s just a lot more efficient this way when you don’t have to worry about taking off clothes and putting them back on again.
Tomorrow morning, we go back home.
Home, even though it’s not my home.
I’ve been dreading it. It’s been a wonderful cocoon being here with Pascal. My nightmares have ceased; I’ve even been able to sleep. I know the life we’ve built here this last week isn’t a real one, but it’s the one I want, the one I never thought I’d have. Having someone by my side who cares for me, has my back, makes me feel the kind of pleasure and bliss that should be downright illegal. He’s my eternal high.
When we leave, I don’t know if what we have will last. I’m not sure how it can. How can I be free around Pascal when his father watches me like a hawk? How can I feel comfortable when I still live in that house, when I have to get my mother out, when I still might have to do the unthinkable?
Yes, unthinkable.
But I’m still thinking about it, here and there.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do.
“I wish we could stay forever,” Pascal admits, staring at me with kind eyes. “And I really mean that. I mean . . . I really do. I’m not looking forward to going back any more than you are. But I have to. Like it or not, if I don’t run the company, someone else will have to, and I don’t feel like being replaced right now.�
�
“Do you love the job that much?”
He shrugs, pressing his lips together in thought. “I don’t know. I don’t think in terms of love.”
Oh.
“I just know it’s mine. And it’s my job to do. You have to understand, my whole life has been gearing up to this, to being in charge of the Dumont label.”
“But is that what you want or what your father wants?”
He has a look that says, Shit. He hadn’t considered that. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “I never thought of it that way. I just knew it was something I wanted.”
“But maybe you just wanted power and approval. Maybe it’s not actually the job that you do.”
He puts his wine down and sighs, leaning back in his lounge chair. “Maybe. But then what the fuck do I do? I don’t even know what I want from life, I’ve either been told what to do or I’ve had something to prove.” He glances at me, frowning. “If this isn’t what I was born and raised for, why did I do so many horrible things in order to obtain it? If I throw away my career, it means all the people I’ve hurt have been for nothing.”
I swallow hard, feeling his anxiety rolling off him. It’s never easy to question yourself. It’s why I don’t make a habit of it.
If all I thought I was isn’t who I’m supposed to be . . .
Who am I?
My obsession with Gautier has been my whole life. If I were to drop it, if I were to let it go, I’m not sure I’d even recognize myself.
“I know how you feel,” I tell him quietly. “When you’re afraid of really looking at yourself. What if you don’t like the person you find?”
“All I know is that I’ve found you,” he says. “The rest doesn’t really matter.”
“But . . . ,” I say and pause because I really don’t want to approach the subject, I really don’t want any truth or reality. I want to keep this life here on this island going forever. But I know it’s not possible. Not even a little. “What’s going to happen to us when we go back? Is there even going to be an us? Am I . . . am I reading too much into this?”
He sits up, spearing me with his gaze. “You think you’re reading too much into this?”
I shrug, looking back at the pool and feeling on the spot and a bit stupid. “Maybe. I mean . . . you and me. Here. It’s perfect. But is it just supposed to be for here?”
“Is that what you want?” His voice gets low and sharp.
I could tell him yes. Put my shields back up and end it. But I can’t do that. So I choose to be vulnerable. “No. It’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you.” I sneak a glance at him.
His features soften slightly. “You have me, okay? You have me. This doesn’t end here. It continues. I told you that you were mine, and I’m yours too. I’m not backing down. I’m not letting go. I may be a wicked man in many ways, but I’m not stupid. I know when I’ve got something good for me in my hands, and, little sprite, you are perfect for me. In every single way.”
“You deserve someone better than me,” I tell him.
“I don’t think that I do,” he says.
“I’m . . . I’m not perfect. I’ve got . . .”
“Issues. Yes, I know. You have daddy issues, I have them too. You’ve been through trauma, I have too, though not to your extent, not even a little. But I get where you’re coming from, because I’ve come out of a similar place. I deserve you and you deserve me because we’re more alike than you think.”
“You mean both of us are slightly off?”
“And I wouldn’t want it any other way. How boring would it be if we were normal?”
He says that, but he really has no idea.
If I stay with Pascal, how can I possibly go through with what I have planned? Even if he doesn’t find out, even if it goes so perfectly that I’m not caught, how can I live with myself, knowing what I’ve done?
“Listen,” he says, swinging his legs over the side of the chair, the towel dropping to his waist. He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “I know you’re worried, but I’ve got you. What we have here, we will have there, I promise. Maybe we’ll have to hide it for a while, but what I feel for you won’t go away.”
What he feels for me?
What does he feel for me?
“I don’t think your family will ever understand,” I tell him carefully, trying to convey so much by saying so little.
“They don’t really matter.”
“Your father will care.”
His jaw sets firmly as his eyes grow sharp. “Believe me when I say, I’ve got you. My father has no say.”
“But your father has ways of correcting things when they don’t go his way.”
His brow furrows. “Are you afraid he’s going to hurt you or me?”
“Both,” I whisper.
“You’re like his favorite . . .” He trails off.
“Pet?” I fill in. “I know. Believe me, I know. And what happens to me when you try to take me away?”
“He’s not going to touch you. He wouldn’t do that.”
Oh, he wouldn’t, would he? Pascal, you are so blind sometimes.
I have to wonder how long it took for him to admit it to himself, what his father did to Ludovic, especially after his own brother came to the same conclusion.
“I’m afraid of him,” I admit.
“I know you are. But you shouldn’t be. Do you have any reason?”
The words are on the tip of my tongue, just begging to come out.
“He’s a murderer,” I eke out.
Pascal exhales through his nose in a huff and looks down at my hand in his, shaking his head. “I know he is. And I know . . . I know.” He lets go of my hand and drags his palms over his face, anguish on his brow. “Fuck, I know I have to do something about it. That I just can’t live with him anymore knowing this. That it isn’t right. It isn’t fair. That if I let him get away with it, then I’m just as bad as he is and, Gabrielle, baby, I don’t want to be like him anymore. I . . . I’ve seen what redemption looks like. I’ve felt it when I’m inside you, looking into your eyes, into your heart. That’s what I want now. And I’ll get it through you.”
I feel a pinch of relief in my chest. Even though I know I can’t be his redemption because my veins run hot with revenge, I’m so glad to hear him say this, to hear him admit it to himself. That he can’t be his father’s son anymore. That the cycle has to stop, and it will stop with him.
“Gabrielle,” he whispers, leaning across to grasp my chin between his fingers. He looks deep inside my eyes, to my heart and bones. “I’m not letting you go, no matter what. We’re going to get through this, through all of this, together.”
His eyes flutter closed, and he places a soft kiss on my lips, a kiss filled with longing and lust and something deeper than that.
I think I’ve fallen for him.
It might be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PASCAL
“It’s my day off, for fuck’s sake, find someone else to figure it out.” I hang up the phone and cover my face with my hands, letting out a low growl.
We’ve been back from Mallorca for more than two weeks now, and I know that I’ve had a shit ton of catching up to do, but it seems that instead of the work being delegated to the heads of the departments like it should be, everyone keeps coming to me.
The fact that I’m at home and it’s a Sunday doesn’t seem to matter. I’ve had to field call after call of people inquiring about the upcoming spring fashion show (yes, the spring lines debut in the autumn). Our head designer is the one who is in charge of that; we’ve had the location in the Grand Palais booked since last year. I have little to no say except clearing the budget, and yet everyone keeps calling me.
Because everyone is new; because your two best people, Seraphine and Blaise, left; because you’re a dick, and your father is a murderer.
I know that’s true, but it doesn�
�t stop it from stressing me out.
I sigh and get up, looking out the window at the lawn beneath. Gabrielle and her mother are having lunch on their patio. They seem to be arguing about something, something I’m not privy to. Suddenly Jolie throws her hands up in the air and storms into the guesthouse, and Gabrielle follows, shutting the door behind her.
I know that when Gabrielle first wanted the job, she said it was because of her mother. That she was worried about her. When I’ve broached the topic before, Gabrielle got that look on her face, the one she gets when you want her to open up and she’s nowhere near ready. It reminds me of a cornered animal, and because I know she can lash out from fear, I don’t want to provoke her.
But if she’s still worried about her mother, I’m worried about her.
I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy transition coming back here, and I knew that Gabrielle didn’t want to come. I don’t blame her. It didn’t take long for us to fall back into our familiar patterns, me stressed about work, her walking around like she’s being followed all the time. When we pulled up in front of the house, it was like I saw the joy sink from her eyes. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to turn the car around and drive far, far away.
But we can’t run from our problems forever.
I know I can’t.
And since Gabrielle said she was going to have a meaningful talk with her mother, maybe she’s facing them head-on too.
I sigh again and turn from the window, heading out of the office and down the hall. I can hear my mom on the phone with someone in her room, giggling in a high voice. If she’s smart, she’s got a lover on the line, hopefully someone a bit nicer than my father.
I hear my father stirring in his room, his door slightly ajar, so I hurry down the staircase to the first floor. The last thing I want today is to talk to him. I haven’t been able to avoid him at all this week—he’s been at the office more than normal, telling me that he’s trying to pick up after my slacking—and most of the time, he’s downright sinister. I don’t know what has come over him, but I know it has to have something to do with Gabrielle.
Which is why I don’t want him to know anything at the moment. We’re sneaking around, trying to be extra careful. I’m still paranoid about bugs, so we don’t talk inside, except in the bathroom. That happens to be where we fuck a lot too. Also in the car, in the woods behind the house, in the gazebo. The other night, she came to my room and we had sex in total silence, which was also extremely hot.
Disavow Page 18
