Filthy Beautiful Forever

by Kendall Ryan

  “Fine,” I say to the clerk. “Please send up our bags.”

  I find Mia admiring an oil painting at the far end of the lobby.

  “The colors are amazing,” she says when I get close.

  I love how she can find such simple joy in things. I realize if I was here with Tatianna, she’d probably be complaining that our room wasn’t quite ready and her nose would be stuck in her phone.

  “I have some news,” I say, guiding her toward the elevator with my hand at the small of her back.

  “What’s that?”

  “The reservation was made months ago by my assistant, and now the hotel is completely full.”

  Her eyebrows draw up. “So? Spit it out, Collins.”

  “How do you feel about sharing a bed?”

  “Oh.” She lets out a nervous laugh and staggers back a step, her hand curling around the railing inside the elevator, like she needs the support to remain upright.

  Before she has time to respond, the doors open to our floor. We walk in silence to the room, and I slide the key card into the slot beside the door.

  “It’ll be fine,” I assure her, motioning her to enter ahead of me.

  “Of course,” she says.

  My stomach tightens into a knot, because the moment the door closes, and I’m alone with Mia, all I want to do is throw her down on the bed and kiss the living daylights out of her. Perhaps it was our close proximity on the plane, the way she rested her head on my shoulder while she slept, or that I feel closer and more connected to her than I have any right to. She’s not mine. But shit, I want to feel her hot mouth on mine and soft body in my hands.

  Shit.

  Memories float into my brain, how her body felt under mine the first time we had sex, how her tight pussy fit me like a hot glove… No one has ever felt as good. Even though it was our first time, and it was little awkward, it was still the best, because it was not just physical, it was life changing, it was with the one person who had no hidden agendas, it was just two people with real feelings, exploring each other. I would kill for another chance like that.

  A knock at the door interrupts my wicked thoughts, and I tip the bellhop after he delivers our suitcases.

  Clearing my throat, I mumble something about cleaning up and head to the bathroom.

  Christ, how am I supposed to survive an entire week sleeping beside Mia, watching her emerge pink and damp from the shower, listening to her sleepy sounds as she drifts off, being surrounded by her scent…

  I scrub my hands over my face. I feel like an awkward teenager. So I do the only thing I can think to do. I grab a squirt of body wash and begin jacking myself off.

  My hand slides up and down and as hot water pelts against my back. I close my eyes and lose myself in the moment, pumping my fist over my cock in eager strokes. When I picture Mia’s round ass and lush tits I come so hard I have to fight to suppress the groan crawling up my throat.

  When I emerge from the bathroom with a white towel secured around my hips, Mia is sitting in the center of the bed with a map of Paris unfolded in front of her.

  “Plotting out your route?” I ask, grabbing my suitcase.

  She looks up, sees my undressed state, and her eyes widen in surprise. “Uh-huh,” she mumbles.

  “Sorry, I’ll get dressed in the bathroom, I just need to grab my clothes.”

  After I’m changed, we head out into the sunlight, Mia snapping photos of every cathedral and fountain with her camera phone, and talking excitedly about how cute the quaint cobblestone streets and cafes are. I’m at ease in her presence, and I’m able to just relax before the big meeting tonight.

  We stop at a patisserie, and I buy her a coffee and a chocolate croissant, ordering in French, something I’ve done a million times before, but the way Mia’s raises both eyebrows, you’d think I’d just flown to the moon.

  “Why didn’t I take French in school?” she says. “It sounds so elegant.”

  Then she sinks her teeth into the flaky pastry crust and moans as she chews. There’s something Tatianna would never do.

  “Dear God, taste this!” she says shoving the pastry toward me.

  I chuckle, but decide to humor her, biting into the other side of the treat. “Damn, that is good.”

  After our little outing, we don’t have much time before dinner, so we head back to the hotel. We change into our eveningwear, and when Mia emerges from the bathroom, I almost swallow my damn tongue.

  “Is this okay?” she asks.

  She’s in a strapless black gown that falls all the way to the floor. The bottom half is loose and swishy, but the top is form fitting and the modest peek of cleavage makes me want to see more.

  “That’s fine,” I bark out. I clench my jaw and fight the urge to adjust myself.

  She frowns and runs her hand over the fabric. “I could change…”

  I stand in front of her and place my hands on her bare shoulders. “You look beautiful,” I say, my tone softening. “Don’t change. You’re perfect.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes latched onto mine. “You look amazing too.”

  Without my consent, my thumb begins skittering back and forth along her skin, rubbing little circles along her collarbone. “You’re so soft.”

  She offers me a small smile. “I’m kind of obsessed with body lotion.”

  I smile down at her. “Are you ready for tonight? You remember everything I told you about Pierre and his wife?”

  She nods. “Of course. It’s going to go great, don’t worry, Coll.”

  She grabs her handbag and we head toward the elevator. All I want to do is cop a feel and attack her in the hotel suite, but I’m trying to be on my best behavior. I’m technically still with Tatianna and I won’t betray that. I’m not a cheater, and I wouldn’t want to start a relationship with Mia that way anyway. The look in her eyes tells me that if I did make a move, she wouldn’t stop me. That information is dangerous.

  We arrive at the restaurant early, so I guide Mia toward the bar. “Would you like to grab a drink first?”

  “Sure,” she says, lifting up on her toes to slide onto the bar stool gracefully.

  She’s so easy going and up for anything, it calms me, even though I’m about to negotiate a thirty million dollar deal with a man whose first language isn’t English.

  When I’d discovered her packing up her suitcase two days ago, ready to flee for home, something inside me snapped. I knew I couldn’t let her go. I realized in that moment that if I lost Mia again, I lost my connection to the past. And I don’t want that. I’ve barely been living these past few years. Sure, I’ve been going through the motions, but there’s been no real joy in it. Sitting here with her, watching her swirl the ruby-colored wine in her glass, I know I’ve made the right call bringing her with me.

  We enjoy a glass of wine together, Mia’s eyes floating over the bar and restaurant.

  “Collins?” she asks.

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you help me order if the menu is in French?”

  “Of course,” I say, taking her hand.

  She smiles up at me. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this.”

  I smile, despite my nerves. On the outside no one would know I’m tense and anxious. I always get this way before a big deal, but my colleagues have always applauded my ability to remain calm and collected. Only Mia knows me too well. She sees straight through me, to the man inside and somehow she knows tonight is important to me.

  We finish our wine and head back to the hostess stand. Pierre has just arrived. I recognize him from the headshot on his company’s website.

  “It’s show time, baby,” I say to Mia, taking her hand and guiding her to the front of the restaurant.

  “Monsieur Ducharme,” I say, stopping directly in front of him.

  “Ah, Collins Drake,” he says, his voice deep and heavily accented. “Please call me Pierre.”

  We shake hands, our grips firm and our eyes centered on each other’s. There are a mi
llion nuisances that pass between us at the seemingly innocuous handshake. His eyes implore mine, as if to inquire if I’m as good as he’s heard. And I give an imperceptible nod, as if to say fuck yeah I am.

  We release hands, and Mia surprises me by lifting up on her toes and air kissing each of Pierre’s cheeks, as is the French custom.

  “Pierre, I’m Mia. Collins has told me many wonderful things about the success of your company. It’s my pleasure to meet you.”

  He looks down at Mia, and his mouth curls into a grin. “Mia, c’est tres jolie. Beautiful name,” he says. He introduces us to Adele and Mia treats her to the same greeting and compliments her dress. They are soon chatting happily as the hostess leads us further into the restaurant and seats us at a table in the back.

  There’s a moment of stillness, as a quiet hesitation falls over our group. The four of us are relative strangers. As I regroup and gather my thoughts, Mia, the sweet and thoughtful girl that she is, pays a compliment to their beautiful home country. This seems to break the ice. I listen as Mia asks thoughtful questions about art, history, local customs and the French parliament. She is hungry for knowledge and a great conversationalist. Pierre leans forward on his elbows, immediately riveted with this beautiful, intelligent woman. Adele and I exchange polite smiles, and I ask about her work. She teaches at the university—finance. I smile, knowing her and Mia will also have much to discuss when Pierre and I retreat to the lounge with a cigar later to talk business.

  Throughout dinner Mia continues to impress me. Not only is she stunning in that floor-length dress, but she’s professional, polished, excellent at making small talk, and sets everyone at ease. It’s very unlike taking Tatianna to events like this. Being in the presence of a supermodel makes everyone uncomfortable—from the women wanting to drive a pitchfork through her skinny body to the men eye-fucking her all night. It was always a headache. This is refreshing and nice.

  Polishing off the last bite of my meal, I realize this has been fun. In a way that most business dinners are not. We argued over the absurd trends in American music and laughed at the silly childhood stories Mia told. The wine flowed easily throughout dinner, though I limited myself to two glasses so I’m clear-headed, and I noticed Mia doing the same. Politely accepting each glass Pierre offered her, but taking small sips of water in between.

  I don’t know what will happen tonight when we’re alone and slightly tipsy from the wine. All I know is that I want to be alone with her. I can’t help my eyes watching her mouth when she speaks, or from falling down to the front of her dress where her breasts are nestled so enticingly. There is only one thing standing in the way of me and Mia heading back to our hotel—the business I need to settle with Pierre.

  “Shall we.” I meet his eyes and gesture toward the back rooms.

  He nods. “Yes, let’s.”

  I lean down and my lips brush past Mia’s cheek. “You are amazing,” I whisper. “Will you be okay?”

  She glances up at me, playfully. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

  I laugh, despite myself. Confidence surges through me and I give a tight nod.

  As I lead Pierre away to the lounge, I can feel Mia’s eyes on me the entire time, sending warm darts of pleasure zipping through me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mia

  This evening is important to Collins. It’s not that he needs this deal, obviously, for Collins it’s more about the challenge. I can see it in his eyes; this is a big one. He wants this deal. And what Collins wants, he gets. Going out to dinner with him and his prospect made me nervous as hell, but I refused to be the reason for failure, so I swallowed my fear, and dove into the challenge with him. Dinner was amazing. I was worried Pierre and Adele would spend the evening looking down their noses at me, but they proved that although they are billionaires, they’re still human. They humored me, and all my prying questions, and even let me go on telling silly stories about Collins as a kid.

  By the time Collins and Pierre excuse themselves to talk business, I‘ve begun to really like the French couple. My eyes follow Collins as the men head back to the lounge. I can’t help but wonder, as I watch his confident yet relaxed stride, if in another life--one where my parent’s hadn’t had to move us when I was a teenager--I would be here as Collins’ wife. Pierre and Adele would make great couple-friends with us in that alternate reality.

  “You are an accountant, no?” Adele asks, pulling my attention back to the present, true reality.

  “No,” I say. “Yes,” I add. I laugh, unable to believe I’ve held it together the whole evening, only to be tripped up with a yes or no question. “I have been. I’m between jobs. You are an economics professor, right?” My question smoothly directs her attention away from my complex and undesirable situation, and guides her into discussing the differences in European economic structures.

  She manages to talk for over an hour on the topic. We order another bottle of wine and, as a money geek, I am fascinated to hear how the cultural differences have woven their way into her theoretical framework.

  “I’m sorry,” she stops herself. “I didn’t mean to go on about this for so long. It’s just such a nice surprise that you have a finance background.” She takes a sip of her wine. “Pierre had the impression you were a model or something like that. I admit, I was a bit worried we wouldn’t have anything to talk about. I’m so glad I was wrong.”

  “Are you kidding? I could talk about this stuff all night,” I say genuinely. It feels great knowing that I’m doing my part, or at least I’m not messing it up too miserably. I also can’t help but mark down a score for Team Mia that Tatianna wouldn’t have fared as well if she’d come.

  Adele takes a sip of her wine, then looks over at the door leading to the private lounges. The door the men went through to talk about their business deal. She smiles warmly at me and says, “Your husband, Collins, is a very nice man. You are a lucky woman.”

  “Oh, no,” I say. “We aren’t married.” God, if only.

  “But you’ve been together a long time, no?”

  I shake my head. “No. We’re just friends.” The words sting my eyes a little. The truth sucks. I take a sip of my wine and tell myself to hold it together. I don’t want to make this night about me, I’m supposed to be entertaining Adele. Keeping her happy.

  Adele leans forward and puts her hand on my arm, narrowing her eyes. “Non,” she insists. “Surely you are together. I see the way you are. Your bodies know each other. And the way he looks at you...” She flicks her wrist as if it’s a done deal and she has just, in fact, married us. Then she holds up her glass to me--a wordless toast.

  Her over-dramatic zeal makes me laugh. I can’t help it. I clink glasses with her and take a sip. Still, maybe there is something to what she says. If someone who’s just met us thinks we’ve been together for years... I recall Sophie telling me that Collins is in love with me, and now this comment from a practical stranger.

  The way he’s been looking at me all night, though. It’s hard to catch it because he’s very skilled at guarding his emotions, but I’d seen it. Maybe she’d picked up on it too. Several times I caught him staring at me, his eyes filled with encouragement and interest. But his look also drifted down my neck on occasion. A look that sent tingles through my body. A look that made me cross my legs and savor that delicious throbbing. The looks got more intense as the night went on, and the last look he’d given me before he went to talk business with Pierre. That parting look said so much. Don’t move. I’ll deal with you later.

  I swirl the last of my wine in my glass and wonder if it isn’t obvious to everyone. Am I looking at him with the same hunger? I don’t know how I can hide it.

  Collins and Pierre burst out of the back rooms with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders like they’ve been drinking buddies forever, and singing some French song. Well, shouting the words to the song, anyway.

  The expression on Collins’ face is slightly guarded, which is the only way I can tell
he isn’t fully inebriated, but there’s a sparkle in his eye, and he’s smiling.

  It doesn’t take a Ph.D. to know they’ve decided to work together.

  When Collins’ eyes meet mine, he continues singing, but swoops towards me and slides his arm around my waist, pulling me to my feet. He leans toward my ear, whispering, “Je t’aime, mon ange.” His breath on my neck sends heat through me. I have no clue what the words mean, but it doesn’t matter. If we were alone my dress would be in a pile on the floor right now. I take a deep shaky breath in effort to maintain control, but it’s no use. With him so close, I can smell the sweet cigar smoke and bourbon on his breath. A combination so masculine. My body leans into his without my permission. My arms circle his neck. Our eyes lock. My heart is beating faster than humanly possible. His jaw tightens as if he’s fighting the urge to pounce.

  “Follement amoureux,” Adele says under her breath.

  I don’t know what it means, but Collins seems to. He looks over to Adele and Pierre who are on their feet as well. Collins loosens his grip around my waist, standing up a bit straighter. As if he’s just remembered that we aren’t alone. God, I long for the moment when we will be alone together.

  I bite my lip and force myself to look away from Collins, smiling once more at our dinner companions. Adele pulls on her shawl, Collins takes care of the tab, and we say our goodbyes. Then we are alone. Collins’ arm on the small of my back guides me out of the restaurant onto the dimly lit Paris streets.

  “There’s a taxi stand.” Collins’ voice is low and he speaks in my ear. The taxi stand is several blocks down, and he puts a protective arm around me as we walk. For the first time in my life, I find myself tongue-tied. The only thing I can think about is Collins. It’s like a highlight reel. Collins’ wet body pressed against my bare chest in the ocean. His hot kisses. The image of him today exiting the hotel shower this afternoon with only a towel wrapped around his waist. His tan sculpted chest still had a few droplets of water clinging to it. I wanted to help dry him off. Hell, I want to shower with him.