Phillip takes my hand and leads me to the front desk. The clerk recognizes him immediately and quickly checks him in, handing over the key.
“They already knew what you wanted?” I whisper.
“I let them know ahead of time. I booked the Suite Imperiale. I thought you’d enjoy the historic interior since you’re an interior designer and you loved Amalie Palace so much.”
I’m practically vibrating with excitement. This is the kind of thing I don’t see back home. European historic decor is much older and much more elegant than our oldest stuff, basically colonial America. We’re still a pretty young country relatively speaking.
“Will you be needing any assistance with your luggage, Your Highness?” the clerk inquires in perfect English.
Phillip responds cordially, “It’s just us, thank you.” He has zero embarrassment about using the hotel for sex, so why should I?
I follow him to our suite, the guards close behind. He holds the door open for me; I step inside and gasp. It’s more like an apartment! This place is huge!
He shuts the door behind us. The guards remain in the hall.
His arms wrap around my waist from behind. “Well?”
“It’s fantastic!”
“Go see the master bedroom. It’s a replica of Marie-Antoinette’s room at Versailles. It’s the one done mostly in gold.”
I rush through the living room with its two seating areas and head straight for a bedroom. This must be it. Everything in here is silk and gilded. It’s eighteenth-century sumptuous elegance. The place is practically a museum with antique furniture and framed oil paintings. The bed is incredible with a carved headboard and footboard, covered in silks, and set behind it is a gilded balustrade, like an elaborate canopy reaching up to the high ceiling. I pull out my phone, snapping pictures. I’m such a tourist.
I do a slow circle in the room. There’s also a chaise longue, high-back antique chairs, multiple antique tables, a huge fireplace with an oil painting of a dark-haired man featured over it, probably Marie-Antoinette’s husband, the king. I don’t know my French history. I look up. Crystal chandelier, intricate plaster designs on the ceiling and molding, everything trimmed in gold. It’s beyond, just beyond. I’m dying here. If I had seen this before I added my touch to the royal fantasy suite, I might’ve thrown my hands up, knowing how far I was from the mark of royal elegance.
I turn to Phillip, who followed me in. “Amazing! Is it weird I’m taking pictures instead of getting naked?”
He laughs. “Take as many pictures as you want. You’re practically drooling. I knew this room would be a good choice. Look around your fill. I’m not going anywhere.”
I do a slow tour of the suite, starting back in the living room. Two deep red sofas with gold tassels along the lower edges form two seating areas, back to back, separated by a long antique carved wood table. Glass doors lead to a balcony with a view of the city. I keep going toward a set of white double doors (French doors we call them back home) that lead to another bedroom, not as elaborate as the master, but still gorgeous, done in pale blues and pinks. Silk and gold trim abound in here too. An en suite bathroom mostly done in marble is beautiful, which makes me think the master bedroom’s bathroom will be even better. I backtrack, heading through the master bedroom.
Phillip is hanging his suit jacket in a closet and winks at me as I go past him. He’s such a sweetheart, patiently waiting for me.
Finally, I step into the bathroom. “Yes-s-s,” I say on a long dreamy sigh. I gaze my fill at a huge marble-trimmed whirlpool tub big enough for two below a high window. There’s a fireplace in here too, along with a table covered in luxury bath oils and lotions. White roses in a gold bowl on a vanity table lend a soft floral scent. Carved light wood paneling on every wall. There’s another door. I peek into it to find the rest of the bathroom, all marble and elegant as expected. I return to the glorious soaking-tub area. It’s like a spa in a museum. Unbelievable!
I can only imagine how much it costs to stay here. It must be thousands a night. I know I could never stay here on my own. Phillip really does live in a different world. And Paris is our bubble. I already feel like I’m floating outside myself, looking down at this extraordinary luxury that has never crossed even the far reaches of my imagination.
“What do you want to do first?” he asks from behind me, and I jump. He laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous. This was all your idea.” I can hear the smile in his voice, the teasing warmth.
I turn and laugh a little. “You startled me. My mind was blown in the master bedroom and I’ve been walking around in a trance ever since.”
“I’m glad you like it. You want to take a bath?”
“By myself?”
“If you like. Or we could do a soak after…”
I close the distance and wrap my arms around his neck. “You’re awfully accommodating. You should’ve had me under you the moment the door shut behind us.”
He slides a warm hand under my hair and cups the back of my neck. “I don’t want to rush. I want to savor you.”
I sigh. Is it any wonder I’m falling for him?
He dips his head, his lips sealing over mine, his arm banding around my waist, drawing me tight against him. The kiss slides from tender to hungry in a flash, the familiar urgency rushing through me as I strain to get closer, only this time I don’t have to stop. He doesn’t have to stop. He’s backing me up as he kisses me, until we get to the wall, and then he shoves my dress up to my waist and lifts me. Yes. This is so much better, everything lining up perfectly now. I wrap my arms and legs around him. He’s got one hand on my jaw, holding me in place for his devouring mouth, his other hand sliding down my throat, across my collarbone, cupping my breast and flicking across my hard nipple. I moan in the back of my throat.
He shifts, kissing his way across my jaw down the side of my neck. I want more, more of him, more skin. I unbutton his white dress shirt to find a white crew-neck undershirt. “Too many clothes,” I protest. “Get this stuff off.”
He kisses me, nipping my lower lip, before smiling against my mouth. “No rush, remember?”
I yank his shirt from the waistband of his pants. “You’re pissing me off.”
He smirks and sets me back on my feet. Then I watch as he peels off the dress shirt and undershirt and tosses them on the vanity table. My mouth goes dry at the male beauty, so much beauty. “I love your shoulders,” I blurt. “So wide and bulky with muscle.”
His lips curve up. “Thank you.”
A chime sounds and then a sharp rap at the door. My hand flies to my throat, my heart racing. “Is it the guards? Is something wrong?”
“Relax. I’m sure it’s just the champagne I ordered.”
He heads out toward the living room and opens the door, completely fine answering it shirtless. He’s whistling a moment later. I join him in the living room just as he turns and opens a cabinet, pressing a few buttons. Soft jazz plays through speakers I hadn’t noticed before.
He looks at me over his shoulder, a smile playing over his lips. “You seem a little jumpy, so I’m setting the scene for seduction.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He adjusts the volume on the music, raising it high. He says something to me, but I can’t make out the words over the music.
I cup a hand near my ear, heading toward him. “What?”
“Exactly!” He gestures to a marble table with the champagne and a gold box tied with brown and red ribbon.
“You got me a present?”
He wraps his arms around me from behind and whispers in my ear, “Chocolate truffles from the best chocolatier in Paris.”
I melt. He remembered I love chocolate truffles. We have spent a lot of time talking, getting to know each other. I put a hand to my stomach. “If only I wasn’t so stuffed from dinner.”
“It’ll be a good pick-me-up later when you’re worn out from my thorough fucking.”
My stomach drops, a low ache in my womb
. It’s the first time he’s spoken crudely, and I like that it makes him feel more real and less perfect dream prince.
He brushes my hair to the side and kisses his way along my neck. I soften, all of my muscles warm and languid, desire unfurling within me. He gives my earlobe a tug with his teeth before whispering, “Music takes care of any noises you feel moved to make, the champagne is chilling, and the guards will remain posted on this end of the suite far from the master bedroom.”
I turn in his arms. “Won’t they hear the loud music and know it’s to cover our sex noises?”
“I told them we’re reciting French poetry,” he says with a straight face. “They were so disgusted they put in earplugs.”
I crack up, and he smiles. “Are they really wearing earplugs?” I know it’s a stretch, but I’d relax so much more if they were.
He doesn’t answer. Instead he takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom. He stops next to the bed and shifts behind me, slowly unzipping the back of my dress, his fingers trailing lightly along my spine, giving me a shiver. I stare at the elegant bed done up in gold silk and blurt, “It’s too nice a bed to mess up.”
“Would you prefer the floor?”
“It’s a Persian rug!” I strip all the covers off, so it’s just the silk sheets, and look around for a safe place to set them.
Phillip takes them from my hands and sets them over a chair, giving me a wry look. “I’m beginning to think we should’ve booked the Holiday Inn.”
I laugh. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be naked.” He slides my dress down and off and helps me step out of it. I reach for his belt buckle, but he shifts away.
His voice is rough. “Let me look at you.” I try not to fidget, knowing I’m petite, not overly curved anywhere, really. Smaller than some guys prefer.
His eyes eat me up, starting at my black lace bra down to my matching panties and black heels. “So beautiful, Ruby. So damn sexy.”
And I feel beautiful with him. I throw myself in his arms and then we’re kissing passionately, his hands all over me. I break the kiss and refocus on getting him naked, undoing his belt. This time he lets me. Then I’ve got the clasp and zipper and finally I stroke him. He moans and tips his head back. I go for it, stripping him down to his socks. He’s magnificent, his thick erection jutting out toward me, his legs powerful and muscular. He peels off the socks, and I step out of my heels.
We stare at each other for one sizzling moment before slamming together, mouths fused, hands grabbing, crazed for each other. The intensity is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I crave him like my next breath. We tumble onto the bed, a tangle of arms and legs. He rolls on top of me, taking his weight on his forearms, kissing me roughly. I spear my fingers through his thick hair, overwhelmed by all that I’m feeling. There’s nothing but the heat of his body, the fire igniting between us, his taste, his scent. He shifts, kissing his way down my throat, across my collarbones, his tongue dipping to the hollow between them.
“My turn,” I tell him, pushing at his shoulders. “I’ve been wanting to lick every spectacular muscular ridge on you since the first time we met.”
He rolls off me, onto his back, and holds his arms out to his sides. “Have at it.”
I straddle him, victorious, my hands on his shoulders, taking in his magnificent chest.
“Well?” he teases. “Just going to look at me?”
I lean down and kiss him, sinking my teeth into his full lower lip and then sucking it. He groans. My hands roam from his square jaw down his neck and over the swell of his shoulders. His hands grip my hips, but they’re not moving. I shift lower, kissing and nipping and tasting my way down, stopping to flick my tongue over his flat nipple. He moans, and I smile. I keep going, exploring his abs, running my tongue along them, and along the sides, his musky scent exciting me further. I shift, taking his massive erection in hand and running my tongue along the length of it. He groans long and low. I lick the salty drop off the tip and draw him into my mouth. His fingers tangle in my hair as his hips lift off the mattress. I take him as deep as I can, lifting my gaze to his gorgeous face. His jaw is slack, his eyes soft, watching me. I keep going, wanting to give to him after he’s given so much to me. I’m damp between the legs, achy with need, his pleasure adding to mine.
He jerks and gives my hair a sharp tug. “Ruby!”
I reluctantly loosen my hold and lift my head. “What?”
“My turn,” he growls.
My eyes widen at the roughness that’s new to his voice, and then he’s on me, his mouth sealed over mine as he lowers me under him. I wrap my arms around his neck and open my legs, cradling him.
He kisses a trail to my ear. “Jesus. So wet. I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“I got excited sucking you off.”
He drops his head for a moment.
“Phillip?”
He lifts his head, holds my jaw with one hand, and kisses me. “So fucking sexy.” He kisses me again, long and deep, his hand cupping my breast, caressing it, and then he shifts, his mouth closing over it, drawing my nipple deep into his mouth, the hollows of his cheekbones pronounced. Pleasure spears through me, my womb aching with each sharp suck. My legs fall open, aching for him there. He shifts to the other breast, caressing, kissing, sucking. His teeth clamp over my nipple and I suck in air, my back arching, and then he gentles, licking my hard nipple and then suckling again. My breath is coming harder now, need clawing at me.
“Phillip, kiss me, fuck me.” I want his mouth back up here, and I want him inside me.
He shifts lower suddenly and kisses my sex. I jolt. His warm blue-green eyes meet mine as he strokes me lazily with his fingers. “So sensitive,” he croons.
“You surprised—ah!” My hips arch up, white-hot pleasure stealing my breath. He lowered his head and sucked just as his fingers thrust inside me. He’s not taking his time with me now. He anchors my hip down with one hand while his fingers continue to thrust and stroke as his lips and tongue devour me. I’m trembling under him, my nails digging into his shoulders, whimpering incoherently, my brain screaming for release. I can’t form the words. I need, I need, please, please, please.
He lifts his head, watching my expression as he works me with his fingers. I’m panting, jaw slack, flushed with heat. I still can’t speak. He smirks, a very satisfied-looking smirk, and lowers his head again. Yes! Except now he’s gentle, soft kisses, slow licks, his fingers gentler too.
I moan and tug his hair. “I’m so fucking close. Don’t stop.”
“I’m not stopping.”
“More, more, more.” I am shameless.
“Demanding little minx,” he growls and proceeds to drive me out of my mind. He amps me up again and I’m so grateful I can’t stop moaning. I’m loud, I don’t care. His mouth, his beautiful hungry mouth, consumes me; his fingers own me. I’m so far gone, within minutes I’m shaking with need. My insides coil tight.
“Look at me,” he says gruffly.
My eyes fly open, locked on his. He watches me as he lowers his head again, sucking gently, his fingers, oh, god, the pressure. My world goes dark for a moment and then it explodes, my hips bucking helplessly against him. Electric sensations surge through my body, radiating out from my core to the tips of my toes; even my scalp is tingling. I’m a shimmering shooting star flying through the heavens.
He climbs up my body, strokes my sweaty hair back, and gives me a kiss. I smile against his lips. I’m limp, melting into the mattress. I vaguely think I should invite him to fuck me now, but I can’t speak, can’t move. He doesn’t seem to mind. He lies on his side next to me and runs his hand over me, stroking me from shoulder to wrist, down my side, my hip. Even this feels good, warm sensations radiating everywhere he touches.
Finally, I find my voice. “I want to do more, but I can’t seem to move.”
“Shh, just let me touch you.”
So I do. I lie there warm and relaxed while he runs his hands over me, until he finally
pulls me into his arms and just holds me. I snuggle into his heat, safe and content and satisfied. The truth slams into me—
I am in love.
Fuck. No. This is supposed to be our one night in Paris, our bubble, our memory. Tears sting my eyes. Dammit.
I grab his head and kiss him hard, thrusting my tongue in his mouth, desperate to get back to passion and raw need. He’s right there with me, his mouth demanding, and then he rolls on top of me, fitting himself between my legs. He stills suddenly and turns to the nightstand. He’s left a condom there. I didn’t even see him do that.
He rolls it on and then settles between my legs, his big hand cradling my face, gazing into my eyes.
Emotion clogs my throat, and I swallow hard.
“You okay?” he asks.
I grab his ass and pull him close. “Yes, fuck me.”
He thrusts hard, taking me to the hilt, his mouth sealing over mine, swallowing my soft cry. He’s so much bigger than me. He’s stretching me, thick and hard, bringing a deep ache. He shifts to whisper in my ear, “You’re so tight. So good.”
I try to relax under him. And then he kisses me tenderly as he pumps into me, slow and sure, and I do relax again. The pleasure builds slowly.
He gazes down at me with a look of such tenderness I’m momentarily breathless. No man has ever looked at me like this when we’re fucking. Because it’s not fucking, he’s making love to me.
I rake my nails down his back and bite his neck. His reaction is swift and sure, his hand sliding under my hip, lifting me for deeper penetration as he pounds into me, his breath harsh by my ear.
“Come with me,” he rasps.
“Yes,” I gasp out. I’m close, and he’s relentless, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. My body clenches around him, my breathing ragged.
He holds my jaw, our gazes lock, our breaths merge as our bodies merge. His voice is deep and commanding. “Now.”
I break, the orgasm ripping through me. He lets go, thrusting through my release, bringing more and more pleasure, wave after wave, until we’re both spent. He gives me his weight, a delicious feeling. I try to memorize everything about this moment. The musky scent of sex, our heated skin pressed together, the pounding of my heart, the euphoric high.
Spring Romance Page 175
