All Mixed Up

by Angel Payne

  “Dieu. I can smell you on the air, Juliet.” Lucien pressed closer over me. “Your wet little pussy is invading all the air in this room. I will have to hire good cleaners to scrub your dirty, naughty scent from every surface.”

  “So take it out of my paycheck.” How I smashed together my two remaining brain cells to form that sauciness, I’d never know.

  “I would prefer taking it out of you in other ways.”

  He dipped in, trailing his lips down my spine. Then he pressed in…teasing his naked cock at my quivering entrance.

  “Tell me.” His words were no louder than a breath at my ear…stirring me more than any moan or growl or grunt ever could. In reply, I couldn’t speak. Simply dipped my head once, hoping it would suffice as acquiescence. His answering shudder conveyed his disapproval.

  “Tell. Me.”

  “Yes,” I finally sighed.

  “Yes…what?”

  “Take it out of me.”

  “By doing what?”

  “By…by fucking me.”

  I waited, certain I’d lose my mind by the time he tore the condom free and then slid it on. But I was wrong. My mind was here all along, and he filled it with wonder as he slid fully inside me. Not just my mind either. My senses, my spirit, and my body coalesced like melted glass, fusing into one just as our bodies did. The heat flowed and grew, twisted and molded, until everything his cock touched was white-hot and blinding bright…before dissolving back into sparkling sand.

  It tore me apart. Blasted me. Burst me. Consumed me with such perfection, my scream was one of exquisite, soundless surrender. “Oui,” Lucien rasped into my ear. “Oui. Donnez le moi, ma belle. C’est bon. C’est serré. Oui. Dieu…je jouis…”

  I stopped trying to translate. Simply let his filthy tone carry me over again. I tumbled into a silken darkness filled with nothing but him, so swollen and searing and rough inside me. I was stabbed, stretched, and used, and I accepted it all with hot gasps of gratitude.

  “Such a good girl.” English from him this time, and hell was I happy for it. “My good little girl, so wet from your come, and loving this hard fuck. Yes? Tell me, Juliet.” He stressed his point by twisting his free hand around one of my nipples. After I managed a strangled yes, he pumped into me even harder. Released a fulfilled groan into my ear. Swelled until my tunnel felt like it was going to rip from his cock’s invasion. But it was exactly the nudge I needed. Once more, I plunged into an abyss of screaming pleasure. My hands fell from the headboard and into the mattress, where I twisted them into the pillows in mindless ecstasy.

  “Holy…shit,” I finally squeaked. It was still a good thing, since I couldn’t believe I was still breathing. My knees gave out, limp as melted marshmallow, which doubled my shock upon realizing Lucien still rocked inside me, rock-hard and ready.

  “Oh…God,” I croaked. Was that really…were his fingers actually… “Oh God!”

  “Relax, ma belle.” He crooned it in time to the swirls he made against my tender button, inciting tremors through my ass and thighs as shocking as they were stimulating. “Remain like this. Just like this. Your pussy…dear fuck, it is un rêve. A dream. And now, it shall milk the last of my come, yes?”

  “Errrm…yes?” I swallowed on a mouth gone utterly dry. “The—the last of…”

  His lips, now suckling at my neck, curled up. “I am not done, ma belle. And neither are you.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  He chuckled like the damn wolf about to tear into the picnic basket. “I think I shall show you that answer, instead of telling you.”

  His nuzzles became determined bites—as he slicked a finger along the most sensitive strip of my center.

  “Aaahhh!”

  I steeled myself for his admonishment about the outcry. But as I was rapidly beginning to learn, Lucien Paget was not a man for predictable behavior. Instead of discipline, the man brought a much more lethal force.

  His whisper.

  “Yesss. That is it, mon reve. That is très parfait. Just…like…that.”

  Just before my third climax rocked every molecule of my body, one overriding thought dominated my mind.

  I was so screwed.

  In more ways than one.

  25 Days and Counting

  We fell asleep in a tangle of sweat and sheets—and for the first time in a long time, I was as comatose as the dead for eight hours straight.

  In the morning—at least I thought it was still morning—I found myself the sole occupant of the bed. But burling the cotton against my face instantly brought his smell back. I allowed myself to get dizzy-drunk on the scent, drenching my senses with expensive bergamot and sexy cloves and manly cedar, as memories from last night burned the backs of my eyes.

  “Holy. Shit,” I finally murmured. Lucien Paget, you are one fine fuck machine.

  I rolled to my side, reveling in the feel of the expensive sheets against the sore spots beneath my waistline, and succumbed to a soft groan.

  Correction. Half of a groan.

  Because that was when steady footsteps vibrated the floorboards in the next room.

  “Crap!” I spurted. He was still here.

  I didn’t want to be as psyched about that as I was, but swiftly accepted the massive fail in that checkbox. Maybe I’d be more successful about appearing casual and aloof when he appeared at the door.

  So said Princess Belle, before the Beast transformed into a combination of god and man.

  Gulp.

  “Bonjour.” The word flowed like silk from his sinful lips, taking my breath away. That was nothing compared to the effect of staring at his chest in the full light of day. The expanse was like a sculpture, curve upon curve of graceful muscle, dotted by dusky nipples that had tasted so delicious last night…

  Onward, before your thoughts get you into real trouble.

  My stare roamed down. Down some more. Then even more…over the abs resembling the peaks of the Alps…

  To the rest of his flawless nudity.

  “Good…morning,” I finally uttered.

  “Are you certain?” He strolled over, canting a curious gaze at what must have been my little scowl.

  “Well, it’s damn good for me.” I scooted up and leaned against the headboard. “But maybe not for everyone on Mount Olympus, seeing as how they’re short by one god.”

  “You mean goddess.”

  He didn’t allow me even a snort of derision at that. Inside three seconds, he’d lunged back on the bed and hauled my body back under his. The sweep of his lips brought the tastes of strong coffee and apples—dear God, yum—as he tucked his arms beneath me, wrapping me tighter against him. By the time we were done, we lay side-by-side from the waist up. Below, we were a twine of legs and sheets, pretty similar to how we’d slept all night long. By now, it felt natural.

  And kind of wonderful.

  A wonderful I could not allow myself to get used to. That truth blared brighter than the sun streaming across the floor and illuminating his torso like liquid gold. This Atlas wasn’t just a man from a different country or a businessman in a different tax bracket. He was a creature from a different world.

  But that also meant it wouldn’t do any harm to shrug, smirk, and murmur, “Fine. You win. I’m a goddess.”

  His smile started in his eyes. Flowed to the tips of his fingers, warming them against my face, as he lifted me for another kiss. No tongue this time—damn—but what he denied in contact was made up for in finesse. Those bad wolf lips were created for giving a woman pleasure in many, many ways.

  “So amenable, mon reve.”

  I laughed softly. “Well, you do taste like coffee.” I licked along his bottom lip. “Tell me there’s more, and I might be more than amenable.”

  And here I was, playing with fire again.

  But this time, it was a calculated risk. The spark was likely bound for a fizzle. Though the depths of Luciens’ eyes rose to the challenge, thickening with lusty smoke, there was no denying the sounds of Paris,
bustling seven floors below. He must have a busy day ahead, one that wouldn’t wait on another three hours for his Mount Olympus libido. So why not some harmless flirting?

  Lucien’s silky smile said he agreed. I longed to snap a picture of him just like this, wrapped in the white sheet and my legs, tousled hair teasing at his face and morning sun playing in his dimples. “Then I am glad I made a whole pot.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “You can spend the whole day finishing it off.”

  “Mmmm. Good idea.” I nibbled the stubble on his chin in return. This is your final taste, girlfriend. Remember it. Harmless flirting was one thing. Putting my lips all over him again was another.

  “A selfish idea too.”

  I didn’t hide my new frown. “Why?”

  He traced a finger along the pink length of hair that had snuck down, against my chest. “Well, an alert dinner date is always nice.”

  A strange breath rushed out of me—sort of like the internal flogger I bared, beating myself for not seeing that coming. No. Not true. I’d felt the words hovering in him from the moment we’d kissed again, and had simply told myself he’d accept my truth, instead. Mine was so much easier. Didn’t he see that? Didn’t he see it was so much easier to part on the high note here? That even disregarding our polar opposite social circles, utterly different lifestyles, and thousands of miles between home addresses, a fire as hot as ours wasn’t meant to last beyond one night of mind-altering sex. And that was not an exaggeration. I’d been altered.

  But a follow-up to it all? Tonight?

  “I can’t have dinner with you tonight, Lucien.”

  He was unfazed. Also not a surprise. The emperor never wanted to be told he had no clothes. Okay, so naked worked with this emperor—which still didn’t make dinner doable or logical.

  “Of course you can.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Tomorrow night, then.”

  “I can’t. I’m working. Did you forget that part?”

  “Not until ten.” He pushed up and loomed more directly over me. Damn it if that didn’t make the striations in his chest and arms stand out even more. “Tomorrow,” he damn near demanded. “I only have meetings until five-thirty, but they are out in La Defense. I shall return for you between six-thirty and seven, and—”

  “No.” I pushed him back—only able to do so because he didn’t expect it—and rolled from the bed. I turned and dug into my suitcase for clothes. I should’ve unpacked by now, but was so used to living out of the thing, it felt more like home than the dresser. “Look; I don’t regret a second of what happened last night…”

  “I know.” One black brow edged up. So damn smug. So hellishly sexy.

  I fought back by jabbing a finger toward the window. “See that? It’s daylight, mister.”

  “I am aware of what time it is, chere.”

  “Then be aware of everything here too. Reality. Grown-up life. Responsibility.”

  His Lucifer-thick brows collided. “You do not think I am responsible?”

  “For most things, probably,” I countered. “Certainly. But you have to look at this”—I tick-tocked a finger between him and I—“with clearer eyes.”

  Lucien abandoned his bunched brows. There was a more dangerous look on his face now, because it took over his whole face. From between compressed lips, he uttered, “All right then. Illuminate me.”

  Translation? Present your argument so I can scissor it to shreds. Well, the man hadn’t seen my scissor-proof side yet. “Come on, Lucien. Let’s just face this now, okay?” After yanking on a Pikachu tee and shorts, I turned with hands on my hips. “You plus me, beyond what we did in that bed, simply equals disaster in the end. You have to know that as well as I do.”

  He slipped off of the mattress like his limbs were formed of satin. Of course. Now approaching with all that nude, tanned sinew, I knew he was going to pull out the silken voice to go with it.

  “I know that from the moment our eyes first locked, I have not stopped thinking about you.” Okay, not silk. Verbal velvet now, as he slid a hand to the side of my neck. His fingers were warm and steady, instantly casting a new spell over me. “And I know you have been haunted by thoughts of me too.” He kept going, until he cupped my nape. “And yes, Juliette, it frightens me too. Neither of us asked for it. Neither of us even wanted it. But now, I can think of wanting nothing more.” His body visibly tightened. “During those hours last night, when we didn’t know where you were…”

  I told myself his equally stressed swallow didn’t mean anything. That it didn’t make my palms clammy in all the good ways, wiping along my shorts, as I lowered my arms. “Well, I want a production studio of my own, a loft off Fifth, and at least five pairs of boots I saw in St. Germain with Leese and Greer the other day.” I forced a shrug. Really forced. “We don’t always get what we want, okay?”

  “So you do not want me?”

  Well…shit. If he’d been even a little petulant about the challenge, instead of posing it like we were sitting in his boardroom and negotiating a contract, I could’ve gained strength from some righteous defense. Point for the man who already knew how well-done authority turned me on.

  But now, all I had in my corner was total honesty.

  You asked for it, pal.

  “I know I don’t want a ‘thing’ with anyone right now.”

  “A ‘thing’?”

  “Romance. Magic. A Parisian fling. Whatever.” I jerked my head up, forcing my gaze to lock with his. No matter how entrancing the pull of his midnight irises, he’d get the point better if I did it this way. “This city wasn’t exactly on my life’s top destinations list. I wouldn’t even be here, if not—”

  “For the money.” Aside from his head dip, responding to my clutch of surprise, he kept up the boardroom demeanor—for which I adored him and hated him at once. “I know what Milo paid to secure you, belle—and that most of it must have gone straight to paying off your sizable debts, thanks to Pax Halstead’s lying and thievery.”

  Just like that, I felt naked again—and not in the good ways. Surprise? Shock? Screw both of those. The man might as well have taken out his fictional scissors and hacked off all my clothes with them. And then the skin over my heart too.

  “H-how…do you…know about…” I stumbled back and fell into the large chair under the window. “Have you been…” But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. If I did, it would make it more real. More probable.

  Thank God he didn’t make me wait long for his explanation. “Spying implies illegalities, Juliette. You signed documents that were entered into United States public record. They were foolish ones, though it is clear you are no fool. It took no subterfuge to backtrack details from there. Photos of you and Halstead are quite…public…to that point, as well.”

  He openly winced at that last part, and I wondered why that made my heart hurt more—besides the remorse for the grand mistake that was Pax.

  “I did not ‘vet’ you, ‘stalk’ you, or ‘check you out,” he went on. “I was simply—”

  He cut in on himself with a hard twists of lips. And was that a flush of embarrassment beneath his stubble?

  “I knew something had to be causing that pain in your eyes. And the shivers I felt beneath your fingers…” He gave up the grimace to a heavy huff. “I had to know what was causing your pain. That was all.”

  For many long moments, I said nothing. The sounds of the city—bicycles clanging, taxis honking, people shouting—were a needed buffer from my reaction of feelings. Weird relief—he already knew about Pax. Abject confusion—then why was he still pursuing me?

  But then…deep grief. Because neither his confession, nor the fresh space in my heart it had melted, altered anything.

  “Well. Now you know,” I finally uttered. “I’m glad you understand things a little better, though it really doesn’t change much here.” I curled my knees against my chest. Allowed my gaze to soften as I tilted my head away from the street view and back to him. “I feel it all too,
Lucien. And I know that what we’ve been given is special, even rare…but life sometimes has to be about steel, not gemstones. If everyone chased the pretty gems all the time, nothing would get built. I have to build right now. I can’t afford any more shiny side trips from responsibility.”

  Lucien didn’t relent an inch of his posture. Still, it seemed like he absorbed what I said, and accepted it.

  “What if you could?”

  “What if I could…what?”

  “Afford it.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Afford what?”

  “It. All of it.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “A shiny side trip.

  Annnd so much for the accuracy of my intuition this morning.

  “I—I don’t follow.”

  He dropped the smirk but jogged his head to the other side. The move was nearly imperceptible, a reflex that probably worked to his favor in swaying people during business meetings. It sure as hell was doing something similar to me. “You came to Paris for the money, n’est-ce pas? The business, and nothing else?” He squared his jaw. “Then let us do business. You need money. I happen to have that. And I need to see you again.” He spread his hands, ticking my gaze back down. Holy damn. The man seriously had a penis worthy of its own wing in the Louvre. Even semi-erect, it was a shaft of mesmerizing beauty—and every arrogant inch of his face showed it. I switched off between glowering at his stealthy stare, and licking my lips at his growing erection. Oh yeah, and wondering if I was seriously dreaming this whole thing. “Symbiotic supply and demand, ma belle.”

  I added boosters to my glower. “Or as we call it in my country, a whore and her john.”

  His black eyes narrowed. “Did I say I wanted sex?”

  My sharp laugh felt good. “Because it won’t happen, after how we incinerated those sheets last night?”

  “That is your choice to make.” He gave me one of those smooth and sexy head dips, leading the way for his whole upper body to follow. Dear holy hell. Lucien Paget, with his Tour de France legs and his River Styx stare and his global god confidence, was bowing to me. In the nude. “Those are your words to whisper in my ear again, Juliet. Your consent to give.”