When he stepped into the bathroom after me, I was surprised but relieved that he’d needed to touch me as badly as I’d needed to feel him. That orgasm he gave me with his wicked tongue and clever fingers disordered my mind. I would have let him take me in that bathroom if he’d tried. And when we stepped out into the hall, I was fantasizing about riding him on the car ride home.
“So what do you do when you’re not bringing Tyson Wilde to his knees?” she asks.
“I’m a teacher,” I answer shortly and then get the attention of a server to ask for a glass of water.
“Oh, I see. How nice. So where did you meet?”
“His sister and I are friends.”
Her eyes move to my breasts, and she smiles. “I can see why he likes you.”
I cross my arms over my chest and flash a non-committal smile.
“Well, he’s a man.”
Before tonight, I might have thought the same—but now, I know that it’s my eyes that Tyson likes best. The look on his face when he’d said that tonight made my heart skip a beat.
“You must give me the name of your doctor. I’ve decided to give myself a full body for my fortieth, and your ass is exactly what I want.”
“Sorry, love, this is all DNA and yoga.”
“Come on, you can’t be wearing a bra with that dress and they’re so round.”
I shrug. “The dress has built-in support. Otherwise, I never leave the house without a bra.”
“I’ll let you have your secrets now, but before we leave Fontainebleau tomorrow, I’ll get it out of you.”
I’m not even offended that she doesn’t believe me. I’m used to it now. In the age of the Kardashians, the figure that I’ve been teased for since my breasts and ass ballooned at the age of twelve is suddenly en vogue.
People ask if I’m wearing a waist trainer. I’ve come to accept the lingering stares at my hairline when people try to detect the tell-tale lace of a wig because, as I’ve heard countless times, “All of that can’t possibly be yours.”
Kate doesn’t ask about my hair, but when she finally looks me in the eyes and notices their deep slant and my slim upper lid, I answer the question I can tell she’s dying to ask.
“My mother is from Senegal, my father from Vietnam.”
Her eyes widen, and she smiles. “Oh, yes, so exotic.”
I bristle at the use of that word—I find it so offensive. I may not look like everyone else, but who does? I decide to go back to tuning her out as she starts to dissect the rest of the women in the room.
I let my mind drift back to Tyson and how reluctant he’d been to leave me just now.
That wasn’t an act—he looked like he wanted to take my hand and spring down the hall. From a commitment-phobic man who refuses to admit he even still wants me, it feels like a breakthrough.
Maybe all he needed was to see that he could be with me and still do his work. What it would be like to be someone’s man.
“So has Tyson told you about Les Chandelles?”
Her mention of this place jogs my memory and pierces through the fog of lust in my mind. I remember how tense Tyson became when that name was mentioned earlier. I made a note to ask him. But the way Kate’s eyes light up makes me afraid to know. I ask anyway. “What is this place you all seem to love so much?”
“It’s Paris’s premier kink club. No bullshit, no limits, just sex however and with whoever you want—well, as long as they want it too. And if you don’t want it, you can watch.”
“And Tyson goes there?”
“Yes. I can’t believe he hasn’t taken you—his dick is a legend in that place.”
“Really?” You could knock me over with a feather for how shocked I am to hear that.
“Well, it used to be. He hasn’t been in a while. I guess now we know why.”
“And you…watched him?”
She nods. “One night, a group of us went. He’d just come back from the States. We flew out for his first weekend. And he was in a mood, going on about some woman.”
I perk up. “What woman?”
“Someone he said was so obsessed with him that she showed up at his house and cried when he asked her to leave.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I mean, he’s delectable, but women should have some pride, no?”
“Yeah.” I smile shakily and pick up my water to quench my suddenly dry throat. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut. Is that how he talked about me and that night at his house? That fucking liar.
“What else did he say?” I ask her.
“Nothing else because I got on my knees and put that beautiful cock of his in my mouth and took his mind off it all.”
“You did what?” The water I just sipped sprays out of my mouth and all over her face. Immediately regretting my outburst, I glance around for a napkin. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. And it was before you,” she drawls and grabs my wrist to stop me.
I pull my wrist out of her grasp and sit back. “I’m just surprised. I thought you and George were married.”
She smiles and swipes a thumb over her chin and lips, and then to my continued shock and awe, slips it into her mouth and sucks it. “We are, but it’s what he likes—to watch while someone fucks me. And oh my goodness, Tyson was spectacular.”
My chest hurts like I’ve been kicked in the ribs. Tyson had sex with this woman? After he told her I was obsessed with him. I’m horrified by the tears that prick my eyes. I can’t believe I thought at the very least he respected me.
“I can’t wait for more tonight.”
My hurt forgotten, I lean away. “More of what?” I ask, sharp.
“Oh dear, I’ve shocked you.” She takes my hand and strokes it soothingly. I don’t even have the energy to pull it out of her grasp.
“You’ll see how hot it is to be watched while you’re fucking.”
Dread pools in my stomach. “Um, I’m sorry. What are you talking about?”
Her blues eyes widen in surprise that I can tell is feigned. “Didn’t Tyson tell you what we were doing tonight? We’re sharing.”
* * * *
I moved through several emotions in the span of a few minutes. Disbelief, disappointment, anger, denial, and have been in the grips of a need for vengeance for the last thirty minutes.
Because Kate almost had me. I believed everything she was feeding me until she said Tyson agreed to share me. I knew she was lying. There’s no way Tyson would let someone see me naked, much less touch me. So instead of sitting here fuming at him the way I think she intended, I’m determined to find out why she’s making things up.
“You do this every time you meet?” I ask.
“Well, almost every time.”
“I heard George mention you’re not coming to the chateau tomorrow. Did you fly in from London just for this? You mentioned celebrating something.”
She grins and puts her drink down. “Okay, I’m dying to tell someone, but you can’t say anything. Tomorrow, George is going to…”
“Is everyone ready?” George’s voice booms over the background noise of conversation, and we both look toward the door. The men are back, and Tyson is striding over, his expression thunderous as he approaches me.