A strangled groan leaves him, muffled by my breasts, and then he’s coming. Filling me with his semen, triggering my own orgasm. We writhe against each other, clinging, moaning and gasping until finally, finally, it’s over.
I hold him to my chest, not wanting to hear any more of his words or look him in the face. Not yet. I want to savor this moment. The closeness. We’re as close as any two people can get. I don’t know if anyone could ever make me feel like Whit does.
I don’t know if I want anyone else but Whit.
And that’s a terrifying realization.
“Come home with me,” he murmurs against my skin, his lips tickling.
“What do you mean?” I stroke his hair. Kiss his temple. If I could, I’d stroke and kiss him all day. I’d never want to stop.
“Come back to the States with me. Live with me. Be with me.” He licks at my other nipple, the one he ignored the entire time we were having sex just now, and I close my eyes, my womb clenching with every pull of his mouth.
“As your mistress?” That’s all I could ever be, remember? Whit’s pretty little whore.
“As my equal. As my partner. Perhaps…eventually….as my wife.”
His words send a bolt of terror running through me. This is the same man who said he’d never get married.
Ever.
I scramble off of him, rolling right off the bed so I can stand beside it. His cum coats the inside of my thighs and my hair is an absolute disaster that I have to push it away from my face. I’m sure I look a sight.
He stares at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“You don’t mean it.”
“I do.”
I start to laugh. “We’re too young.”
“We’ve been connected for the last six years at least,” he says, his voice calm. Logical. “That’s long enough, Summer.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. Your mother won’t allow it. Neither will your father.”
“Fuck my parents. I’m independently wealthy. They can’t tell me what to do. They don’t control my life.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, tugging his boxers and trousers up before he stands and pulls them completely on, doing the zipper and closing the snap. “You should take a shower.”
How can he be so normal, doing such mundane tasks when we’re having such a life-changing discussion? “Whit…”
His gaze meets mine, his lips curled up with faint amusement. “What?”
“What are you doing?” I wave a hand at him.
“Getting dressed. I suggest you do the same. Though you definitely need to shower first.” He approaches me, stopping directly in front of me and reaching for the inside of my thighs. He draws his fingers through his own cum and brings them to my lips. “You’re messy.”
I suck the semen from his lips, just as I always do. “And then what?”
“I want to explore Paris with you.”
“Explore it how?” My eyes grow wide and I take a step back. “I’m missing class.”
“Fuck class. You’re with me.” He snags my hand and pulls me close once more. “Let’s find secret spots in the city where I can fuck you. We’ll leave our mark everywhere.”
“That’s…we shouldn’t do that.” I tamper down the wave of arousal that takes over me at the thought of doing exactly that.
“Don’t lie, Summer. It’s unbecoming.” He kisses me. Drinks from my lips. Dips his fingers between my legs to gather more of his cum so he can slip those cum coated fingers into my mouth yet again. I lick and suck, his eyes flaring with heat until he pulls away, leaving me feeling empty.
“Get in the shower.” He reaches behind me and smacks my ass. Hard. I yelp, jumping away from him. “Or there’s more where that came from.”
“Promise?” I tease, batting my eyelashes at him.
He smacks me again, even harder this time, and it’s like a jolt straight to my core. “Yes. We’ll do more of that later, if that’s what you like. Now go wash yourself. So I can dirty you up again.”
Forty-Nine
Summer
It feels like a trick, being with Whit again, as if he never left. Even more so, actually being happy with him, amongst other people, in public. He holds my hand as we walk through the streets of Paris, as if he’s afraid he’ll lose me forever if he lets me go.
And maybe he does actually feel that way, I don’t know. One minute we were together, and the next I was gone.
Never to be seen again.
Monty sends me endless text messages throughout the afternoon, but I ignore them all. I’m mad at him. He knew what he was doing the entire time, putting together a scheme with Whit behind my back, and while I can’t necessarily complain that I’m in Whit’s company, I can be hurt by the one friend from my old world who deceived me.
Proving he’s just like everyone else. Easily influenced by money and power, the two things Whit uses as his arsenal.
Throughout the afternoon, Whit steals me into dark corners or hidden behind walls. A thick grove of trees. Anywhere, everywhere, he pulls me into the darkness, his mouth finding mine, his hands searching for my aching parts. Between my legs. My breasts. Smoothing over my back, my ass. He fucks me against a brick wall deep in the heart of Paris, tucked away in a little alcove that feels private but definitely isn’t. He makes me get on my knees in front of him in a darkened, forbidden corner of the Louvre. That felt wrong, as if we were desecrating a sacred place, but he didn’t care. He was insistent.
He made me come every single time.
We end up at a beautiful café right on the Seine late in the afternoon, drinking and noshing on a light snack in the waning sunlight. It grows chillier, and I’m grateful for the black cardigan and dress Whit had brought up to the room from the hotel boutique while I showered, along with a delicate lace and silk bra and panty set. I had nothing to wear beyond the scandalous dress, not even a pair of panties, and I’m impressed Whit thought of everything. Even the sweater.
Whit’s phone buzzes and he smiles as he reads the text before he sends a reply.
“You’re ignoring Montgomery and he doesn’t like it. He claims he’s jealous of my dick,” Whit says. “Since you’re giving it all of your attention instead of him.”
“He probably wants it for himself,” I mumble under my breath, feeling petty. Immediately feeling regret for my words, I sigh. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t mean it.
“I told him earlier that you’re mad at him. That’s why you’re not responding,” Whit says.
“It’s true. I am mad at him.” I take a sip of my wine, wishing it were stronger. “I don’t like that he tricked me.”
“He did it for you.” Whit reaches across the table, settling his big, warm hand over mine. “He knew you missed me.”
“He did it for you.” I send him a look through my lashes. “I never once said I missed you to Monty.”
Whit rests his other hand against his chest. “I’m offended.”
“I never talked about you at all.” I shrug, slipping my hand from beneath his. “It hurt too much to think of you.”