His mouth claimed mine, anything but gentle. Demanding, possessive, it left no doubt about how much he wanted me. When he finally pulled back, I was panting.
“Paris.”
The word made no sense at first. I blinked at him, trying to process through my lust-addled brain. Then suddenly, it clicked.
“You won’t fuck me until I go to Paris with you? You actually have been edging me this whole time?”
“Correct.”
“But… but why?”
His eyes burned into mine as his lips found the spot just below my ear. “Because I want to take you to Paris.” His mouth trailed down my neck, each word punctuated by a kiss. “I want to show you Notre-Dame at sunset.” Another kiss. “The Seine at night.” His teeth grazed my pulse point. “Take you to a little boulangerie off Rue Cler where they have the best croissants.”
My breath caught as he continued, his hands sliding up my thighs. “I want to fuck you against the windows of our suite at Le Meurice.” The raw desire in his voice made me shiver. “Watch you take your first bite of real French pastry.” Kiss. “Feel you come apart in my arms while we watch the Eiffel Tower lightup.” His hips shifted beneath me, making me gasp. “Taste you on the balcony at sunrise.”
My head fell back as he found that sensitive spot behind my ear. “I want to take you to the Louvre.” Kiss. “Bend you over the desk in our room and make you scream my name.” His hands gripped my hips, pressing me down against him. “Show you Montmartre.” Kiss. “Bury myself inside you while you look out over the city.”
My fingers tangled in his hair as he kept up his torturous assault on my neck. “The Musée d’Orsay at closing time.” Kiss. “You, on your knees, in our private dining room.” Kiss. “Sacré-Cœur in the morning light.” His hand slid higher up my thigh. “Making you come so hard you forget your own name.”
I was breathless, my entire body on fire as he painted this picture of Paris, mixing the romantic with the carnal in a way that made my head spin.
“And then,” he murmured against my throat, “when we’ve seen everything, done everything, I want to take you to that little café on Île Saint-Louis.” Kiss. “Feed you macarons.” Kiss. “And finally, when you’re full of French wine and chocolate and the magic of the city...” He pulled back to look me directly in the eyes. “I want to lay you down on silk sheets and fuck you until the sun comes up.”
I stared at him, utterly speechless.
“How does that sound?”
“Pretty great,” I gasped out, still reeling from the sensory overload of his words. Then, “Especially the bit about the croissant.”
His smile was devastating, a mix of humor and heat that made my heart do a little flip. “Say yes, Mia.”
My brain short-circuited. I tried to think of a single reason to say no, but came up completely blank. Between his intoxicatingwords and the feel of his hard body beneath me, rational thought had abandoned ship.
“Fine, Jack. I’ll go to Paris with you.”
The moment the words left my mouth, the humor in his eyes transformed into something feral. “Good girl.”
In one swift motion, he grabbed my blouse and ripped it open, buttons scattering across the floor. He pulled the fabric behind me, twisting it with one hand to trap my arms.
His other hand slid between my legs, finding me soaking and ready. Without warning, two fingers pushed inside me, and I cried out at the sudden fullness.
“Make yourself come.” His voice was a command as his thumb found my clit while his fingers worked inside me. “Ride my hand, Mia. Show me how much you want this.”
I couldn’t have disobeyed if I tried. My hips moved of their own accord, grinding down against his hand, seeking friction, seeking release. The position left me exposed, vulnerable, at his mercy, and the powerlessness only turned me on more.
“That’s it,” he growled, watching my face. “Take what you need.”
The combination of his fingers curling inside me and his thumb circling my clit was devastating. I was close, so close, when he leaned forward and took my nipple between his teeth through my lace bra.
I shattered, my orgasm crashing over me in waves so intense I saw stars. My body convulsed against his hand, my cry of pleasure echoing off the office walls as I rode out the aftershocks.
When I finally came back to myself, gasping for breath, Jack was watching me with an expression of pure satisfaction. His fingers were still buried inside me, and I could feel him hard and straining against my thigh.
“Only...” he said, slowly withdrawing his hand and bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste me, “twenty-three more days until Paris.”
The promise in his eyes told me I was in for the most exquisite torture of my life.
JACK
