Page 32 of All Mixed Up

Alone. I needed him very alone, and very right now. I needed to gaze into his eyes so I could witness his true response to my confession.

Eerie mental connection, don’t fail us now.

He pushed open a small door next to the galley and led me up a short but steep flight of steps. When I emerged at the top, I was on the boat’s top deck, in an enclosed cabin measuring about ten feet square. Three of the four walls had window-like “portholes” made of clear plastic, likely retractable on balmy nights. Tonight they were latched tight due to the light rain, turning the city’s lights into a slightly fuzzy tapestry of amber, emerald, and sapphire. Fitted against the fourth wall was a velvet couch, so huge it might as well have been a bed, its royal purple surface piled with damask pillows in gold, black, and red. Though the look was modern and the décor stylish, it was no effort at all to imagine one of France’s kings from long ago, powdered wig and all, lounging on the cushion with his scantily-clad mistress.

I wondered if any of those kings had resembled Lucien Paget.

If so, I was signing up for mistress duty.

And no, I couldn’t believe I was even thinking that. But yeah, I was sticking to it as my irrevocable truth.

And was thrilled to watch as Lucien shut the door, locked it, then wheeled on me like a king ready to exercise every lusty royal privilege he possessed.

He swept in and then over, crushing my mouth beneath his. I gave back a grateful moan, twisting my hands into his suit lapels. Our banked passion burst and meshed like the lights of the city, a thousand textures of magic at once. So good. This was so damn good.

So much for contract clause number three.

Physical relations are to be negotiated and agreed upon by both parties before commencement.

Negotiation? Agreement? There was no negotiating this. It simply was. A cosmic fact waiting for its proper moment to explode. It was an earthquake fault waiting to shift. A dormant volcano, ready for the spark to ignite it toward the heavens. The desire in my being for this man…it was pure, primal fact. A connection to all the forces of my existence. The same touch the universe had used when forming me. It was the same force I beheld when dragging my eyes back open and filling my sights with my dark, decadent angel. He was so beautiful like this, black-eyed and lust-drunk, nostrils wide and teeth clenched…

And shaking.

Oh, wow.

But ohhh, yes. The contrast of the taut restraint through his body and the raw wickedness in his eyes was like a match to my core. In return, I quivered too. And whimpered. And needed…

But Lucien didn’t invade my space any further. Not a millimeter. He kept honoring that infuriating clause to the letter, as well as the conversation that had led us down this stupid path.

That is your choice to make…your consent to give.

But if he still thought this choice was mine, maybe the man was missing a few brain cells. Denying Lucien was like telling the sun to stop shining. The oceans to stop rolling. My heart to stop beating. My pussy to stop pulsing.

With that, my throat finally gave up sound. “Lucien.”

It was a wholely erotic rasp, making his pupils flare.

“Oui, mon reve?”

“Please.”

I pushed his hands down, forcing them to mold around my buttocks. Well, as molded as they could get through the layers of my chiffon skirt. He helped out, digging in his fingers, snarling from low in his throat. “Please…what?”

I clenched my teeth against a groan. “You know.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment. Shook his head. “Non. I do not know.” When he reopened his stare, he stared hard at my lips. “You know how this works, ma belle. I must hear it. All of it. Your needs. Your desires. What you crave…” He dipped lower, rolling his forehead along mine. “What you lust for.”

I pushed my face up, returning his pressure. I gasped from the fire of wanting him. Mewled from the delight of tilting up, aiming to again feel the perfect flow of his mouth against mine…

But no.

He lifted away after just a tiny nip. I seethed, frustrated and angry. He growled, resolute and forceful. “Tell me, Juliet.”

“Ahhh!” I pushed the sound at him like Xena the damn warrior princess.

“Tell. Me.” He pushed all that power right back, becoming my perfect Hercules.

Screw it. I was done being polite. And damn it, the man knew it. And curled up a full grin about it.