Page 57 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
“I fucking love it when you move that way, like you can’t get enough of my cock,” he growled, the words broken up by his powerful thrusts.
I can’t, I wanted to tell him. I can’t get enough. But I was too far gone to talk. My head fell to one side, my mouth open in the silent ecstasy and agony of teetering on the brink.
He slowed down, killing me with a measured, steady rhythm. “Touch your tits for me. Let me watch.”
I lifted my shirt and brought my hands to my breasts, pinching my hard, tingling nipples through my lacey bra.
“Yeah, just like that.” He moaned and increased his pace again, taking me dangerously close to the edge. “Fuck, you’re so perfect. I love watching you, it makes me want to come so hard… oh my God…”
“Yes,” I breathed. “Oh, God, yes. Right there. Right there.” Push me over, Lucas. Come with me.
Words abandoned, he took us both over, each of us crying out with every wave of pleasure pounding through us.
Lucas collapsed on top of me, and I brought my hands to his head, my fingers weaving through the hair I now adored. We breathed heavily, our chests straining at our clothing.
When I found my voice, it was weak and scratchy.
“Car sex. Crossed. Off. The list.”
I felt Lucas’s chuckle. “How about villa sex? That on the list?”
“It is now.”
We drove the rest of the way to the villa with the windows rolled down, music blaring. Lucas and I had discovered a mutual affinity for vintage Michael Jackson, and though it may have been a bit incongruous to zip through the Provençale countryside with the scent of sunflowers and lavender rushing into the car and the sound of Off the Wall blasting out, it didn’t bother us.
Nothing bothered me.
“God, Lucas, I’m so happy right now.” I stuck my hand out the window and let the warm air push against it. “Thank you so much for inviting me to come with you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you came.”
I looked over at him.
“What?”
“I’m waiting for the dirty joke after ‘glad you came.’”
He wore a grin that matched mine. “No jokes. I’m serious.”
I leaned over to kiss his cheek before tilting my head on the window frame, closing my eyes and feeling the wind on my face. God, I really am happy. I could get used to this.
No. You can’t. It’s temporary.
My inner voice was beginning to bug me almost as much as my mother. It was as if they didn’t want me to relax and enjoy myself. I’d finally called my mom just before leaving Paris, and she’d pecked at me for several minutes straight but did manage at the end of the diatribe to inquire how I actually was. I told her I was fine, much better than I’d been in a long time, and reassured her that I was perfectly safe and happy.
She almost sounded disappointed. “Well, don’t let your guard down. People see a foreign woman traveling alone and figure she’s an easy target.”
“Got it, Mom.” I clenched and unclenched my free hand.
“All right, then, dear. Call again before you leave, OK? What day do you return?”
My body wilted. I didn’t want to think about leaving. “Uh, Tuesday.”
“And Coco is picking you up at the airport?”
“Erin, I think.” Should I tell her about leaving Paris for Provence? I didn’t want to, but what if she called the hotel and they told her I hadn’t been seen for a couple days? I’d spoken with Erin, giving her all the juicy details, and I’d mentioned going to Vaucluse until Saturday. Maybe that was good enough. She was excited for me, although it was tempered with a bit of worry.
“God, that sounds amazing, Mia. But…but are you sure you should go out of town with him? I mean, I know you guys are setting Paris on fire, but …”
