Falloir (Passion Noire Book 2) (14 page)

I almost didn’t recognise him—what a cock he looks, more so than usual. Shaved head, sunglasses inside a dark club ... what a knob, following her around like a puppy dog. Like she’d ever look twice at a loser like him. He’s a low-class, low-brained action man ... he should stick to his preferred blonde slut types; Veuve would not be attracted to a sleazy fucker like him.

Why’s he going out back with her? Wait a minute ... she left with him yesterday then turns up with him today. How does that work? Something’s going on here. If they’re not back out here in five minutes, I’m going to find out just what the fuck is going on.

I sip my drink and try to get my anger under control. My brain’s telling me what’s going on between them ... there’s only one reason why people go out back. Well, granted with Veuve it’s two—work or pleasure. There’s no way she’d touch him for pleasure. It must be work. Ha ha ... Action Man’s got problems! Maybe he can’t get it up ... probably all those steroids he downs to pump up his ridiculous muscles. Yeah, Mr Limp-Dick Action Man is seeing Veuve for medical reasons.

I finish my pint and wander out the back. Sure enough, her door is closed—proving that he’s here for therapy. I lean close to try to hear what’s being said but I hear footsteps coming and just manage to get out of the way before the barman arrives with drinks. Yeah, that’s Veuve on the job, all right. I’m bending down, fastening my lace that doesn’t need fastening but I give him a nod then time my exit carefully.

As I walk past her room, I glance inside ... they’re sitting opposite one another. Yes, this is definitely a therapy session. Thank fuck for that—I couldn’t bear to think of her with his sleazy hands all over her. I take advantage of the fact that the barman, who keeps track of how many beers I’ve had, on Veuve’s instruction, is occupied elsewhere. I walk briskly to the bar and acquire my third pint and a whisky chaser from the barmaid then disappear into the crowd before he returns.

I’m in good spirits. I get to see Veuve tomorrow—yeah, it’s for therapy but I’m going to make sure it’s a physical session and I’m going to show her, as she teaches me how to satisfy women ... but more to the point, how to satisfy her, that she needs me in her life. I don’t care that she gets physical with others during therapy ... I might even volunteer joining her with some of her clients. I can’t forget how horny it was when Gabe and I both got in on the act ... and some of the sights I’ve seen in this place are enough to make my cock hard just thinking about them. There’s more than enough Veuve to go around, as long as I’m her priority.

I WAKE EARLY FEELING way too hot, despite the fact that the duvet’s long since been kicked off. This damned weather’s killing me. I hear soft, rhythmic breathing and remember that I’m not alone. My eyes crack open ... oh yeah, she’s hot too ... in more ways than one. Fuck me, she’s a sight to see so I prop myself up on one elbow and drink in the vision of her—all soft creamy skin and tousled black hair. Sleep has softened her appearance. She’d kill me for this but she looks almost angelic, lying there with such a serene expression on her face.

My tee-shirt is losing the battle against those humungous tits; it’ll never return to its original shape now. The thought of owning a tit shaped tee-shirt makes me smile, as does the fact that she’s wearing my tee-shirt but she’s not wearing anything else. That tee may just cover her modesty when she pulls it down but, when she’s tossed and turned in the humid night air, it’s doing nothing of the sort now. It’s ridden up to her waist and is giving me an uninterrupted view of her waxed mound.

My eyes travel down her legs to her perfect feet that are neatly finished with bright red nail polish on her cute little toes. Fuck ... listen to me ... cute little toes! But they are though. So much prettier than skinny women’s feet. Bones are so much better with a generous coating of flesh on the top. Why women starve themselves and obsess about having a skinny arse and a washboard stomach is beyond me. Give me an arse that I can grab hold of any day.

Veuve’s soft skin is begging me to do just that—or at least that’s what my cock thinks. I’m not sure whether I had morning wood when I first woke but I have a fucking telegraph pole down there now. The generous curves of her body are to blame. I’m sorely tempted to brush my fingertips across her shapely hip or across the satin smooth plumpness of her belly. And those thighs ... who wants a fucking thigh gap? There’s something intensely erotic about a woman spreading her thighs ... fuck, that moment when the flesh parts ... my cock lurches at the mere thought of the ivory pair before me opening up to allow access.

I lie flat again: patience was never my strong point. The bedside clock tells me it’s not much past five ... damn these bright, sunny dawns. I listen to her breathing again. It’s regular and deep, telling me that she’s fast asleep. Before my brain can engage, I turn on to my side so that I’m millimetres from her. My brain catches up and I freeze, every single muscle in my body on edge before I realise that I haven’t disturbed her.

I breathe through my nose, revelling in the scent of her hair and warm skin. Her arm is tossed carelessly above her head so my nose is almost touching it. My body is perfectly straight and I’m perfectly aligned with hers as she’s sprawled on her back. Mere millimetres from our heads to our toes. Our proximity makes me smile. It feels like a victory.

She’d been so distant last night when she finally returned from Vouloir. I was knackered but I daren’t go to bed because I knew full well that the stubborn cow would have slept on the sofa if I had. The Kid was in bed when I’d returned so I’d sat, put some music on and chilled, well, tried to. I found myself wondering what she was doing at the club. Whom she was with ...

I know, I know—it’s none of my business. I don’t own her and I have no right to ask anything of her but the thought of her with someone else cuts ... cuts like nothing ever has ... not since Sandy disappeared. I’ve become adept at keeping everyone out. Yeah, I was part of a troop ... one for all and all for one and all that but, as an officer, I was afforded the luxury of detachment to a certain extent. And I led by example, wearing an emotionally impenetrable armour that ensures you can kill without remorse, lie, cheat and manipulate without a second thought ... the end always justified the means.

But Veuve? I don’t even know what the end game is ... and means, well she’s in control. I’ve never felt so incompetent, nor so impotent ... not in a sexual sense, fuck no—she trips my trigger more easily and effortlessly than any woman I’ve ever encountered. But last night, when she knocked me fucking sideways, telling me to fuck her to get the stress out of my system ... she was letting me do exactly what I wanted, how I wanted ... it was such a mindfuck that I couldn’t do it.

I thought about taking care of her the best I could instead but it’s been so long ... I’m used to only thinking of my needs ... and she’s so fucking experienced, with particular tastes and requirements that in five seconds flat, I convinced myself that it was a bad idea. I cannot fucking believe that I backed away and turned her down. From the look on her face, neither could she. Talk about awkward. We’d pulled our clothes on without a word, both confused, frustrated and shocked that we’d gone from being as horny as fuck ... my cock at her entrance, to being fully dressed in a matter of seconds.

Much as I didn’t want to leave her there, it was a relief when she told me to come back here and check on The Kid, that she wasn’t ready to leave when I clearly was. I didn’t bother flagging down a cab at first, I walked for a while, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened. When I drew a blank, I tried to convince myself that I still needed that release and that I should go back to plan A and find some slapper who’d give me a bed for the night for the price of a quick fuck. But fucking was off the agenda. I doubt I could have got hard for anyone else if I’d tried.

This woman next to me is the only woman I want to fuck these days. And when I get the chance, I blow it. I’ve never been insecure. I’ve never doubted my prowess. But then I’ve not considered a woman’s part in it over and above making sure she was consenting and apparently disease free—although my cock doesn’t go anywhere without protection. It would have done last night though. My tests had come back clear and Veuve is so insistent on sexual health and testing at the club, that it’s highly unlikely she’s not keeping herself clean.

She was quiet when she got back, a couple of hours after me. She said she was shattered and was going to hit the sack. Then, when I didn’t move, she told me not to worry about disturbing her when I came to bed. A subtle way of overcoming any concerns about bed sharing that I’d harboured before her return. She didn’t shower and it didn’t occur to me until I was sliding into bed that she might smell of some other man ... of sex. My stomach had rolled at the thought and I’d stayed firmly on the edge of the mattress, just as she was doing on the other side.

But within minutes, I knew she hadn’t fucked anyone else. She smelled of her and only her. I can’t lie ... I felt so relieved. It took a while for us both to succumb to sleep. We lay there in silence, back to back with a whole gulf of mattress between us. We were more like a long-term married couple after a row, at least that’s what I heard in the Corps. Some of them would leave their wives for months at a time then go back and feel like strangers again.

Is that what it was last night? Yet how could we feel like strangers when only a few hours before, she’d had my cock in the back of her throat and I’d been rubbing my cock against her slit. And what about the secrets we’d shared? It was only the day before that she’d opened up about that bastard, Paul. Speaking of which, I should get some Intel on him today. If not his exact whereabouts, then a solid lead to track him down.

I should also get the gen on Thierri. There’s something about him that’s setting off alarm bells in my head. Nobody lives in a compound like that without reason, especially not an old age pensioner. Vouloir isn’t exactly a low profile business but, unless there’s more to it than I’ve seen, I can’t see why that would necessitate him living like that. Of course, if it’s a front for more nefarious activity ...

I drag my mind back from the temptation to begin overthinking it before I’ve even got anything to go on. Besides, what the hell am I doing, thinking of work ... or whatever you want to call it, while I’m in bed next to Veuve? I close my eyes and inhale the scent of the beautiful creature next to me.

My brain’s bogged down in sleepy confusion ... that confuses me more because it never does that, I always wake alert and ready. But I feel something moving against my chest. There’s something warm and soft in my arms and ... my eyes flick open at the same time hers do. They widen in shock a split second later.

Crap!

We spring apart as the realisation hits. Not only did I have my arms around her a moment ago, but she’d been nuzzling into my neck.

Now we’re standing with the bed safely separating us. Her eyes are still wide with confusion and I can’t find my voice. I mean, she was pressed up against me and ... fuck!

‘I’ll hit the shower,’ she says and scurries from the room.