French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2) (14 page)

As Mari bent to unpack more of the shipment of lingerie from the large box on her storeroom floor, a twinge in her thigh muscles brought back memories of the night before. Her thoughts stirred a much more pleasant tingling sensation deep between her legs which set off a chain reaction of heat and moisture gathering in her intimate, still tender parts. Obeying wasn’t the only thing she was out of practice with, and Arturo was generously endowed. He excelled in that particular skill as well, knowing exactly what to do to stimulate her body, expertly finding and teasing her pleasure points until she was trembling with need beneath his skilled hands.

Later, the parting kiss he’d pressed to her lips after escorting her to her car nearly had her begging to stay for more of the same. But she’d still been uneasy after the emotional session and her melt down, making her feel like a novice instead of a woman with decades of experience in the lifestyle. Despite his gentle treatment and reassurances, she’d felt self-conscious and uncertain. Somehow he’d keyed into her unease, in tune to her every response with this only their second session. He’d taken her chin firmly in his hand and shown a dominance that made her heart race and the hair on her arms stand on end, stating in no uncertain terms that they weren’t finished exploring what was obviously explosive between them.

Arturo was forever saying things like that, free with his feelings, an apology—an occurrence that had nearly blown her mind—and often checking in with her. Not that he wasn’t in control to the nth degree, but his approach was very different than what she was used to, and was surprising. Maybe it was the way of European doms, which was a far cry from the often stoic, closed mouthed, and frequently over-the-top Texans she’d been playing with in the past year, although she had a suspicion that it was the man, whose protective, nurturing and sensual nature shone through more than the rest. She could get used to that.

She smiled softly as she strained to reach for another handful of individually packaged lace panties in the bottom of the deep box, the rub of her own lace underwear stretching across her still swollen and wonderfully sensitive pussy lips making the heat and tingling worse—especially inside, where her sensitive tissues still clung to the tactile memory of his long, thick cock impaling her until she quivered and jerked in his arms, coming deliciously, three times to his one, if she’d counted correctly.

A large hand brushing across her upturned bottom and giving it a firm squeeze made her jump in alarm, squealing and popping upright the next moment. Whirling around to give her assailant a scathing set down, the harsh words froze on her tongue when she encountered glittering green eyes dancing with silent laughter. Her eyes shot to the door that a smiling Katy was pulling closed behind her.

“Your assistant is quite helpful.” He pulled her against his tall, hard body. “I think I’ll like having her in my corner.”

Suddenly breathless, she tipped her head back and blurted out, “What are you doing in Houston?”

“My business is here in town. Did I neglect to tell you that?”

“I don’t think the subject came up. We were focused on other things, sir.”

“This is true.” He began lowering his head, pausing a breath away from her mouth. “You may call me Arturo outside the club,
ma colombe
. In fact, I’d like to hear my name from your lips, now, before I kiss you senseless.”

She laughed, unable to help it. “You cast off your dominant title in the same breath you gave me an order.”

His grin was irresistibly devastating. “I suppose it’s something I can’t completely shut off, particularly when holding a beautiful submissive in my arms. But enough talk, I haven’t tasted you in hours, which is a crime. Say my name, Mari.”

“Arturo,” she breathed.

His lips, warm and demanding, descended upon hers, and the way his hands, big and strong, captured a cheek in each palm and lifted her against the proof of his desire, robbed her of lucid thought. Her arms entwined around his neck and her fingers couldn’t keep from threading through his hair which he’d had queued neatly at the back of his neck. Her hands sank into the thick, silken waves without reservation, clinging to him as she surrendered to his insistent mouth without concern to it being the middle of her business day and that her staff could pop in and catch them at any moment.

Thankfully, Arturo had more control and soon ended the kiss.

“I didn’t stop by to fuck you in your store room,
petite
, although the idea has merit.”

Without his tongue in her mouth, it was somewhat easier to think, as such, she eased her grip on his hair, watching in full fascination as it fell about his face. She knew women who would kill for that hair. Then she blinked, appalled at having lost herself so in his kiss.

“I’m sorry. I totally made a mess of your hair.”

He pulled an elastic band from his pocket and held it up. “I came prepared for that possibility.” He let her go but didn’t move away, combing his shoulder length locks back and securing it neatly with practiced fingers. He did everything with ease. When he was through, his arms enveloped her once more. “I like the feel of your hands in my hair, sweet Mari.” She felt his lips brush her brow. “But you make me forget the reason for my visit and now have to be quick, I have a meeting down the block in a few minutes.”

“What’s that?”

“I came by to invite you to dinner. I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock here at the shop.”

She smiled softly; his invitation was wrapped in a command.

“I did it again, huh?”

“Yeah, but I’d still like to have dinner with you.”

He grinned. “One more kiss and then I really must go.”

She obliged without question, but the kiss, although hot, was much too brief. When he raised his head, he whispered, “Wear something elegant, and like last night, I want you bare underneath. I’ll see you at eight.” The next moment, he was gone.

As she stood staring at the closed door, ‘bare underneath’ repeated in her head. It seemed she had set a precedent. But she didn’t care in the least as a giddy sense of excitement swept through her, like when she’d been asked to the prom by the most popular boy in class. Or when Derek had proposed.

That thought dampened her enthusiasm, but Arturo’s words from the evening before came back to her. How many times had Derek said he wanted her to be happy? That he would be with her had been his intention, she was sure, but wouldn’t he want her to find happiness, somehow, if he couldn’t be here to see to it himself? Clinging to that rationalization, she rushed to the front looking for something elegant from the racks of her shop.

* * *

Arturo arrived promptly, dressed entirely in black except for a textured silvery-gray silk tie. He looked fantastic and smelled so delicious she had to stop herself from rubbing against him, burying her nose into his throat, and inhaling his masculine, spicy scent as she purred contentedly. As if he knew the directions of her thoughts, his lips twitched. “
Minou
,” he began huskily, calling her the kitten, or more like the cat in heat, which she resembled at the moment, but he was acting the gentleman and didn’t point out the obvious, adding only, “you look beautiful, as always.” He then whisked her out the door and walked with her hand in hand to her favorite little bistro on the other side of the square.

Quiet and romantic, she deferred to him to order the wine and their entrées, as there wasn’t a thing on the menu she hadn’t tried and didn’t love. He surprised her by selecting her most favorite dish and the same sides she lined up when she used to come here with her kids once a month before they had left for school: rack of lamb, for two in their case, with gratin potatoes, red wine mushrooms, and garlic green beans with pancetta.

In no rush, they sipped the Cabernet Sauvignon he had selected, a French wine, naturally, and talked companionably, nothing too personal or heavy, as they people-watched the evening foot traffic from the window-side table while waiting to be served. In the low light, she was again captivated by his good looks, and noticed the many approving female glances. She felt an overwhelming desire to stand up and warn them all to back off, especially when two younger, thinner blondes made a deliberate detour by their table on the way to the ladies’ room. The need diminished throughout the meal as Arturo focused his attention solely on her. Having moved his chair beside hers immediately upon being seated at the intimate table for two, he was in close proximity to touch her often. Nothing untoward or inappropriate, a caress of her hand or a fingertip stroke of her cheek, leaning in once and bringing the backs of her fingers to his mouth for a lingering kiss with just a hint of tongue.

After cleaning their plates and polishing off the full bottle of red, Mari declined dessert, although she wished she hadn’t when the waitress delivered his lemon tart with toasted meringue and fresh strawberries. He surprised her by offering her the first taste, which she couldn’t resist, opening her mouth as he fed it to her from his own spoon, and groaning with absolute pleasure as the flavors burst on her tongue.

As he scooped up a bite for himself, his eyes locked on hers, burning with sensual intensity while he slowly slid the spoon from between his lips, where hers had just been. “Mmm, lemon, strawberry, and sweet, sweet Mari, a combination I could definitely get used to,
ma colombe
.”

She blushed, well aware of the thud of her own heartbeat, in her ears, her chest and definitely in the aching pulse between her thighs. Her tongue came out to moisten her dry lips, tasting sweet meringue. His sly grin and the spoon returning to her parted lips, brought her back to reality of her situation. It dawned on her to ask something she’d wondered about for a while. “You use a lot of endearments.
Ma petite, minou…
And
ma colombe,
you’ve called me that before.
What does it mean?”

“Pet names
à la française
are the French way. Does it bother you?”

More heat stole into her cheeks.

“I didn’t think so.” Taking another bite of lemon and berries, the smile in his gold-flecked green eyes gleaming with a sensual flare in the candlelight. “
Ma colombe
means my dove.”

A warmth swept through her, finding that lovely, but she had a follow up. “Why a dove?”

“They symbolize beauty, delicacy and softness, which reminds me of you, but most of all, it’s the cooing sounds you make in your throat when you are aroused.”

Her lips parted on a stuttering breath. “I don’t.”

“
Oui, ma colombe
, you do. I find it charming and highly arousing.”

With her mouth open as she readied another protest, he slid in the dessert-laden spoon, which prompted more such sounds in her throat. He chuckled and she couldn’t help but do the same while reaching for her linen napkin.

After they left, they strolled in the cool evening air, back down the walk to where he had parked. Before he opened the door for her, he stepped close, pinning her against the car with his hard body. “I want you again, Mari. I’ll give you the choice of where, my suite at the Four Seasons downtown or we can go to your place.”

Blinking up at him, her body thrilled at the idea of being possessed by him again. Her house was closer and would be more private, but she’d never stayed at the Four Seasons before, let alone a luxury suite. Decision made, she blurted out eagerly, “Your suite, sir.”

“Very well,” was his gruff reply as his lips claimed hers briefly, with a fire that spoke of his need. “Hop in, we’ll worry about your car later.”

He opened her door, and as she slipped into the sleek black sports car with its crimson interior, she noticed the Porsche emblem on the steering wheel. Perhaps it was the two full glasses of French wine at the French bistro, and the French dessert, but more likely it was the combination of all of it on top of the Givenchy suit and the Italian loafers he wore. She wondered if his socks and underwear were imported as well and giggled, still doing so as he folded his long body into the driver’s seat.

“What’s funny?” he asked as he quirked a brow her way, a hint of a smile on his sexy lips.

“Your car. Of course, it’s European, like everything else. I believe you are like a fish out of water in Texas.”

He didn’t reply, but held her gaze as he turned the key. The engine roared to life and she felt the surge of its power along with a sensual thrill of excitement, not unlike how Arturo made her feel himself. As it settled into a low rumble and the seat beneath her vibrated deliciously, she shifted ever so slightly on the buttery soft leather. He noticed; his lips curling up into a knowing smile.

“I’m not anti-American,” he said as his eyes dipped to her mouth, then lower to linger on the hint of cleavage revealed by her neckline, “I do, however, have exceptional taste and insist on the very best in all things.”

Her grin slowly faded and her voice locked in her throat as she realized he was referring to her too, and looked completely sincere about it.

Then he murmured softly, “Buckle up, baby.” When she did, he revved the engine, put the car in gear, and with complete control sped away from the curb.