Not In My Wildest Dreams (Dream Series) (16 page)

I brushed my thumb over her lip and this time pressed it into her mouth. I commanded her to suck it. She didn’t really seem comfortable. I commanded her to suck my thumb like it was my cock. Her willingness to push herself made me smile.

I remembered teasing her skin, her nipples. Watching her body tremble and grow more excited with each kiss and touch. Winding her up was a joy. She wasn’t acting. Not giving me some show. She was genuine.

And
Oh, fuck!
she tasted incredible. I had given her her first orgasm of the night with my mouth clamped down on her clit and two fingers thrust into her soft, silky, and tight snatch.

“Yes!” she cried, her body quivering. But I didn’t let her down. No. I kept it going, finger fucking her, so I could watch her body, and savor the taste of her on my tongue. And the way she dragged her nails down my back, nearly making me explode.

Then she started begging. It was a desirous plea. And she was asking for me. I pulled off the blindfold and caught her eyes. The surge that pulsed through me from that small contact was fuel for the fire that had been stoked into an incredible blaze.

I slowly pushed my raging, teenage hard cock into her as I stared into those huge, seductive, brown, doe eyes. Sinking into her hot, slippery, tight pussy took stages. The look on her face when I first slid into her was shock, then when I asked her if she was ready for “the rest” she almost looked horrified. But she didn’t tell me to stop—my heart will always swell with the strength she exhibited.

After I had my full length sunk in, I was glad to be wearing a condom. It would have been over already had I not. I employed every ounce of restraint to not come once fully seated. And once she gave me the “okay” I tabled the gentleman in me and fucked her hard. God, it was incredible. She was incredible. When I came, I practically forgot my name.

But then she… She…
Fuck!
She brought
his
name up!
Greg.
I would not let her disrespect us, what we were when we were together. The Dom in me kicked in. What can I say? It was a hard habit to break.

I got out of the bed swiftly.

“W-What?” she stammered, clearly confused.

“Get up.”

“Jack, what’s going on?”

Of course I’d give her another chance. I already knew I would be nothing without her.

“How dare you bring another man’s name into my bed? You need to learn a lesson, little girl.”

“Oh, come on now. You’re being childish.”

“Get. Up. Now. I will not ask again, Elizabeth.” Using her formal name let her know that I meant business. She dutifully stood before me, and I took her hand and lead her to the sofa, then bent her over my knee. With her glorious ass facing up at me, I almost lost my resolve.

She had started speaking, but I stopped her. This was about a lesson on respect. She had to recognize that our bed was only big enough for two. I slapped her bare bottom. I didn’t use my full force, I didn’t wish to bruise her, but I wanted her to know that I meant business.

“You need to learn to hold your tongue.” I rubbed the place where I had slapped.

“I was just—”

My hand came down on the other cheek. I had to say my piece. I soothed that slap, and continued. “Speaking the name of another man in bed is extremely disrespectful.” I delivered two more slaps without her objection. I nodded. She was getting it.
Good Lord, this woman is perfect.

“When you are with me, you are with me. Do you understand?”

I waited. She didn’t answer. I slapped again. I felt the shame and understanding radiate from her as much as the warmth of her rear under my hand.

“I asked a question. Do you need me to repeat it?”

“No, I understand. I’m sorry.”

One more. I kneaded her glowing, pink bottom.

“Would you like me to talk about other women I have been with while you are cradled in my arms after mind blowing sex?” I said more gently. I would never, because, well, for one I couldn’t remember anyone else’s name, in or out of bed.

“N-No. I suppose I wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t think so,” I said, continuing my attention to her backside, relishing in delivering aftercare. “So, are you done?”

“Yes, sir.”
Fuck! She called me Sir.
I couldn’t believe my fortune. Again, I admired how she was a natural submissive. I lowered my head and kissed her warm, tingling tush.

“Good girl.” I felt her smile. I decided to test the waters with another, more playful tap.
Oh, hell!
She moaned! She was in subspace. She was a sub. With minimal training, she was a sub.

“That one was for pleasure. Did you feel a difference?”

“Yes,” she answered with a groan. My cock leapt under her. Blood pounded in my ears.

“So pink,” I muttered letting my hand wander all over her perfect ass. “So warm.” I chanced another playful slap. She shuddered. She fucking shuddered. She was aroused. Testing my hunch, I slipped my hand between her legs. She was dripping and the mew that escaped her throat as I explored her folds sent me over the edge.

I stood with her easily in my arms and plunked her over the arm of the sofa. Yanking open the drawer in the table just next to the sofa, I hastily slipped on a rubber then paused for just a moment for one question. “Are you ready for more? And will you remember who you are with?”

“Yes, sir,” and with those two words, I fucked her so hard, my balls slapping against her, I almost feared a heart attack. Not just from the exertion, but from the overwhelming joy and love—yes, love—I felt for this woman. At the brink, I went for broke. I reached under her and took ahold of her breasts and rolled her nipples in my fingers, releasing her orgasm. Her pussy clamping around me, and her delicious nectar snaking out of her, I delivered two more powerful thrusts and let go.

*     *     *

T
urbulence gripped the aircraft, jarring me from my most precious memory of Beth. I glanced over at the flight attendant who was biting her lip, her eyes unabashedly resting on my tented slacks. I reached to the collection of magazines and newspapers in the cubby to the left of the seat. Rifling through the wide variety with everything from this month’s Vogue to today’s Wall Street Journal, I selected the Journal and rested it on my lap, shielding Katie’s view. She at least had the decency to look away after that.

A
fter finishing with the Wall Street Journal, and by finishing, I mean giving up on trying to read it, Katie served me lunch.

I loved private jet food. As good as first class food was, private was incredible. I thought back to my trip to Paris, the last time I’d been on a flight.

*     *     *

B
eth had just been in my office trying to return the dress and shoes I’d given her for her birthday. It was never up for question. She was not allowed to return either gift. Getting a sneak peek at how she’d look when I saw her on the following Friday when I would take her to the opera was a bonus, a present of my own. I had been so riled up afterward, I nearly fucked her in my office. On the plane, I couldn’t even eat.

And once in Paris, a city that had been privy to many, many trysts, Jean-Claude, my host, was eager to hit the town. Seeing that I was here for business, and I didn’t want to offend JC by declining the private soiree he’d arranged, I went. I only half entertained the women who were there. After an hour, I had only talked with the statuesque models, however I wasn’t much of a conversationalist. My mind was completely focused on my own model beauty waiting for me back in Manhattan.

JC noticed my irregular behavior as he returned from what was surely a coupling with one of the girls, his hair still mussed and his face flushed. “What is it, my friend? Argh zees beauteeful wemon not to your likingh deese days?” he asked with his thick accent, refreshing my Scotch.

“
Mon amie
,” I replied cordially. “You could say my heart has been struck by Cupid’s bow.”

“
Mon dieu!
” he exclaimed. “Do tell. Whoo has captured zee heart of zee legendary Jacque Stevenz?”

“Beth,” I replied, letting all emotion wash over my face. Even saying her name relaxed me. I was in love, and I didn’t care.

The next day, after I’d wrapped up business, I hit the streets looking for something special to bring home for Beth. I visited a half a dozen shops before I found the piece on Place Vendome. Feeling like the King of the Mountain while strolling along some of the touristy places ending up in the Left Bank, I took a seat at the Le Coutume Café. As I sipped my espresso, I watched the couples and families walk and laugh. I considered how my life had made a complete turn-around in just two weeks. I had been a confirmed bachelor and happy with my life. I only needed my friends and I lived without regret. Now all I could think about was Beth, and not spending another day without her. I wished that I had kidnapped her Tuesday and brought her with me to Paris. She would really enjoy this. One day I’ll bring her here. One day soon. We’ll stroll together, we’ll dine at bistros al fresco, and at incredible gourmet establishments. We’ll…

Suddenly I heard a laugh from a table behind me that shot right up my spine. I turned and saw her. She was still beautiful, as if the past twenty years hadn’t touched her. I stood from my table and dropped a few euro, lest the server think I skipped out on my check, and went to her table.

“Kari, fancy meeting you here,” I said, putting on my best smile.

She stiffened and pulled her hand from the man she was sitting with. She looked petrified and I couldn’t blame her. Not after what happened the last time I’d seen her. She was with that surfer-dude and I went all psycho on him.

“Jack, um, hi. What are you doing here?” Her eyes darted all around as if calculating my likelihood of pummeling a guy on this quiet pedestrian way.

“In town for business. You look wonderful, although I’m not surprised.” I turned to the man she was sitting with, and stuck out my to shake hands with him. Kari jumped, but she needed to know I was no threat. “
Bonjour
. Jack Stevens. I’m an old friend of Kari’s.”

The man took my hand. “
Bonjour
. Phillipe Gauthier.”

I took a seat at their table and fear and anxiety jumped onto Kari’s angelic face. “Phillipe,
mon cherie.
” She rattled off some smooth French, I think something about a croissant. Phillipe glanced at me nervously, but rose from the table and headed into the restaurant.

She turned to me, sitting up straighter, all business, no warmth. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. She had every right to be leery.

“Like I said, for business. Look, I’m no threat. I do want to tell you how sorry I am after…” I let my sentence drift. Admitting out loud that I had behaved so much like a caveman the last time was saw one another was not necessary. We both knew. “I was young. Well, not that young, let’s just say I was stupid. Kari, we’re good. Trust me. If you’re with Phillipe, it’s okay. So, who is Phillipe?”

“Just a friend,” she said, her eyes darting into him standing at the counter inside.

“He seems like more than a friend. I’m surprised you’re not settled and married with two point five kids driving a minivan. Are you living here? Or visiting? I remember how much you loved all things French.”

She smiled and pushed her gorgeous long hair behind her ear. “I live here. For the past thirteen years, in fact. And actually… I have a son. Sébastien.” A quick smile hit her face.

“And Sébastien’s father?” I asked nodding my head at Phillipe, who was eyeing us from the counter.

She shook her head. “Matthieu is no longer with us,” she said, her face falling.

“Kari, I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my hand instinctively reaching to cover hers.

Phillipe returned to the table and slid a chocolate croissant in front of her. “Are we okay here?” he asked in perfect English with just a slight accent.

“Yes,” she replied. She leaned over and placed a quick kiss on Phillipe’s cheek. Her glance back to me was rewarded with a smile.

She relaxed and we spent the next forty-five minutes catching up. She graduated from Yale in 1997, and landed a job with a French-American firm. She quickly made a name for herself and in 2000, she relocated to Paris. Here, she met her husband, Matthieu, they married, and had Sébastien shortly after their second anniversary. Sadly, Matthieu was killed in a horrible car crash about six years ago, leaving her and her son Sébastien as a family of two. Sébastien had just turned ten. She met Phillipe in a single parents group last year. He was a widower of a little girl, Jeannette, just a couple years younger than Sébastien. I told Kari all about my company, and of course about Beth, and Kari seemed genuinely happy for me. I extended an invitation to whenever she found herself in New York. She said she would definitely call. I sincerely doubted it, but it was nice to at least have things on friendlier terms than our last interactions. I felt fabulous being able to apologize face-to-face. But nothing would compare to the face I saw in my dreams for the past two weeks, and for many years to come.