Rapine 2: Ravished by the Billionaire (The Trophy Wife) (24 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

We are flying from Germany to Colmar, France via private jet. Julian would like for us to stop there for lunch and coffee before heading to Paris.

We arrive at
a private jet airport, where a limo is waiting for us. The limo driver drops us off at Colmar city center. Julian takes my hand and leads me through the very charming city.

Colmar is much like an old-fashioned village with half-timbered buildings painted in a rainbow of colors, fishing boats bobbing along the bright flower-lined canals and maze of narrow cobblestone streets dotted with small cafés and artisan shops.

We have lunch at a very romantic, highly-rated French restaurant. We are seated outdoors, at a table right along the canal. We have a delicious lunch and an espresso with macaroons.

After lunch, our driver takes us back to the private airport and we on our way to Paris. I’ve never been and I’m excited. It’s known as one of the most romantic cities in the world.

We are staying at Julian’s residence. It’s a typical low-rise Parisian style luxury condo on the top floor, the 8
th
floor, with a breathtaking views of the city and the Eiffel Tower from the terrace. It’s a spacious eight bedroom and eight bathroom with classic colonial style shabby chic French furniture.

A maid greets us in the living room. We take a seat on the plush couches and Julian wraps an arm around me. “Tea, Made
leine,” he commands. She scurries away and comes back with two cups of tea for us. “You can prepare it for us now,” he instructs.
Prepare what?

She nods her head in understanding and scurries away. She comes into the living room, nods her head, and Julian waves her away.

“Come, let’s take a bath,” Julian says as he takes my hand and leads me into the spacious master bathroom. I gasp as I gaze around at the candle-lit bathroom. The tub which could easily fit ten people is located by a large window overlooking the city.

Julian peels off my clothing and I get into the perfectly warm, bubble bath. I watch as Julian undresses and joins me. He sits behind me and wraps his arms around me. I feel his hardness pressing up against my lower back.

He begins to knead my shoulders, firmly squeezing and releasing with just the right amount of pressure. I close my eyes and savor the feel of Julian’s hands on me.

“You like that
, Cheryl?” he whispers into my ear.

“Mhmm,” I murmur. “That feels so good.”

Julian continues to knead my neck and shoulders for a long time, and I grow in desperate need of him. He senses my desire but makes no motion to take advantage.

I pop my eyes open when he stops massaging me. He gets out of the bath, grabs a towel and offers me a hand. I take his hand and come out of the bath.
I feel so relaxed and turned on.

He thoroughly dries every part of my body and
then dries himself. He takes my hand and we walk to the master bedroom.

“Get dressed,” Julian commands.

I gape at him, wanting and expecting him to ravish me.

He goes into the walk in closet, picks out a dress
, a few accessories, and hands them to me. “Wear this,” he says before leaving me all alone in the bedroom.

I
put on a black knee-length dress, black opera gloves, and a pearl necklace, all designed by Chanel and very
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
style. I look into the mirror and admire my outfit. I feel high-end and classy, suitably so for Paris.

I find
Julian in the living room. He is talking on the phone. “Yes, I’ll bring her. No, not anymore. Yeah man, that’s the only possibility.” Julian glances at me. “Okay, until tonight,” he says before ending the call.

“Who was that?” I ask as I approach Julian.

“I want you to meet my friends tonight.”

“How many?”

“Just a few, Cheryl,” he responds. “You said you wanted to meet my friends, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I’d love to. I’ve he
ard that a person’s friends say a lot about who the person really is.”

“None of that’s true,” Julian responds brusquely. “You know who I am
, Cheryl, my friends don’t define me, just like my possessions and my money doesn’t define me. You can’t judge a person by what surrounds them.”

I nod my head in agreement. “I guess you’re right.”

“Ready to go, Cheryl?”

“Where?”

“You’ll see. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.” He smirks boyishly.

We
come out of our home and I see a limo waiting for us outside. We hop into the limo that takes us to rue Saint-Honoré, the ultimate high-end shopping street in Paris.

The limo stops in front of a
Chanel store. The limo driver hurries to open the door for Julian.

Julian steps out and offer
s me a hand which I take, arising out of the limo—feeling like royalty.

Julian takes me inside the store and instantly a lady comes
rushing toward us.

“Bonjour, Julian,” she says cheerfully
and shakes his hand.

“Bonjou
r, Cheryl.” She shakes my hand, flashing a huge smile.

“
Je me ferai un plaisir de vous aider à magasiner aujourd'hui,” she gazes at me waiting for a response.

I stare back at her blankly.

“Cheryl is not fluent in French,” Julian quickly explains.

The lady gazes at me, frowns, and for a moment I feel like a leper just because I can’t speak French. She finally smiles. “No problem, Mrs. Stone,” she says in a very strong French accent. “
I can speak English. I’d be pleased to help you shop today.”

Julian turns to me. “I want you to buy whatever you want,” he commands.
“Miss Lariviere will help you pick out all the best styles.”

Miss Lariviere hands us each a glass of champagne and takes us through the store. She
points out various dresses and I pick out the ones I like. I try them on in the change room and get Julian’s approval for several.

Miss Lariviere also picks out various accessories with the Chanel logo to go with the dresses—earrings, necklace
s, bracelets, and sunglasses.

Julian pays for all that I’ve picked out. I gasp when I see the total—it’s as much as doctors and lawyers typically make per year.

The rest of the afternoon, Julian takes me to store after store.
Julian purchases various accessories and clothing for me at the prestigious designer stores on the street and he appears eager to spend his money on me. I lose track of the amount of stores we shop at. My bags of shopping are continually loaded into the trunk of the limo.

Once I’ve had enough shopping for the day, we are
taken back to our home. The French maid takes my shopping bags and proceeds to organize them in the walk in closet.

“I have a surprise for you,” Julian whispers, leading me out onto the
outdoor terrace overlooking the city.

I am breathless for a moment as
I gaze at the view before me. There is a very large bouquet of red and pink roses in the center of a small round dining table where there are candles, plates, a bottle of wine and wine glasses set. The sky is pitch black and the Eiffel tower is sparkling and glowing bright yellow before us.

Julian retracts a chair and waits f
or me to sit down. I smile and sit down. Julian pushes the chair in and takes a seat across from me. I gaze out over the city and the Eiffel tower and then back at Julian. “This is beautiful, Julian,” I breath.

“I thought you’d like it.” Julian smirks.

“Like it? I love it—it’s perfect.”

“
I’ve hired a private French chef to cook us dinner tonight. He should arrive any minute,” Julian explains as he pours me a glass of red wine and some for himself.

I take a sip of the red wine
. It’s so incredibly juicy with a sophisticated, smooth taste, unlike any red wine I’ve ever tried.

“
You’re unfiltered opinion, Madam.” Julian smiles.

“Delicious,” I respond, smiling.

“The French really are known for their excellent red wines, wouldn’t you say so?” Julian’s phone suddenly rings, he answers it, and goes inside.

I wait for him to
return. I gaze at the breathtaking view of Paris, take sips of my red wine, and cherish the romantic moment.

Julian comes
back onto the terrace a few minutes later and introduces the chef to me. “He’s one of the best chefs in Paris—a role model and inspiration for many chefs the world over.”

“Thank y
ou humbly for the compliments. It is my honor to cook for you today,” the chef responds in a strong French accent. “I will prepare for you a ten-course tasting menu composed of local, fresh ingredients that I’ve brought with me.”

“I hope you can make use of our
kitchen. You will find everything you need there I’m sure,” Julian tells the chef.

The chef nods his head and leaves to begin preparing our first dish.

Julian takes a seat across from me and we toast and click glasses. “To our love,” he whispers, his blue eyes penetrating mine.

We
take a sip of the delicious red wine, not taking our eyes off each other. We put our glasses down. Julian takes my hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses the dorsal, lingering as he gazes up into my eyes. My heart melts and my head buzzes—all the romance is making me feel light-headed.

The chef
arrives with our first course. He explains all the ingredients that are part of the dish. He leaves to prepare the next dish.

We consume the dish along with sips of red wine,
lingering our eyes on each other and randomly glancing at the glowing Eiffel tower.

At the end of the ten-courses, I’m feeling satisfied and buzzed, either from the wine, the romance, or probably both.
“Hope you enjoyed your meal,” the chef says.

“
French gastronomy at its best,” Julian responds.

After
spending some time of the terrace—kissing, drinking wine, and gazing out over the city and the Eiffel tower for a few hours, Julian tells me to get ready to go out to a Parisian nightclub.

“I hope
you enjoyed dinner,” Julian whispers lovingly.

“It was wonderful,” I respond.

Julian takes my hand and leads me into the master bedroom.

“As my wife you have certain roles and responsibilities to fulfill.”

I nod my head in agreement.

“Tonight when we go out, you have an important social role to play. You must behave in a proper and polite manner as you will be meeting some very powerful and wealthy individuals. I expect you to stay by my side a
ll evening, hanging onto my arm like I’m a king, and not talk to anyone unless they talk to you first. If you need to tell me something, you can whisper whatever it is you’d like to say into my ear—no one needs to hear our conversation,” Julian instructs in a firm, commanding manner. “If you don’t follow the rules laid out for tonight, you will be severely punished. Understood?” Julian smirks, appearing to enjoy the last part of the instructions.

“
Yes.” I giggle.

“
Good.” He gives me a pleased smile.

“I have one question. What do you mean by severely punished?”

“You will be ravished.”

“Oh,” I respond quietly, blushing.
I don’t mind that.

“
Now, let’s get you dressed.” He goes into the walk in closet and comes back carrying the long, sparkling champagne-colored dress he bought for me in Greece. He lays it down on the bed. “You will wear this dress. I want every man to envy me.” He produces a box from his pocket. “You will wear this tonight as well, so the men know you are mine.” He leaves while I glance at the dress and box containing an extremely expensive-looking diamond necklace.

Julian is a man that can be
authoritative and savage, as well as romantic and caring all at once. He really is so complex and is always showing me different sides of himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-
FIVE

We go down to our condo’s underground parking garage. I see various luxury cars parked there. Julian leads me to a yellow Lamborghini Aventador. He slides the door up in the passenger’s side. I climb in, sit down and admire the yellow and black interior. Julian glides in beside me in the driver’s seat. He turns on the engine and the car roars to life.

Julian is wearing a black shir
t, yellow tie, and black custom-made suit. I’ve never seen him wear bright colors but all black with a bright tie is a trendy look. His gun is hidden, tucked away in his inside suit jacket pocket.

I take a whiff of his manly, spicy, musky s
cent and my imagination runs wild, an image and idea comes to my mind of me getting on his lap now and riding him.

Julian confidently drives the car out of the garage and onto the street.
I watch as numerous tourists and Parisians glance at our car as we drive by them. I admire the streets of Paris at night. I look straight ahead and see the Eiffel tower in front of us, glowing bright and glistening like a yellow diamond.

Julian is focused on the road and I can see the pride and confidence with which he drives the car with. I smirk.
Boys and their toys.

The car rumbles and roars with each fast acceleration
—it’s a sexy, attention-grabbing sound that gets people staring at us left and right.

We
stop close to the entrance of a nightclub. Julian gets out, comes to the passenger’s side, slides up the car door, takes my hand, and helps me step out. He hands the car keys to the valet and we walk to the entrance of the club surrounded by red velvet rope.

Five bouncers stand guard.
There is huge line of Parisians and tourists, trying but failing to get in. As we approach nearer, I overhear a man at the front of the line telling one of the bouncers that he is cousin to a famous film maker and he demands to be let in. Another man further down the line says he is a friend of a celebrity who is already inside waiting for him. All lies, I assume.

Julian approaches a
nd the bouncers quickly notice him. They each take turns shaking his hand and greeting him energetically as if they were meeting a celebrity.

One of the bouncers unhooks the velvet rope and steps aside to let me and Julian walk inside.
Julian leads me through the crowd. I brush past extremely wealthy-looking men dressed in high-end black suits and glittering watches. Julian stops and greets certain individuals, shakes their hand, claps their back and continues through the crowd. I notice all the women look like supermodels. I spot several actors, singers, and famous socialites. Julian stops and greets a famous, older male actor and continues through until stopping again to greet another younger male actor. He stops yet again to greet a wealthy-looking man, also wearing all black and a bright tie.

As we walk further through the rich and famous crowd, I gaze in awe as Julian offers a ha
nd here, a word there. He strides past these celebrities and wealthy individuals with great confidence and ease. There is not even one average person. This exclusive club must be where celebrities and the jet set come to party when they’re in town.

I notice a few men glare at me as I brush past them. It must be what I’m wearing
—my sparkling champagne-colored dress showing off hints of my skin and the diamond necklace from Julian.

I take in the scene around me. All the tables are lit up purple and blue. Two walls are lit up red. The remaining walls are floor-to-ceiling windows with a spectacular view over Paris. The music is Top 40, hits, and R&B.

We come to a large, raised VIP space overlooking the entire crowd in the club. The space has plenty of seating and numerous tables, and each table has a bottle on ice. We take our seat on the very large, curved, black leather couch surrounding six tables. On our table there is a bottle of vodka and a bottle of champagne on ice.

“Vodka or champagne?” Julian asks me.

“Champagne,” I respond.

Julian pours
me a glass and hands it to me just as a five woman in sparkling dresses and five men in black suits, black shirts, and bright ties approach us. Julian stands up, claps each man on the back, and introduces me. “This is my wife,” he says proudly.

Each of the men
take my hand, kiss the dorsal, and admire me. I notice all of the men have a different colored tie—hot pink, bright green, bright blue, purple, and orange.

Beside
each of the men, are women with supermodel good-looks. Each woman is hanging onto her man’s arm. The women look me up and down, scrutinizing me.

Each man and his woman
take their place at one of the five tables. They fill up their glasses with alcohol, either vodka or champagne. They whisper to each other and gaze around.

“I want to show you off tonight,” Julian whispers into my ear, a hint of expectation detectable in his tone. I suspect he expects me to be on my best behavior. I also suspect that the five men I have met are part of Julian’s secret society.

I glance at each woman dangling off their man. I follow suite and grasp onto Julian’s arm. Julian and I sip on our drink and people watch the crowd surrounding us.

Soon we’re all standing and socializing. I ge
t a chance to talk with each woman and briefly get to know them and their man.

I cling to Julian’s side, clutching his arm as he talks with each of his friends.
All his friends have a vibe that is unapologetic and very confident. They talk so fast that I can barely keep up with what they are saying. I try and catch as much as I can. They are talking money, business, gambling, traveling, cars, gadgets, properties, helicopters, and jets.

A group of three
men in their mid-twenties, also in black suits and bright ties join us, greeting everyone. Julian talks to the three men about business, jets, and cigars. They gawk at me, nearly drooling as I cling to Julian’s arm. Julian dangles me in front of them, enjoying their hungry jealousy. I assume they are single.

I spend the entire night by Julian’s side
, meeting and talking to high-profile individuals as we make our way through the entire nightclub. At the end of the night we are back in our VIP space, socializing, drinking, and laughing with Julian’s friends.

Julian refills my
glass of champagne. “Every single man is salivating over you,” he whispers into my ear and smirks.

“I’m glad you like to show me off,” I
whisper back, but I’m not sure I like being treated like an object to show off. However, I know that it’s something I have to get used to as Julian’s trophy wife.

I begin to succumb to the effects of the champagne I’ve drunk all night. I feel hazy and dizzy. “I’d like to go home,” I whisper into Julian’s ear.

Julian nods his heads at his friends, takes my hand, and we make our way out of the nightclub, as people left and right say their last words to Julian.