Unbearable Passion - Book 2: French Kiss (Romantic Erotica For Women Series) (6 page)

“Take me in deep, Amanda.”

Bryce tilts his head with pleasure as I take his cock deeper into my mouth. He holds my head firmly down with one hand while squeezing my nipple with the other. Being on my knees in front of him makes it easy to get his cock to hit the back of my throat. The more excited I get, the faster I devour the length of his shaft and the more pressure I apply against my clit.

“You suck my cock so well,” he whispers, as I lick his pre-cum from the head of his penis like a sweet cherry lollipop.

To avoid coming too fast, I move the hand that was massaging my clit to the base of his balls and squeeze them tightly. He grunts under the pressure and folds his body on top of mine to slap my naked ass.

“Seeing your naked ass wiggle in the air like that is a massive turn-on,” he says, as my eyes meet his.

As if he knows I’m about to climax, he extracts his hard cock from my mouth, lifts my head and commands, “Don’t move.”

Bryce moves behind me, places his cock on top of my ass and proceeds to spank my butt cheeks.

“You never confirmed with me you could walk around Paris without underwear. That’s simply not part of our agreement. How dare you change the terms without my consent?” His tone is domineering.

With each sentence, he administers harder and harder slaps. Finally, he grabs my ass and part my cheeks with his hands and enters me with force. I part my legs a little bit more, fold my body on top of the back of the chair, and stretch out my arms on top of the table to support myself better as Bryce pounds me with great speed and even greater force.

“Keep breaking the terms of our agreement and I’ll have to find more ways of punishing you.”

He drops his muscular body on top of mine and enters me even deeper as he massages my clit with more intensity. This feels so sinfully pleasurable, it’s as if a volcano raging to burst consumes my entire body.

“Oh, my God! Don’t stop! I’m going to come!”

My legs tremble as Bryce feathers my clit with more speed. I scream aloud with sheer ecstasy as my body quivers.

“Oh, God, Bryce,” I shout.

He pulls my shoulders and forces me closer to him as our skin slaps louder with each thrust.

“Christ,” he groans as he climaxes.

He gently lifts me into his arms, walks me to the bed and pulls me close into his body as he folds the covers to shield our naked bodies. His warm breath inhales and exhales near my ear and I can stay like this forever wrapped in his arms.

“You’re still trembling. Was that too intense for you?” He brushes away my damp hair from my face.

“Is that all you’ve got, Mr. Van Der Linden?” I ask jokingly.

“Do you want more? I’ve got a lot more, but I don’t know if you can handle it,” he replies, as he trails the back of my neck with sweet kisses.

Chapter 4

The rest of the week in Paris is a whirlwind of meetings, facts, figures, translation and deals. Bryce is extremely pleased with my performance. He appreciates the expertise I bring to the table in helping him sway these French tech-kings to his side and persuading them to do business with his corporation.

“I’ve made more progress in securing big clients during this last week in Paris with you by my side than in the last six months on my own,” Bryce says over dinner one evening. “I thought I was going to have to give up on the French market.”

Bryce surprises me each morning with a sexy lingerie selection and a brand-new designer suit. He buys me so many new clothes, shoes, handbags and accessories that I have to buy a second suitcase to fit it all. No matter how much I probe him, he remains tight-lipped and refuses to share how he finds time to shop since we spend the entire day together. Secretly, I know he’s made arrangements with a personal shopper in Paris. I’ve come back to Paris enough to know this city gives New Yorkers fashion envy, because Parisians live for fashion, even more so than inhabitants of the Big Apple. Finding a trendy stylist who has connections with the top boutiques isn’t that complicated. Bryce has impeccable taste, but my body is hard to dress. I’m sure this stylist knows every inch of my body and yet I’ll never know who they are.

During the evenings, we make the rounds of Bryce’s Parisian friends and I spend the week hobnobbing with Paris’ rich and influential crowd. Each evening is surpassed by the next. We are invited back to Mariella’s and she insists on spending Saturday with me shopping at some of her favorite boutiques before inviting me out for lunch at Le Jules Verne Restaurant. The experience of sitting on top of the Eiffel Tower enjoying an exquisite meal is one of the highlights of this trip.

Mariella organizes a superb sendoff dinner on Saturday night that includes twenty-eight of her closest friends. The evening is an amazing affair and she insists on me wearing one of the outfits she helped me select during our shopping spree. I feel as wealthy, rich, powerful and successful as all these people who surround me. The dinner lasts until three in the morning, but that doesn’t stop Bryce and I from meeting our chauffeur at precisely eight o’clock in the morning for our all-day trip to Château Versailles.

Who needs to sleep when I can spend the day at Versailles?

I haven’t been to Versailles in years and I’m looking forward to the day. Bryce breaks away from his usual impeccable suits and perfectly tailored shirts in favor of a more casual look. Even in casual clothing, he’s still disarmingly dashing and handsome.

The day at Versailles is magical. We visit the magnificent
château
, perfectly manicured gardens and spectacular fountains before enjoying a private lunch nearby at La Veranda Restaurant located inside the Trianon Palace hotel. The food and service is outstanding and for a minute I almost believe this type of magical day is a common occurrence in my life.

We continue our guided tour until Bryce declares it’s cocktail hour and time for us to take a much-needed rest before heading back to Paris.

“Everything will be closed at this time, so let’s head to the Gallery Bar for drinks and appetizers.”

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and guides me to a cozy bar. It’s surprisingly busy when we arrive, but Bryce explains that a lot of people make the trip outside of Paris to enjoy the bar’s infamous Marie Antoinette tea from NINA’s, infused with rose and apple flavors from the king’s garden. I’m in awe of so much luxury and decadence on a Sunday afternoon. The bar is lined with silver buckets filled to the rim with ice and bottles of champagne. The crowd is a mix of rich tourists exploring Versailles for the day and Parisians escaping the boisterous city center.

Man, this is the good life.

We’re enjoying a drink and nibbling on an assortment of decadent French pastries when someone behind me shouts, “Bryce, my sexy American. Why you not call me ever again?”

My blood turns cold. Something in that sentence sounds far too intimate for comfort and when I look at Bryce for answers, I’m met with a stunned stare. His eyes are locked on the woman standing next to me.

“Anastasiya. You’re in Paris?” Bryce’s voice is almost mechanical and he seems to have completely forgotten about me as he questions the tall, leggy blonde.

“You ask me to marry you, give me huge diamond ring and because Anastasiya not want to marry, you refuse to call back. Why, Bryce? We can discuss like adults.”

“Anastasiya, now is not the time.” Bryce’s voice is icy now and it’s obvious by his facial expression that he had strong feelings for this Anastasiya.

“When? When we talk, Bryce? I want us to be friends still. I give you back the big ring. I don’t need it. Why you mad? My father owns half of Russia. I buy rings like yours for breakfast.” Her thick Russian accent only accentuates the disdain in her voice.

Anastasiya is exactly the type of woman I hate. You know the tall, thin, drop-dead gorgeous, smart, successful and extremely confident woman that can get any man she wants? That’s exactly the type that is standing next to me right now and ignoring me at the same time. In many ways she reminds me of my sister, but, of course, I love my sister. 

“Bryce, you not introduce me to your friend. Or she new wife?” The tall blonde takes us both off guard and for the first time since she called out his name, Bryce seems to remember I exist. 

He nearly fumbles his words, which for Bryce is highly unusual, and says in a flat voice, “Amanda Hardy, please meet Anastasiya Melnichenko.”

I extend my hand, but she simply waves hers to avoid touching mine.

“Why not talk? I’m sorry about a few years ago. I make mistake, Bryce. I follow your career and see that Linden Corp now valued at several billions of dollars. You very rich man now. You nearly as rich as Russian mogul.” She sneers as she speaks those words and flings her perfect long, blonde, silky hair back to accentuate her point.

What a fucking bitch. I cannot believe Bryce is allowing this Russian Anastasiya to cut him up like this in public.

Anastasiya is still relentlessly nagging Bryce and becoming more and more the focus of attention when he stands up, excuses himself from the table, grabs her by the arm and storms outside of the bar with her in tow. I could die right there and then because the entire bar has eyes on me. I’m mortified. Bryce proposed to this rich-bitch Russian mogul. I’m nothing like that Anastasiya woman. I’m simply the escort he’s paid for and now he leaves me sitting in the middle of a crowded room that’s eyeing me with such pity.

I can’t believe this is happening.

I sit there staring at the plate of assorted French pastries for twenty-three minutes until Bryce storms back in, grabs my hand without a word and drags me outside the bar.

“Let’s get out of here right now.” He’s speaking to me, but he’s avoiding eye contact.

“Is everything okay, Bryce?”

Why am I asking such an obvious question?

“Amanda, I don’t pay you to be my shrink. Let’s get back in the car immediately.” His command is so violent that a slap across the face would have hurt less.

I sink into the back of the car and look outside the window to avoid crying. Although I’m not looking at him, I can feel his blood boiling and the rage inside him is unmistakable.

Who is this rich Anastasiya and is Bryce still in love with her? Does that explain his violent reaction to the leggy blonde?

My head is spinning with unanswered questions and my heart is bleeding because I’m finally willing to admit to myself that I’ve fallen for Bryce.

Don’t fall in lust or love with your client.

Todd’s words are ringing in my head as we drive all the way back to Paris in silence. The tension is so thick between us that I could cut it with a knife. I fear that I’ve lost him to this Russian woman who he still obviously has feelings for. I mean, I’m an escort. Not the daughter of a Russian tycoon.

As soon as the chauffeur turns the corner to the hotel, something inside me snaps and the words escape my mouth before I know it.

“You didn’t have to embarrass me that way.”

I glare at him, trying to read his expression, but it’s as if he’s gone totally blank.

“You don’t have to keep reminding me why you pay for my services. I’m clear on the reasons why I’m here and I know my place. I understand the terms of our
arrangement
very well and I got into it with eyes wide open, but I genuinely was worried about you and wanted to make sure you were okay. Perhaps it came out sounding a bit awkward, but it came from a sincere place.”

For the first time since Anastasiya entered into my life, Bryce seems to go back to his usual self. “Amanada, I’m terribly sorry. I was out of line and I acted like a jerk.”

Our Benz is quickly approaching the hotel where we’ll most likely end up sulking in private in our rooms.

“Gerard, take us around to a quiet place where you can park the car and allow us to talk,” Bryce commands and we whiz right past the hotel, heading to a more discreet location.

Finding a spot to park a massive car like a Benz is an impressive accomplishment in a crammed city like Paris, but Gerard finds a quiet street, parks the car on the sidewalk, turns around and waits for Bryce’s instructions.

“Gerard, give us forty minutes or so. I’ll text you on your mobile when we’re ready.”

The chauffeur casually informs Bryce that he’ll be smoking a few cigarettes while catching up on the latest soccer scores not far from the vehicle.

“Monsieur, I remain close to the car. The French police may wonder why a car is parked this way in the middle of Paris. I’ll open the hood, to pretend we have mechanical problems, just in case.”

“Gerard, you’re the best. Thanks for the diversion.”

Bryce waits for the front door to close, rolls up the dark glass divider and clears his voice before speaking.

“I’m not very good with this sort of thing.”

“What do you mean by
this sort of thing
? I don’t understand,” I began. “I know why you hired me and I know why I’m in Paris. I’m not stupid, you know. I also know you had a life well before hiring me for this job. You made me feel so cheap and dirty in that bar by walking out with that woman and leaving me there alone.”

“I acted like a hotheaded fool. Anastasiya does that to me. I shouldn’t have said any of things I said to you.”

It’s clear from the unimpressed expression on my face that I’m still not buying his story, so he continues.

“Anastasiya Melnichenko is part of one of Russia’s richest families. She’s beautiful, extremely smart and incredibly manipulative. I dated her for a while and she swept me off my feet with her charm and wit. It was seemingly a perfect relationship and I fooled myself into believing this was the woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. I got her the biggest stone I could afford at the time, a stupidly expensive diamond ring that nearly ruined me, because I knew her enough to know that a woman like that wouldn’t accept anything less. When I proposed, she looked at the ring, raised her green eyes, smiled and said, ‘How lovely, Bryce.’ Her tone was so flat, but I was so excited I didn’t realize she actually hadn’t said yes to my proposal.”