Liar Liar

‘Except you don’t own me.’ In the soft light of the elevator, her gaze is burned honey, her words a soft barb.

‘I own you here.’ I press my lips to the rise of her breasts. ‘As you own me.’

As her fingers tighten around my cock, the elevator doors slowly open, which is probably good timing, considering the placement of the security cameras.

Six steps and we’re at the door to my suite. Two more and we’re inside, the door slamming closed. Our mouths immediately fuse, her hands grasping and frantic as she grapples with the lapels of my jacket, pushing it from my shoulders.

‘Let’s go inside.’

‘No.’ Her response is immediate and adamant. She gives up on my jacket, her hands at my chest now instead as she backs me up against the wall. I’m so sorry I hurt her, but so ready to make this about something else when she drops to her knees in the foyer, her fingers plucking at my shirt and my belt.

As much as I want this, my conscience gets the better of me.

This is my fuck up. I’ve made her hurt. I don’t deserve—

‘Rose, non. Come here. Let me touch you.’

‘Fuck you, Remy Durrand.’

The clink of my belt and the roar of my zipper, and any protest I might have is swallowed as her cool fingers wrap my cock. I hiss out a quiet curse as she squeezes just the right amount.

‘You let her touch you.’ In the dark, her words are a recrimination, her dress a shimmering pool in the moonlight.

‘No.’ My denial is a carnal, needy groan. ‘I pushed her away because she wasn’t you.’

‘Not in the video. In your office that first day. I didn’t even know who she was, yet you let her kiss you. You didn’t even look at me. You wouldn’t look at me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ My apology is slurred as she runs her thumb over my crown. I sound drunk—drunk on her. ‘I was protecting you.’

‘I’m a big girl,’ she taunts, her breath hot brush against my flesh. Her mouth is so close, and I ache for her. ‘I can look after myself.’

My second curse isn’t so quiet as she takes me to the back of her throat, holding me there. My back bucks from the wall, pleasure twisting my insides. I am stuck between a rock and a soft place, quite literally, as she works me between her fist and her lips, her tongue the epitome of wickedness.

‘Suce-moi. Suck me, Rose. Fais-moi jouir. Make me come.’

My thoughts are wicked, my demands probably making very little sense as I tangle my fingers in her hair, plucking out the pins, desperate to own her from the ends of these strands to the rasp of her breath.

‘Are you looking at me now, Remy?’ Her mouth glistens and her eyes shine.

‘Je te vois.’ I swallow back my groan as she sweeps her thumb across my wet head. ‘I see you.’

‘What do you see?’

‘The woman I love making me beg for mercy.’

‘Mercy you don’t deserve.’

My moans are deeper, rougher, every inch of me burning, trembling, yearning as she bends to take me in her mouth once again. She sucks me with a breath-taking urgency, her moans rocking through me and disintegrating my brain.

‘Please, I need you.’ If I don’t do this now, I’ll be nothing but an impression burned into the wall. A flash of heat and I’ll be gone.

Hands under her arms, I bring her mouth to mine in a kiss that’s hard and unforgiving. I suck on her tongue like she sucked me, run my teeth down her neck as I whisper my litany of dirty promises in French and in English and God only knows what else. Our positions reversed, I gather her dress, pushing it upwards. Tan legs, the very apex of her covered in a wisp of cream lace. I rest my hands in the dip of her waist as I press my face against her and inhale. Slowly, I slip her panties down her legs, her legs trembling as they travel. I pull down her zipper as I rise, the satin soft fabric at her chest beginning to gape, the reveal not quick enough for my senses. I bring my hands to the neckline.

‘If you rip this dress, so help me, I will never take you in my mouth again.’

‘Don’t make promises you have no wish to keep,’ I tease softly, pinching her nipple over the silk.

‘Conceited man.’

‘I’ll buy you a dozen dresses.’ I press my words to her neck. ‘A hundred. A thousand.’

‘But it won’t be this dress.’

I find myself smiling, the picture of her already burned into my memory. ‘You always look so beautiful, ma Rose. In a pretty dress on the stairs, on your knees full of me. Pressed up against a wall, your mouth wet, and clothes half undone.’ She shivers as I run my tongue across the rise of her chest, peeling away the remains of her dress until the round fullness of her breasts are revealed.