Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)

Maybe, I should have extended longer? Is that crazy? Yes. I’m being crazy.

Second thoughts left as soon as I stepped into the bathroom.

Steam had moistened the space. Bright pink roses filled all the crystal vases in each corner of the room, filling the air with a flowery fragrance. The lights had been dimmed.

I strolled toward the shower.

It had no wall or glass door. Only three walls and an opening. Jean-Pierre had both of his hands planted on the wall in front of the shower’s head. His muscled back was to me. Water drenched his hair and streamed down in squiggly lines along his neck, tattooed back, and yummy ass. The violin’s skull glowed and moved under the flowing water.

I still can’t believe I’m getting paid for this.

That thought brightened me, and then it saddened me too within seconds.

How amazing would it have been if this was real?

If I were his actual girlfriend?

A relationship.

Not an experience.

An emotional connection.

Not a financial transaction.

I could’ve loved this man. Some feelings had already sparked in my heart.

I’d done my best to keep them down. Not pour any water on it. Not fertilize the soil or let the sun shine on it. Those feelings couldn’t be cultivated. They couldn’t grow, nor rise. Because in the end, there would be no harvest.

In this small time, he’d showed me that he could be everything that I yearned to have—loving, gentle, compassionate, and protective.

Another extension and I would beg to do this for free. Be careful, Eden. Very careful.

Anxious little knots bound inside my shoulders and piled inside the back of my neck. The longer I studied Jean-Pierre’s wet sculpted body, the more I stood there in this pit of unease.

Keep the emotions out of it. We’re playing. . .pretend.

With his back still to me, he asked. “Come inside?”

“You knew I was behind you?”

“Je sais toujours où tu es, mon amour.”

I smiled. “You always know where I am?”

“Oui.” He turned around.

I had a cute reply, but the words left my mouth.

He was a work of art. A cruel depiction of masculine beauty. Uncontrolled power. Dark. Sexy. And so fucking tempting.

The shower sprayed down that chiseled face, then hit the hard curve of his pecs to only stream down in delicious lines over the ridges of layered muscle. His cock hung, long, solid, and thick, but appeared close to rising. Water spilled over the length and dripped from the tip. With each drop, my body fell deeper into an ocean of lust. I drowned in it.

He leaned against the wall behind him. “Viens ici, douce sirène.”

I obliged and walked to him.

He gathered me in his arms. Warm water sprayed down my back, wetting my hair and drenching my body.

A soft moan left me.

He licked his lips. “How did you sleep?”

“Very well.”

I eyed his injured arm. “Where’s your sling?”

“In the garbage.”

I noticed the two wounds on his injured shoulder. They were the size of quarters. Someone had done jagged sewing to close them. They look newly healed, but I was no medical professional.

Not thinking, I blurted out, “What happened?”

He studied me.

“I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

He tucked some of my wet strands behind my ear. “I was shot twice in my shoulder. The doctor dug them out and sewed it up. The sling is to keep me from moving the healing muscle.”

“So, when we get out of the shower, I should take the sling out of the garbage?”

He frowned. “I’ll get a new one and put it on.”

“I’m not trying to nag, but I do like it when you can use both arms. Let’s make sure you heal correctly.”

“I like it when you get bossy.” He tilted my way and brushed his nose against my forehead as he inhaled me. A subtle gasp escaped my lips as he drew me into a kiss. When he pulled away, I rubbed my breasts against him.

“What’s the first thing you want to see today?” He licked my nipple’s point. “Where in Paris have you always dreamed of going to?”

“What do you want us to do today?”

He chuckled. “None of those ideas involve leaving our suite.”

“Do you want to stay in? You’re injured.”

“I thought I showed you last night that I wasn’t injured.” Teasing, Jean-Pierre nibbled along the curve of my breast. I jerked with each marking of his teeth on my skin. His bites tingled and delighted me all at the same time. He dipped his hands between my legs, and whispered, “I dreamed of you last night.”

I moaned.

“We lay on a floating island. Clouds surrounded us.” He slipped his finger inside of me. “We made love.”

Arching in response, I tried to pay attention to his words, but unable to ignore him toying with my body. “Oh, Jean-Pierre.”

“That’s what you whispered in my dream.”

I rocked into his hand. Jean-Pierre stroked my pussy faster and faster. With every thrust of his finger, it drove me crazy. I wanted my tongue on his body. Licking up and down and all around. I wanted his cock in my mouth. Sucking and stuffing it. I wanted to feel him deep inside of me. My mouth. My pussy. My ass. Slipping all over my skin.