Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)

The events of last night rushed back to me. Every bit of it. In sudden, excruciating detail. The memories played out in my mind in full color.

Moaning, I sat straight up in bed. Lust bloomed in my center.

Why aren’t you here to take care of this horniness that you’ve brought on?

I thought about the rest of last night.

Jean-Pierre had taken us back to my suite by dawn.

Where are you?

I checked the opened balcony door. Sheer curtains lazily rose and fell. The sky darkened outside.

We slept the whole day away.

His huge body had been the most comfortable warmth to sleep next to.

How am I going to sleep without him after this?

And when would this end? What had I agreed to last night?

I’d been so consumed by him, so happy that he’d returned, that I’d added thirty more days to this “girlfriend experience”. My heart fluttered with the idea of being with him longer. An ease came to this morning. The ticking of the clock came out less foreboding.

We had more time.

I’d told him, “A month is a long time to extend.”

He shifted his face to neutral. “What were your plans after this?”

“I was going to use the new budget to search for higher positions and save for a possible move to that place.”

“Where do you want to play?” he asked.

“Anywhere.”

“Do the job search while you’re with me. We’ll go anywhere you want to.”

A little bit of panic hit me. It all sounded right, but was it good for me? So many advantages came. I would live in Paris for free and search for a new position.

It was one thing to be in Belladonna with him, where I could leave and run off to my apartment. But now I was in his country, and I was here on his terms.

I didn’t know much about him. He’d been nice to me, but niceness could be easily faked. We had undeniable sexual chemistry, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a psychopath. Plenty of people had chemistry with crazy people.

All of these anxious thoughts ran through my head in a split second. And then my mind drifted to him naked and in the shower.

The thing was, if I didn’t spend this time in Paris with Jean-Pierre, I would never forgive myself.

No regrets, Eden.

The shower continued to sound. A little steam crept out of the opened bathroom.

If anything, it was advantageous for me, more than him. I would earn more money, spend even more amazing moments with him, and search for a dream position at the same time. I should’ve immediately jumped to the idea with a yes.

He’d asked me in the Eiffel Tower, “What were you telling yourself?”

“That I know that I’m going to say yes.”

His smile spread. “Then, I get my two months.”

“Jean-Pierre, you said one month.”

He laughed. “Then, one month.”

I let out a long breath. “Yes. . .and thanks for. . .everything. Even letting me search for a job….as I…work for you.”

That gaze heated. “Is it really hard work?”

“No. I enjoy it. Pleasing you has become a new passion.”

It had been the truth. I found I enjoyed pleasing Jean-Pierre more than making music. That worried me.

I need a second opinion.

I picked up my phone and dialed Shalimar. If I’d called Leo, he would scream and go crazy that I’d flown out of the country and now decided to extend my new career as a prostitute. Shalimar would get the extension more.

The phone didn’t even ring.

That same message of the phone line not being in service came on.

What’s going on with Shalimar’s phone?

This made me even more nervous. The secret deal that her and me had, involved enough money for her to not only keep her phone on, but make sure that we remained in contact. Something like a deal extension not only meant more money, but more guidance.

Something is going on.

If I’d been in Belladonna, I could’ve solved this easily. I would’ve just gone over to her apartment, or even stopped by the Candy Shop since Aunt Celina had flown to her friend in Prague to mourn the death of his nephew.

A heavy sigh left the bathroom.

I directed my attention to that lovely masculine noise.

Shalimar’s phone and Aunt Celina’s sudden departure went lower on the priority list.

I am on the job. . .I should be working. . .

My body warmed, even though Jean-Pierre had muddled my body into soreness, from the hard-hitting thrusting out on the balcony, to the tongue whipping he did to my clit in the suite later.

I rose with the intent to shower with him. Deep in the lust-filled part of my mind, I knew there would be no washing happening with the sexy man in my shower.

The sound of running water calmed me.

I walked to him, feeling ridiculously gracious. He was gorgeous, providing, and accommodating. And his cock hung to his knees and he knew exactly how to use it. He played my body like a violin. At one point, I almost gave him a bow, yearning to hear what other moans I would let go.