Pearl Trilogy: Shimmers Of Pearl Part 16
He guides my b.u.t.t up and down his length, and the friction makes my nerve endings converge in a spool of longing, wanting and neediness. I edge my behind up higher, and his fingers walk their way under my silk shirt, up my belly to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He unhooks my lacey bra so my b.o.o.bs are free, cups them, groaning a little as they fill his hands.
"So s.e.xy, so full and sensitive, cherie." He flickers his fingertips on my tight nipples, pinching them gently as I continue my slow, steady rub along the seam of his fly opening, the bulge rea.s.suringly, monumentally solid as it pleasures my c.l.i.t. I can always rely on Alexandre; not once, even when he's been drinking, has he failed me. He's always ready, always turned on, even if all I do is give him a provocative look.
As my a.s.s slaps up and down against him, I'm reminded of Laura's insult, fat a.r.s.e' (with an R) and wonder if Alexandre sees me that way. I don't think so he's forever telling me what a gorgeous behind I have. I lean forward so my c.l.i.t is getting the full-on ma.s.sage it craves, even though the finest, merino wool of his expensive suit fabric is between us. My lids start fluttering, my core tightens I'm entering the seventh heaven zone, the zone where my mind blanks out, and colors and stars have me concentrating on nothing but my impending o.r.g.a.s.m. Alexandre lifts my hair away from my neck and kisses me there again, tweaking the nubs of my sensitive nipples at the same time. I keep grinding against his solid form, turned on, even more, by his promises.
"You know how I'm going to f.u.c.k you on our wedding night, don't you, baby? I'm going to stretch that little pearlette open and f.u.c.k you so deep and slow, fill you up, cherie, fill up your Tight. Little. p.u.s.s.y. I'll have to f.u.c.k you hard. I'll have to ravage you a bit, though; I won't be able to resist. I want you coming all around my stiff c.o.c.k. I love it when you cry out my name."
My hips buck backward as he tilts his groin even more firmly up against me. I close my eyes. The image of him deep inside me has me revved up, and one last push against my c.l.i.t makes my core spasm and has me coming in a rush of relief. I still myself as rippling waves shimmy through my center. I can hear my quiet moans tremble through my body.
"Alexandre...oh G.o.d, you've done it again."
"That's right baby, your body needs this - it's healthy for you. I love the way you whimper when you come for me."
His fingers are still tweaking my nipples so the aftershocks linger on; my moans fading slowly as I come down from my climax.
I let myself bask in the glory of my o.r.g.a.s.m and after a while, I climb off his lap and kneel on the floor, dipping my head in his crotch.
He lifts my face up and looks into my hungry eyes. "You don't need to do that, cherie."
"Oh, but I want to." His erection is tight up against his pants. I unb.u.t.ton them, letting my fingers linger on the fine, smooth fabric, and free him from his entrapment. "Raise your b.u.t.t up," I order, and he lifts himself an inch so that I can pull the tailored pants free. I roll them carefully down his thighs. I bury my head in his crotch and smell the unique Alexandre elixir mixed with a sweet whiff of lavender, and Ma.r.s.eille soap powder from his freshly laundered boxer briefs.
His fingers tangle in my hair and he flexes his hips forward and groans. "f.u.c.k, you make me hard."
I don't take off his underwear not yet anyway. I nibble my teeth gently along the solidity of his length, nipping him through the soft, combed cotton.
His hands clasp my head and I know he's hot for me. His c.o.c.k flexes as if it's a separate ent.i.ty; a creature that's alive. Alexandre leans back languidly in his leather chair and I look up at him from under my lashes. His stomach is taut and faintly tanned and I lick that smooth fine line of hair that reaches from his belly b.u.t.ton down to his core.
My G.o.d, he's gorgeous. I mean, gorgeous. Is there any movie star who can compete with his looks? Any rock star? Anyone at all? Not for me, anyway. Cary Grant is dead, so are Paul Newman and James Dean. Alexandre isn't like other modern men. He is beyond. He has the kind of charisma Hollywood actors used to have. Mysterious. Brooding. Just a look from him could weaken a nun. Never in my life had I imagined I would be attracted to a man so much younger than myself, yet here I am relishing the antic.i.p.ation as I am about to go down on him.
"If you'd had an outie that would have been a deal breaker," I tell him with a naughty smile.
"An outie? What's that?"
"An innie or an outie the way your belly-b.u.t.ton is. I'm not a fan of outies yours is perfect."
"Lucky, then."
"Very lucky."
I pull his boxer briefs carefully over his ma.s.sive erection and wonder how other men must feel if they catch a glimpse of Alexandre even resting' he's extremely well endowed. Love is like snow, you never know how many inches you're going to get. And I've lucked out.
He edges his b.u.t.t up a fraction and I roll the boxer briefs down, taking my time. Eye candy. Deeelicious. I'm savoring every second of this sweet treat I'm about to devour.
I lean up and nuzzle my head against his strong chest. His torso's not pumped' like some men who work out. No, his is an integral strength, the muscles taut and lean but not bulky. I breathe in his scent, stroking my nose along his pecs. His nipples are firm and flat I lick one, flickering my tongue around, sucking on it hard until he groans quietly. His erection flexes and he bucks his hips up a touch, as if that part of his anatomy is saying, me too'.
Don't worry, I think you next, you perfect specimen. I'm still on my knees and I dip my head further south, tracing my tongue down his taut stomach, then taking his crown gently between my lips, nipping the satiny crest with just my pursed lips, no teeth, pulling and tightening them around the smooth head of his proud p.e.n.i.s. A whimper of pleasure escapes my throat and I take it all in now, as much as I possibly can, holding the root of his shaft with my tightened fist, controlling it so I don't gag with his size.
Alexandre growls quietly. "f.u.c.k, Pearl. You're incredible."
His words spur me on. I feel the pulse of my c.l.i.t knowing I'm driving him wild is my aphrodisiac. This is all about him now. This is my gift. I hollow my cheeks to create suction and move my head up and down along his thick length. My golden hair is falling over his stomach and he brushes it away from my face so he can see me work on him, as he bites his lower lip with pleasure.
"n.o.body has ever given me such a good...oh f.u.c.k, Pearl baby, you're the best...oh f.u.c.k...I love this so f.u.c.king much."
Baby you're the best.' I think of The Spy Who Loved Me.... n.o.body does it better...Just keep it comin'...
One hand of his is gripping the nape of my neck and the other clawing the chair. He's driving his hips upwards to meet my actions and he's moaning now, almost scowling. I flicker my tongue on the end of his crown and then suck hard back down. That's it - he bursts inside my mouth in a hot rush, emptying himself with a cry.
"Oh baby, can't get enough of you." His hands are on my b.r.e.a.s.t.s again, kneading them, cupping them. I suck harder, making sure I have all of his c.u.m, every last drop.
His hard b.u.t.tocks relax their tension and his climax is spent. A rumbling growl of contentment escapes his throat; low and satisfied. "Thank you, baby, for making me forget," he says. "And making me remember how insanely in love I am with you."
He then gives one last, unexpected thrust and another rush spurts into my mouth. I suck it all in, relishing him. I rim my tongue around the top to wash him clean, kiss him there, then lick my lips like a lioness savoring her prey, satisfied at a job' well done. Alexandre's sperm is mine, and mine alone. No other woman in the world is getting any.
His s.e.m.e.n belongs to me, I think greedily to swallow, to smear on my t.i.ts, to lavish between my thighs and all the way inside me.
That b.i.t.c.h, Laura, isn't getting one single drop.
Chapter Eleven.
Alexandre announced yesterday that we're going to Paris to visit his mother. I was worried about flying but I am past eight weeks, the most vulnerable period for clots or unforeseen problems and my gynecologist has given me the green light. I even rang the Indian doctor to double check and she confirmed it was okay, but to drink plenty of fluids and not sit in my seat without moving for too long a period. We'll be flying by private jet, anyway, so the stress factor will be almost nil. Call me a carbon footprint culprit, I am.
However, my guilt is alleviated as our plane will be full. We are taking a posse of people with us. Daisy and Amy, and some underprivileged twelve year-old girls from the Bronx, along with two of their teachers with whom Daisy has been working. They are planning a sightseeing trip; Alexandre is paying for everything; the accommodation and all expenses. Five days.
That's one of the things I love about him so much. He shares his wealth. He believes in waving magic wands for people one kind gesture, one experience of a lifetime for a child could change their outlook on the world, forever. That's what he believes, and I agree. Yes, we could both be sitting in our private jet (did I say our'??) sipping champagne and feeling gloriously glamorous, but giving something back is the biggest buzz of all. It may be chaos, though, eight kids (nine, including Amy) screaming and squealing with excitement. The Eiffel Tower, Montmartre, Notre Dame, The Louvre, La Place Vendome (where my beautiful pearl necklace came from), and all the other delights and secrets of that magnificent city; whatever we can squeeze into five days.
I never have been to Paris. When I was a child, we went to the South of France, traveling from Italy by train and then back to Rome again where we were based. I imagine that everybody should visit Paris at some time in their lives; I hope it will be as splendid as people say.
While I'm in Paris, Alexandre will go to London to visit the dreaded Laura. They've spoken a couple of times on the phone, arguing, mostly. He has been trying to dissuade her, meanwhile, also trying to come up with some kind of plan in his head. She's adamant she wants him to go to London and produce his seed for her, no matter what. He even told her that he feared he had a recessive genetic disease or sickle cell anemia - anything to try and put her off - but she's not buying it.
I feel powerless; all I can do is watch the show unravel. Perhaps a double bill. I'm on tender hooks.
Anyway, Alexandre has managed to not commit himself to any promise. One thing I've learned about him is that he doesn't like lying and he is, ostensibly, honorable. Okay, he may not disclose everything, may keep things to himself but, basically, he's an honest person. He's not going to promise Laura something and double cross her; it simply isn't his style. All those times I had accused him in my head of being untruthful when, in fact, he wasn't at all. He has never actually lied to me. He may have kept information at bay, but he has never lied.
He hasn't told Laura anything concrete, has made no promises except that he'll see her face to face and work something out'. He has told me, however, that she isn't getting one droplet of his sperm and that I must stop worrying it's his dilemma and he'll sort it out. I wish I were the type of woman who could sit back and relax, just worry about what shoes I should wear, or what wallpaper to choose. Alas, I can hardly think of anything else except the Laura drama.
I just can't believe anybody would stoop so low, especially someone as proud as she is. I still have this vision of her standing at her front door like some glorious ship's figurehead in her blue satin robe, pretending that she'd had afternoon s.e.x with Alexandre. Like a fool, I was gullible enough to believe her. The other day, I asked Sophie about the phone call (when Laura chatted away to her in perfect French when I was sitting right there in her living room). Sophie laughed and said that Laura must have been talking to the speaking clock. At the third stroke the time will be...' Or perhaps, she said, she programmed a call to come through to herself from her cell phone. Whatever, Sophie said they hadn't spoken.
There is no doubt that Laura is a clever, scheming woman and, as she said herself, like a Rottweiler with a bone. I really don't want my fingers chewed off, but at the same time, how dare she get away with any of it? It just wouldn't be fair. Finally, at age forty, I have found love and have the chance to start a family and Laura comes along with her bacteria-laden, wooden spoon to stir it all up. If Alexandre doesn't manage to get rid of her, I will. I need to think of Plan B.
I wonder if her nature wasn't always like that, and Alexandre was too young, too sweet to see her true colors. I find it hard to believe that she has become this way from the accident or from medication. Her conniving demeanor suits her a little too well she looks too comfortable in her own skin.
Meanwhile, James is still missing in action. Laura has told Alexandre he's taking a holiday'. I know I seem like some foolish amateur super-sleuth (not so super) but Laura was convinced that Alexandre would get back together with her perhaps James was in the way? If she's capable of blackmail...what else could she do?
My suitcase is packed. What to wear? I have visions of sophisticated Parisian women tottering about in Christian Louboutins with chic haircuts, but Alexandre tells me that I may be disappointed, that Parisians are no more glamorous than anybody else.
There are so many paintings I want to see in the flesh'; the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, just for starters. So many pastries I need to sample, so many...of everything, I'm feeling giddy with nerves.
Alexandre and I are set up at the George V, one of Paris's most opulent hotels. It describes itself as located just steps from the Champs-Elysees, with private terraces that command all of Paris, lovingly restored 18th-century tapestries, and a defining spirit of elegance and charm, Four Seasons Hotel George V, Paris redefines luxury in the City of Light.'
Every word is true. He couldn't have picked a more stunning place.
So far, I am wandering around with flutters in my stomach, not so different from the first time I set eyes on Alexandre. The hotel, in itself, is a feast for the senses, let alone the rest of Paris. We are staying in the Presidential Suite I dare not even imagine the cost, but Alexandre has insisted that I experience Paris in all its glory.
He didn't care to stay with his mother, as he wants us to be completely free and not feel obliged to hang out with them if we don't want to. I have mixed emotions about meeting her; I can't shake off the fact that she is a murderess. I am partly in awe that she had the guts to go through with it, but also horrified. Surely, there could have been another way? Why couldn't she have escaped in the dead of night and hidden in a small village in South America somewhere? But murder? I look forward to meeting her, with both trepidation and wonder.
Daisy insisted on staying with the group. Alexandre has rented an apartment for them, replete with kitchen and plenty of room for everyone to run about and make a mess. The girls have all been rendered speechless and are less wild than I had imagined; a lot of them never having left New York, let alone visit another country. One of them asked if French Fries came from France a good question and it made me laugh. Although we'll be spending time with them, I am primarily here to be with Alexandre and meet his family, except for when he goes to London.
This evening, Alexandre and I will be alone for a romantic dinner. As we walk into the foyer, a smell of flowers invades my nostrils the floral arrangement of purple orchids is breathtaking. Bunches of blue hydrangeas, orchids and delphiniums are balanced on the edge of tall vases. Red dahlias are used sparingly for contrast. Indigo-blue, purple, mauve all theses matching tones complement each other in a harmonious dance of color. I'm in a daze.
"You know why I always pick this place?" Alexandre asks me without waiting for an answer. "Because of the famous flower arrangements here, designed by the florist extraordinaire, Jeff Leatham. I can always be guaranteed to walk into another world when I arrive at the George V. After a tense meeting, it's what I always crave."
"So you never stay at your mother's or with Sophie?"
He hands over his credit card to the concierge. "Not often. I like to be free to do my own thing. Not be beholden to anyone. Besides, here it's all perfect. If I need to borrow an umbrella it's there. The towels are fluffy and plentiful, I can order room service when I want. The suite comes with my own private gym. The spa is relaxing, the ma.s.sages exquisite you get the picture."
"You've become a spoiled business man with a penchant for luxury."
"Yes, I'm guilty. Sue me." He gives me a sly wink.
"Bonsoir, monsieur." The concierge rattles away to Alexandre in French while I survey the beautiful surroundings. Our bags have already been whisked away from us, and we're free to meander.
We wander through the lobby to an inner courtyard open to the elements, and I see that these same, stunning orchids in the floral displays have been suspended in the air by seemingly invisible threads, covering the expanse as if they are floating in the air. Instead of a carpet of color, it is like a cloud of color and reminds me of Alexandre's lavender fields at his house in Provence.
When we arrive at our suite, our bags have been delivered ahead of us. It is stunning. The walls are decorated in China blue and white brocade. The place is the size of a generous apartment with two bedrooms, a living room, a dining room, a private gym and three bathrooms. The rooms boast antique, Louis XlV furniture, crystal chandeliers, huge sofas, a dining room table and chairs, and even a marble fireplace overhung with a vast Italian gilt mirror. The master bedroom has sumptuous king-size bed which is majestically backed with swathes of the same blue fabric. The oversized, marble bathroom includes a steam room, sauna, bidet and a private walk-in dressing room, plus a guest powder room, no less. We could have fit Daisy's entire entourage in here but we have it all to ourselves. Really, it seems a shame that we have to leave this hotel for even five minutes. We are in Paris - that, in itself is enough of a treat - a broom closet would have been enough but this? This is sinful.
Alexandre is eying me up with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Don't tell me you're feeling guilty?" He knows me so well funny how he can read my thoughts just by my expression.
"Not guilty, just...well, this is overwhelming. Just coming for a c.o.c.ktail to the George V would be enough, but this is-"
"You're not allowed c.o.c.ktails, cherie."
"Don't I know it! Not allowed anything I yearn for."
"Only three more weeks, baby, till your trimester is up, and then you can have what you want most."
The Weapon of Ma.s.s Destruction or, as I now see it, the Tool of Creation.
He steps closer and lays his arms about my shoulders, drawing me into him, inhaling me as if I were one of the sweet-smelling floral arrangements.
"You know how much I think about f.u.c.king you?" His eyes light up, then narrow into lascivious slits.
"Sometimes you frighten me," I say, the way Little Red Riding Hood might have said to the Big Bad Wolf, while licking his chops.
"I'll go slow, but boy, am I going to do things to you the moment I can."
"You could now," I suggest, gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling him towards me.
"I wouldn't trust myself. Anyway, waiting makes the prize all the sweeter, cherie. I'm a patient man."
His face meets mine and he kisses the corner of my mouth, letting his lips trail even softer kisses along my jaw-line. I tilt my head up and he runs his lips down my neck making little nips as he pulls me tightly to him, as if he never wants to let me go. I feel his erection pressed up against my belly and I part my mouth, my eyes closed.
"You smell so good," he breathes. One of his hands grips my waist and the other caresses my stomach, sketching his fingertips about the curves. "Nice, I can feel that there's life inside of you."
"It's too early to feel a heartbeat though, isn't it?"
"Not a heartbeat, but I feel a little belly growing. Very s.e.xy. There's nothing more erotic than a pregnant woman. Well, a pregnant woman carrying my child, anyway."
My jaw suddenly clenches; his words make me remember something extremely unpleasant. "When are you going to London?"
He winces. "I don't want to think about Laura, right now. I just want to enjoy this evening with you and savor every second with the woman I'm in love with."
He parts my lips with his tongue and begins a demanding but slow kiss, probing his tongue inside my mouth and then clasping his teeth gently about my lower lip. A deep growl stirs somewhere deep inside him. He lets go and murmurs, "Sorry, that was a bit rough - you bring out the beast in me, Pearl."
"I bring out the best in you," I whisper against his perfect mouth, and then return his kiss, clinching my hands about the back of his neck and pulling his head to mine so there is no s.p.a.ce between us. Our tongues begin their erotic tango of tease and pull, tantalizing and coaxing, hot and sensual. I can feel my nipples harden, my stomach pool with desire. I stroke my tongue along his and he moans into my mouth. "I'd do anything for you, cherie. I'd kill for you - I'd do anything to protect you, my precious Pearl."
"Me too," I reply. "I'd do anything. And I swear, I'll never run from you again, no matter what."
"Dance with me."
"I didn't know you liked dancing."
"There are a few things about me you've yet to find out," he tells me in a soft, enigmatic voice. He takes out his iPod and puts on a song a slow, s.e.xy salsa beat, sung in French.
"What's this?"
"Mon Ami by Kim. Listen to the lyrics the words are perfect for us, cherie they tell our story."
He places his hands around the small of my back and begins to languidly move his hips in time with the music. He presses his thigh in between my legs and keeps up a sweet pressure as he rocks his groin with the rhythm of the beat, leading me about the room in slow circles. He's a great dancer. I relax into him, letting him guide me. My French isn't perfect but I get the gist what Kim is singing about. Mon Ami my friend. I listen to the words, catching snippets of bits I understand....n.o.body can separate us....I'd do anything for us...I would do anything for you... ...I'll be there for you...you need me...you can count on me...only you can enter my secret garden...I want to share everything with you...the good and the bad.
True, this song was written for us.
"What else are you hiding from me?" I whisper into his hair.
"I'm a black-belt in Taekwondo."
Ripples of excitement shimmer through me. There is nothing s.e.xier that a trained killer who knows how to control himself. "That figures. I always wondered where those thigh muscles came from," I say, pressing myself even harder against his leg. Can you break blocks in two?"
"I can break a lot of things in two, cherie," he says, turning me with the rhythm. "I can but I usually don't."