Hooked Up: Book 3 (23 page)

Obviously.
They should have been paying
him.

“Then I met Laura. She was a buddy, really, like my best friend, at the time. Sophie has never really been a ‘friend’ because she was too busy playing my mother figure, and I’d never stayed long in one school so I didn’t have so many guy friends. Laura was my mate. But now I look back on it, I don’t think I really loved her. I mean, I did, but nothing, nothing compared to how I feel for you. Physically, there wasn’t that fusion, you know, and I never had that soul connection with her, not like I have with you, Pearl.”

I threaded my fingers through his. It was so good to feel close again. To know he was mine. What he was saying about loving me more than he loved Laura was like a cool breeze on a sweltering day.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Sometimes my stomach wells up with jealousy when I think of Saul or Brad. Silly, I know, but I get furious knowing you’ve loved others before me.”

My lips curled up. I loved him being jealous . . . how childish was that? But I put his fears at bay and told him, “Ditto, Alexandre. I never felt about them the way I do about you. But you don’t know what love really is when you’re with someone in the moment, especially when you’re young. You’re not aware how in love you are until you have someone else to compare it to. If I hadn’t been with them maybe I wouldn’t appreciate
you
now.” I thought of men I had been with before Alexandre and a nasty memory came to mind. Which led me to my next thought: Jane Doe. We’d been so consumed by the Laura drama that I had almost forgotten to ask Alexandre about the mystery money and the charity he’d set up.

“By the way, Alexandre, I think there’s something you have omitted to tell me.”

He looked defensive. “I’ve bloody told you everything. I’m not holding back secrets about Laura, I swear.”

I stroked his earlobe and said, “Tell me about the Jane Doe Foundation.”

He nodded his head and the faintest smile edged his lips. “Ah, yes. That.”

I shot him a sideways glance. “Yes. That. Where did the money come from?”

“From those fuckwits who nearly ruined your life.”

“The football players?”

“Yup, those fat fucks.” His mouth puckered to show his disdain.

“How did you even find them? I mean,
I
don’t even know who they are.”

“And you never shall. I don’t even want you to give them another thought, Pearl. They’ve had their comeuppance. Well, not exactly—they’ve been let off lightly—but I hit them where it probably hurts most: in their wallets, and reminded them that violent actions have their consequences.”

I snuggled up against Alexandre’s chest and snaked my hand under his shirt. I felt his steady heart beat and felt at peace. “I don’t understand. How did you get them to donate? Types like that rarely turn out to be saints.”

“One of them seemed repentant. He donated quite a bit extra.”

I pulled my neck back and looked him in the eye. “But nobody just goes round doling out that kind of money, even if it is to charity. How did you get them to
do
it?”

He cocked a dark eyebrow. “I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

I tittered nervously. “No, seriously”

“I am being serious.”
Serioose
.

“Can I ask how?”

“You can ask, but I won’t tell.”

“
Don’t ask me about my business
. Is that it?”

He gave me a wry, mischievous smile. “Exactly.”

The fact that Alexandre had protected me in this roundabout fashion—ensuring money was given to abused girls who deserved safeguarding—warmed my soul. God knew what unorthodox method he’d used, but I felt strangely proud. Perhaps he was right; I didn’t want to give these men another thought. Knowing that justice had been served was enough. What he had done for me was, in effect, every woman’s fantasy. He’d stuck up for me. Fought for my rights, for women’s rights in general. Showed his solidarity. He had demonstrated the extent of his love with actions, not just words.

“That’s the sexiest thing any man has ever done for me.”

Funny how words can have an effect. I felt his groin swell against my butt. He was getting hard. Hard as a diamond. I pushed my ass into him and felt the thick ridge of his erection rub against me through the fabric of his pants, in just my perfect spot. He clasped his large hands on my hips and drew me closer, rocking against me, his mouth resting tenderly on the nape of my hairline.

“You beautiful thing, Pearl,” he whispered, kissing my neck. “Your skin is as soft as a dove’s.”

His warm breath made me shudder; a tingle ran through me like the jingle of a tiny, silver bell. Our clothes between us had me imagining—all the more—what would finally happen when he penetrated me again.
Yes
, I thought . . .
I’ll feel like a virgin
.

He guided my butt up and down his length, and the friction made my nerve endings converge in a spool of longing, wanting and neediness. I edged my behind up higher, and his fingers walked their way under my silk shirt, up my belly to my breasts. He unhooked my lacey bra so my boobs were free, cupped them, groaning a little as they filled his hands.

“So sexy, so full and sensitive, chérie.” He flickered his fingertips on my tight nipples, pinching them gently as I continued my slow, steady rub along the seam of his fly opening, the bulge reassuringly, monumentally solid as it pleasured my clit. I could always rely on Alexandre; not once, even when he’d been drinking, did he fail me. He was always ready, always turned on, even if all I did was give him a provocative look.

As my ass slapped up and down against him, I was reminded of Laura’s insult, “fat arse” (with an R) and wondered if Alexandre saw me that way. I didn’t think so—he was forever telling me what a gorgeous behind I had. I leaned forward so my clit was getting the full-on massage it craved, even though the finest, merino wool of his expensive suit fabric was between us. My lids started fluttering, my core tightened . . . I was entering the seventh heaven zone, the zone where my mind blanked out, and colors and stars had me concentrating on nothing but my impending orgasm. Alexandre lifted my hair away from my neck and kissed me there again, tweaking the nubs of my sensitive nipples at the same time. I kept grinding against his solid form, turned on, even more, by his promises.

“You know how I’m going to fuck you on our wedding night, don’t you, baby? I’m going to stretch that little pearlette open and fuck you so deep and slow, fill you up, chérie, fill up your Tight. Little. Pussy. I’ll have to fuck 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 cock. I love it when you cry out my name.”

My hips bucked backward as he tilted his groin even more firmly up against me. I closed my eyes. The image of him deep inside me had me revved up, and one last push against my clit made my core spasm and had me coming in a rush of relief. I stilled myself as rippling waves shimmied through my center. I could hear my quiet moans tremble through my body.

“Alexandre . . . oh God, 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 were still tweaking my nipples so the aftershocks lingered on; my moans fading slowly as I came down from my climax.

I let myself bask in the glory of my orgasm and, after a while, I climbed off his lap and knelt on the floor, dipping my head in his crotch.

He lifted my face up and looked into my hungry eyes. “You don’t need to do that, chérie.”

“Oh, but I want to.” His erection was tight up against his pants. I unbuttoned them, letting my fingers linger on the fine, smooth fabric, and freed him from his entrapment. “Raise your butt up,” I ordered, and he lifted himself an inch so that I could pull the tailored pants free. I rolled them carefully down his thighs. I buried my head in his crotch and smelled the unique Alexandre elixir mixed with a sweet whiff of lavender and Marseille soap powder from his freshly laundered boxer briefs.

His fingers tangled in my hair and he flexed his hips forward and groaned. “Fuck, you make me hard.”

I didn’t take off his underwear—not yet, anyway. I nibbled my teeth gently along the solidity of his length, nipping him through the soft, combed cotton.

His hands clasped my head and I knew he was hot for me. His cock flexed as if it were a separate entity; a creature that was alive. Alexandre leaned back languidly in his leather chair, and I looked up at him from under my lashes. His stomach was taut and faintly tanned and I licked that smooth fine line of hair that reached from his belly button down to his core.

My God, he was gorgeous. I mean,
gorgeous.
Was there any movie star who could compete with his looks? Any rock star? Anyone at all? Not for me, anyway. Cary Grant, Paul Newman, and James Dean were all dead. Alexandre wasn’t like other modern men. He was
beyond
. He had 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 was relishing the anticipation as I was about to go down on him.

“If you’d had an outie that would have been a deal breaker,” I told him with a naughty smile.

“An outie? What’s that?”

“An innie or an outie: the way your belly-button is. I’m not a fan of outies—yours is perfect.”

“Lucky, then.”

“Very lucky.”

I pulled his boxer briefs carefully over his massive erection and wondered how other men would feel if they caught a glimpse of Alexandre. Even “resting” he was extremely well endowed. Love is like snow, you never know how many inches you’re going to get. And I’d lucked out.

He edged his butt up a fraction, and I rolled the boxer briefs down, taking my time. Eye candy. Deeelicious. I savored every second of this sweet treat I was about to devour.

I leaned up and nuzzled my head against his strong chest. His torso was not “pumped” like some men who work out. No, his was an integral strength, the muscles taut and lean, but not bulky. I breathed in his scent, stroking my nose along his pecs. His nipples were firm and flat. I licked one, flickering my tongue around, sucking on it hard until he groaned quietly. His erection flexed and he bucked his hips up a touch, as if that part of his anatomy was saying, “me too.”

Don’t worry
, I thought
—you next, you perfect specimen.
Still on my knees, I dipped my head farther 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 penis. A whimper of pleasure escaped my throat and I took it all in, as much as I possibly could, holding the root of his shaft with my tightened fist, controlling it so I didn’t gag with his size.

Alexandre growled quietly. “Fuck, Pearl. You’re incredible.”

His words spurred me on. I felt the pulse of my clit . . . knowing I was driving him wild was my aphrodisiac. This was all about him, now. This was my gift. I hollowed my cheeks to create suction and moved my head up and down along his thick length. My golden hair was falling over his stomach and he brushed it away from my face so he could see me work on him, as he bit his lower lip with pleasure.

“Nobody has ever given me such a good . . . oh fuck, Pearl baby, you’re the best . . . oh fuck . . . I love this so fucking much.”

‘
Baby you’re the best.’
I thought of
The Spy Who Loved Me . . . Nobody does it better . . . Just keep it comin’. . .

One hand of his gripped the nape of my neck, and the other clawed the chair. He drove his hips upwards to meet my actions and he was now moaning, almost scowling. I flickered my tongue on the end of his crown and then sucked hard back down. That was it . . . he burst inside my mouth in a hot rush, emptying himself with a cry.

“Oh baby, can’t get enough of you.” His hands were on my breasts again, kneading them, cupping them. I sucked harder, making sure I had all of his cum, every last drop.

His hard buttocks relaxed their tension and his climax was spent. A rumbling growl of contentment escaped his throat; low and satisfied. “Thank you, baby, for making me forget,” he said. “And making me remember how insanely in love I am with you.”

He then gave one last, unexpected thrust, and another rush spurt into my mouth. I sucked it all in, relishing him. I rimmed my tongue around the top to wash him clean, kissed him there, then licked my lips like a lioness savoring her prey, satisfied at a “job” well done. Alexandre’s sperm was mine, and mine alone. No other woman in the world was getting any.

His semen belonged to
me,
I thought greedily. To swallow, to smear on my tits, to lavish between my thighs and all the way inside me.

That bitch Laura wasn’t getting one single drop.

A
LEXANDRE ANNOUNCED that we were going to Paris to visit his mother. I was worried about flying but was past eight weeks, the most vulnerable period for clots or unforeseen problems, and my gynecologist had 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’d be flying by private jet anyway, so the stress factor would be almost nil. Call me a carbon footprint culprit, I was.

However, my guilt was alleviated as our plane would be full. We were 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 had been working. They were planning a sightseeing trip; Alexandre was paying for everything; the accommodation and all expenses. Five days.

That’s one of the things I loved about him so much. He shared his wealth. He believed 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 believed, and I agreed. Yes, we could have both been sitting in our private jet, sipping champagne and feeling gloriously glamorous. But giving something back was the biggest buzz of all. It would be chaos, though, eight kids (nine, including Amy) screaming and squealing with excitement. The Eiffel Tower, Montmartre, Notre Dame, The Louvre, La Place Vendôme (where my beautiful pearl necklace came from), and all the other delights and secrets of that magnificent city; whatever we could squeeze into five days.