Nights In Black Lace (6 page)

Her tousled hair got into her mouth, and his big hands pushed it away. For a moment, he was gentle, looking down at her, about to kiss her but somehow not ready.

His gaze was serious and highly intelligent. Odette thought with wonder and a measure of fear that she could very well love him.

Not now. Not yet. But the thought made her mind spin. In another minute, he would enter her body…and she knew that the connection would be more than sexual.

Sex with him was fantastic, would be even more erotic and intense face to face, but it would not be as strong as the emotions which assailed her when she looked into his eyes.

Was she alone in feeling as she did? She did not know Bryan well enough to read him accurately, if at all.

For another long moment, they looked at each as warily as animals. Then his passion dissolved his reserve, and he claimed her mouth in a hard, bruising kiss.

“Condoms in the drawer,” she said breathlessly when he finally let her go. He'd thrust wildly into her belly while he'd kissed her. She wasn't going to go without that.

Bryan rose, yanked open the drawer of another Victorian table set beside the bed, and rip-roll-slide, sheathed himself just like that. Covered in latex, his cock got stiffer, the thick base pumped from the tighter ring at the bottom of the condom.

How excellent that extra thickness would feel when he was all the way inside her, Odette thought dreamily. She loved the satisfying feeling of her labia stretching to accommodate a well-endowed man who filled her completely.

“On all fours,” he said. “I want to get deep.”

Odette made a murmur of protest—she'd wanted to see his face—then rolled over and got on hands and knees. A hard fucking from behind was something she adored.

Her own face buried in the pillows. Sexually anonymous and taking every inch of a man she could not see—ah, yes. They could begin that way.

“Wait a minute.” He got up from the bed.

Odette looked around, staying in position.

“I want to see your face,” he said, surprising her. “We can put a mirror here—” he lifted a medium-sized one right off the wall and positioned it on the table by the bed—“and you can see me behind you and I can see you. Okay?”

“You have done it,” she said, pleased. “Of course it is okay.”

She turned on the bed so that her face could be seen in the mirror.

“Yeah,” he growled, bending his body over hers. He bit at her hair and tugged it, then nipped her ear.

Odette winced with pleasure.

“I love to see you react. Missed that with my head where it was.”

“Couldn't be helped,” she gasped. His teeth now held a hank of her hair.

Bryan let go. His eyes on her face, supporting the weight of his body on one hand, he reached under with the other and began to slap her tits gently. They swayed and bounced into each other.

The sheathed cock lying along her spine twitched and throbbed.

He got to work on her nipples next, tugging at them, pulling them into hard points. Then he circled his palm over the hot tips.

“Ahh,” Odette moaned. “Put your weight on me. Use both hands.”

“You sure?” he asked into her sensitive ear.

“Yes. I can take it. I love rough play on my nipples. I love you dominant like this.”

She closed her eyes as she felt the coiling pressure of his body shift. He was only slightly heavier and she realized he was still holding himself up by tensing the massive muscles in his thighs.

But now he had both hands free and her breasts craved his touch.

The firm flesh filled his palms and he squeezed softly, cupping and caressing as he nipped and kissed her neck.

She felt utterly wanton, a she-animal ready to cede control to a male in a wild mood. She let her head drop a little lower and her hair slid off her nape, baring it for his love bites.

Feeling the hot cock rubbing on her back was sweet torture. The second he positioned himself to take her pussy she would not breathe.

Bryan slid back several inches, letting go of her breasts after several final slaps.

She lifted her head but she couldn't see him in the mirror. He was directly behind her, crouching down—and then his tongue slid into her pussy. His hands spread her buttocks so he could go extremely deep with every thrust.

Soft and searching, his tongue prepared her for the cock she craved. Bryan stopped for a moment to let go of her behind and spread her labia completely apart.

Odette glimpsed herself through her tumbled hair. Her open mouth moaned with anticipation, as pink inside as the pussy he studied. Then she saw him rise behind her.

Her eyes widened when she felt the round, very firm head of his cock settle between the swollen folds of her most intimate flesh.

Bryan pushed the head just inside. “Don't move,” he said. “Not one inch. Just hold me and wait.”

Her whole body was trembling but she stilled when his big hands caressed her back with long, soothing strokes.

“You'll get what you want,” he said softly. “All of it. So deep you won't want to move.”

He inadvertently gave her the next half-inch, just under the head, when he moved forward to gather up her hair.

“Now you can see. We can both see.”

She kept her eyes fixed on his reflection. His expression was taut with hot desire and the effort of self-restraint. Greedy for what he'd been giving her, she hadn't given much thought to how he'd managed to wait this long.

One hand held her hip, one hand clasped her hair. His dark eyes were shadowed with lust. Very naked, very male lust.

He dragged her back to take his first, mighty thrust and Odette cried out with erotic joy, pinned to his body by his huge cock. His balls were almost too tight to sway against her. She pressed her thighs together, trying to feel them.

Ahh. There they were, a comforting, hard-soft roundness at the base of his cock. Primed to pump out scalding-hot come that would fill the condom's tip.

Odette wriggled blissfully against his balls, forgetting about the mirror for a moment. But only for a moment. She looked into it to see him looking down at her squirming behind.

Bryan's face was drawn into hard lines, but his lips were slightly parted as he watched her succulent cheeks jiggle and push into his groin.

Her mouth opened in an O as he raised his hand above them. Down it came and she took the stinging slap, crying out. “Oh! More!”

Bryan kept his cock inside her, not thrusting, but obviously relishing the pussy reaction to the spanking he was administering. His capable hand left sensations she could feel but not see as he reddened her ass for her.

The pleasure of spanking combined with deep, motionless penetration brought a heady rush of scarlet to her cheeks as well. And having her hair held—he controlled her whole body but only to give her the most outrageous pleasure.

Her eyes glowed with shamelessness as she took the bare-bottom discipline she so much enjoyed, marveling that she had never even asked for it.

He stopped. She looked at his face in the mirror. His eyes were closed and he was swaying slightly, overcome by the power of his own desire.

“More?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“No.” He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “I can't take it. I'll shoot my wad in another second if I don't stop.”

He took several deep breaths and she held perfectly still on all fours.

Bryan twined his fingers more tightly in her hair, and began to thrust at last. He was so long he had to be careful, but she maneuvered herself to accommodate him.

He got wild, letting go of her hair and grabbing her hips, dragging her back for every rock forward. Her breasts bounced just from that. The sight made him wilder.

At last he stopped again, gasping, still inside her.

She arched her back in a catlike way, and he covered the curve with his body, then pulled her up with one mighty arm.

Mon Dieu.
That endless cock stayed in.

“Touch yourself,” he growled into her ear. His strong fingers spread out across her belly to hold her up and in place.

She finger-flicked her clit, loving that she could see his huge balls in the mirror and his thighs, classic columns of pure muscle to either side of them.

Naked, he was heroic. His hair was as messy as hers but might well have belonged to a god of long ago, spilling over his shoulders and mingling with hers.

Both hands moved up over his breasts and he pulled her upper body back hard against.

“Pull on your clit,” he murmured. “Make it feel good.”

His cock thrust up so far inside that she felt completely secure. With slow, steady movements, she brought herself to the verge of orgasm.

And Bryan knew it instinctively.

“Go for it,” he murmured, his voice raw with desire. “I can see your face when you come…and your whole body…be inside you…please, Odette…”

“Ahh,” she moaned, closer still.

“Do it for me,” he whispered.

Something about the tenderness in his voice melted her last shred of resistance. She climaxed in his arms, sobbing with pleasure, knowing that he saw every second of her release. He held her only a little longer, then let her down gently to the bed.

Bryan topped her then, smoothing her hair back with careful hands, kissing her eyelids. She didn't need to see him—he was as close to her as her own soul at that moment.

Again he entered and she could tell from the extraordinary tenseness of his body that he was within seconds of a long-delayed orgasm. Delayed for her.

He thrust deeply, again and again, making a sound that had gone beyond a growl to a roar. He didn't quit, couldn't quit. At the penultimate moment, only the condom kept his explosive release contained. He reached down to hold it on, circling the rim and squeezing as he moaned in joyful agony.

She wished dreamily that they wouldn't need it some day, a falling-through-time kind of dream that she wasn't about to share. Odette stroked his shuddering back until his breaths came steadily, then ran her fingers through his hair.

“That was crazy,” he whispered, “in the most beautiful way. Do you know what I mean, Odette?”

“I think so,” she murmured. She didn't want to let go of him. Ever.

T
hey cuddled blissfully until awakened by the singing of birds.

“Tell those damn birds to shut the hell up,” Bryan said drowsily. “I don't know the French for it.”

Nestled against his side, Odette smiled as best she could with her face pressed against the silky-soft skin over his ribs. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in his sleep had put her to sleep soon after he'd collapsed onto the bed, rolling off her but not before giving her extravagant, somewhat incoherent compliments on her beauty and sexuality and so forth. She'd understood, listening as she unsnapped her garters, unrolled her stocking and flung them into a corner.

She was surprised they'd stayed on so long.

“I'll make some coffee,” she whispered, rising from the bed and heading for the kitchen.

She put the kettle on and spooned Ethiopian coffee into the press. It wouldn't be wasted on him. If all they had together were a few days, he still deserved the best.

Odette hummed as she planned a light breakfast, amused by being so domestic. She wasn't as a rule.

Of course living in Paris made it easy to pass oneself off as a great cook. She texted an order to the local gourmet grocery, and the bakery, and
voilà,
half an hour later, both orders were outside her door, delivered by the silent assistant to the concierge.

She arranged the brioche, jam, and fruit on her best plate, and maneuvered it onto a tray with the coffee press, cream, sugar, and cups. Then she hoisted the tray and headed back to her bedroom.

Bryan was sprawled across most of the bed, the sheet pulled halfway up his chest, a hand over his heart, his arm flung backward over the pillow his head rested on. He looked like he was dancing through a dream.

She would never know, because she wouldn't ask. Dreams seemed too intimate to share. And the waking ones were simply foolish.

Odette could not shake her lingering one about never letting him go. He was heading back to the U.S., he had a life there that she knew nothing about, and they would not be together.

Which made a morning like this that much sweeter.

Bryan stirred in his sleep, and she touched him gently.

“Wake up,” she said. Odette didn't know if he had to be anywhere but she did. The day after a launch show was usually crowded with calls and appointments and fashion buyers.

She could only dodge her responsibilities for so long. Marc would leave her alone and make excuses, but Lucie would take a taxi and bang on the door of her apartment eventually.

“Mmm,” he mumbled. “Do I smell coffee?”

“You do.”

“Okay.”

He opened his eyes and gave her a sleepy look that held warm passion.

Odette told herself that it was to be expected. Sex like that was uncommon—they had sparked a veritable fire in each other. But it was only sex, when all was said and done.

She poured out a cup of coffee and put it on the table by the bed.

Bryan yawned—a big, body-stretching, lionesque yawn. She remembered his roars and smiled, patting the dark fur on his chest. He turned his head to look at the cup, then at her.

“Thanks.”

He sat up, running a hand through hair that spiked every which way. She poured a cup for herself and looked at him, laughing between sips.

“I look that bad, huh?”

“You are adorable.”

He pondered the word. “As a red-blooded American male, I don't think the word adorable can be used to describe me.”

She gave a very French shrug. “Then make up your own compliment.”

“I look rugged. I look sexy. I look like Brad Pitt.”

Odette made a polite little grimace. “He is very pretty, but he will always look like a boy. I don't think you ever did.”

Bryan smirked, putting a liberal dose of cream and sugar into his coffee. “Okay, now you're talking.” He tossed the coffee down and held out his cup. “More, please.”

Odette poured him another.

“You, however, are adorable. And sensual. And gorgeous. I could be in love. I feel really different.” He studied her.

Odette nearly choked. Not that word. Every time she'd heard it from a man, something awful happened. They turned out to be actually in love with someone else. Or they hadn't been in love at all.

It was a very powerful word and ought to be kept locked up in a vault, as far as she was concerned.

“We hardly know each other,” she said after a while. “But it is true—there are feelings—” She met his gaze with a calm look. “They are hard to define,” she said.

Bryan looked disappointed. “Guess I shouldn't rush you.”

“Not when you are leaving France in two days.”

“Oh, right. Forgot about that. You could make me forget a lot of things, Odette.”

“Pah.” She waved at the tray. “Eat something. Food is better than romance.”

“Is it?” He gave her a disbelieving look.

Odette tore off a piece of fresh brioche, dabbed it with strawberry jam, and put it to his lips. Bryan ate it with a look of dawning bliss.

“Hmm. You could be right.” He did the same thing for her, but the piece was bigger and the jam dripped. He caught it with a finger and put it in her mouth. Odette licked it up. “So where are you off to? Back to the panty palace?”

“Do you mean the showroom? No.”

“Not working today?”

“I am trying to think of a valid excuse to not go in.”

“Do they need you around all the time?” he asked.

Odette made a vague gesture with her hand. “Usually.”

“I guess someone has to fold the underwear,” he mused. “I mean, I never go into that kind of store, outside of the occasional Valentine's Day run.”

“Do you want some outfits to take home?” she asked lightly.

“Now, that is a leading question if ever I heard one,” he said. He claimed the last chunk of sweet, soft, buttery brioche since she didn't seem to want it. “I don't have a girlfriend at the moment.”

“Ah.”

He sat up straighter, the tan skin of his muscular arms heightened by the white sheet. “Are you going to ask why?”

“No.”

“I travel too much, that's why,” he sighed. “But at heart, I'm a one-woman man.” He made a face. “Sorry. I didn't mean to talk like a country-and-western song.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There has to be a country song about a one-woman man sick of one-night stands, but I'm damned if I can remember it.”

“That is probably a good thing.” She didn't know or care about country music, but she was miffed by the reference to one-night stands.

Bryan folded his arms behind his head, finished with the coffee and the brioche. She picked at the fruit.

“What's on your mind?”

“Nothing,” she said, nibbling on a piece of cut pineapple. It was much too acid and she put it to one side on the tray. “I will take this away if you are done.”

He reached out and took her wrist. “Hey, I didn't say thank you. Breakfast in bed—I can't remember the last time someone did that for me.”

She hated whoever had, sight unseen.

“It was delicious,” he was saying. “And if you're not doing anything today, can I have the honor of taking you somewhere in Paris? You have to tell me where you want to go—I'd probably take you to some tourist trap.”

He meant well, but Odette was still miffed. Mornings after were always tricky. But then she almost never brought a lover home. In someone's else apartment, one had the option of leaving before daybreak.

At home—well, here she was with a virile young American who had gotten closer to her in twenty-four hours than any other man she'd ever known.

That was probably because he
was
going away, she told herself. She'd let down her guard, knowing she would not have to see him again after Friday. Which had helped her dodge the issue of telling him who she really was: not a stylist, but the multimillionaire owner of an international lingerie company.

“Let me call Lucie at the office,” she said. She glanced at the bedside clock. “
Zut.
That one is right. It is earlier than I thought. No one will be there until ten.”

“All right,” Bryan said happily. “Come on back to bed.”

Odette could not very well refuse. She rose and picked up the tray, though, and put it on top of the dresser. Then she went back to the bed and crawled under the covers he flung back for her to her new favorite place in the whole wide world: under his arm.

She scolded herself for being so romantic but Bryan Bachman made it hard to be anything else.

Besides, she loved to nestle and he was so big and warm.

“You never did tell me how you happened to be at the back of the showroom,” he began. “I couldn't believe my luck. I thought I'd seen you behind the curtains—”

“
Oui.
That was me.”

“Talk directly into the nipple,” he teased her. Her mouth had brushed it. “Can't quite hear you.”

“It was me!”

He laughed. “I was right. And were you looking at me?”

“I was looking at the audience. You were right in front. Do you know what people will do to get a seat like yours?” she asked him.

“No. Is it that big a deal?”

“They scheme, and they pull strings, and they offer you heaps of money.”

“Anyone ever do that to you?”

“I don't need money,” she said, then realized her mistake. “I mean, I wouldn't want to lose my job over something like that.”

“Who's the big boss?” he asked absent-mindedly. “Aren't designers supposed to come out and take bows?”

“Some do, some don't. These days fashion is more of a business than ever. The pretenders come and go.”

“How'd you get into it?” She brushed her lips against his ribs, tickling him with nibbly little kisses to distract him. “Feels good, Odette. Be careful.”

“I went to design school for fashion. And my mother was in the business.”

“Really? As a designer?”

“No. She did embroidery. They are called the
petite mains
. The little hands. They do the detail work for the couture houses. Buttons. Faux flowers. Feather trims.”

“Interesting.”

“It is painstaking work, and they are true artisans. But their craft is dying. Most of the women are old now and nobody young wants to do the work.”

“Do you know how?”

Odette nodded. “It is useful for a stylist. But no, I would not want to make my living at it.”

Her conscience pricked her. Tell him the truth, it said. Your house supports a dozen such craftswomen, who will be able to retire in comfort. And you have vowed to keep alive their artisan skills as well.

It was only one of her pet causes. How much money did one woman need? Giving it away was fun.

He might find her charity noble—he did not seem to be aware that the ticket he'd bought had benefited it. But then it had been worded in French, and no doubt the young girl who'd sold it to him had wanted to talk about
Le O.C.
once she'd seen his tank top, which said Newport Beach in big white letters.

But the uncomfortable issue of why she had not told him the truth in the first place was sure to come up.

Bryan Bachman had turned out to be intelligent and passionate and…incredibly sexual. He would not be flattered to find out that she'd chosen him for a fling. Unluckily for her, he was the kind of man who wanted more, although he was honest enough about his footloose status.

The thing was…she wanted him to come back. If it was possible. If he wanted to. If not, then good-bye and good luck. He would likely never find out, because it was not as if he cared about fashion or the crazy people who made their living at it.

And he would not be a wanderer for long.

Such were her thoughts until he prodded her. “Can you get me behind the scenes?”

Odette raised her head, and propped her flushed cheek on one hand. “Why on earth? Wasn't that show enough for you? You said it gave you a headache.”

“I said the music gave me a headache. Okay, the models were too skinny, but the Arelquin women were a lot of fun to talk to.”

“Your charms were not lost on either of them,” she said wryly.

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

“Anyway, it would be something to do. If you don't have to work, that is.”

“My female intuition tells me that you have an ulterior motive, Bryan.”

He guffawed. “You're good. You're very good. I do.”