Shimmers of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 3) (19 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 thread my fingers through his. It’s so good to feel close again. To know he’s mine. What he’s saying about loving me more than he loved Laura is like a cool breeze on a sweltering day.

“Thanks,” I say.

“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 curl up. I love him being jealous – how childish is that? But I put his fears at bay and tell 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 think of men I have been with before Alexandre and a nasty memory comes to mind. Which leads me to my next thought: Jane Doe. We’ve been so consumed by the Laura drama that I had almost forgotten to ask Alexandre about the mystery money and the charity that he set up.

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

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

I stroke his earlobe and say, “Tell me about the Jane Doe Foundation.”

He nods his head with the faintest smile edging his lips. “Ah, yes. That.”

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

“From those fuckwits who nearly ruined your life.”

“The footballers?”

“Yup, those fat fucks.” His mouth puckers 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 snuggle up against Alexandre’s chest and snake my hand under his shirt. I feel his steady heart beat and feel 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 pull my neck back and look 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 cocks a dark eyebrow. “I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

I titter 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 gives me a wry, mischievous smile. “Exactly.”

The fact that Alexandre has protected me in this roundabout fashion – ensuring money is given to abused girls who deserve safeguarding - warms my soul. God knows what unorthodox method he used, but I feel strangely proud. Perhaps he’s right; I don’t want to give these men another thought. Knowing that justice has been served is enough. What he has done for me is, in effect, every woman’s fantasy. He’s stuck up for me. Fought for my rights - for women’s rights in general. Showed his solidarity. He has 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 feel his groin swell against my butt. He’s getting hard. Hard as a diamond. I push my ass into him and feel the thick ridge of his erection rub against me through the fabric of his pants in just my perfect spot. He clasps his large hands on my hips and draws me closer, rocking against me, his mouth resting tenderly on the nape of my hairline.

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

His warm breath makes me shudder; a tingle runs through me like the ring of a tiny, silver bell. Our clothes between us have me imagining - all the more - what will finally happen when he penetrates me again. Yes, I think - I’ll feel like a virgin.

He guides my butt 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 breasts. He unhooks my lacey bra so my boobs are free, cups them, groaning a little as they fill his hands.

“So sexy, so full and sensitive, chérie.” 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 reassuringly, monumentally solid as it pleasures my clit. 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 ass slaps up and down against him, I’m reminded of Laura’s insult, ‘fat arse’ (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 clit is getting the full-on massage 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 orgasm. 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 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 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 clit 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 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 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 orgasm 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, chérie.”

“Oh, but I want to.” His erection is tight up against his pants. I unbutton them, letting my fingers linger on the fine, smooth fabric, and free him from his entrapment. “Raise your butt 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 Marseille soap powder from his freshly laundered boxer briefs.

His fingers tangle in my hair and he flexes his hips forward and groans. “Fuck, 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 cock flexes as if it’s a separate entity; 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 button down to his core.

My God, 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 anticipation 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-button is. I’m not a fan of outies – yours is perfect.”

“Lucky, then.”

“Very lucky.”

I pull his boxer briefs carefully over his massive 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 butt 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 penis. 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. “Fuck, Pearl. You’re incredible.”

His words spur me on. I feel the pulse of my clit – 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.

“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 think of
The Spy Who Loved Me…. Nobody 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 breasts again, kneading them, cupping them. I suck harder, making sure I have all of his cum, every last drop.

His hard buttocks 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 semen belongs to
me,
I think greedily – to swallow, to smear on my tits, to lavish between my thighs and all the way inside me.

That bitch, Laura, isn’t getting one single drop.

A
lexandre 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 Vendôme (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.