The Interview

The stylist and her team leave, the door to the suite closing with a solid thunk.

“Got any more surprises up you sleeve, master of mystery?” Mimi takes a step closer, a vision of loveliness. She’s always so beautiful, but there’s something about this Paris version of her. It must be the air, I think to myself.

“I might have.” My reply sounds husky as she comes to a stop in front of me and runs her hand up the satin lapel of my evening suit.

“So what are we all dressed up for?” Her hand lifts to cup my smoothly shaven cheek, purring appreciatively.

“I’ve decided that’s up to you.” It’s all up to you, darling.

“Oh?” Her response sounds like the lift of a brow.

“But first, I have something for you.”

Her peel of laughter is low and suggestive. “I can’t wait.”

I make a sound with my teeth and tongue—a tsk of disappointment, which she doesn’t fall for. Not one bit.

“I bet you feel like you’ve created a monster, don’t you?”

“No. We’ve created something quite beautiful.” Something I’m loathed to let fall through my fingers. Her head dips bashfully at my words, allowing me the opportunity to grab the velvet box from the armoire. Inspired by the look on her face while she watched TV from the sofa a little while ago, I hold the paperback size box out in my hand before opening it.

Her gaze dips, and her smile spreads slow and sweet, just like spilled honey. “Do you have something to say to me?”

“Do I?”

Both of us glance down at the box, though this time, Mimi’s fingers are drawn to the tactile velvet interior. Of course, I play my part, snapping the lid on her fingers and making her bark out a surprised laugh.

“I totally knew you were going to do that,” she says, her gray eyes shining with a mixture of mirth and pleasure.

“Then why did you put your finger in?”

“You sound like you’ve said that before,” she answers just a touch smuttily. “You’re supposed to tell me not to get too excited, that it’s only on loan.”

I shake my head. “Richard Gere must be a cheapskate.”

“Edward Lewis,” she says softly. “That was his character name.”

“Well, Amelia Valente,” I murmur, bringing my gaze level with hers. “This is for you even though it feels a little like trying to gild a lily.”

“Edward Lewis has nothing on you,” she says as her lips brush mine, the pass as soft as silk.

“Turn around, darling.” As she does, I take out the necklace and drop the box to the chair, sliding the delicate gold chain around her neck. Mimi touches the single diamond nestled in her cleavage in the milky mirror on the wall in front.

“It’s so beautiful.”

“Just like you.” I press my mouth to her shoulder, and she shivers, her eyes rolling closed as my lips chart the skin of her neck. She turns in my arms, stretching toward me like a flower seeking the sun. My hands slides from her hip to her ribs, cupping her breast and thumbing her nipple, her soft moan an approval. “One of us needs to stop this,” I rasp as her nipple pebbles beneath the silk.

“You’ll have to do it.” Her eyes flutter closed as she presses herself more fully into my hand. “I can’t think straight when you’re touching me.”

And I can’t think of anything but sucking her hardened nipple into my mouth. I tip forward, skating my tongue over the soft swell. I had plans. Dinner. Tickets to the opera.”

“Just like Pretty Woman,” she breathes, willing me on with her body.

“You’re not pretty, my darling. You’re fucking stunning.” With that, I slide my tongue under her neckline, and in turn, she pushes her hands into my hair.

“I need you, Whit. Please.”

With a groan, I suck harder, swirling the hardened nub with my tongue. In my hands, she feels so good. All soft skin and womanly curves, but it’s more than that. I want her with a strength that frightens me. I want to keep her, bind her to me. I want to make her happy. Be her mornings and her evenings. Her friend and her lover, her shield and her confidant. I love her so much I want to keep her forever.

“Fuck, darling. I’ve longed to hear you say that.” My voice is rasp, brimming with all the things that I can’t yet say. How I want her to be by my side always, how my hands can’t touch enough, how my heart can’t love enough as I clasp and knead her body, pulling her closer. I slide my hand to her thigh and lift it to my hip, my cock aching and as hard as a pole between us.

Her frantic hand slides inside my jacket, over the plains of my back, desperately pulling at the cotton of my shirt. “I want to touch you. Need to feel your skin.”

“Yes,” I grunt as she buries her nails into my skin, and something inside me snaps, releasing a surge of need and possession. Everything becomes frantic for a moment, hands grasping, teeth biting as I pull her impossibly close, desperate to feel the soft press of her belly and the dig of her hips. The sound of her breath, her sharp gasp as I press my cock to her and the feel of her soft exhale as I push inside her. I imagine it all, I want it all, my fingers and my mind skipping ahead as I clasp her body to mine and carry her backward toward the bed.

“There will be other operas,” I rasp, not sure which of us I’m trying to reassure. “Other days in Paris. Other nights in Rome.”

“I just need you. Only you.” Her words are achingly sweet and desperate as I lay her down on the bed. “Please, please hurry.” Her fingers shake as she reaches for the end of my bow tie, the thing unraveling as I pull away. Her eyes are avid as I slide off my jacket, abandoning it to the floor. “In case I forget to tell you,” she whispers as I loosen my cuff links and pull my short over my head. “You look so handsome tonight.”

“Says the angel in the pink dress.” I drop over her, my fingers frantic on the zipper at the side of her dress, but before I can complete my task, our mouths are fused again.

“Stop distracting me,” I demand, pulling at the tiny hindrance. “I need to get you naked.” I yank again. “Fuck it. I’ll just tear the seam.”

“Don’t you dare,” she says, rolling onto her side. “This is couture.”

“And this is mine,” I growl, pressing my hand to her hip and sliding her back again. “This is mine,” I assert, gripping her bared thigh. “And this is mine.” I palm her pussy through her underwear, loving how her eyes darken and her body instinctively deepens the contact. “Isn’t that right?” I demand.

“Yes. Yours. I’m all yours.” Her exhalation is shaky.

“Because you were made for me, weren’t you? You’ve always known it. I was just a little slower on the uptake.”

“Oh God, Whit,” she moans, throwing out her hands as she arches into me.

This time, I’m gentler with the zip, and it opens easily. I slip her dress down her arms. She’s not wearing a bra, and as the fabric slips over her hard nipples, she shivers and releases a soft moan. I drop her dress to the floor, turning back to slide her knickers down her legs. My hands tremble as I undo my belt and make quick work of the rest of my clothes, coming back to the bed.

“This is mine,” I whisper as I hook my hand under her knee, baring her to me. And because I can’t resist such a delectable sight, I swipe my tongue through her wetness with a lengthy groan.

“Oh God. What are you doing to me?”

“Owning you, my darling.” I begin to crawl my way up her body, tracing soft, open-mouthed kisses as I go. “Mine.” The jut of her hip bones. “Mine.” The soft flare of her hip. “Fucking mine.” The underside of her breast and the point of her nipple. “Only for me.”

“Whit, please.”

I press the length of my body against hers, my lips hot at her ear. “You are so wet for me, my darling. I want to drown myself in you.” She whimpers, her hand slipping between us in demand, but there’s a method in this torturous kind of madness as I take her hand and press it above her head. “This,” I say, laying my palm over her heart. “Your heart is mine, Amelia. I know you don’t want to admit it, but I see it in your eyes every time you look at me.”

She shakes her head staccato and breathes my name as her eyes turn the color of rain.

“I have your heart,” I whisper, pouring it into my words. “I have your heart, and you have mine.” Lifting her thigh, I drive my cock inside her. Her body bows beneath me, shuddering as I withdraw. Crying out as, with my next thrust, I grind against her.

“Please, please,” she begins to beg, her walls throbbing around me and dragging me closer to the edge.

“Yes, darling.” I work myself deep inside her as I whisper soft incantations and prayers. “Go ahead, beg me. Let me hear how much you want this. Let the walls shake with your cries. Tell me how you love me.” I know it’s unfair, and I didn’t plan for the evening to go this way, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to fuck the truth out of her.

“No, please.” Her free hand slides to my shoulder, pulling me down as her thighs yield to the press of mine. “I didn’t want to.” Her words are a hot sob in my ear. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

I turn my head, my mouth sliding over hers. “That’s why it’s called falling.” I gently bite her bottom lip. “There’s no stopping it. Only forward momentum.”

“Like slipping down a cliff,” she rasps with an unhappy laugh. “You’re not selling it to me.”

Her words sound wet, and though I hate this turmoil for her, I’m here for her admission as I push up onto my palms and solidly drive myself between her legs. “Give me this chance, darling. I will love you fiercely. Constantly. Inventively.” She laughs again, her walls gripping me like a glove. “I will give you more love than you’ll ever need. I will worship you eternally.” I begin to thrust into her again and again when she chokes back a strangled cry, her body bowing from the bed. As her orgasm hits, she takes my arse in her hands, pressing me to her as she cries out her love. Cries out my name.

I don’t last long, every one of my muscles tightening in the face of such abject pleasure as my orgasm hits. I shatter into a million pieces, showering my love over her.