The Frenchman (Crime Royalty Romance Book 1) by Young Lesley

Author:Young, Lesley [Young, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9780990913504
Publisher: L.A.Y. Books
Published: 2014-12-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Louis placed me down on my feet in his bedroom with great care. Standing in his loose embrace, his hands petted my head and ran down my back. I met his hungry gaze, heard his shallow breath. He grasped my sweater with his fingers, and ever so softly, he lifted it up. I dutifully raised my arms over my head.

“My necklace,” I murmured, worried the thin chain would be caught up in the removal. He fiddled with it, and the hard metal landed in my cleavage at the same time cool air hit the rest of my torso. He dropped my sweater to the floor and caught my arms as I lowered them. I tugged away, because even the slightest contact hurt. But he held on and, watching me, brought the inside of my hand to his lips. He slid the tip of his tongue out and licked the middle. Pain and pleasure mingled. I sucked in air. He did this with my other palm, eyelids heavy. Already my chest was heaving. I closed my eyes and felt my breasts rise and fall, my nipples taut. My mouth watered and I melted, no longer resisting his hold or his tender-painful kisses.

When he let go of my wrists, I could breathe again. Hesitantly, I ran my hands down his sides, tugging his shirt out of his pants—gently. No ripping of clothes this time.

“Are you not greedy for me, ma petite fleur?” he taunted me.

Blood crept into my cheeks. He curled down and gently kissed my swollen cheek, several times, and I winced. “Oh, ma pauvre Fleur,” he whispered, brushing his lips over mine.

I didn’t think he had pity for my injuries. And my heart raced at the thought of his wickedness.

But when he kissed my lips, it was the perfect balance of sensual, taking his time tasting me, and yielding, letting me taste him.

He pulled away and lifted his own shirt off. As he stood before me, I hesitated, and, since he didn’t warn me off, I moved forward, reaching for the button on his jeans. His hard cock was pressing at the top edge.

I swallowed and, stepping in shyly, undid his top button, kissing his broad flat chest, rubbing the pain-free side of my face into the space between his pectorals where there was a dusting of dark hair. I loved his scent. A mix of spices and woods, musky like a dark forest. I unzipped his jeans and intended to slide them down. But he stopped me before I could kneel.

He smiled at my frustrated—angry—glare, and removed them himself.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, kicking them away. In the light I could see every incredible inch of him, and wondered if he needed a tripod to help hold it up.

He used me instead, stepping behind, pressing into me. I had to close my eyes from the anticipation, and the raw sudden ache in my pelvis. He undid my bra and grasped my freed breasts fully with his hands. I

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