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When he’s fully sheathed, he grabs my face in one hand and lifts my chin to meet my lips. His hold is rough, but the kiss is soft. I moan when he rolls his hips at the same time as he nips my bottom lip. My hands explore his body under his open shirt, tracing the flat disks of his nipples and the rough edges of his scars. It’s a familiar landscape, the only one I know. Maybe the only one I’ll ever know. The thought both pleases and scares me. Is a lifetime of only sex enough?
The thought fizzles out when he lifts me a little and moves his hips. It’s been so long since he touched me or that I touched myself in the shower, my orgasm builds quickly. I lean back to take him deeper. Always reading my body, he cups my breasts and gives me the pace I need. I’m coming before he’s even close to his release. It’s instantaneous and gratifying. My skin is sensitive. I gasp when he presses a thumb on my clit and massages in a circle. It makes me want to come again.
He leans back and lets me take over, allowing me to set the rhythm. His jaw bunches when I slide up and down over his length. I’m ruining his pants, getting my arousal all over the dark silk, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He abandons my clit when I move faster, digging his fingers into my globes for purchase.
“I’m close,” I say, grabbing his shoulders for support.
“Come.” He grits his teeth. “Come for me one more time, Zoe.”
He’s waiting for me to finish before he comes. I can’t deny that I’m always turned on when he makes me come draped over his lap, but I prefer it like this, when we’re coming together.
So, I do. I come for him. For us. He follows a second later, filling me up with a thrust of his hips. We’re both spent in the aftermath, not so much from the physical effort than the emotional toll. Sex with Maxime is always intense on a deeper level. He demands as much as he gives, and if I didn’t put a chain and lock on my heart, he’d take that with my release.
“Cold?” he asks, rubbing a hand over my back.
I shiver.
Without pulling out, he removes his shirt and holds it open so I can fit my arms. Then he buttons it up and pulls me against his chest.
We sit like that with him stroking my hair until shadows creep over the floor.
“I’m proud of you,” he says after a long while.
I sit back to look at his face. “Do you mean that?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You said you didn’t want me to work.”
He smiles. “I don’t want you to do something you hate to put the food on our table because my business is suffering. I have nothing against you making money by doing what you love.”
I’m not going to ask for his permission to do what I believe is right, but I don’t say so. We have little enough peace as it is.
“What are your plans?” he asks.
“Eventually, I’d like to have a small boutique.” I add, “If my designs keep on selling.”
“I know just the place.”
“You do?”
He kisses my nose. “I’ll show you tomorrow.”
“Do you have time?”
“For you? Always.”
I lean my head back on his shoulder. If only we could stay like this. If only we could pretend our love was naked and raw and real, and not a plastic mannequin in an elegant dress.
Chapter 32
Maxime
Francois Leclerc is hiding like a cockroach in the drainpipes. It’s not as easy to find him as I hoped. I’m certain he’s not in Marseille. He won’t risk it in the hub of Alexis’s organization. Too many men are on the lookout in the city. My bet is on Paris, somewhere where he can lie low until he has enough bribe money to buy a nice, big hacienda in South America.
Even if I’m no longer part of the mob and cut off from my family, many men still respect me. Trust doesn’t vanish overnight. It only takes one call to my old bookkeeper to find out Alexis is making transfers to an offshore account. Leclerc isn’t a total idiot, after all. I put out word with a few men who owe me favors to keep an eye out for any offshore property purchases or suspicious business activities, and then I contact a banker in the offshore department who laundered money for me before. Now it’s only a question of waiting.
I pick Zoe up after lunch and take her to visit the boutique in the old center. It’s a small two-story level shop in a prominent trading street with a beautiful façade. The upstairs room can be converted into a working space while downstairs can be made into a showroom. There’s a storage room at the back and a kitchen and toilet upstairs. The rent for the prime spot is expensive, but I know the owner, and he’s willing to cut me a deal.
