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He positioned her hips so that they lined up with his, and with a sure thrust his spear found its sheath. She gasped again, marveling at the breadth and width of him. She had never felt so filled and so stretched, his cock filling every inch of her pussy as if she had been made specifically for him.
Alex lowered his head and gave one of her nipples a quick lick, as her full breasts swayed tantalizingly below him like ripe cherries waiting to be plucked. The thrusting jolts of his hips took on an even rhythm that shook her to her core, and Paris was shocked to find herself shuddering again in an unexpected orgasm, almost as she was coming off the waves of her previous one.
Alex looked deep in her eyes and his hand went to her face, drawing her chin up so that she could stare into his eyes. His cock continued its even thrusting deep within her pussy. “I have never wanted anyone the way I want you.“ He looked at her seriously making sure that she understood what he was saying. “I don’t think I could ever stop wanting you.“
Paris seemed to have lost her voice, but she smiled shyly, surprised that she could still feel shyness as exposed as she was spread-eagled underneath one of the most handsome men she had ever met.
Alex resumed playing with her breasts as he thrust hard into her, moving from one to the other, drawing gently on the tight little buds. She moaned, low and heavy, her breath coming in staccato gasps as she felt the thick head of Alex's cock pushing against her over and over again.
As their bodies moved in unison, Paris shuddered and gasped as he thrust with more urgency. Alex lowered himself onto her, his hot breath against the nape of her neck.
They moved as one, and they moved against each other, grasping for one another. The two were gasping for breath as their climaxes were near. Alex quickened his pace in direct response to Paris' wild hip movements, and Alex grunted as he plowed deep into her pussy.
"Oh, yes, oh!"
"Yes, yes, oh God!"
“Ahhhh!”
Paris bucked against him in wild abandon, as she felt his cock pulse within her. She shook and convulsed, feeling sensations the likes of which she had never known. He continued thrusting within her as he came, pulling her close to him, enveloping her completely.
They collapsed into a heap against each other, fully sated, and let sleep overtake them as they clung to each other in wanton satisfaction.
16
Paris woke as the warmth of the morning sun crept gently up her body, from her toes to her flickering eyes. She smiled happily as she reached out to pull Alex in for a cuddle, but her hands found nothing when they touched the other side of the bed. She felt a brief pang of fear, but then she remembered... He's an early riser, that man.
Paris sat up in the bed and took in the view, marveling at the pristine beauty all around her. She could already make out a few sailboats idling lazily in the harbor, and she made a note to ask Alex if a boat was one of his “perks.”
Paris grabbed for a robe that was sitting out on a plush white chair, and wrapped herself in its fluffy warmth. The wood floor was cool under her bare feet as she padded across the room and down the stairs from the tower, following the distinct smell of breakfast cooking away in the kitchen. Paris poked her head around the corner and caught sight of Alex, standing in front of the kitchen bar and making fresh-squeezed orange juice. He had on a snug white t-shirt that clung to every muscle, and red plaid pajama pants. Edith Piaf hummed away in the corner of the room, as Alex sang along, his voice clear and strong.
As she watched him, hidden from his sight, her heart clenched at the realization that she was in over her head. This was supposed to be a fun fling—something frivolous and out of character before she settled down to the serious business of medical school. But as she watched Alex, Paris knew she was falling in love with him, and there was nothing she could do to stop herself now.
Moreover, she wasn’t sure she would have wanted to stop herself, even if she could have.
She didn't know how long she'd been standing in the stairwell, watching him work, bathed in sunlight, when he finally looked up and saw her there.
“Good morning, beautiful! Juice or coffee?”
Paris tilted her head sideways as she contemplated the question, really just using it as an excuse to stare at Alex a little longer. Would she ever get tired of his masculine beauty? Probably not.
“Coffee, please! How long have you been up?”
Alex smiled as he poured Paris a cup of steaming, fresh-pressed coffee.
“A while. I was actually getting the boat cleaned up. I thought that we could go out sailing today. Maybe for a swim? If you're not in a rush to get back, that is.”
“I didn’t bring a suit.” Paris gave him a laughing smile.
He winked at her. “Neither did I.”
Paris inhaled the rich aroma of the coffee. She surveyed the gorgeous ocean landscape. She smiled at the sweet anticipation on Alex's face.
No, she thought, no rush to get back at all.
* * *
As the wheels of the plane touched down in Estia, Whitney felt her rage boiling over like a teapot left on the stove far too long.
She'd been trying to call her parents for the entirety of the flight, but nobody was answering at the main house, and neither of her parent's assistants were picking up their phones either. This meant one of two things: one, Leonard and Penelope were in a drunken stupor and their assistants had used the opportunity to take the day off or; two, everyone at the palace in Estia knew exactly why she was calling and they were avoiding her.
Right now, Whitney would put her money on option two.
Twenty-four hours ago, she was stomping her way back to her hotel after the disaster that was her premiere, intending to drown her sorrows in a bottle of bourbon at the hotel bar. But then, something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. A newsstand on the opposite side of the street was selling copies of newspapers in French and English, and people were gathering around the stand like it was the 1940s and they didn't have smartphones. Had war been declared?
It was just enough to draw Whitney the extra twenty feet across the road, which was no small feat in her stiletto Louboutins.
Conflicting reports from bystanders were hazy, but these were the facts as they were known. At 3:30pm Central European time, a young woman, impeccably dressed and who looked suspiciously like the Duchess of Estia, approached a crowd in the middle of Paris. The woman then grabbed a newspaper from the hand of a businessman standing at the back of crowd.
This is where reports begin to diverge, but everyone can agree that the sound of the newspaper tearing in half was followed by rack after rack of magazines and papers being tossed to the ground.
When the owner of the stand rushed out to t
ry and stop the madwoman from destroying his livelihood, she punched him square in the jaw.
She didn't slap him.
She didn't shove him.
She punched him with the blinding left hook of a seasoned boxer. It was then that the street went deadly quiet, and the woman ran off, still clutching half of a newspaper in her fist.
Whitney was fairly confident she had broken a bone in her hand when she punched that peasant gum peddler, but the pain was giving her purpose on the flight from Paris to Estia. In between attempting calls to her parents, she'd absorbed every bit of information she could find on Alexander and this tramp he'd picked up while she was pouring out her heart and soul on the runway. There wasn't much information, but it seemed every news site and every gossip blog could agree on one thing...
Prince Alexander of Dalvana had found a new woman and things were looking pretty grim for his engagement to Whitney Bishop-St.Claire of Estia.
Whitney seethed as her assistant in Estia rushed across the runway to meet her. Someone was going to give her some answers, and she didn't care what bones she had to break to get them.
Or who she had to destroy in the process.
17
Even wrapped in the silk scarf she had pilfered from a drawer in the bedroom, the salty sea air whipped through Paris' hair in a way that she knew would be hell to deal with later, but in the moment she didn’t care.
The sailboat bounced up and down across the gentle waves as the seagulls swooped wildly in the air. Paris had never been on a boat in her life, and she had worried that she might get seasick, but she'd taken to the water much better than she'd ever dreamed.
Perhaps her mind was just so distracted with the beauty of Southern France, her body didn't have time to register the onslaught of new sensations. Even with the absolutely stunning image that was Alex at the helm of the boat, Paris found herself enamored with the image of sky meeting the water, and how they were almost exactly the same color. It was as if there were no beginning and no end.
