“Yes.” My fingers slid into the front of his pants. Hayes and his perfect dick. “The truffles.”
“Fuck,” he repeated, closing his eyes. We remained there for a moment, in front of our closed door, me jerking him off in our semi-private hallway of the George V. Cameras be damned.
“You’re going to get us into trouble.”
“Iam?”
“Youare.” He stopped me finally, brandishing the key card and pulling me inside.
Hayes shut the door behind us and threw me up against the wall, hard. “Where were we?”
“Truffles.”
“Truffles.” His mouth was on mine as he wrestled off my coat. His hands moving over the surface of my dress, hiking up the hem.
“I wasn’t done.”
“Weren’t you?”
I shook my head, freeing myself from his grip, dropping to my knees in the narrow foyer.
We didn’t even make it to the living room.
“Bloody hell…” His hands were in my hair, his coat still on, his pants around his calves. Hayes, in his happy place.
But as much as I’d come to adore his reaction, as much as I’d come to adorehim, I hated that the act gave me so much time to think. And always my mind went to dark places. What the hell was I doing with someone so young? And how in God’s name had I ended up here, on my knees in a five-star hotel, sucking some guy in a boy band’s dick? And dear Lord, please don’t ever let my daughter do this. The things you never see coming.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Solène.” He stopped me before he came, pulling me up from the floor and pinning me once again to the wall. “Is this what Paris does to you? We’re going to need to come here more often…”
“I’m okay with that.”
“I can tell,” he slurred, his fingers sliding into my panties, sliding into me, easy. “Fu-uck.”
“That’s an awful lot of ‘fucks.’ Even for you.”
He smiled, peeling off my underwear. “Are you counting?”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t.”
He did three things seemingly at once then—lifted me off the floor, thrust his dick inside me, and placed his wet fingers in my mouth—and suffice it to say, I forgot every dark thought I had had two minutes prior.
Somewhere in the throes of it, with my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist and my dress twisted and bunched around my torso, I came to the realization that in all our years together Daniel had never fucked me like this. Not even in the beginning. He wasn’t this strong, he wasn’t this big, he wasn’t this uninhibited, and he certainly wasn’t this passionate. And I got the feeling that for all Hayes and I had already done, there was still so much more of him he had yet to reveal.
We came. And I had a vague awareness of hearing myself cry out and him pressing his fingers against my lips before we fell to the floor.
“Fuck.” He was laughing, lying prostrate in the foyer. His pants still around his ankles, his coat and shirt and boots still on.
“What’s so funny?” I crawled on top of him to kiss his dimples, to feel his warmth.
“You.You. Are.Loud.Mrs. ‘I’ve Never Been a Screaming Girl.’”
I was still catching my breath. “Did I say that?”
He nodded, his eyes closed. “In New York. At the Four Seasons.”
“How do you remember that?”
