Page 88 of The Stranger

Being coaxed to take his cock is so sexy.

“Good girl.” He makes a humming sound as my insides react to his praise. “That’s it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my lips as he slides in another inch.

“I—”

“You’re so tight. So hot.” French again. “I think my knees are about to give out.”

I temper my smile, keeping my gaze on the place we connect. Where my body accepts his.

Another inch. Another. His body coming over mine, and I’m biting his shoulder as he bottoms out.

“Fuck.”

I’m so full, so deliciously full. His breath hard against my neck. Then our eyes lock, and it’s like neither of us can believe our luck. A swipe of his lips across mine, and he begins to withdraw, making my whole body shake.

He glances down, and my eyes follow his. “Just look at the mess you’ve made of me.”

His tone. The husky reprimand. I push up onto my elbows, not sure if he means of his resolve, or…

He’s so thick and shiny and⁠—

He slams back inside me.

I cry out, pleasure flooding my system. I feel hot and cold at the same time, my insides fiery and molten as a shiver ripples over my skin.

“Just…” Luc slides his hand under my right thigh. Lifting it, he opens me wide and rotates his hips. He gives a quiet groan, one that speaks of an exquisite kind of agony.

Same, friend. Same.

“You’re…” So warm and so real and so so beautiful. At the delicious drag of his next withdrawal, I arch my back in a silent plea. “Please. I need⁠—”

“I know exactly what you need.” So much knowing in that tone of his as he delivers it.

“Oh God. I think I’m going to⁠—”

“Yes.”

Another flex of his hips and I arch impossibly, ready to snap when a tearful, echoing cry rings out.

“Papa?”

I freeze, and Luc’s head comes up.

“Where are you?” Sylvie’s voice sounds like it’s coming from some distance away. Maybe the hallway?

“Merde.” Luc pulls back, scrambling to fasten his shorts. Meanwhile, excuse me, but where the hell are mine? “Coming, ma cher,” he calls out.

His lips are a fleeting press to my forehead as he drops my shorts to my lap.

Then he departs, tout de suite, as the saying goes, leaving me draped across the marble, a throbbing puddle of cooling flesh as I stare at the chipped paint on my big toenail.

22

PRIMROSE

I have a hickey.

And not the kind that can be passed off as careless use of a straightening iron or an awkward bump.