Page 51 of Rogue Lyon

Her cunny throbbed around him as he released into her. His cock so hard, it could have been made from granite. He shook and trembled and she wound her arms around him, pulling him to her so their chests connected.

His slick body on hers seemed to bring them even closer and they kissed with heady passion, tongues sliding and dancing, until their breaths became steadier.

“Meredith,” he whispered, stroking her hair from her hot brow. “We fit perfectly, don’t you agree?”

“Yes. I wholeheartedly agree.” She smoothed her hand down the gutter of his spine to his buttocks. “In every way.”

He grinned then tipped to the side, pulling her with him and into his arms. “Do you feel satisfied?”

She thought for a moment, looking at his profile against the curtains. “More satisfied than ever before. No meal could match this feeling, no checkmate… It’s completely different and totally better.”

He laughed. “Trust you to come up with such a novel way of describing sex, Meredith.”

“You don’t like it?”

“The opposite. I love the way you talk about things. I’m never quite sure what you’re going to say.”

“I hope you’ll always think that’s a good thing.”

“How could I not?” He pressed a kiss to her head. “How on earth could I not?”

Chapter Twelve

“Good morning to you, Mr. and Mrs. Habsburg.” The hotel receptionist nodded at them as they left the hotel the next morning.

Jules tipped his hat. “Good morning to you.”

The Parisian street was a hive of activity—carriages, barrowmen, pedestrians, and a young street artist working on a large canvas.

They strolled toward it. He was painting the hotel.

“C’est excellent, jeune homme. J’imagine que vous serez bientôt dans les galeries.” Jules set his hand on the man’s shoulder and peered closer.

“Merci.” The man smiled at Jules. He had dazzling, blue eyes and wore a blue scarf tied in a knot around his neck.

“It is very good,” Meredith said. “It looks just like the hotel.”

“And he has caught the morning light perfectly. See, the shadows are all in the same direction.” Jules pointed them out, keen for Meredith to learn how to critique a piece of work.

“Yes. Excellent, I see that.”

The young man smiled up at them both.

“I bid you a good day and every success,” Meredith said with a smile.

Her cheeks were a little flushed and she’d smiled all through breakfast. Jules had a very pleasing sense that he’d given her a night to remember. They’d ravished one another a total of three times, learned each other’s bodies late into the night and then again just before sunrise.

It was safe to say it had been a most excellent way to start his day.

“Come,” he said, holding out his elbow. “The salon is not far. We can walk there.”

“I am excited to see what paintings you have your eye on.” She took his offered arm and they made their way east.

“Monsieur François Gérard, whom you heard mentioned by Mr. Delaware, is one to look out for. But also some of the old masters from the Renaissance and Baroque might be in residence.”

“And who are the old masters?”

“They are the ones who showed great skill, and mastery, during these times. Leonardo da Vinci, Rembrandt, Caravaggio, Titian, Vermeer.”