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She smirks, sucking her lower lip between her teeth and biting it because she's knows I'm enchanted by her. By now she knows everything: how I watch her. How I want her. How everything in my life has been reorganized to revolve around her.
“One day, I'll be taking you to my ‘work thing,’” she says with a frown. “I’ll keep you on a leash and trot you around the outside like a little pony. Will that be all right with you?”
“Oh really, is that so?” I counter. “Mr. King is nobody's pony.”
“No?” she pouts, her lower lip gleaming with wetness. “Not even for me?”
“All right, all right, that's enough of that,” I chide her gently. She allows me to direct her with my fingertips toward the door and I adjust my still-throbbing cock in my pants, silently promising it that we will have satisfaction before the night is over.
But she is pleased, I can tell, when the car lets us out in front of the glass pyramid of the Louvre. The entire patio glitters, lit from within by a million tiny lights. Being Paris, of course everyone is decked out like a fairytale. And yet, I've got the fairytale Princess right here on my arm, so what could go wrong?
She didn't talk much on the way over, though, so I'm grateful to see that her eyes are alight with curiosity and expectation. I feel all eyes upon us as we slowly promenade around the perimeter of the gathering, taking its measure before diving in for the few business contacts I have to communicate with before we can leave.
The ladies are fine and beautiful, of course, and the gentlemen all in natty, bespoke suits and the occasional conversation piece like a walking cane or cigarette on a long, tortoiseshell holder. Jordan grips my hand tightly, walking with a graceful, practiced gait but allowing just that bit of tension in her fingers to let me know how excited she really is.
It pleases me so much to see that she is ready and able to hold court here now. There were weeks where she flinched as soon as anyone turned around, expecting them to do the worst thing, to say something vulgar. After what Kelsey did to her, how could I blame her? But she's finally starting to blossom and come into her own personality. The confident, courageous beauty I know she really is. The side that Kelsey stole from her.
“King,” comes a voice. I turn to locate the origin and see a face I don't immediately recognize. Then I realize I had encountered him briefly during a deal that went sideways. Well, it went sideways for him. I got the best of it, of course. That's business.
I hold out my hand and he shakes it, perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary. “Mr. Maillot, isn't it?” I ask.
He nods curtly, apparently annoyed that I'm pretending not to remember him.
“Nice to see you again,” he practically snarls. The reddening folds of his jowls shake over the top of his starched collar. His eyes flicker toward Jordan blandly then spark with interest. I see his lips part slightly, his breath rancid as his mouth curls into a sneer.
“What have we here?” he asks, his voice oily and impertinent.
I want to take Jordan by the hand and drag her behind me to shield her from the implication that is plain in his expression. He knows her. But by the way she stiffens and draws herself even more regal and upright, I could tell she already knows it too. She knows, and she's prepared to do battle.
“Ma cheri, would you mind getting me a glass of champagne?” I murmur, turning so that she has to look up at me. I want her attention on me, not on him, and not dwelling in the past.
“We have met before,” Maillot says, his upper lip retracting to display his narrow, widely spaced teeth.
“I'm sure we haven't,” Jordan says smoothly.
While I'm proud of her grace under pressure, I can't fight the urge to protect her any longer. My hand circles just above her elbow and I begin to draw her away.
“Pardon us, Maillot, I see someone we need to talk with —”
“— of course you do!” Maillot blurts triumphantly. “And I must say, congratulations on your… acquisition! I'll be seeing you, my dear.”
I doubt that very much, I promise him silently as I drag Jordan away. Her tiny kitten heels scrape along the slate tiles.
“King, wait,” she objects. “I can't run that fast… What are you doing?”
I find a barrier and I pull her behind it. Then to cover my outburst, I lace my fingers behind her neck and pull her up, pressing her tight against me, perhaps tightly enough she can't breathe.
But her mouth is pliant and welcoming, her taste as sweet as ever as my tongue traces the seam of her lips.
“There is something I have to tell you, darling,” I whisper against her mouth.
I have to. I know that I have to tell her.
“Tell me anything,” she sighs into my mouth, yielding to me utterly.
But the need is too great. The feeling of her long, supple limbs under the thin fabric of the dress is too much for me. I can feel p
re-cum dribbling from the tip of my cock as I hold her there, and I'm going to ruin my slacks if I don't take care of that.
