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I don’t wait for a response. I spring from the bed and right into the bathroom to hide. I cover my face with my hands, unable to even look at myself in the mirror.
I might not have dry humped him I try to reassure myself. When I drop my hands, I glance down at my silky night shorts. A small wet spot is there. I don’t only think I humped him; I might have even gotten myself off.
How long can I hide in this bathroom? I’m guessing not forever.
ChapterNine
FINN
Ionce watched an in-flight movie about two assassins falling in love. I wasn’t going to, but curiosity got the best of me. I don’t remember much about it other than in one scene when the two were supposed to be working, they were dancing. I thought they were dumb as fuck to not be paying attention to their marks, but it ended up that their lover was their mark. That was the twist. Anyway, they still got distracted, and I just didn’t find that believable but now…fuck, I’m all messed up inside.
I couldn’t sleep lying next to her. I’m not built that way. It surprised me she was able to let her guard down and drift off. I couldn’t do it. I kept thinking maybe, just maybe, she would stab me in my sleep or sneak out to get her mark. I kept my breathing even and pretended to fall asleep.
She didn’t sneak out, and she didn’t stab me but I almost died anyway. About a half hour after her own breathing evened out, she rolled into my side, throwing a leg over my hip and an arm across my chest. My dick grew harder than a rod of steel, and my breathing stopped.
I reached down to move my dick away from the soft flesh of her thigh when she started moving, pushing her hips against me. My fingers got caught and, hell, I just left them there, letting her rub against me, letting her plump pussy lips brush my skin. I was on fire. My blood was super-heated. My heart beat faster and louder than the bells at the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral. My cock pulsed in time with her thrusts. I nearly broke a tooth off clenching my teeth in an effort to keep from shouting when I came in my shorts. And as if she heard my silent groans or felt the throb of my cock, she let go of all her restraint. I curled my fingers into a cup and scooped her juice into my mouth. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted.
I eased out from under her and went into the bathroom, where I beat myself off using her liquid ecstasy as lube. I wanted to return to the bed, throw her onto her back, and thrust into that hot cunt of hers. I could take her to heaven and then catch her when she fell back to earth. I managed to gather myself, wash up, and then slide back underneath her warm body. She snuggled up against my side, rubbing her small nose against my shoulder. Her leg slid across my torso and down to cover my cock again as if that was the only angle that felt good to her.
As for me, despite coming twice, I grew hard again and remained stiff all night. She almost broke my dick hopping off me this morning.
I stare balefully at the bathroom door for a hot minute before heaving myself out of bed. I go into the little half bath in the living room and jerk off until I come in my hand. It doesn’t feel great, not even better than a piss after a long trip, but I can’t walk around with a giant woodie all day. I wash up in the sink and then put on my tourist uniform of jeans and a white T-shirt. I need to do some reconnaissance of my mark today, check my supplies at the storage locker rented by Mercy, and set up the hotel room on Ile Saint-Louis. In order to do those things, I’m going to have to leave Georgia, which I don’t want to do.
I pick up the phone and order breakfast to the room. We’ll discuss her plans over some food.
“Bonjour, how can we be of service?”
I look over the menu. There’s yogurt, French toast, chocolate croissants, croque-madame with egg and cheese, and hot chocolate. I don’t know what she wants so I figure I’ll do the same thing I did last night.
“One of everything again, sir?”
“Yeah, not sure what I want.” Don’t need to lay the indecision at her feet when it’s me not sure what she likes.
“Of course.” There’s no judgment from the butler. What does he care how much we order? We’re eccentric and rich. I pause as I’m hanging up the phone. Damn. I’m doing it again. I’m acting out of the ordinary, and people are going to remember me. There’s nothing I can do about it now, though. I’m already in the presidential suite with my travel vlogging companion, ordering one of everything off the menu. I scrub my hands down my face and then go and knock on the bathroom door.
“Ordered some breakfast for us. On the house,” I add since part of Georgia’s cover is being too poor to cover expensive meals.
“I’ll be right out,” she replies, her voice almost a whisper.
I wonder if she thinks I’m going to attack her the minute she steps foot out of the bathroom. There’s no way she missed the giant erection poking against her thigh. Even if she is a hired killer, it doesn’t mean she can fight. A lot of assassins do stealth kills because there’s no need to be engaging in face-to-face combat with a mark. You kill from long distance with a sniper rifle or you knife them in the heart as you’re walking by them in a crowded terminal or you drop poison in their favorite whiskey while serving drinks to a table.
“Sorry about this morning. I wake up with morning wood. It’s a common occurrence. Not much I can do about it. I’ll be careful tonight. Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to attack you.” There’s no response. No movement. I must not have sounded convincing. I try again. “I’m serious. You’re not my type,” I lie through my teeth but it does the job because the door starts to open.
ChapterTen
GEORGIA
As quickly as I start to open the door, I close it right back.
“I, ah, need a second.” I flick the lock and turn the water to the sink on to cover up any sounds.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they somehow do. The embarrassment of mauling Finn in my sleep is nowhere close to having hear him say I’m not his type. I’ll admit that I had already thought it was possible that I might not be. But the confirmation hit me harder than I expected. I guess a spark of hope still lingered in me that I was going to experience that Paris love magic. It’s something I planted in my own head long ago.
Once upon a time I’d written in my journal a love story. A whole other life really. It was my very own made-up fairytale dream. I know how far-fetched my little story is. My hero wasn’t even a billionaire. He was merely someone who loved me for me and fought to have me.
I stare at myself in the mirror and wipe the stupid tears from my eyes. It’s been a while since I cried. I think the last time was when I sold the jewelry my grandma left me. Even though she demanded I do it, it was still emotional.
In her will, it stated what she left for me, but no one else got to see the letter she wrote me. It was hard to let the pieces go, but she wanted me to be free and knew that money could give me a new start if I wanted.
