All Mixed Up Read online

  As I said that, he started back in with the luscious lip quirks. But at last, he gave in to a smile as bright as the sun dappling his face. “Remind me to give Yvette a big fucking raise.”

  Before the words were done, he’d yanked off his tie. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket and then shucked that too. I took the whole garment out of his hands, then stowed it in the free panier on my bike. As I rose from the task, Lucien waited with his stunning grin—and his consuming kiss.

  Oh, God.

  Finally.

  I returned his passion in full, clutching my arms around his neck. I moaned as he took me in steak-devouring mode, his teeth knocking mine, his tongue invading with searing lust. It was fire and fury and pain and perfection. Oh, how I missed this. How I missed the fullness of him. Less than ten days without this, and I was like a junkie going cold turkey.

  How the hell was I going to board a plane in two weeks, and give this up forever?

  No.

  Today wasn’t for the hell to come. It was for the heaven of now. The onyx perfection of his eyes as he finally dragged his mouth free. The insane intensity of his face as he cupped the side of mine, delving into my hair with his long, powerful fingers.

  The feeling, giddy and shaky, that surged back into me as if it had never taken a nine-day hiatus. The lust that slammed me like a train at full throttle.

  Of course, that made words an interesting challenge. “You—ummm—you want to get going to lunch?”

  “Oui.” He dipped a little nod, exploiting the chance to cloak me again in the lush black velvet of his stare. “I am…famished.”

  “Awesome to hear.” I tugged up a little smile. “I brought bread and cheese and meat, and there’s macarons for—”

  His lips stopped mine again. He sucked in, pulling my tongue against his, until I mewled and quivered. “I said I was famished,” he husked. “Not hungry.”

  The words were a sizzling taunt in my brain as he broke away and tugged me toward the bikes. Karma let me exact a little vengeance as he swung onto his saddle, groaning while attempting to adjust things at the crux of his thighs, before we were off to pedal up Rue Rembrandt.

  Within a few minutes, we pedaled up to the wrought iron fences flanking a side entrance to Parc Monceau. Beyond the boundaries, the retreat beckoned with sun-dappled pathways, vast green lawns, and plentiful banks of blooming flowers. The park, which had once served as the private gardens for Phillippe d’Orléans, was brimming with natural glory. The Duc’s vision of borrowing many architectural icons for the park’s structures was still evident, making for an eclectic journey for park visitors—not that I could focus on much of it with Lucien leading the way. Even on a rented bicycle with rickety gears, he glided as if born to ride the thing, giving me a very fine view of his natural athleticism. And of course, a chance to appreciate it too.

  A lot.

  Oh, hell.

  I was getting damp down there already.

  Maybe even wet.

  Note to self: Bicycle shorts are unforgiving when it comes to abject arousal.

  Less than a hundred yards into the park, the man slammed on his brakes. Thank God I was paying attention, and was able to stop just as fast.

  My reflexes weren’t so on point when it came to his next move.

  In an effortless sweep of motion, he dismounted the bike and then laid it down. I was so preoccupied with how he made it all look like a ballet that I got off my own machine in a mess of gangly limbs and fumbling hands. Not that he cared. The next second, he had my hand wrapped in his vice grip and my body spun all the way around. I barely managed to stumble behind as he marched toward a copse of trees and bushes. With every step we took, the man’s passionate intent poured off of him in bigger waves.

  Second note to self: When needing to get one’s hands on Lucien Paget, take him into the park through the Rembrandt gate.

  He pushed back the branches as if they were thick bed drapes. Swung me around as if gracefully twirling me on a dance floor—though one glance at his face said a staid waltz and polite conversation were not at the forefront of his mind.

  God, how I hoped I was right about that.

  Viva le espoir. Hurray for the hope.

  And every hot, consuming thing he did to explode it into life.

  With his grip, digging and demanding.

  With his kiss, brutal and devouring.

  With his presence, enveloping and entrancing—and then erotic, unwavering and utterly eviscerating.

  As he conquered me with his mouth, and got started on vanquishing me with his body.

  A dark groan vibrated up my throat as we kept kissing, all but eating each other up. Lucien blended in his own version of the sound from the second he tore his hands beneath my jersey and swiftly discovered the thing had a flexible sports bra built in.

  He grunted and swore, urgently battling to free me from the garment, but finally stepped back with obvious frustration. “Get it off,” he snarled, already pushing his shirt buttons free from their moorings. “The shorts as well. I need to see all of you. Now.”

  If he thought a glimpse of his sculpted chest would help his cause in getting me naked, he was totally right. Yes, we were in the middle of a public park, shielded from the world by some awesomely cooperative tree branches, but he could’ve led me to the plaza in front of the Barrier Chartres and I wouldn’t have cared. Not right now. Seriously, not right now. Not with him.

  Bizarrely, that realization helped me with an even bigger one.

  For the first time in a very long time, I wasn’t afraid. Of anything.

  I was…free.

  Of all of it.

  The stress about the money. The terror about Mom. The worries about where my next gig would come from, or whether there’d be gigs at all. It was all gone. I was so unhindered, I could’ve ridden through this park like a bike-bound Lady Godiva had the man asked.

  Lucien made it all okay. All of me okay.

  Just like he’d done from the beginning.

  Just like he would again now.

  The knowledge flowed in, so sure and golden and pure. It melted me yet empowered me, just like the warm breeze in my hair and the sunshine on my bare skin. It made me proud to stand here, nude and ready and unashamed about wanting him…about showing him how grateful I was for him. That was a lot to try and convey, but I knew Lucien already understood every word. Every. Word. His understanding was stamped across his face, as intent and primal as the primal satyr he resembled, as he whipped off the rest of his shirt then hurled it to the ground.

  He advanced one step.

  I shivered.

  Another.

  I gasped.

  One more, and then he was all over me again. Around me again. Once more driving his mouth into mine, as he mashed his commanding muscles up against me. At once, rolling his hips so his erection grinded up my belly. Claiming my body with urgent, potent sweeps of his hands. Making me accept his heat, entreating me to take his passion. I answered his demand with my own, clutching my arms back up around his shoulders and then holding on tight. Then even tighter, as he lowered us into the thick leaves at our feet.

  At once, sprawling me into the warm bed beneath him.

  At once, holding me close again.

  At once, consuming me with the stunning sun of his adoring smile.

  “You have captured me, forest sprite. Now I am your woodland slave, bound to your carnal bidding.”

  And toppling my defenses with the sensual charm of his silken pledge. “Hmmm.” I punctuated with a giggle. “My carnal bidding? Really?”

  “Well…” He tick-tocked his head. “Perhaps we shall call it a mutually-satisfying partnership.”

  A new giggle. “Do you need to call in the lawyers now? To get that contract drawn up?

  Sensual shadows took over his face. Illicit nuances consumed his gaze. “Perhaps we can just…pinky swear on this one.”

  He concluded that by wrapping his finger into mine again.

 
And then lowering his head once more.

  My world became a mix of brilliance and darkness. The sun through the trees, the midnight of his eyes. The white heat of my lust spiked by the black waves of his hair. The satiny waves between my fingers twined with the savage grate of my lust. And yes…the heaven of his mouth at my breasts, but the hell to which he was surely sending me, for loving it so much.

  “Lucien!” It fell from me on a strangled choke. Thank God for that. The alternative would’ve been a full-blown scream. “Oh God, Lucien. If you keep doing that—”

  “Non.” His guttural rebuke was as detrimental as the suckles. Holy hell, that lush accent of his. “Non, ma passion.” He raised his head, trapping me with his forceful gaze while twisting my left nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I gasped, hot and desperate, as he pulled until the tip throbbed in the best and most perfect ways. “We will come as one. I have waited too damn long to have you again.”

  A shaky laugh trickled from me. “Y-Y-You think?”

  He rose a little higher, aligning our faces—and our crotches. “Is that how American girls say they have missed their lovers?”

  “Is ten days of playing eunuch how French boys express it?”

  He grinned. His teeth, square and white, nearly glowed in the dimness of our concealed bower. “Oh, petite coquine,” he rasped. “I should spank your saucy derrière for that.” He hitched the smile higher on one side, exposing a devilish dimple in his jaw. Before my heartbeat recovered from that, he added to the sensual torment by fitting the long ridge beneath his slacks against my pulsing sex. “Or perhaps…”

  “Perhaps what?” It was damn near a plea. I dug deep to make it a demand.

  “Perhaps I shall simply spank your pussy.”

  And so much for being demanding.

  Without raising his beautiful baritone above a husk, the man had reconfirmed exactly who’d be in charge here. At least for now.

  But at least for now, I couldn’t be happier about relinquishing the reins.

  Still, I had enough saucy force left to blurt, “You shall…what?”

  His brows arched. His teeth gleamed even brighter. “Such fire in your voice…but also in your eyes. And your sweet little chatte.” He supplied the translation for that by swiveling his hips, ensuring I felt every inch of his lengthening stalk. “It seems my divine dream might actually like to be spanked on her naughty mound, oui?”

  My pulse accelerated so fast, I was ready to slay qualifying trials at Le Mans. “I—I didn’t say that.”

  “But ohhh, you did.” Yet another shameless roll of everything below his waist. The man was playing dirty—and damn it, he already knew I loved it. “You would like me to do that here and now, yes? Right in the middle of the park, where everyone can hear you scream when I spread your thighs and punish your pussy? When I make it red and ready for my hot, hard cock?”

  He kept up with the seduction, switching to French my brain didn’t need to translate, while exchanging his hip rolls for long, glorious slides of sensual generosity.

  And torture.

  Ohhh, that too.

  Because as soon as he spoke of my legs parting, they did. As he evoked the image of my pussy reddening for him, it burned with new need.

  “Lucien.” My voice was a bare croak now. “Please!”

  He rocked harder against me. His hair tumbled totally free from its slicked tethers, falling against the stark angles of his face as he loosened my hands from his shoulders. At once, he lowered them to my sides, pinning them against the leaves and twigs in the warm summer earth.

  “Say it,” he directed. “Tell me.”

  “I—I—”

  “Form the words, ma belle. Focus on what your sweet little cunt needs from me.”

  His dictate was the key I needed. The twist that freed me from the remainders of my inhibitions. As my mind flew without any boundaries, so did my words.

  “I need…your cock,” I whispered. “I need it deep inside. Filling me…”

  “Fucking you?”

  “Yes. Yes, Lucien. Fucking me.”

  He grabbed my hands again. Shoved them over my head. Locked both of them beneath one of his, using his other to unzip his fly. His dick sprang free, swelling with new desire and dripping with milky drops. A beautiful moan vibrated his throat as he indulged the beautiful length with several forceful strokes. When he was at full length, he caressed my clit with it. I quivered and sighed as his wet bulb taunted my most sensitive flesh. Oh, good God. Screw le Mans. I was already in heaven.

  My breaths came with greater labor as my sex convulsed harder, holding back the need to orgasm already. Damn it, Lucien seemed to know that too—yet his arrogant smirk only made me hotter, wetter, needier. Every inch of my skin felt too tight. Every throb of my heart thundered in my ears.

  Every corner of my sex craved his invasion. The flawless fit of his incredible, engorged length…

  Yes.

  Now.

  Please!

  His dexterity with the condom was so good, it was a little unnerving—but I hurled the stress aside as he guided his throbbing head to my waiting entrance. It was time to focus on the tension that mattered—the strain along every inch of my intimate tunnel—and getting this magnificent god to help me relieve it.

  To be the one who slaked his lust too…

  “Oh! Damn!”

  I cried out the syllables as he lunged in, claiming my body in one wet, hard stroke. He rammed me so hard, seeds and sticks bit into my back. I welcomed the pain as openly as my pussy hugged his cock, rejoicing in the primal completion of our joined bodies. The consuming heat of it. The primitive power of it.

  The terrifying rightness of it.

  “Merde,” he gritted.

  “Oh, shit,” I rasped.

  “Ca fait…du bien.”

  “Feels…so good.”

  He withdrew, nearly leaving me, before thrusting back in with twice the force. Then again and again and again, smacking our flesh so loud, passersby probably thought the trees were falling apart from the inside out. And why not? He was tearing me apart in the same way. My womb screamed. My thighs ached. My blood raced, carrying the ecstasy of his domination to the very tips of my limbs. I was split open, shattered into brilliant shards, and then redefined into something new. And yet, all of this new creature was still totally me. Simply a better, brighter version…

  As my mind battled to process the thought, my composure fought to process the feelings. And Elvis was alive and pigs would fly. The tears I swore to never show him again were there once more, pouring down my cheeks. In horror, I ducked my face to the side—but that worked for all of three seconds. Lucien braced my jaw with an uncompromising hand, driving my sights back around and up.

  “Do. Not. Hide. From. Me.” His order was so low and vehement, the words barely moved his lips. “No more hiding between us, Juliet.” He slowed his pace but deepened his thrusts. Holy shit, I could feel him up to my eyeballs. “Not ever again. Not from you, and not from me.”

  My thorough gulp matched the brutal depth of his fucking. At once, I knew what his oath implied. The words weren’t just an affirmation in the height of passion. It was a promise from his heart and spirit.

  Holy crap…

  It was a game-changer.

  I should look away again. So many intuitions shrieked the need at me.

  But my own heart spoke up now…

  And its whisper was louder than the screams.

  It compelled me to embrace his gaze with mine. To give him the smile that had begun in a corner of my soul. A pocket that had once been so dark, but was now filled with the sunshine of this day, the perfection of this moment, the resplendence of this man.

  And it filled me with words, as well. An answer I gave him in a worshipful whisper.

  “All right, Lucien. No more hiding.”

  The edges of his own lips lifted. The firmaments of his eyes glittered. He trailed his hand along my cheek and then into my hair, where he sifted his
magical fingers in adoring strokes. He meshed the fingers of his free hand into the tips of mine, twisting even that inch of my flesh with commanding authority. I obeyed without question, reveling in the power of his hold and the intensity of his stare. Watching, totally fascinated, at the blue and black grandeur of his mounting lust.

  “Not even now,” he emphasized with exposed teeth. “Show it to me, Juliette. Show me all of it…as you climb…”

  As he issued the last of it, his growl was lost to husky breaths. He held to his own promise, not concealing an ounce of his joy as he worked to pleasure me.

  To fill me…

  To rock me…

  To fuck me…

  Making me climb.

  As he kissed me with slow purpose.

  As he circled his hips, brushing the bottom edge of my clit with every magical scoop of his body.

  As he bent his head in, and unfurled an erotic snarl into my ear.

  “Come for me, mon reve. Make all of my dreams come true.”

  It was the best decree I’d gotten all day. All week.

  I submitted at once. With searing violence, consuming ecstasy, total abandon.

  And I showed him every gasping, grimacing, G-spot climaxing moment of it.

  No…really.

  My whole body arched, even with him on top. My head jacked back so far, my hairline scraped the dirt. Lucien had his cock buried so deep he could stay with me, maintaining the lock of our stares as my orgasm went on and on. And on…

  When he joined me, it was heaven on crack. I watched every mesmerizing second of his release, yearning to trace the passionate creases of his face while his pleasure reached its crescendo. His mouth opened on a gut-deep moan as his thighs clenched, his ass tightened…

  And his cock burst.

  “Fuck.” His grate was the expletive at its dirtiest, braided with carnal completion as he spilled inside me. The heat of his come was detectable even through the condom, and I mewled from the bliss of it as he spasmed over and over again. Dear God. Was there anything more beautiful in this world than the sight of this god in the middle of an orgasm?