Double Dealing: A Menage Romance(15)

“You could call it confident or you could call it being prepared,” he replied with a mischievous grin. He pulled back and slid the condom on, then steadied his cock with his hand and pushed inside me, burying himself in one long, mind-blowing thrust. It was on the border of pain and pleasure as he stretched me open. I was glad he'd loosened me up some with his fingers first, but it didn't matter, I was greedy for more.

Pausing just a moment, he pulled back, his hands finding my waist again before thrusting in again, hard and powerful. Our bodies hammered into each other, hot and passionate at a frantic, demanding pace. Grunting and growling, Francois pounded into me. It had been so long, my time of unwanted celibacy. His cock was like water to someone dying of thirst, each thrust a wave of passion and fire into my body. I was suspended in total lust, carried away on a repeating wave of arousal that was highlighted by his cock filling me over and over.

As he thrust, he kept up a litany of words in French and I think Romani. "Ta chatte est incroyable, mon Dieu....," he muttered before changing into Romani that I couldn't catch.

"More, more," I begged, wanton and needing. His hips sped up, slapping hard against me and driving me against the tree. I laid my forehead on my forearms and held on, my legs quivering as he plunged into me again and again.

I could feel my orgasm build within me, tight and powerful. "I'm going . . .”

"Yes!" Francois cried, his hips moving at nearly blurring speed, so fast I couldn't tell when he was pulling out and when he was thrusting forward. All I knew was that my * clenched around his cock, trying to pull him inside me it felt so good.

With a harsh crying scream, my orgasm tore through me with all of the power it promised, my knees buckling, only to be caught in his strong hands as he thrust a final time.

We stood there, catching our breath for a few moments. “Amazing," he said, buckling my belt and stealing a kiss. "Come, let's get some wood gathered before Felix wonders what the hell happened to us."





Chapter 8





Francois




That evening, after dinner, I tried calling our agent again. Felix was in the main room, reading a book he'd picked up when we signed the papers on the cabin, something on leadership and management that I had no interest in. Sometimes my brother frustrated me to no end. Here we were, with millions of dollars in fine Japanese antique steel and a beautiful woman, and he had his nose buried in a book. He said that it was because a scholarship was just as important as training to our lives, but still. Life can pass you by unnoticed if you have your head in a book too much. That’s my motto.

In this instance, though, it was to my benefit. Jordan was a truly rare gem of a woman, more precious than any of the swords we'd stolen. Sexy, artistic, and graceful, she had a quality to her that would impress even the French. After we'd gathered the wood, filling both of our bags, she shouldered it without complaint as we walked through the light snow. "Why did you say you didn't want to leave the cabin?" she asked me as we walked. "It doesn't sound like a man looking at getting away with stealing a fortune."

"I know," I replied, thinking about what I wanted to say. While it is true that I have spoken English since childhood, I still naturally think in French and Romani, translating them inside my head before the English comes out. "I guess in the heat of the moment, I couldn't say everything that I wanted to say. What I meant was, when Felix and I leave the cabin, we're disappearing, and you're going back to your life in Los Angeles,” I said, sweet-talking her. Of course, there was some truth to it, but I had my other reasons too.

“And how else would you want it?” she asked, looking at me out of the side of her eyes. She was still vulnerable, and what I said next could have a big impact on how she thought of me.

"What I would like is to not have to worry about the police looking for us, or getting away . . . or leaving you behind," I said.

Jordan was silent after that, and now, back in the cabin, sat and watched the fire while I tried to reach our business partner. Unfortunately, the snowy weather meant that I was unable to make a connection to the satellite, and I didn’t have the battery power to keep trying. Satellite phones, while untraceable on normal cellular networks, and notorious for battery life.

"Jordan, tell me more about yourself,” I said as I shut down the phone and put it away. “I’d like to hear how you came to play the guitar. Besides, we have nothing but time.”

Jordan thought about it for a moment then nodded. "Okay, on one condition."

I came over to near the fire, sitting on the floor and smiling. Felix, for his part, kept reading his book. "What is that?"

"You two tell me some stories — I know there has to be some in what you do. This time, no more maybe later. Nothing of course that you think will endanger your safety afterward. What do you say, Felix?"

Felix, amazingly, put his bookmark in his book and set it aside. He hadn't said more than perhaps a dozen words all afternoon, staying instead in the world inside his head. "You first."

Jordan thought about it, then nodded. "All right, I guess. For me, music seemed to always be part of my life. My mother was a concert cellist before I was born, playing with various orchestras around the St. Louis area. She'd tried to make it in New York, but wasn't quite good enough. After she got pregnant, she settled down into being a housewife while Dad was an insurance salesman. I have on my computer back home videos of me being played lullabies by Mom on her cello while Dad held me and gave me a bottle.”