Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(24)

Another life becoming more real than the first one.

His lips press against mine, soft and slow and wet, tasting of salt and need and want. I gasp hungrily as I feel his erection press against my hip, sliding against me as my hand goes to his shoulders to hold on.

“You’re too beautiful for words,” he whispers to me, his lips brushing against mine. “None of the words in English will do. None of the words in French will do either. There is no language that can describe what I see before me.”

And I’m melting. If I weren’t holding on to his strong shoulders, I would be sinking like a stone.

But while I’m melting, I’m also firing up. Flames are building in my core, rising high, spurring a need in me like no other.

I kiss him hard, wanting so much of him at once, wanting to keep kissing him and drowning in his depths. My hands are roaming everywhere on his body as his hands do the same to mine, and we’re barely staying afloat.

But if I drowned right here, I think I’d only need his kiss to keep me alive.

I don’t know how long we make out like this, bathed in glowing water, indulging in the feel of each other for the first time, but eventually a noise brings us out of our fevered state.

We glance up to see Marcel at the side of the boat, averting his eyes. He says something to Olivier in French and then leaves to go back below deck.

Olivier nods and looks at me, giving me a lazy grin as he pushes the wet hair off my face. “We should go back now,” he says to me. “Come on.”

We swim to the back of the boat, and Olivier gets out first, and again he’s not hiding anything, but this time I’m taking it all in like the secret pervert that I am.

The man is stunning.

And he’s hung like a horse.

A French horse. Much more of an elegant-looking dick, not just large and in charge.

I can tell I’m already blushing, and I’m glad it’s dark outside.

Once he’s climbed on board, I do the same, ever so aware of my bare breasts, but, luckily, he throws me a towel so I can cover myself up before he helps me up onto the rest of the yacht.

“Let’s get dressed,” he says, grabbing our clothes, and I follow him down to the cockpit, where Marcel and the cook continue to pretend like we’re not there.

I change back into my dress in one of the cabins, smiling to myself the whole time.

It happened.

He kissed me.

And the best is yet to come.

It’s not going to end there in that moonlit water.

We’re just starting.

The boat ride back to the dock goes by both quickly and slowly. Slowly, because I can’t wait for us to be alone again in my room. Quickly, because I’m nervous. I’m afraid. Even though we were just naked in the sea with each other, this is Olivier, and this is the first person I will have slept with since Tom. Tom, who was familiar and safe and predictable.

With Olivier, I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know how it’s going to make me feel. I don’t know if I’ll be rendered too vulnerable or if it will change things between us, making it harder for me to leave.

But who am I kidding? It’s already going to be impossible.

We get off the boat, and Olivier is my crutch and guide as he leads me back to the room. My nerves are tap-dancing up and down my spine, and I feel like I’m so alive, so in tune with the air and the sky and the stars that anything is possible, and anything can happen.

“We should take a shower,” he says, once we’ve stepped inside and he’s closed the door behind us.

I raise my brows. I do need to rinse off that salty Mediterranean water before I go to bed tonight, but I’m not sure if this is an invitation or . . .

“Get naked and get in,” he says, jerking his head to the bathroom. “S’il vous pla?t.”

I gulp. Okay. It’s an invitation.

I walk past him to the bathroom, waiting until I’m inside to start stripping.

He follows, undoing his pants, his shirt—everything coming off until he’s completely naked.

Again, I’m breathless. Speechless. The sight of him in all his nude glory with that perfect dick between his legs is scrambling my brain.

“Do you need help?” he asks, leaning past me to open the glass shower doors and get the water running.

“I can manage,” I tell him, pulling off my dress, now completely naked.

Olivier’s lustful eyes drink me in, from my lips all the way to my toes, and for once I don’t feel so bashful anymore. I just feel powerful. Like I’m all woman. He makes me feel like I’m the most desired woman on earth.

“I still have no words,” he murmurs as he kisses me, then takes my hand and pulls me into the shower, the hot stream of water running all over us.

He pours body wash into a sponge and then proceeds to soap me up all over, taking his time as he goes over my breasts, taking it between my legs.

I feel like a ticking time bomb, and the shower steam and heat are only making me feel hotter. I don’t want just this soft teasing, I want him.

I want all of him.

I reach down and boldly grab his dick, making a fist over its firm, stiff length, and then moving my fist up and down.

He gasps, eyes rolling back as he drops the sponge.

I work him faster and faster, the suds creating a slick lube, and then when he sounds like he’s about to lose it, he opens his eyes and grabs my face, kissing me deep and hard and desperately.