Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(26)

With one smooth movement, he pulls my hips up higher, angling himself down in a long, powerful thrust and he’s hitting my G-spot at a hot, perfect pace.

Sweet Jesus.

I think I’m about to see stars.

Then all the tension snaps, a slingshot pulled back until there’s nowhere else to go, and then—

I’m gone.

I cry out, flying through space at the speed of sound, my body quaking and quivering and shaking with a wild mind of its own. It’s like I cease to exist, and the orgasm is the only thing left, the only thing that matters in this galaxy.

“Olivier,” I manage to say, slowly remembering where I am and what blissful thing is happening.

Olivier moans as I pulse around him, and his pace quickens. He’s driving himself inside me, so hard and thorough and punishing that I’m not sure if he’s ever going to stop or if he’s trying to break me in two. And I’m still riding my orgasm, each brutal thrust keeping me going on the wave, like I’ll keep coming for as long as he’s in deep. I’m up so high, high, high, and I can’t come down, even if I tried.

Then he’s coming, letting out hoarse grunts that fill me with both desire and a strange sense of pride, and I can feel the sweat dripping off him and onto my back, hear his ragged and frantic breath.

Finally, he pulls out and collapses beside me on the bed, just as I let my hips drop. My body is still shaking from the orgasm and the strain; my brain is still trying to make sense of this beautiful new world, and my heart has yet to return to my chest.

After a few moments, he reaches out and runs his hands over my body, smearing the sweat around. “We’re dirty again,” he murmurs, placing a hot, wet kiss on my lips. “I think we’re going to need another shower. We might need a lot of showers tonight.”

I watch as he pulls his condom off, and I smile. “I think we’re going to need a lot of condoms too.”

He grins. “Good thing you’re dealing with a man who deals in excess,” he says. “Also, good thing you’re with a man who’s only getting started.”

My heart leaps at that, my body coming back to life even though the previous waves and buzz never quite left me.

He’s only getting started. We’re only getting started.

This man.

And me.





CHAPTER SEVEN

OLIVIER

I wake up before she does.

To be fair, I barely slept at all. Neither of us did, not when I was taking my time screwing her senseless throughout the midnight hours, but even when she finally dozed off, exhausted and satisfied, my eyes stayed open and my brain kept racing.

I have to say, it was the most peculiar feeling. For the first time in a long time, I stopped thinking about work as an asset. I started thinking about work as a hindrance in my life. If it wasn’t for work, I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to her.

But that was all assuming she wouldn’t want to say goodbye. It’s why I took my time with Sadie—I couldn’t quite figure out the type of girl she is. One moment she’s shy, the next she’s bold, another minute she’s an open book, the next she’s clamped shut. She both eagerly takes in all the riches and experiences, and then shuns them with her next breath.

I still don’t have a handle on her character. All I know is that I trust her for some reason, maybe just for this short while, maybe for something longer than that. I don’t know. The most beguiling thing is that I want there to be more than what there is. Yet the chances of her feeling the same, feeling it enough to stay, are slim.

She groans, letting out a breathless little sigh before she rolls over.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she opens her eyes and glances at me through the long strands of hair across her face.

I can’t help but smile at her like this. So innocent and wicked, naked and disheveled. I reach across and brush the hair off her face so I can stare into her endless blue eyes.

“Bon matin, mon lapin,” I say, knowing I’m being cheesy as fuck, but hoping the fact that I’m speaking French will make up for it.

She bursts into giggles, and I know that she’s called me out on it. “Really? First thing in the morning with the lines?”

I quickly run my hand down the smooth, soft skin of her back and pull her toward me. “I’ll have you know, it’s not so easy to rhyme first thing in the morning,” I tell her, leaning down to place a kiss at the crook of her neck.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, slipping her hand down the side of my waist and over my hip. “Maybe you should stick to things you’re better at.”

Well, well, well. I like this. I like that it’s the morning after, and all formalities and awkwardness have dissolved, and we seem to know each other on another level.

Or maybe there are many levels yet to be discovered.

Maybe each level is right in our hands.

I nip at her skin, feeling her squirm beneath me, hearing her gasp and moan.

“You know I’ll be dreaming of those sounds for years to come,” I tell her, running my tongue up the side of her neck. “You’ve got the mouth of every wet, hot fantasy, unleashed.”

“You flatter me,” she says, acting every bit the minx.

“Just you wait,” I warn her.

Last night was not enough.

I don’t think it will ever be enough.