Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(33)

Fuck. I know that for all the romantic words that usually spill out of Olivier’s mouth, I shouldn’t be affected by this plea, but I am. I can feel the passion in it, the anguish that I myself am pretending not to feel, the same feelings I’ve been avoiding for the last few days.

You’re being stubborn. A stupid, stubborn girl, I think.

And I’m probably right.

I glance up at him, wincing at the glare of the sun. In the reflection of his sunglasses, I look so small and tiny. I look like a liar. I look like someone who is about to run away. “The sooner I get on that train, the sooner I can go back to being a backpacker. That’s who I really am. I’m poor. I’m a struggling student. I should be sleeping in dorm rooms again, and washing my underwear in the sink, and raiding happy-hour specials and tapas in order to eat. I should be just scraping by, because that’s pretty much what my life is about. And I really should see Spain too. Then, after that, I fly home and return to my life. It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

He nods slowly, chewing on his lip. I wish I could see his eyes underneath the glasses. “I understand that, Sadie. I really do. As I said before, I respect your wishes, even if I wish they were different.”

I expect him to say something else, to offer some other way of trying to convince me, but he doesn’t.

It’s like he’s giving up.

I have to admit, it kind of sucks.

It means this really is the end.

Perhaps all this time I was waiting for something to convince me, when really I have every reason to be convinced already.

Olivier sits down beside me, resting his elbows on his thighs. “What time does your train leave again?”

He knows. We’ve been over this a few times, but I don’t mind him asking.

“In an hour and a half.”

He nods and pushes his sunglasses up over his head as he squints at me.

“That’s plenty of time to make you come,” he says smoothly. “More than once.”

I slowly shake my head at him. We’ve already fucked a few times this morning—once in the bed, once in the shower—so I certainly wasn’t expecting this proposition. But I’m not surprised. And I’m certainly not disappointed.

“You’re always promising me the moon,” I say, feeling my body flush at his words.

“I don’t promise the moon, mon lapin,” he says, leaning in. “I just promise that you’ll come so hard you’ll end up forgetting your own name.”

“I certainly won’t be forgetting your name.”

He breaks into the cockiest grin. “Never.” He then nods at me. “You better hurry and get naked.”

I give him a look. “Me?”

“It’s easier to make you come that way. But I do like a challenge.”

“You’re insatiable,” I tease him, and, God, how I wouldn’t have him any other way.

He sucks in his lower lip for a moment and then kisses me, his hands disappearing into my hair, pushing me back until I’m falling into the lounge chair.

Then he’s grabbing me by the shoulders and twisting me around so that he’s lying on his back, his hands deftly undoing his belt and fly. “Ride me,” he whispers, his voice already thick with lust.

I blink at him for a moment, and in the back of my head I know this means my own pants have to come off, and that I have a train to catch, but the moment I see him bring his full, thick cock out of his pants, all those thoughts are deemed useless.

Though it’s not very graceful, I quickly get my own pants and underwear off until I’m naked from the waist down, and he’s staring at me with so much desire he’s practically salivating.

Okay, well, that definitely helps put me in the mood too—to be looked at like that, to be wanted like that.

He holds his cock upright like a pike. It’s so rigid and stiff and large, absolutely formidable. But I know I can take it. I know what it does to me.

I straddle him carefully, patiently waiting to position myself over him until he’s got it wrapped in a condom. Once he does, I use the back of the chair for leverage and slowly, very slowly, lower myself down on top of his cock.

“Sadie,” he moans and then says something else in French, his words coming out in grunts and groans as his eyes close and his head goes back.

I can barely breathe, let alone talk. With him holding his cock so hard, each push down feels like I’m losing all space in my lungs, and I’m being filled with every aching, hot inch of him. It’s nearly painful, but it’s a sweet pain, the kind that you could get addicted to.

Finally, I’m exhaling, and he’s all the way in to the hilt, and I’m hit with the feeling that I’ll be hollow and empty without him. It’s almost silly to think that when you’re in the middle of having sex, but it’s true. This is more than sex now; this transcends that. I don’t exactly know what it is, but right now . . . it’s us.

“Ride me,” he groans, grabbing my hips and moving me up and down. “S’il vous pla?t,” he says.

“Talk some dirty French to me,” I tell him, grinding out the words as he starts moving me faster and faster.

And so he does. He lets out a string of breathless expletives that sound effortless and dirty all at once. I have no idea what he’s saying, of course, but the intention is all there, and he’s letting his cock do all the communicating.