Bartered (The Encounter #1)(9)

Twenty-five minutes later, there was a knock on the door before Chantel ushered herself in, wearing a seductive smile. “Mon Roi.” (My King.) “Chantel.” I gave her a knowing look when she halted before my desk. I leaned back in my chair and watched her carefully take her garments off, one at a time. I liked my women to seductively unwrap themselves like a present before me, getting me excited as I looked at what was going to be mine.

When she was left with her underwear on, I stopped her, asking her to leave it on before she sensually strode towards me. The moment she reached me, she immediately got on her knees, unzipped my pants and took me in her mouth. She did it nice and slow, making me feel her enticing licks as my cock started to throb. I shut my lids and imagined Isobel taking me in her mouth. Mon Dieu! I became harder than I was, grunting as I took her head with my right hand and pushed her mouth deeper, taking what she could until I felt her throat close around me. After I felt her gag, I wrenched her off my shaft, pulled her to her feet and licked the side of her ear.

“Bend over my desk, spread your legs wide and open. I want to see both holes as you stretch your body.”

She did as I asked, taking her panties off languorously slow first, and in reward, I gave her a hard spank on her bottom, making her moan in earnest.

“Hugo,” she gasped my name as I palmed her soaking wet cunt. “Baise-moi.” (f*uk me.) I smirked, knowing quite well how loud she’d be the moment I slipped my cock into her pu**y.

“As you wish, mon amant.”





Chapter 7


Isobel


Casually giving the silent man sitting next to me a glance, I tried to breach the vast stretch of silence. “Where are we headed to?” After he’d arrived in the villa to get me, all dressed up and showered, from his office, he merely gave me a quick inspection with a stale greeting of “Good evening, Isobel” before opening the door for me to get inside his swanky, two-door sports car. Apart from that, Hugo hadn’t supplied me with any words.

He stretched his neck from side to side then cleared his throat. “To a wine auction that will benefit homeless children.”

Sigh. He was making this difficult. He wasn’t very forthcoming at all, and since this was our first official outing together, I had thought he’d be more accommodating, but he was proving to be standoffish. “Sounds exciting. Are you setting your sights on anything in particular?”

Eyes stuck to the road, he used his left hand to tug his tie a little before responding to me. “For a while now… yes,” he murmured. “And I intend to acquire it at all costs.”

There was something about the way he said it that made me glance at his darkly handsome profile. I felt my stomach drop as I took in his masculine perfection. Greek men were passionate; however, French men were something else. Their passions seemed to go with everything they did—like limited edition spirits.

“Must be a fine wine then. I’m sure it’s pricey.”

“Anything fine is always expensive. Nothing in life is free.”

The bite in his tone made me feel at odds; therefore, I remained silent for I had no smart retort. After all, if one looked at it in black and white, my father had offered me like a barter to pay of his debts in return for my willing servitude.

He was right. Nothing in life was free…





“And who is this belle enchanteresse, Xavier?” The famous racer Jacques Bertrand inquired the moment Hugo and I joined their close circle of friends.

Hugo touched the back of my hips, letting his hand stay there as he introduced me. “This is Isobel. She’s spending the summer with me.” He then paused as he stared ahead before gazing back to his friends, frowning. “Give me a moment to speak to someone.” He made a quick nod towards me before whispering, “I’ll be right back.”

I watched after him as strode towards the opposite side of the hall, feeling a little odd yet again because his parting seemed awkward. Hugo and I didn’t know each other, so maybe that was the reason behind his weird behavior.

Someone cleared their throat, picking up my attention as I looked up and found Jacques Bertrand’s amused face. “Well, it’s quite lovely to meet you, Isobel.”

Smiling shyly, I made the same sentiment. “Same here, Monsieur Bertrand.”

“Call me Jacques.” He offered his hand, and when I shook it, he hung on to mine before giving me a questioning look. “I thought you were Italian at first sight, but your accent denies it…”

I was unbelievably out of my league here. These men were used to women that could flirt back with them with ease, but I was having a hard time not being completely star-struck at the handsome and well-known racer and womanizer extraordinaire.

“Greek,” I offered to solve his problem, feeling out of my comfort zone as I watched the women saunter about, looking ever so glamorous while I felt like an interloper playing pretend.

“Simply beautiful,” he murmured before placing his lips on the back of my hand, making me gasp from shock and excitement.

“Behave, Jacques. She’s already taken,” the woman standing next to him butted in with a playful smile. “I’m Stella von Berg.”

I was about to say “Nice to meet you” when the man next to her interrupted me. “Was von Berg. Now Kensington, my lovely wife.”