Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(67)

“My father and mother used to take me here when I was younger. To this flea market,” she reminisced as they wove through the crowds of shoppers along this stretch of vendors. “They loved to bargain shop. My father would come here to buy tools and skeleton keys and dusty old books. Funny thing is, he never actually used them. We had to donate them all when he passed on.”

“Why did he want them?”

“Honestly, I think he loved to haggle.”

Michael nodded. “Now that makes sense. I’m quite good at haggling. You should see me do it. It’s amazing that Ryan thinks he’s the negotiator for our firm, but it’s really me. I make sure we get the best deals.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Will you haggle for me then? For the teapot?”

He arched an eyebrow, and they stopped, other bargain hunters pushing past them, bumping and nudging in hot pursuit of a deal on corduroy jackets, old costume jewelry, baroque mirrors, and more.

He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Will it turn you on so much that it makes you want to f*ck me again?”

She shivered in response. “That’s a silly question. I pretty much always want to with you.”

“But will you want to even more?” he asked, his voice gritty, dirty. He ran his fingers down her arm. Since it was November, she wore a jacket, but goose bumps still rose on her flesh.

She stood on tiptoe and leaned in close to him. “I’m already turned on from the question.”

“Let’s get your teapot,” he said, turning around.

Suddenly, the flea market had become foreplay.

They returned to her teapot seller. “Combien ?a co?te?” How much?

“Cinquante euros,” the man barked back. A cigarette dangled between his yellowed teeth. Fifty euros.

Michael shook his head, offering twenty. “Vingt.”

The man scoffed. Waved his arm dismissively. Flubbed his lips. “Quarante. Pas moins!” Forty. No less.

Michael huffed. “?a ne les vaut pas.” That’s not worth it.

The vendor sneered, growled, crossed his arms. Michael rounded on his heel, and Annalise’s eyes widened. He was walking away.

“Revenez,” the man called out. Come back.

Michael turned and waited. The man wrapped up the teapot, and handed it over in a flimsy white plastic bag. His annoyance was part of the game. Michael handed him the bills. “Merci.”

As they strolled away, he whispered to her, “Did it work?”

“Hot and bothered.”

“Let’s see how much.”

She tipped her head to a café across the street, the words Bouledogue painted across the front in red letters, alongside an illustration of a canine of the same breed. Once inside, they took the staircase to the basement where restaurant bathrooms were usually located. Michael rapped on the door. Empty.

He tugged her inside, locked the door, and hung the plastic bag with the teapot from a hook.

He thumbed the hem of her skirt. “I love that you wear skirts with me now.”

“I’ve learned my lesson.”

Wrapping an arm around her, he tilted up her chin so she looked at him. His eyes searched hers, full of so much passion that she heated up all over, her skin tingling. He pushed a strand of hair away from her face and kissed a path along her jawline. Her legs turned to jelly. Her knees went weak, and heat pooled between her legs, dampening her panties. One kiss, one touch, and she was ready.

He ran a hand along the inside of her thigh, and she quivered, melting into him. He gripped her waist and backed her up so she was pressed to the door. Cupping her jaw in his hand, he gazed into her eyes. Her mouth fell open, and the entirety of the universe narrowed to the way he stared at her, drawing out the anticipation. To his beautiful face. To his words as he said, “Now, let me f*ck you, my love.”

Her eyes floated closed, and she lingered in the rapturous bliss of his way with her. His need for her was so intense it nearly scared her. Except it didn’t, because she knew precisely how he felt. The same need drove her. Made her want to smash into him, grind her body against his, bring him close and then closer still. Want thrummed between them, radioactive in its intensity. Her hands worked open his jeans, unzipping them, freeing his cock. The aching desire to be filled by him spread to every bone, every nerve, every cell. She ran her hand along his hard length, thrilling at the feel—the skin so damn soft, while he was so incredibly hard.

Then his hands grabbed her ass, and she let go of him. In seconds he’d lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist, and tugged her panties to the side.

“Michael, do I have to be quiet?”

He shook his head as he rubbed his cock against her wetness, sending an electrical charge through her. “I don’t care who knows that you’re in heaven when I f*ck you.” He eased inside her, and that current surged, igniting her, crackling through her being. Her head fell back and she moaned. Loudly.

Heaven.

That was precisely what this was. Sex with Michael was a faraway land of ecstasy, of endless fiery pleasure. “It’s so good, there’s no way I can be quiet,” she murmured.

“Then moan. Cry. Scream. It doesn’t matter to me. Fucking you is something only I get to do, and I don’t care who knows how completely consumed you are.”

“I am. I am consumed.”