Foreign Love (An International Sports Romance) (Love in Shades) (5 page)

Chapter 14

Lucien

My head is still pounding from the conversation I had with my agent this evening. “Lucien. In all honesty, you are in no shape to play professionally right now. Let us be realistic. You will not be ready for the Olympic Games,
mon gars
. It starts in a month and you’re still limping around. There is no way. The team is going to drop you. It’s time for you to just accept it.”

Just accept it?

I spent my entire life working towards this moment. Now, it’s being ripped away from me, and I’m just supposed to
accept
it?

“
Putain! Monsieur, soyez prudent!
” a fast-moving man in a suit scolds me as he dodges around me, narrowly avoiding a collision with a fire hydrant.

My attention snaps back to the present as I stroll towards my apartment with a slight hobble. My bastard knee is acting up right now, reminding me of how absolutely fucked I am. I duck into the
boulangerie
halfway down the block from my flat and pick up a baguette. I’d usually stick around and chat a bit with the bakers but today, I’m in no mood. I slip out onto the street and that’s when I notice a head of brilliant blond hair and an elegant body strutting ahead of me in the distance.

“Julia?” I jog as fast as my bum knee will let me, jumping over some children playing catch on the sidewalk and darting around an older couple walking hand in hand. “Julia?”

Is it really her? Or have I gone crazy? Is this girl causing me to hallucinate now?

But then, her movements still. She turns and looks right at me. My heart tightens in my chest.

She waves eagerly and moves towards me, a wide smile on her beautiful face. “Lucien. Hi.”

Chapter 15

Julia

Lucien must think I’m a crazed stalker with the way I just popped up outside of his loft tonight. I’m not too sure exactly what I expected when I left home to come here, hair piled in a messy ponytail high on my head, clothing stuffed into my messenger bag. All I know is that living in a house full of ballerinas while not being able to dance is driving me crazy.

I needed to get away from there…so here I am.

“You disappeared into the night,” Lucien says with playful eyes as he fills a goblet with red wine and slides it across the counter to me. I feel blood rush to my cheeks as I recall what he did to me the last time we were alone with a bottle of wine. A part of me is disappointed that we aren’t doing that again, right now. Instead, he sits on the kitchen stool next to me, toying with the stem of his glass. He’s so close that I can feel the buzzing warmth of his skin.

After Lucien found me outside on the sidewalk and ushered me into his apartment, I perched on a stool and watched him whip up an onion soup in no time flat. It was incredibly sexy seeing him work his way around the tiny kitchenette, chopping and sautéing and stirring. And the meal had been deliciously accompanied by fresh baguette and wine.

Tonight, we ate with spoons and forks and glasses and I must say that food seems to taste much better when we use each other’s various body parts as utensils. I learned that the last time I was here.

“So, will you answer me, Julia?” he presses. “Why did you disappear last night?” His tone is light but I can tell that he’ll insist on getting an answer out of me. Even when his telephone rings, threating to interrupt the moment, he just frowns, silences it and slides it into his pocket, returning his attention to me.

Do I tell him the truth?

Do I tell him the reason why I crept out of his bed at 4:30 in the morning, just hours after he’d given me the most perfectly blissful orgasm of my life?

This man touches me like he
knows
me. That scares me. That’s why I always run away when he gets too close.

But his touch also thrills me. And that’s why I come back.

No – I can’t tell him the truth
. It’s too intense. So, I decide to joke instead.

“I didn’t have my favorite teddy bear. I need it to sleep through the night,” I say with a playful lilt in my voice. “But I’ve got it now,” I say tipping my chin towards my bag on the floor, “so I’d be glad to stay the night if you’ll have me.”

He laughs. It’s throaty and rich. “You are more than welcome to stay the night, Julia.” And I feel warmer just hearing him say it.

He reaches across the back of my chair and toys with the loose strands of my hair. His presence feels good, comforting, familiar. I just want to sink into him.

After a while, he takes my empty plate as he stands and rounds the counter. “Is there anything in particular you want to do, this evening?” he tries to make the question sound neutral but the smirk on his lips tells me it’s anything but.

And we both know I didn’t come back for the crackers and cheese. But I’m willing to play innocent.

I shake my head ‘no’ as I slide out of my chair and approach him. I run my fingers along his beard. “Is there anything particular that
you
want to do?” I’m standing inches from him, my body spelling out all the things my lips won’t say.

His hand cups the back of my neck, his fingers coiling in my hair. He moves slowly…bringing his lips to kiss my left cheek…and then, my right…

He pulls back and looks at me. Mischief and temptation brew in his coppery eyes. A smile twists my lips.
A little danger always
did
get my blood rolling
.

He kisses my cheek again, then slowly moves down, pressing light kisses to my jaw…my chin…His fingers coil tighter in my hair, gently pulling my head back to kiss the heated skin of my throat…the hollow of my neck…my collarbone. I whimper softly as his lips travel across the thin fabric of my shirt, kissing me, kissing me until he reaches my breast. His greedy lips part and he sucks a mouthful of my small breast into his mouth, shirt and bra and all. His hand massages, kneads, squeezes my other breast till I’m groaning his name.

“Mmm…
magnifique
…” he moans across my stomach as he hoists me up, sitting me on the counter. He lays me back and I spread my legs without instruction, unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans before he peels them down my hips, down my legs, over my ankles. He leans down, gently pulling my thighs around his neck. He asks if that hurts my knee and when I say ‘no’, he buries his head between my thighs. His lips pull and suck at my heated core as he tastes me through my damp, silk panties.

I’m hungry to feel his tongue on me, so I reach down and push the wet fabric to the side. I prop myself on my elbow, hissing and moaning as I watch his tongue work against me, swirling around my clit, sliding up and down my seam, dipping past my folds, driving me wild.

“Is this how you like it, Julia?” he asks, his eyes rising to me for validation. His lips and beard are wet, his eyes are determined. “Is this how you need my mouth?”

I watch him, feeling amazed and bewildered by how sexy it is to see his face and beard wet with my desire. My voice is breathy and low when I say, “That’s how I like it.”

Satisfaction glints in his eyes as he buries his face between my thighs again. His hands are firm on my flesh, holding my legs wide, so wide it burns my muscles of my pelvis.

My hips thrust up off of the counter, riding his face. My breathing quickens, the sounds coming out of me become more urgent. The storm is building inside of me, it’s picking up power and speed, spinning and spinning, faster and faster. I’m so sensitive, so alert, aware of his every breath, of each minuscule movement. His hands move up my thighs, keeping me open as my body tries to close up, to hide from the intensity of what I’m feeling.

“Take it,
poupée
,” he mumbles against my sex, his beard grating against my thighs. “Take it all.”

His attention is trained solely on my clit. He sucks, hard and feverish. And my spine arches up off of the counter, my arms flail to the sides.

I vaguely hear something fall and shatter on the floor as I fall into my orgasm, shattering on my way down. His hand finds my quivering pussy. Fingers – I don’t know how many – slide into me, pumping, pumping all the way. So deep. So good it hurts. But it’s delicious and liberating.

And I’m still falling.

Still falling.

Still falling.

Until the orgasm slowly lets go of its chokehold on me. My spine straightens gradually and my breathing calms bit by bit.

Lucien’s hands slide up my body, dragging my shirt up my skin. His lips touch my hipbone, the hollow of my stomach, my ribcage. I’m still boneless when he lifts my shirt over my head and tosses it to the floor. I ease my back off of the counter so that he can unfasten my bra. Then, he’s drawing my nipple between his lips, sucking and teasing. “
Ça va, ma belle?
” he whispers in the dark.

Am I okay?

The question is almost comical. I’m not okay. I’m better than okay. Better than I’ve been in a long while.

But I’m still too dazed to formulate word and sentences. All I can offer him is a smile.

“
Bien donc
…I am going to fuck you now.”

He leans over me, his arms wrapping around my lower back. I drape my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist and sit up. My knee is only slightly uncomfortable as he carries me across the room, depositing me in the middle of the bed.

With a hand planted firmly on either side of my head, he waits patiently as I unbutton his shirt with trembling hands. I take a moment to enjoy him, my fingers dancing along the defined muscles of his chest, the coarse hairs spread thickly across his torso, the tattoos inked into his forearms. I’ve never been with a man like him and I never imagined that I’d like it this much.

He groans thickly when my hands move to his waistband, unbuttoning his pants and sliding it over his taut, muscular ass and his toned, soccer-player thighs.

One thing’s for sure – all that running around and kicking a soccer ball sure did his body good.

When I yank down his boxers, his cock falls warm and heavy against my stomach. He dips down, his lips meeting mine. His kiss is hungry and tastes unmistakably like my arousal.

He balances himself on one hand as he reaches into the bedside drawer and retrieves a condom. Growling quietly, he rips the packaging open with his teeth. The small sound betrays his eagerness, his excitement. I reach down and shamelessly stroke my clit as he slowly presses himself into me. “Lucien…” My voice is hoarse and needy.

He pants as he watches me where I touch myself. “So sexy, Julia. So sexy.” He leans down and kisses me sweetly, stealing my moans and sighs and grunts into his warm mouth as he grinds leisurely in and out of me. He churns his hips, digging deep, slapping into me.

And he’s picking up speed, gradually…gradually…gradually… until his rhythm is wild and punishing.

I wrap my fingers around his wrists, my hips tipping up to meet his every harsh thrust, open and ready to receive everything he’s offering.

“Fuck, Julia,” he murmurs, his head hanging, his weight pressing on his wrists. “
C’est bon. Tellement bon
.”

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull his face to mine. I want him closer. I need to feel his heat searing my skin. I need to feel his heart thumping so close that I wonder if it’s in my own chest.

“
C’est bon?
” he asks, capturing my bottom lip between his teeth and biting tenderly.

“Mmm…
c’est bon
…” I echo, arching my body up into his.
It’s so good, Lucien. It’s the best.

He straightens up with his healthy knee on the mattress and his other foot slides to the floor. He slips both hands under my ass, lifting that part of me off of the bed. He grimaces a bit. Shifts his weight.

“Your knee?” I ask quietly.

The look of absolute concentration his face is almost intimidating. He shakes his head, tightening his grip on my hips. “Shh…It is nothing.” He tilts my pelvis up to his at just the perfect angle. And then, he pounds into me in a reckless, uninhibited frenzy.

I keen towards him, wanting more. Needing to take it all. Not letting a drop of this pleasure escape me. Sensation rushes through me, warm and sharp. He watches as I trip and stumble into it. My fingers grasp for his hair, for the sheets, for anything to hold onto as I ride the wave after wave after wave of orgasm.

And now, he’s coming apart, grunting and muttering as his fingernails sink deeper into my flesh. He’s fucking me harder, deeper, groaning a thousand obscenities in French and English and another language all his own.

When he collapses onto the bed next to me a moment later, his brow is damp with sweat, his breathing is erratic. “Sex is so good with you,” he mutters into the air right before he pulls my quivering body against his.

And we stay like that, wrapped up in each other until his breathing grows slow and steady.

Anxiety creeps into my mind, spooling around my spine. I don’t want to go back to my apartment. I don’t want to face Geneviève and my roommates and be constantly reminded of the life that I lost, of the dream that was shattered when I damaged my leg. And why do I feel more at home with this stranger than I do in my own bed, in my own life?

“Can I stay?” I ask burying my face into the curve of his neck. His beard bruises my forehead.

“Oh Julia, of course you can stay the night.”

I pull back and look into his eyes, copper pits with sparkling gold speckles. “No – can I
stay
?”