Pearl (The Pearl Series) (7 page)

I started licking up and down her butt crack, something I never usually did to women. But Pearl had me drooling for her like a horny devil. I could feel her ease herself into the situation, her body heaving with yearning desire. I looked up and noticed her erect nipples as I controlled her hips with both my hands. I pressed the small of her back forward so she was bending over slightly, slid my thumb inside her wet warmth and located the magic spot that I knew would drive her wild. My thumb pressed this erogenous zone while I circled her clit with my palm. I went back to licking her butt crack again. Slowly. Deliberately. Up. And then down. Up. And then down. I could feel her center throbbing. She was panting and thrusting, and pumping her clit hard against my firm hand.

“Alexandre!” she screamed “Oh, sweet Jesus, what are you doing to me?”

I probed my tongue into her sweet ass, tunneling deep inside, flicking and licking. She was all clean and fresh, oiled up from her bath. She smelled of orange blossom or vanilla, or something that sent my head spinning. Simultaneously, my fingers continued the rhythmical massage on her clit, my thumb still circling inside her. She couldn’t take it anymore—she was about to detonate. I could hear her screaming while she contracted around my large thumb, her orgasm coming in a hot rush. “Oh, my God! It’s like triple pleasure….oh fuck….I’m coming,” she yelled out, still gyrating against my hand. “I’m coming so deep…so deep from inside!” She sounded shocked, surprised as hell.

Was
I
surprised?

Not one bit. I knew exactly what I was doing. I’d zapped her G-spot. Hit the jackpot.

And this was just the beginning.

The beginning of something beautiful.

Something inevitable.

5

I
never did get to fuck Pearl that night, but I did learn all about her. Well, about her sexuality, anyway. While we were drinking the champagne, I asked her about her first orgasm. She was lying seductively on her chaise-longue in the living room, wearing nothing but my shirt, while I stroked her long, lean legs, kissed her, licked her, and generally absorbed the wonder of her, letting her very being seep into my every pore. She struck me as so intrinsically beautiful, not just physically, but there was a sweetness about her, an innocence, as if she was completely unaware of her splendor. Even though she was blonde, her lashes were thick and dark and her skin a sun-kissed gold. She was a genuine, star-spangled, American girl. Wholesome but elegant. All in one, sexy, very fuckable package.

I caressed her gently, enjoying her softness, the delicacy of her smooth skin, while she revealed to me that she couldn’t come from penetrative sex; at least hadn’t since she was twenty-two, when she dated her best friend’s brother. It seemed as if all this time she had been alone, although I finally asked her
the question,
which I had been avoiding, probably because I was nervous of the answer.

“Pearl, this may come as a stupid question….a little late, I know, but—”

“What?”

“You mentioned that those crystal glasses were a wedding gift, and your doorman calls you
Mrs
. Robinson. Are you
married,
by any chance?”

She laughed. “You think I’d be lying here, now, in this uncompromising position if I were married?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe.”

“No, that’s not my style. I
was
married but got divorced a couple of years ago.”

I could hear my lungs heave out a sigh of relief.

That’s when, I guess, most men would have fucked her. And yes, I was tempted. Of course I was.

But I wanted to wait. Why? Because I realized that I was dealing with a neo-virgin. A woman who hadn’t had an orgasm with anyone in all those years? I’d need to take it slow, I decided. Make her first time with me special. Something she’d never forget.

As she lay there, slightly tipsy, she said, “Really, Alexandre, I’m too much of a head-case. You should be with someone much younger than me. Someone more receptive.”

I thought she was kidding. She was the most receptive woman I had been with in ages. She was honest, vulnerable. When she came, I thought she might collapse she seemed so affected. I didn’t want some sassy college girl who’d experienced very little of the world, who’d never had any real knocks or bruises to call her own. I needed, I understood in that moment, a damaged bird. I wanted to repair her wing and help her fly again. Set her free. Hope that she would fly back to me of her own accord.

Pearl was that bird with the broken wing.

The more she tried to convince me that I was wasting my time even trying with her, the more I was determined to fix her.

She stroked me tenderly on the cheek. “I don’t want you to be disappointed with me, Alexandre. I can’t come with sex, not even oral sex. I haven’t been able to for years. You’re gorgeous and everything but—”

“There are no buts, chérie,” I told her. “An orgasm isn’t just physical. It’s all about your mental state of mind. The biggest sex organ of all is your brain. Think of the Big O as an orchestra that needs a conductor. I want to be that conductor, to conduct sweet, mind-blowing music that climaxes….right—” I trailed my finger down her stomach over her mound of Venus and tapped her gently between her legs—“here,” I said.

She closed her eyes blissfully but shook her head as if to say that what I was describing was impossible.

But impossible is not a word in my vocabulary.

I had a mission:

To be the best fuck that Pearl Robinson had ever had in her life.

6

I
was still thinking about Pearl while I navigated my way around the capital city of Mumbai. It was hot and sticky. Traffic everywhere. The streets were seething with ramshackled activity: cows dodging rickshaws (because cows are holy in India so they hang out, loose on the streets), scooters, diesel-belching trucks, cars, all ebbing and flowing as people tried to cross jam-packed roads without getting mowed down. Although India was still a third world country, it was innovative and ahead when it came to I.T. Not to mention the sheer volume of inhabitants. That’s why Sophie and I were keen to establish HookedUp there. But it was proving to be less than straightforward because of government corruption. So we decided that the best approach was to keep ourselves out of running the show in India. Sell them our company’s franchise and let them deal with it. There was no way either of us wanted to get embroiled in the day-to-day bribery and fraud that was an evil necessity there.

We’d take the money and run, so to speak.

Not in cash. But in precious stones and gems.

Sophie and I had several specialists on our team because we didn’t trust a soul. Especially, the baggy, boozy-eyed bastard who was procuring the gems: Indira’s cousin.

Indira…

I was on my way to see her. We’d always meet at the Leela Hotel: a lavish, five-star piece of heaven that sits on the outskirts of the city, amidst the chaos that is Mumbai. We’d spend a relaxed day together swimming in the pool, having massages or a long lunch, although in India you can never feel completely at ease, knowing how the other half live; one-armed beggars, hungry children and mangy, half-starved dogs. Living beings that make you feel guilty with all you own, yet their problems are so bottomless you don’t know where to begin.

Don’t get me wrong; there’s magic in India, too. Real beauty. But every time I visit, it always takes a while to adjust to its inequality: the uber-rich and dirt-poor living side by side.

I had employed Indira to set up a charity for me in Mumbai. That’s how we became acquainted in the first place. Being such a high-profile star, she could garner lots of interest and attention. She’d done an amazing job, so far. I admired her for her tenacity. She had gathered a lot of other Bollywood actors on the board of directors, and they were doing so much good. But I wanted to pull out completely. I was keen to extricate myself and let her get on with it herself, without me.

The charity was for children and their education. It incorporated schools and means for training them for professions where they could get real jobs. It was very hands-on, and the Bollywood stars made personal appearances every month or so. That made the kids turn up, because they were fearful of missing out on the action. Attendance was great. Movie stars have so much power in India—even more so than in the USA.

Indira was lying on the bed in the hotel, waiting for me. Red rose petals led like a carpet from the door to the bed, sprinkled about like confetti, spelling out our names and arranged in the form of hearts. She had a pink sari draped about her which set off her caramel-colored skin and her dark, cascading hair. I entered the room and gazed at her. She was stunning, no doubt, but there was someone else who had taken precedence. Someone else who had stolen my attention: Pearl Robinson. As I mentioned before, multi-tasking wasn’t my strong point.

“Hi baby,” Indira said, batting her coal-rimmed eyes. She wore a sparkling, red
bindi
between her eyebrows and looked very exotic. She licked her lips to wet them. “Come to me. I’ve been so lonely. Come and lie beside me.”

“You’re looking good, Indira,” I said. “How’s it been going?” I came over to the bed, and sat down. I held her hand the way a brother or father would. She pulled me toward her and began to unravel her sari. She started to fondle her breasts, her lips parting. She cupped one hand around my groin. I could feel my cock twitch beneath my jeans. I took her hand away and clasped it again.

Alarm flashed in her gray eyes like a warning siren. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m very, very tired,” I lied.

But she rolled over onto her stomach, jiggled down the bed and pressed her head into my crotch. She started biting me along the ridge of my dick, through my jeans. I had to admit it was turning me on, but I wasn’t in the mood to go through with it. My dick didn’t agree, though. What she was doing felt really good.

She began to unbutton my pants, frantically, making mewing sounds like a cat in heat.

“I’m wet,” she breathed hoarsely. “All I’ve been thinking about twenty-four hours a day is you. Is
this
. This beauty,” she groaned, as she grappled with the material of my jeans, freeing my cock so it sprang up against her lips. I didn’t have underwear on. It was too goddamn hot. I noticed how Indira hadn’t kissed me on the mouth yet. It was my cock that had her obsessed. I was relieved—a kiss was the last thing on my mind—too intimate.

“You know you have the most beautiful penis in the world,” she purred between kissing and nibbling its crest. “Big, hard, thick, pulsating, en….ORmous. So thick…so huge. Proud like a cobra. So enormous…so smooth…so magnificent. It’s like a work of art.” She started licking her tongue up and down my erection.

I held her head still, restraining her movements. “No, Indira. This isn’t a good idea.”

She looked up at me from beneath her long lashes, shock flashing across her face. “Don’t you fucking deny me this!” she lashed out, her mouth half full. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you know how many men fantasize about me doing this to them? They dream about me while they masturbate every night, my poster on their wall. And you are telling me to
stop?”
Her large mouth stretched over my throbbing crown and she sucked hard. I lay back, yielding to her, my dick telling me how good it felt, as if it had a brain of its own. She took my huge erection to the back of her throat, focusing on suction, greedy for it as if her life depended on it. But still, it wasn’t right. It felt wrong to me. Very wrong. I forced myself to shuffle my ass away from her and sit up. My cock was throbbing with desire, but my head was telling me this all had to end.

“You’re so beautiful, Indira. You’re such a special lady, you really are, but I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to use you, you’re worth more than that.” I tucked my unwieldy tackle back into my jeans.

Horror drained the color from her face. She stared at me, incredulous.

“I’ve met someone else, I’m sorry,” I explained, getting up and going to the bathroom. I locked the door. I could hear her screaming, her abusive tirade ricocheting about the room. She was throwing things about like a small child having a tantrum. God knows who could have heard; they must have believed I was beating her up.