The Bad Boys of Eden (106 page)

“Did I ever tell you about the woman who taught me about Tantra?”

“No,” I say softly, standing where I am, not moving.

“I was at a point in my life where nothing mattered.” He goes to the desk, finds matches and starts lighting the various candles spread around the room. “I had everything I could ever want. Wealth. Women. A family name.” With his back to me he continues. “I had just won my third Formula One championship race. I had it all.” He blows out the match after lighting the last candle and turns to me. “Yet I still wanted more. Still found myself searching.”

“For what?”

“Happiness. Fulfillment. I don’t think I even knew.”  He holds out his hands and I walk slowly to him, taking his outstretched hands.

I listen without any desire to tease or joke. Not now. Not today. He is sharing a rare gift with me, maybe this is his way of thanking me, by baring his soul to me.

“What was she like?”

His gaze softens as he looks down at me. “She was amazing. We were very much alike, though we grew up in completely different worlds.”

“How did you meet?”

“Here. On Eden. Theo introduced us.”

“Wow. He really is a matchmaker, isn’t he?”

“He has a way…of knowing.” Christophe leads me to the bed and we sit together, side by side, hands clasped. "Ever since he bought this island he has become...I don’t know how to describe it. A different man, a bigger man.”

“I see.” Though really, I don’t. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not Theo I’m interested in. “So tell me more about this woman.”

He does that French head tilt thing I’m beginning to love though have given up copying. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just enjoy hearing stories about other people’s lives, who they’ve loved and why. It’s fascinating to think about all of the experiences and people who helped to shape you into the man you are today.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me carefully, his facial expression changing and his mouth moving like he wants to say something but can’t. Or, at the very least, can’t decide whether he should say it or not.

“What is it?”

“You are remarkable.”

I smile because those are words he used to describe me before, but tonight they carry so much more weight. He releases my hand so that he can touch my face, gently smoothing my hair off my forehead and around the side of my ear. His hand is so large and capable yet can be so amazingly soft and tender.

“You are so very much like her.”

“Really?”

“More than you know.”

As he caresses my cheek and jaw, I watch his eyes, the way they soften, the way he watches his hand move across my skin like I’m a rare jewel, a priceless piece of art, a marvel. His touch spreads warmth from my face down my neck to my chest and while I stare into his eyes, I press my hand against his pec, not knowing why at first until I feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my hand.

He almost died today.

The fact his heart is beating right now is a miracle. How many more minutes could he have lasted down there? Two? Three? The thought of how close this fiercely beating organ came to never beating again…ever…takes my breath away.

Christophe’s breath responds accordingly. Like his heart, his lungs are in sync with mine. He slides his hand from my cheek to cover the hand I’ve got pressed against his heart. I don’t know how long we sit, feeling his heartbeat together. Seconds? Minutes? It doesn’t matter. Time has no meaning as we listen to each other breathe while we stare into each other’s eyes. There is no awkwardness, no shyness. It is so natural. There is nowhere else I’d rather be except gazing into Christophe Chevalier’s magnetic blue eyes and feeling his heart continue to pump blood to his body.

After a time—I have no idea how long—Christophe takes my free hand and places it against my chest, against my heart. Unless it’s an illusion of touch, our hearts beat in unison, like a duet, our voices matched perfectly.

Ba-bum…ba-bum…ba-bum.

“So,” I whisper, breaking the silence, not because it’s awkward but because I want to hear Christophe’s voice. I want to hear his story. “Tell me how she taught you.”

“We started very much like this.” He lifts my hand from his chest and kisses my palm. His eyes shut for just a second as he breathes against my hand, then he opens them. “The first time, I reacted in much the same way you did.”

“How’s that?” I breathe the words rather than saying them.

“Impatiently.” He kisses me and smiles. “Fighting against the idea of relaxation. Wanting to get her naked as quickly as possible so I could fuck her silly and make her come. Make myself come.”

“How did she stop you?”

“She was persistent.”

I cup his cheek, loving the growth along his jaw, the roughness, it awakens all the nerve endings in my fingertips. “I think I like her. Tell me more.”

“How about I show you instead?”

Chapter Fifteen

His hand slides from my chest to my lap to where the hem of my dress is nestled. “I’m going to take this off of you now.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. I smile because there are still the domineering, bossy parts of Christophe that will never be Tantra-sized out of him. It’s who he is. Personally? I wouldn’t have him any other way.

I help him lift my dress up and over my head.

“You are so beautiful, Tessa.” His voice is thick with meaning as he gazes at my naked chest.

“Touch me,” I say.

Unlike last night, he complies, running his hands over my breasts, playing my nipples with his thumbs, caressing, squeezing—lightly to start.

“So very beautiful,” he murmurs as he pushes me gently down onto the bed and then moves on top of me. His mouth descends and he takes my nipple inside, rolling it gently between his teeth, sucking lightly.

“I like it a little bit harder,” I say. Incredibly, I am not forcing my chest into his face like usual. I lie there, watching him, awed by the way he touches me, thankful that he’s here at all to touch me. The sensation of his mouth and hands on me has arousal simmering beneath the surface but not scorching me, just warming me with contentment and gratefulness.

Christophe glances up, smiles and then moves to my other nipple, sucking harder this time, teeth clamping, grinding my sensitive bud in a way that is completely pleasurable.

The second I arch, he stops and moves up beside me on the bed.

“Why’d you stop?”

“The biting was making you tense and when that happens you lose sensation.” He traces my lower lip with his thumb. “When you relax into it, I’ll do it again and you’ll enjoy it so much more.”

“Really?” My ‘really’ is genuine this time and has none of the snark attached to it like it had yesterday.

“Yes.” He slides his thumb into my mouth. “Do you trust me?”

I remember him saying that the first night in the club. I didn’t trust him then. But he was a different man that night. This one? This Christophe I trust with my life. I nod first and then suck, closing my eyes to feel the texture of his thumb in my mouth, the pad, the length, the smoothness of his fingernail. When I open my eyes, Christophe is staring at me with wanton lust and I take his thumb out of my mouth. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” He chuckles deep in his throat.

“What do you want?”

“I want your hand on my cock.”

“What about my mouth?”

“I enjoy your mouth…very much. But I would much rather be buried inside your pussy.”

His words add a log to the growing flames behind my breastbone and my hand snakes down between us, sliding along his torso until I reach the delicious ridge of him. I cup him through his pants, rubbing until his eyes roll back. That’s when I remember his words from yesterday.

I’m going to show you how to touch me.

Yesterday I found the statement insulting. Today, I hear him—in my head—in a whole new way. Why shouldn’t he tell me how to touch him? Don’t I enjoy telling my partners how to touch me?

So, instead of rubbing, I rest my hand against him and concentrate on the sensations in my hand; the heat from his flesh that miraculously permeates the cotton of his trousers. The width of him. The length. As I concentrate on the sensation, his cock twitches beneath my hand as if it is its own being, communicating with my hand in a language only they are privy to.

I sit up and stare at my hand as if it belongs to someone else, as if I’m seeing it for the first time. My gaze focuses past my hand to the man lying beside me. Why is he still dressed? That seems completely unacceptable.

I begin undoing the buttons on his shirt. When I’m done that, I loosen the ties of his trousers. “Take them off,” I say. Then as an afterthought, I add, “Please.”

“My pleasure.” Christophe sits up and removes his shirt, keeping his eyes on mine the entire time.

I, however, drop my gaze because…God help me, the man is gorgeous. The simple act of shrugging off his shirt results in a subtle dance of muscles across his arms and chest. I want to meet each and every one of those muscles. I want to get to know them personally. Touch them. Taste them. Test their strength and texture.

So I do.

“Lie down,” I say. “Lie still.” There are elements of the old Tessa in my words but there is something new as well, and Christophe’s intense gaze tells me he sees this and likes it. There’s something else in his gaze. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I don’t worry about it because I’m too busy putting my fingers on other parts of him.

The candles closest to the bed flicker across his golden flesh and I trace the light and shadow, delighting in the exquisite landscape that is Christophe’s body. I’ve always known he would be well put together but tonight he is something more than a well-built man. He is a phenomenon. A miracle. A being I’ve never encountered before.

And yet, and yet…

As my fingers travel across the remarkable terrain of his chest and abdomen, edging closer and closer to the slack waistband of his trousers, a strange tingling infuses my fingers, hands, and arms. I feel as if I’ve visited this part of him before. Like the trio of moles he has just above his right hip bone—I connect the dots—I’m sure I’ve seen these before, and yet I know in the last couple of days I’ve been too distracted to notice. The feeling of familiarity is there and then it’s gone.

I glance up into Christophe’s unwavering gaze, questioning him silently.

He smiles. It is soft and warm and completely sphinxlike. He’s a god in a feline’s body, lying there, inert, presiding over the bed with a sense of silent knowing.

Time to change that.

I tug on the waistband of his trousers and pull them down so that I can easily reach inside.

He curses softly in French. I like the sound. I like knowing that even a soft stroke of his erection elicits such a response. But tonight, instead of taunting him and doing my best to drive him to distraction, I go slow. I concentrate on the texture of his beautifully erect cock.

“Take off my trousers.”

I’m so enamored with the feel of his silky skin gliding over the steely strength of his erection that I don’t process his words right away.

“Tess. Take them off. Take everything off.”

He raises his hips so I can pull his pants and shorts over his ass and down his legs. I kneel between his parted legs and lean down so I can touch him with both hands, sliding up his inner thighs until my hands meet beneath his heavy sac. I hear his voice in my head, telling me how to touch him.

The root of me is held in that spot right between my legs. That’s where there are bundles of nerves, muscle and tissue. That’s where men hold their tension. Their anger and aggression.

That was right after I used my mouth on him. I’m tempted to do it again. This time, not to torture him, nor to sabotage his attempt to go slow, but because I love doing it. I love the taste of him. I love the way his cock shudders inside my mouth, and how he feels against my lips, a soft, wet counterpart to my pussy. My mouth, like my body, longs for him to penetrate me.

But tonight I don’t give in to the urge. I know where it will take us. Well, I know where it will take me. Sucking him is tantamount to jumping an express train to Horny Town. A one-way ticket to an orgasm. So instead I focus on my hands. On the texture of his thighs, the soft skin beneath coarse hair. There’s the even softer skin of his sac, loose and pliable. When I work my fingers between his balls I get to the place he told me about, the root of him, the source of all of his manhood.

“Press hard,” he says as his head lolls from side to side, his hands joining mine between his legs.

I do as he asks, massaging deeply with my right hand as I grab his length with my left. Goddamn. There is something incredibly hot and masculine about touching a man this way. I realize the sheer size of him, the length, the power of all the muscles working together to keep his organ erect.

“Tess?”

“Hmm?”

“Baby?”

I’m so taken with him, so smitten by this incredibly male part of him that I kind of ignore his plea.

“Hmm?”

“I need to be inside of you.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

He sits up and gently but forcefully pushes me down onto my back. “These are so pretty but they must come off.” He indicates my panties by twisting his fingers beneath the bands at the sides, reminding me of Christophe from the other night.

I lift my hips to aid in the removal, though brief memories of him twisting silk between his fists makes me gasp, causing my knees to fall wide. The air cools me, which means I’m wet. Christophe covers me with his hand, gently pulsing his fingertips against me, warming me right back up.

“You’re aroused.”

“Yes.”

“Yet, you’re very calm tonight.”

“I know. Weird, huh?”

He drops down onto one elbow, keeping his other hand between my legs, moving deeper but not too deep, still pulsing.

“What’s changed?”

I roll my head back and forth across the pillow. “I don’t know. I feel…relaxed.”

“Good.”

He makes slow, circular motions against my labia and I close my eyes, letting him do it, concentrating on relaxing my pelvis and not thrusting against his hand. I enjoy the sensation and I stop worrying about trying to build toward something. It’s so… fucking relaxing. I feel like I could lay here and let him do this to me all night long.

“You like this.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”

“I’m going to enter you in a minute.”

“Okay,” I say, totally at ease, totally at peace. And then… “Wait. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“Condoms.”

His hand stills and my eyes open.

“What?”

“I want to ask you to consider something.”

“Consider what?”

“I have always been fastidious about protection.”

“Okay. Good.”

“I believe you have too.”

“Yes, I have.”

“And you’re healthy.”

I frown. “Yes.” There he goes again. Something that should be a question is a statement.

“As am I.”

“Christophe—”

“I trust you and I am asking you to trust me.”

I am about to say something, something about this not being about trust but about rules. However, before I can get the words out, he continues.

“I am asking if you will permit me to be inside of you with no barrier. I wish to share the most intimate experience possible…with you. You are the only woman I have ever asked this of. You are the only one I have ever wanted to be with so completely.” He pauses before saying, “But I leave the decision in your hands.”

Holy fuck. What am I supposed to say?

I think I’m about to answer in the negative when his hand starts to move again. Softly caressing my body from opening to opening, teasing me, not to torment me or to try to sway me—at least I don’t think that’s what he’s doing—but to relax me.

“Take your time,” he says, moving onto the bed beside me, one hand between my legs while his other hand moves up to my tummy, then to my breasts. His hand and lips make love to my nipples while his other hand continues to make love to my pussy. The fire that was building continues to grow and I long for the thing he’s suggesting. It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt a man skin to skin.

Why not Christophe?

“Have you ever made love without protection before?”

“Yes. Once.”

“With
her
?” The words are difficult because of what he’s doing to my body.

“Yes. With her.”

Wow.

I close my eyes and the image in my brain is of Christophe thrusting into me without a condom. The imagined sensation of his cock sliding into me, his flesh against mine, is so real I arch and grind into his hand.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want.”

“You need to say it.”

“I want you inside of me, Christophe. Skin to skin. I need to feel you deep inside of me.”

He groans. It’s a lustful, sexy sound and it stokes the blaze inside of me to a point where I’m now ready to grab hold of him and force him inside.

“I’m going to go slow, Tess. You need to let go of that tension or I will drive you crazy.”

I throw my head back. God, it’s so hard! So many years of conditioning. So many crazy lovemaking sessions where the faster and harder and more painful it was the better it was. This is contrary to everything I believe in. And yet…and yet…

I’m struck again by the sense of familiarity. As Christophe moves on top of me and presses my thighs open with his knees and I guide him to my steamy entrance, I am overcome by a wicked déjà vu.

You need to take it slow, Christophe. Millimeter by millimeter. Feel every inch of me as you slide inside. Take your time. Enjoy it. Your penis will thank you.