Bartholomew: A Forbidden Dark Romance

4

I flashed her a grin before I turned away to walk out. “I’m a criminal, aren’t I?”

She lived in a modest apartment. It was in a decent part of Paris, but the building was old and run-down, and I imagined it was a one-bedroom space that was less than four hundred square feet. For a daughter of a billionaire, she was certainly living in squalor. That told me she was on her own entirely, not running up daddy’s credit cards to keep herself afloat.

I respected an independent woman.

Was a bit turned on by it, honestly.

I knocked on her door, in my military boots she didn’t like, sporting the leather jacket that made me look like a ruthless killer. She mocked my fashion choices, but she still wanted to f**k me, so I guessed I wasn’t that bad.

“It’s open.”

I stepped inside, seeing a small apartment where everything was close together. There was a small kitchen with an island, and the living room contained a single couch that faced a TV on an entertainment center. A deep red rug sat on the hardwood floor, and in the rear, I saw the door that led to the bathroom. Her bedroom must be the other door.

It was small, but her taste in décor at least made it cozy. It matched her outfits, bold but elegant.

She stood in the kitchen and uncorked a bottle of wine.

All she wore was a shiny black robe cinched at her waist. She brought the glass to her lips and took a drink, her eyes on me from across the room. They were smoky with dark eye shadow and thick lashes. Her dark hair was straight this time, reaching past her shoulders to her breasts. When she finished her drink, her red lipstick left a stain.

I loved lipstick stains—just not on glasses.

She carried the glasses to the couch and sat down, her legs crossed, the robe rising a little farther up her sexy legs. She somehow made that robe sexier than lingerie.

I took the seat beside her and reached for the glass she offered me. “You have a nice place.”

“Do I?” she asked, seeing straight through my small talk.

“I’m serious.”

“My apartment is probably the size of your closet.”

“And it’d be a shithole without your taste.”

She stilled at my candor then took a drink.

“Something you should know about me…I’ll always give it to you straight.”

“I don’t care about your honesty. I just hope you give other things to me straight…”

I took another drink as I looked at her, a woman all the more stunning because she was ruthless. Her eyes were fierce. Her mouth was brutal. I’d never met another woman like her. Camille was different from other women, but she didn’t have this fire. Inferno…that was a better description. “I will.”

My arm moved over the back of the couch, and I got comfortable, my knees wide apart, looking at her beside me.

Her eyes held mine, keeping up her look of confidence to mask her unease. She was nervous, her heart pounding under that thin robe. I could see it in the breaths she took. Her chest gave her away.

My hand reached for her knee, soft against my callused fingers. My fingers dipped to the inside of her knee, feeling the softest flesh I’d ever known. My eyes dropped to my movements because the single touch was utterly intoxicating. I trailed up slowly, my fingers opening the robe the farther I moved up her thigh. Olive skin that was as delicate as rose petals. I moved higher up, reaching the apex of her thighs.

My fingers met the satin of black panties.

I loved black.

My thumb found her nub, and I pushed it like a button.

Her response was immediate, sucking in a much-needed breath. Her head tilted back slightly too, and one knee dropped farther away, giving me more room to keep touching her.

I accepted the invitation and touched her harder.

Her breaths slowly built up, becoming deeper, her skin blushing a beautiful pink.

My hand slid to the back of her neck before my fingers fisted that lustrous hair. I slowly moved in, my lips landing on those pink clouds. As my fingers dipped inside her panties, I kissed her, imagining that red lipstick all over my mouth.

Her palm met my cheek, and she deepened the kiss with a swirl of her perfect tongue. It was just the right amount of breath, just the right amount of desperate pant. Her fingers dug into my short hair as she started to grind against my fingers.

She wasn’t afraid to show a man what she wanted—and I loved that.

My fingers left her aching s*x, and I moved up higher, finding the bow she’d tied at the front of her robe. My fingers gripped the satin ends and slowly pulled it free. Her kiss was exquisite, but I wanted to see the goodies under the robe.

My eyes dropped to a flat tummy with a cute navel piercing. I looked up, seeing the perkiest, sexiest t**s I’d ever laid eyes on. “Damn, you’re perfect.” My hand flattened over her stomach and slowly migrated up, pushing between her plump t**s until I gripped one in my bare hand.

My lips landed on her neck, and I kissed her as I squeezed her tit with my hand, feeling the supple softness, flicking the hard n****e with my thumb. My lips trailed down, tasting that delicious skin everywhere, getting that tit in my mouth as fast as I could.

Fuck, this woman was fire.

She was mine now. My body was on top of hers, and I kissed her everywhere. Her neck, her jawline, her collarbone. Both n*****s visited my mouth and were moistened by my tongue. My kisses moved in the valley between her t**s. I kissed that tight stomach then swirled my tongue around that glittering piercing at her belly button. My thumb hooked into her panties, and she lifted her hips so I could slide them down her long legs.

I didn’t eat p***y a lot, but damn, I wasn’t leaving until I had a taste.

Mother of God.

My mouth sealed over her heat, and I feasted, tasting p***y that was bold like wine but sweet like strawberries. The combination made a nice flavor on my tongue. My arms were hooked underneath her thighs as I pinned her back, on my knees on the rug, listening to this woman moan and dig her nails into my forearms.

Her ankles locked behind my head, and she ground her body into me, wanting me to eat her alive.

With pleasure, sweetheart.

I focused on her c**t and kept swirling, kept pressing, kept digging in my tongue until she started to quiver.

Was she a screamer or a crier? I was about to find out.

Her hips bucked into my face as she writhed on the couch, her moans passing through the thin walls and invading her neighbors’ dinner. Her deep voice became high-pitched, hitting a crescendo, and then they came.

The tears.

I got to my feet and lifted her with me, ready for my turn. I moved into her bedroom and found the queen-sized bed against the wall. I dropped her on the bed then stepped back, yanking off my jacket because it felt like a poncho at the moment.

She moved to the edge of the bed and worked my jeans with anxious hands.

I pulled my shirt over my head as she tugged down my jeans and boxers. The shoes came last, because the strings had to be loosened before they came free. I kicked them aside and watched her stare at me, look right at the c**k she teased.

I snapped my fingers as I threw my hand down, commanding her to her knees.

In a different context, I’d probably be slapped, but she seemed eager to please me after I’d pleased her so damn good.

She dropped to her knees, her sexy ass supported on the backs of her ankles, and she gripped my thighs as she brought her lips in to kiss me right on the head. Then there was a swirl of her tongue. A breath. Her tongue flattened and she descended, pushing my big d**k to the back of her throat.

My hand burrowed in that thick hair, and I pushed until there was nowhere else to go.

I could feel her twitch, like she wanted to gag, but she was clearly a professional because she kept it together.

This exact image had flashed across my mind when she’d measured me in her office, but reality was better than any fantasy. Her eyes were on me as she pulled her mouth to the tip of my d**k and pushed in again, stuffing her throat full of big c**k. She kept going over and over, slow and steady, taking her time to enjoy it rather than sprinting to get me off.

My hand slid to her cheek and cupped her face, the tips of my fingers digging into her beautiful hair. Her skin was so soft, and I felt myself squeezing her neck harder than I should. Naked in all my glory, like a god above a temple priestess, I f****d her mouth until the saliva pooled in the corners then dripped down her chin.

She’d clearly bitten off more than she could chew, but she still liked it.

Her mouth was great, but her p***y was better.

I pulled my d**k out of her mouth, a line of spit stretching between her mouth and my c**k.

She was on her feet then on the bed, scooting back toward the headboard.

My knees hit the mattress, and I climbed up, covering that sexy body with my own. My thighs parted her knees, and we came together, her t**s against my chest, her hands across my back.

My d**k scooped into her entrance.

“You really think I’m going to let you f**k me without protection?” she asked, still a spitfire even when her head was in the clouds. “I know where men like you have been.”

Balls deep in whores.

My girls were checked and I was checked, but I wouldn’t kill the mood with an argument. I grabbed the rubber from her nightstand, rolled it on as far as it would reach, and then sank in.

Sensations were numbed by the latex between us, but the deeper I went, the better it felt. She was so f*****g tight that it made up for the reduced feeling. And nothing could stop me from feeling just how wet she was. One climax wasn’t enough. This woman was greedy for more.

I thrust deep and hard, making her gasp right away. The headboard rocked against the wall, the shitty springs in the mattress squeaked, and she moaned against my ear as her ankles hooked around my waist. Her nails clamped down on my back, and she moaned with pleasure, rocking her hips back into me, enjoying the way I nailed her like a w***e.

Then she said something that threw me off my game.

“Harder.”

Like this wasn’t hard enough?

I was a killer on the streets but a gentleman in the bedroom, so I obliged. Every time I thrust inside her, I landed against her c**t, hitting that button like it operated a nuclear bomb. Her breaths deepened and her nails sharpened. Once her thighs started to squeeze me and her breathing hitched, I knew I was giving it to her exactly as she wanted.

My lips moved to her ear. “Hard enough for you?”

Her body convulsed, her nails dragging down my back, her moans now cries. She came apart underneath me, the longest climax ever clocked.

Her head hit the pillow, and she tilted it back toward the headboard, new tears streaking to her ears.

The ache for release took over, so I plowed into her hard, achieving a climax that was so good it made my skin catch on fire. I filled the latex but pretended I was pumping into her, giving this beautiful woman a load that would drip down her legs the second she stood on her feet. Our orgasms synced up for a brief time, our moans and cries mixing together in an erotic soundtrack. Then I finished alone, buried deep inside exquisite p***y.

Fuck, that was good.

I rolled off and discarded the rubber before I rolled on another.

Laura’s tired eyes suddenly hardened when she saw I was ready to go again—already.

“It’s your turn, sweetheart.” I patted my thigh. “Show me what you can do.”

We lay there in silence for a long time.

Both of us needed a break.

I was a super soldier, but I was still human.

She lay beside me with the sheets kicked to the edge of the bed. Her beautiful body was on display, with a tiny little stomach and big t**s. Her long legs were toned, like all that time spent walking in pumps had chiseled her already sexy body.

She must have noticed details of my body too, because she stared at me the entire time.

Now was my chance for pillow talk. “Going in tomorrow?”

“No way. One of the nice things about being your own boss.”

It was even nicer to be the boss of an empire. My phone was on silent, because I could do whatever the f**k I wanted.

“You don’t seem tired.”

“I work nights.”

Her hand slid across the sheets toward me until her fingertips rested against the scar on my stomach. “Were you shot?”

She knew her scars. “Yes.”

“Did you deserve it?”

The corner of my mouth rose in a smile. “Hundred percent.”

“Did you kill the man who did this to you?”

“No.” I wished I had a cigar right now. A drink on the nightstand too.

“Then he must be your friend.”

“I don’t have friends. But if I did…he would be one of them.”

Her fingers continued to caress my scar. “Are you ever going to wear the clothes I picked out for you?”

I gave a slight shrug.

“So the only reason you walked into my store was to f**k me?”

Not the only reason. “Why else would I let you insult me?”

“I didn’t insult you,” she said with a smile. “Just trying to give you some pointers.”

“You liked the way I looked, so maybe I don’t need any pointers.”

“Touché.” Her hand moved up to my hard chest, mapping out the details of my body.

“Have you lived in Paris all your life?”

“No.”

“I can tell by your accent.”

“Then why did you ask?”

The corner of my mouth rose in a smile again. “Where are you from?”

“Florence.”

“The birthplace of the Renaissance. You remind me of those paintings.”

“The ones where women are draped over couches with their t**s hanging out?”

“Exactly.”

She released a little laugh, and the sound was nice. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” I stared at her beside me, loving those sexy hips. She had an hourglass figure. Unbelievable. I felt my d**k start to harden after its reprieve. “Did your family move here with you?”

Without flinching whatsoever, she answered the question. “No.”

“So, your parents are still in Italy?”

“Not my mother.”

“Where is she?”