Hooked Up: Book 2 (14 page)

I started under her arms, then I swirled my tongue around her breasts and aroused nipples. I listened to her groan as I trailed my tongue over her salty, tanned body, down her pretty stomach and then between her legs, fluttering my tongue on her clit, but taking it away again so I knew she’d be begging for more. I sucked her toes, licked her delicate ankles, up her calves, behind her knees and along her thighs . . . up, up, up to her core, pale against her tan because, like her tits, that part of her had been hidden from the sun. She was writhing on the bed, wet and wanton, her pussy glistening like the little pearl it was. I circled my tongue around her engorged nub and tasted her sweetness.

“Please, Alexandre. Please fuck me.” She bucked her hips into my mouth as I sucked and teased her, and she murmured something about a dream she’d had the night before, featuring a big black stallion.

“You want to ride me, baby? Is that what you want? Ride me like a stallion?”

Now that I’d made Pearl come in several different ways, it was time for something a little more experimental. I could have carried on and had her come in my mouth, but she wanted to ride? Sure, why not. Let her ride my cock. The
Reverse Cowboy,
hmm . . . nice.
I put myself beneath her, and maneuvered her so that she slipped her wet warmth onto my pounding erection, her head facing my feet, so my view was of her glorious, round ass.

“Show me what you’ve got, cowgirl. You call the shots, but with
my
pistol.” I grinned. I had her exactly where I wanted her and it felt great. My hands were either side of her little waist as I guided her up and down. Up and down. She was stroking my ankles at the same time—so sensual. Mixed with the image of her behind, I was a happy man indeed.

“Love that peaches and cream ass, Pearl. Love that. Tight. Wet. Pearlette.”

I still hadn’t worked out if Pearl was full of BS—or not—about her orgasm (or lack of) history. Sometimes, I felt suspicious.

a)   Because she was bloody good in bed and . . .

b)   Because she seemed to come every single time with me.

Every time, except when I practically raped her and fucked her so hard against her kitchen wall—but even then, I got her on round two. Here she was again, going crazy for me. Moaning while she fucked me, her hands cupping my balls (where did she learn that?), easing me out of her, and then slapping the tip of my cock on her clit. Driving me fucking crazy. Teasing me. Nobody had ever turned me on so much as Pearl.

“That’s right baby,” I breathed, “lasso my cock with your tight, tight pussy, you cowgirl.”

My hands played with her nipples, rolling them between my fingers as Pearl continued her horny ride, rocking back and forth. I grabbed her ass, and feeling myself about to come, started my
one, one thousand
count. Luckily, I didn’t have to keep it up for long, because when I tilted my hips forward, she started moaning. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on the small of her back, and her contractions told me that I could break free and let myself go—hard. Fuck, I was coming like the bloody Niagara Falls; my cum bursting inside her, as she slammed down on me, swallowing me deep.

“Oh Pearl, oh Pearl, you beautiful thing,” I murmured as she sank all the way down, grinding herself into me.

“I’m coming Alexandre.”
Yeah, babe, I know.
“Oh God, oh . . . ”

She started twiddling her clit with her hand and it brought on another rush from me. And her.

“Fuck, Alexandre, I’m coming again. This has never happened to me. Ever! I thought it was impossible to come twice in a row.”

A crooked smile played on my lips. “Mission Impossible,” I said, and started humming the tune, as my hands roamed around Pearl’s small waist and then over the curves of her ass. Was she lying?

Or was I a fucking
god
in bed?

Whatever, I was on fire. I had to keep fucking this woman. I felt like an animal and needed more. Had to get her pregnant. Had to have more, more, more! More of my seed inside her. More of everything. Pearl was my life tonic. My elixir.

Once her orgasm had calmed, I pushed her off me and spun her around so she was on all fours.

“Hold onto the headboard, baby. I have to keep fucking you.” I grasped her ass with my hands as I slid into her—she held on, her head leaning against the soft headboard as I consumed her. Not in her ass, no, but entering her from behind. Her. Sweet. Hot. Addictive. Pussy.

She was groaning. I knew I was being unreasonable. Dominating. Bestial. But I couldn’t stop.

“Love. Fucking. You. Fucking. This. Sweet . . . Jesus, Pearl, what is it about you? All I want to do is make you come, come inside you.” I kept pumping her. Fucking her relentlessly. I knew she must have been sore as hell but I had to admit, I liked that idea. I wanted her to feel me. Raw. Untamed. A man who at times would lose control. A man who had to have her. Own her. Take all of her. All
mine.

But I slowed down. A voice inside my head told me I was acting like a dick. I pulled out slowly and went to “kiss it better.” Kiss that sweet “pearlette” that I’d been treating like a hot, juicy cunt. Pearl was too special for me to be losing control like this. I flickered the tip of my tongue around her bruised center and she whimpered with pleasure . . . but I could taste myself, taste her, taste sex, and it got me ravenous again.

The beast was back. I had to come inside her, once more. I entered her again.

She cried out, “Oh God Alexandre, I love this!”

“This ass is . . . oh fuck . . . this creamy, peachy, hot ass has got me hooked . . . your hot, sweet pussy . . . ” Pearl had me beside myself. I cupped both butt cheeks with my hands and carried on with my assault as I drove myself into her. In. And. Out. In. And. Out. She was tight like a glove around me. The sensation was incredible. “This ass belongs to me.
All of it
belongs to me,” I heard myself growling. I eased up and stilled myself, knowing I’d gone too far. Knowing I’d pushed poor Pearl to her limits, my Neanderthal instincts had taken me over.

But what do you know? My rock-hard, throbbing cock, still inside her, had her contracting all over it. She started moaning, her nipples hard, her golden hair flopping like bands of silk over her shoulders.

She moaned, “Oh God . . . Alexandre, I’m coming again. This is insane. What are you doing to me?”

I flooded into her. I was coming again too. Every sweet sensation was in my dick. As if every brain molecule was there. It was ruling me. Ruling her. This was my true queen: Pearl Robinson. I wanted her to reign with me; run my empire by my side.

“Je t’aime, Pearl. Je t’aime,” I whispered, my climax surging through me like flashes of white lightning.

She didn’t reply.

I just told her I loved her.
That was a huge thing for me. But she said nothing.

I wished I knew what she was thinking.

Wished I knew what was going through her mind.

W
E WERE HAVING lunch, overlooking the sea, and I was quietly meditating on what just happened. If I had read about my experience in a woman’s magazine I would have thought it was an invented fantasy to sell more copies, but it happened—it really did—multiple orgasms had rocked my world.

I, Pearl Robinson, had multiple orgasms!
The notion seemed extraordinary. Surreal. As if the new Pearl had been prized from her oyster shell and re-packaged as a shimmering piece of priceless jewelry. Pearl—the exquisite. Pearl—the treasure. That is how I now felt.

I mused on of all the wasted years in my thirties. My sexuality stagnant, sitting on a shelf like an unread classic book. Something of quality but ignored, or worse, in the hands of somebody who did not know how to read, or at least, did not know how to read me. My ex-husband– oblivious to the wealth inside my body.

It took a twenty-five-year-old Frenchman to unleash my riches.

Now I felt cocooned in love. I sat there inhaling the salty sea breeze and watched a couple on their honeymoon, swimming and splashing below us, next to the rocks. Once, that would have filled me with benign envy.

Not now.

Alexandre’s lip was curved into a quiet, satisfied smile. Mind-blowing sex followed by grilled wild sea bass for lunch. At least, I thought that’s what he was pleased about, although it could have been because he had arranged to pick up Rex from Paris on our way back to New York. He had indeed organized a private jet. Rex would be travelling in style. We’d be leaving tomorrow morning for Paris, by helicopter. So much for Alexandre’s “ecological” carbon footprint, I began to realize that he gadded about the globe this way a lot. Why had he made out he was so politically correct, never using private jets? What else wasn’t he telling me?

Alexandre was talking on his cell. I loved listening to him chat away in French.

He slapped his phone on the table and said, “Today everything has come together,” and we laughed at his double-entendre.
Come together. So true.

“What else are you feeling cocky about?” I asked, smiling.

“A deal.”

“I thought you were tired of making deals, that that side of things didn’t thrill you anymore.”

He chuckled. He had a mocking look in his eye, which disarmed me, and I discerned a slight sneer on his face. “Are you kidding? I’m making silly money. That turns me on, Pearl, as much as what happened today between you and me. A challenge complete.”

My stomach dropped like lead—a thousand stabs pierced my gut.
Is this the same human being I thought I knew? The man with the black Labrador? The man who would have stuck by a crippled woman for love?

I felt like a gutted fish. Empty. Dead. But he was smiling away, unaware of the turmoil inside me. I was no more important than a money deal. A challenge.

“I’ve had too much sun for one day,” I managed to say before my voice cracked. “I’m going back to the room.”

“Okay, just got to make another call or two. I’ll join you in a bit.”

When I got back to our suite, I turned on my phone, which had been re-charging. Five messages. The latest from Anthony, who had received my “Madonna is here” message—although I wasn’t sure, still hadn’t seen her with my own eyes. I had called him that morning, S.O.S., as a joke. He was hysterical, wanting to know if I’d done what he asked, namely, to chat her up and become her New Best Friend. Another two messages from him. Next, Natalie asking me to pilfer her a towel from the hotel, “So chic,” she raved. “So iconic. Must have.” My dad had also left a message, harping on about Natalie, wondering what had happened.
Men are so clueless.
I really didn’t want to play piggy in the middle to their drama. Then, a voice I didn’t recognize at first. Then it dawned on me who it was. The dagger voice: Sophie. She and her brother had something in common. They could slice your heart open with just one word.

“Pee-earl,” she began. “I don’t know what ze fuck you sink you are doing wiz my leetle brozzer almost twice is age, old enough to be is muzzer, but I sink I should warn you, you are barking up ze wrong tree. Ee does not give a fuck about you, you know? Eet woz a bet we made in ze coffee shop. Ee said zat he bet he could make you crazey about im, fuck you on zee first date. Zen ee told me he had a challenge wiz you. I know all about your sexual problems, Peearl. Your frigidity. Eet woz a game he play wiz you. Game is over, stalker woman.” There was a crackling on the line and then the Simon and Garfunkel song,
Mrs. Robinson
began playing in the background.

Wow, what a bitch.

I stared blankly at the wall of this zillion star hotel. Dazed, out of focus. Alexandre had discussed my private secrets with his
sister.
It made me feel nauseous. As if there had been some incestuous tryst between them.
How dare she know about my sexuality? How dare he tell her?
A bubbling heat was consuming me, too furious now for tears. I rummaged about the room and found what I was looking for: my bag and passport, and the clothes wrapped inside a plastic bag. The suitcase was obviously too big to bring by bike courier. Never mind, they’d brought all the essentials. I grabbed it all, put on the same 1950’s dress I arrived in and some flip-flops. I ran out of the room. I dared not even ask for a taxi at the front desk. They could have alerted Alexandre. I raced from the grounds, leaving the scent of pines, the chirping crickets and the Mediterranean paradise, behind me.

I WAS NOW AT Nice airport. Luckily there was a flight to Paris, and I could change there with just a few hours layover for a flight to New York. I was listening to Beyoncé on my iPhone –
If I
Were a Boy –
you tell’em, Beyoncé. I longed to understand how certain men’s minds worked – how some would stop at nothing to puff up their egos even if they knew they were breaking someone’s heart.

Just before takeoff, I did the decent thing. I called Alexandre to let him know I had left. Just in case he reported me missing to the
gendarmes
or something. Thank God his voicemail picked up and I could just leave a message.

“Alexandre – what can I say?” I started in a small voice. “I have left. Obviously. I received a message on my cell from Sophie, who seemed to know every intimate detail of my sex life. I’m glad your ‘challenge’ worked out for you, and for me, too. It was a real eye-opener, an experience of a lifetime. It was beautiful. Beautiful because I believed in it. But . . . now I’ve found out that it was all a game for you, I know that it could never be the same between us again. As you said yourself, the biggest sex organ is your brain. And my brain is shot to pieces right now. Goodbye, Alexandre. Good luck with Rex, shame that cute dog and I will never meet.
Bon
voyage
.”