Hooked Up: Book 2 (18 page)

I didn’t want
that
diamond for Pearl. No. I had a better idea—something even more special. A one-off. A piece of history. Something that belonged to a princess. My museum contact, who’d secured me the ancient silver stater (my 550BC coin from Greece that brought me luck), had told me about the most stunning diamond of all: something that was worth far more than seven million dollars.

That
would be my engagement gift.

But first, I needed to make sure that I gained entry into Pearl’s apartment. I couldn’t do a re-run of last time, when I’d dashed up the back stairs—the doorman would be onto that trick. Pearl still hadn’t returned my calls or messages. The chances of her even letting me up, when she was obviously still pissed at me, were slim. It seemed a lifetime ago that we’d been swimming in the sea in Cap d’Antibes, but less than twenty-four hours had passed. She was playing it cool. Maybe she’d stay that way. She might even feel inclined to send the necklace back, the box unopened. All my plans of asking for her hand, like some knight in shining armor on a quest, could be smashed if I didn’t get to see her face to face.

I had to come up with something good.

Something really good.

W
HEN I GOT HOME from work, Luke, the skinny doorman, whom I thought had been fired, presented me with a box. I recognized it. Wrapped with the same type of white velvet ribbon, in the same gray box. My heart was thumping through my chest, adrenaline pumping through my veins as if I were preparing to run from a wild beast.
Funny how nature has adrenaline kick in whether we like it or not.

I had a quick shower to ease the day away, and when I picked up the box again, I was a little calmer.

Déjà-vu. I set it on my bed and opened it: the pearl necklace wrapped in one of Alexandre’s T-shirts, which I picked up and inhaled. Bastard. He knew just how to get to me. He hadn’t washed the shirt, and I could smell him all over it. Sunshine, salt, the odor of his skin. I inhaled it again and felt a surge of desire sweep through my body. There was a long note in his handwriting, and attached a typed, printed note on different paper. By the time I got down to:

“A squadron of kisses”
(what originality!) I had tears in my eyes. And when I read:

“P.S Rex has arrived and wants to meet you,”
I was actually wailing with emotion.

I smelled the T-shirt again and went weak. His natural scent was like an elixir of love. Before I had a chance to wipe away my tears, the telephone rang. It was Luke the doorman.

“Ms. Robinson, did you call the Fire Department?” he asked nervously.

“No, I didn’t. Is there a fire in the building?” My voice flew up two octaves.

“Not as far as I know, Ms. Robinson, but a firefighter is on his way up to take a look. Somebody must have called 911.”

“Well, it wasn’t me. Mrs. Meyer from the eleventh has been known to call emergency services. They came once to retrieve her cat from the fire escape—did you ask her?”

“I’ll call her now.”

“Or that guy on the second floor, what’s his name? Oh yes, Mr. Johnson. He’s always burning his food.”

“Okay, ma’am, thank you.”

I went to the kitchen and looked out the back door to see if I could hear a commotion. Nothing. All was silent up and down the back stairs.
Why only one firefighter? Isn’t that what Luke said?
Usually they come in pairs. I heard some clanging outside my kitchen window, and I looked over with a start. The firefighter was right there on the fire escape, peering into my apartment. Was he about to smash my window? I raced over to open it—I didn’t want shards of glass everywhere. I lifted up the window, raised my eyes and could not believe the vision before me. I broke into a huge smile.

Hot. Hot. Hot!

But not from any fire.

“Excuse me ma’am,” the voice exclaimed, “I heard there was fire in this apartment.”

I observed the sexy outfit, the dark pants with yellow stripes. But the firefighter wasn’t wearing a top. His muscles were ripped, shining with perspiration, his cheeks dark with yesterday’s stubble. Any girl’s fantasy.

I opened the window wide, and his big black boots jumped down into my apartment, followed by his drop-dead gorgeous body.

“You nearly had me fooled,” I said with a laugh. “But your accent gave you away.”

Alexandre was standing there, legs wide apart, holding a Fire Department helmet. It was not such a crazy idea—the electricity between us really did have me on fire.

“I heard there was a lot of heat coming directly from this apartment,” he said with a big grin on his face. He took a step closer and stared into my eyes. I could feel his breath on mine. Mint, apples, sun, Alexandre. He took my chin in his hand and let his lips graze my mouth. I responded with a gasp. I could hear him take in a gulp of air, inhaling the scent of me, of my hair. It felt like a century had passed since we’d last been together, yet it had only been one night away. I opened my mouth a little and his tongue found mine, letting the tips meet. The connection, like lightning, went straight between my legs.

“A lot of heat is coming from right down here,” he told me. He palmed his large hand on my crotch and I felt a rush of blood pump through me. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to put out this fire any way I can.”

He got down on his knees and placed himself underneath me. He unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor. He pushed my legs apart and hooked his fingers inside my panties, peeling them down. Very, very slowly. He blew softly in between my legs, then flicked his tongue for just a second on my clit. Then he blew again.

“If you knew anything about fire, Mr. Firefighter,” I gasped, “you’d know blowing on a flame just gets it more excited.”

“True,” he murmured, letting his tongue lap along my slit. “Perhaps it needs some help cooling down.”

He pressed, his tongue flat, in the place I needed it most, and I held onto his head, my fingers running through his soft dark hair. I pushed my hips forward, pressing myself, rubbing myself up and down against his mouth. I was so stimulated—so hot and horny. Even moaning. I was still wearing a bra, nothing more, and I looked down to see my breasts held like cupcakes in a demi push-up. I pulled out one breast and played with my nipple, watching it turn hard. Alexandre stood up and circled his right arm around my thighs, lifting me up over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift! He was so strong—the way he did it so effortlessly made me feel as light as a feather. I was hanging upside down over his shoulders, gripping on to the waistband of his sexy fireman’s pants with one hand, and with the other, cupping his cute, tight butt. He was taking me to the bedroom.

“Are you abducting me, Mr. Fireman?”

“I need to teach you a lesson, Ms. Robinson.”

“What kind of lesson?”

“To teach you not to play with fire. To trust me and not play silly, girlish games. Or you could get burned.”

He laid me on the bed. As he did so, the telephone rang.

“It could be the doorman,” I said. God only knew what chaos Alexandre had caused.

“Answer it. Tell him I’m showing you some fire safety tips.”

I laughed, and did as he suggested. Poor Luke was confused. Half of the building was in a panic. I assured him there was no fire here, that everything was under control, but that he’d done the right thing letting the firefighter into the building.

Alexandre stood on the edge of the bed and undid the zip of his pants. Like a cobra his erection came free; proud and magnificent. The black pants, the big heavy boots, the clinking of the bits of metal on the waistband had me mesmerized in a Playgirl Firefighter Fantasy. I walked on my knees and took his erection in my hands, letting my loose hair brush back and forth, swishing over it. I kissed him there, up and down, mini nips and kisses all over, and on the tip.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, and I meant every word.

I took it in my mouth, rimming my lips about his hard shaft and looked up at him from under my lashes.

“Turn around,” he said and maneuvered my body, using his hands to control my hips, so my butt was facing him. I was on all fours.

“I’m going to have to spank you, Pearl You did wrong abandoning me in France the way you did. You had me desperate, distraught. I have to punish you so you won’t do it again.”

He pulled my thighs farther apart.

He is into hurting women, after all
. I braced myself.
How bad can a spank be
? He pulled me closer to his pelvis. I waited for his hand to come down on my ass. Instead, I felt a thud, right up between my legs, right at my entrance. I didn’t know what he was doing exactly, but it felt so erotic, the thud, whack, thud. I bent my head all the way down and under my thighs. I looked up from beneath myself and saw his cock slapping me. His dark pants against the color of his smooth flesh, had me throbbing with excitement.

“Pearl, I’m going to have to bite you now. Bite that creamy ass of yours.” I felt his teeth nipping into my flesh, all over my butt, and then at my wet opening where he gently tugged my lips there with his mouth.

“Keep punishing me,” I murmured in a faint whisper. “This feels incredible.”

“Greedy . . . (bite) . . . Girl . . . Greedy . . . (slap) . . . Girl.”

I was groaning.

Suddenly, he lifted me off the bed and held me in his arms like a baby.
What? Don’t stop now!

“You’ve been punished enough,” he said seriously. “I want to make love to you now. I think we’ve fucked enough, don’t you? I think we need a bit more commitment from one another. No more games.”

“But I
am
committed,” I protested.

He set me back down so I was sitting on the bed, and he gazed deep into my eyes. “Undress me, Pearl. Get me out of this gear. I feel claustrophobic trussed up in this outfit.”

I smiled wickedly. “Not so fast, Mr. Fireman. I think Mr. Firefighter needs a little dance first. A little lap dance to ease his tension.” I found my phone and scrolled to my play list and selected the most sensual song I could think of—a French song:
Je T’aime . . . .Moi Non Plus.
I started slowly gyrating my hips to the rhythm of the music, the deep voice of Serge Gainsbourg, the breathy, ecstatic sighs of Jane Birkin—a love song if ever there was one.

Alexandre’s erection jutted out from the uniform pants, and I dipped down on it, parting the lips of my cleft as I did so, sitting on it, then rising up, pressing my pelvis against his stomach, rising all the way up and impaling myself on him again, to the beat of the music. But he grabbed me tight, his hands immobilizing me.

“Pearl, that’s enough now. Get me out of these. Game’s over. I don’t want my future wife doing a lap dance for some dirty firefighter.”

I burst out laughing. “But
you’re
the firefighter.”

He tried to suppress a grin. “Some dirty firefighter who broke into your apartment uninvited.”

I grinned too, realizing what he’d just said:
future wife
! I unbuttoned his waistband and pulled the pants down over his hips, stopping to gaze at his navel, kissing it, tugging gently at the fine hair there with my teeth. I peeled the pants down past his muscular thighs and stroked his arms until my hands were resting on his. He held them, squeezing my palms and caressing my fingers. There was a stillness about him, a calm. I could discern such tenderness in his eyes—an expression I had not noticed before. I bent down and unlaced one boot, and then the other. Then I stood up, and pushed him backwards onto the bed with a hard shove. He toppled back and laughed with surprise. I tugged each boot off and throw them, one by one, on the floor.

“Now you’re free,” I said.

“Take off that bra. I want you naked. Naked the way you were at Cap d’Antibes. Let me see those pearly breasts that are trapped inside.”

I unhooked my bra and threw it across the floor, but carried on with my dance. I couldn’t stop, the music was making me feel very sensual.
Future wife . . . oh yes!

“Be still,” he beckoned with an intense look on his face. He steadied my moving hips and pulled me to him. “Lie beside me.”

I lay down at his side so we were facing each other. He was motionless—just gazing at me. He stroked my hair and laid his long fingers on my shoulders, fondling me softly, studying my face.

“You’re unique, Pearl. I’ve fallen in love with you.”

I said nothing, just watched his expression.

“I want to marry you. To start a family. Is that what you want, too?”

I nodded. My heart was beating so loudly he must have been able to hear it.

He drew me close to him, pulling me into his arms, hugging me tightly, and planted small, whispery kisses on my neck and shoulders, which sent shivers all over me. He smoothed my wild hair away from my forehead and traced his finger along my eyebrow, my nose. I curled my arm around him and stroked the small of his back, tracing my nails lightly on his coccyx and on the cheek of his butt. I edged up closer to him. His breath was coming in long, slow sighs. Sighs of contentment, of feeling at peace.

His fingers stroked my inner thigh with such a light touch I could hardly feel them, and then they tapped on my clit as delicately as the heartbeat of a bird. Tap, tap, tap.

“A little spanking,” he said with an ironic smile. “For being so wayward—for escaping from me.”

I edged up the bed higher so his erection was resting at my opening, and I sensed the head there, soft yet hard. I clenched my inner muscles into mini contractions, needing him, wanting him—I knew he could hear my desire through the pattern of my breath.

He eased himself into me, stretching me open, and I cried out in surprise. He felt huge.

“So wet,” he whispered, pulling himself back out so he was only an inch inside me. He stilled, didn’t move again.

I used his biceps as leverage to move myself in little circles. I had this carnal need within me, but the look on his face was about love, tranquility. I kept moving, his tip was soft on my clit, then my opening, all the nerve endings—the nexus of pleasure connecting my entire body—were alive with hot desire. He kissed me softly, parting my mouth with his tongue. He flexed his hips towards me, which made him enter another inch. I held the pulse between my legs. He was still gazing at me.