Fling in Paris Page 7

  "No!" The room had no windows, but that didn’t stop her from panicking. What if Monique heard them? She tried to push him away, but it was like trying to topple the Empire State Building with her hands—not going to happen.

  "You think you can come to work looking sexy and it's not going to turn me on?" He finished with the buttons on her shirt, then popped the front clasp on her bra and filled his hands with her breasts.

  "I’m wearing what I always wear to work!" she tried to sound stern, but the words ended up a gasp as he tugged roughly on her nipples.

  "You're sexy in everything you put on. I have to have you.” He nipped at her earlobe, then tongued it gently as he continued to massage her breasts.

  "Stop it,” she whispered breathlessly even as her body arched into his touch. “You could have had this last night, but you walked away."

  "I was a little angry last night,” he admitted while nibbling at her jaw. “But I'm over it now. I can’t seem to stay away from you, and I’m the only man here that knows exactly what you like.”

  He bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth, and she bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from screaming. He tugged, licked and suckled, then switched to the other nipple and repeated the same treatment until she was squirming freely against him.

  “Please, Roberto,” she whimpered, trying to stay quiet. “Fuck me.”

  Growling, he pushed her back again his desk and crumpled up her skirt before freeing his cock from his slacks. She could see the mushroom tip, already glistening with pre-cum.

  “You want this inside you?” he asked roughly, his hands squeezing the shaft.

  “Please, God, please.”

  He pushed inside her and she gasped—no matter how many times they did this it always felt so good, the hard, thick length of him filling her up. “Come on, baby,” she pleaded as he began to move inside her. “Fuck me hard.”

  He picked up the pace, pumping her hard, fast, filling her up. “You like that?” he panted, his hands reaching up to toy with her nipples.

  "Yeah... just like that,” she whimpered. “Ooh, ooh, ooh!” He covered her mouth with his just in time, swallowing her scream as she came. He had an orgasm at the same time, and she felt his seed gushing inside her—so hot, so good. Damn, but it was good.

  Later, they went to a restaurant close to the office, where the food was good and the wine even better. She settled on lobster bisque with fresh French bread, and after her stomach was full she spent some time nursing a glass of red—since she was eating lunch with the boss, she figured she wouldn’t get into trouble for having a glass of wine during the middle of the work day.

  "What’s going through you head, Sherry?" Roberto asked, studying her with those intense green eyes.

  Sherry laughed nervously. “I was wondering if Monique heard us having sex in your office. I tried my best to be quiet, but you know how things slip out.”

  Roberto grinned at the memory. “If she did, it’s hardly the first time.”

  Sherry felt her face turning red. How many women had shared that exact same spot, in the exact same position she did? "You’re a devil!"

  He shrugged. "Well, I think you should hear it from me. I’m not going to lie to you—I’ve had plenty of women both in and out of the office. But I have never had a woman like you." He held her eyes with his own the entire time, and she felt her face flush again, this time with pleasure.

  "Are you saying that because I am African American?" she asked, cautious.

  He shook his head. “It has nothing to do with the color of your skin. I know yesterday you said you want this to stay casual, but I feel that this could be something special. I have feelings for you, Sherry.”

  Sherry rolled her eyes. “You mean your dick has feelings for me.” But in her heart, she couldn’t quite discount how caring, how thoughtful he’d been these past few days. Still, it was probably all a façade. “I bet you don’t even remember where I’m from.”

  Roberto arched a black brow. "You're from the USA, but you grew up in Canada."

  Okay, maybe he remembered that much. "What State am I from?"

  "North Carolina."

  Wow. "So you were listening that first night!”

  Something flashed in his eyes, and for a moment she thought she actually might have hurt him. But it was gone, and he simply smiled. "We should get back to work now, but let’s have dinner later.”

  Sherry nodded. “That sounds good.

  “Excellent.” He stood and offered his hand to her. “I’ll have my car pick you up at seven o’clock.”

  Back in her office, Sherry tapped her ballpoint pen restlessly against her desk. It was turning into a boring afternoon, as no one needed her help and she’d finished putting the lesson plan together. After checking her email for the fiftieth time, her thoughts turned to her love life again. How should she tell Roberto about Nick? If this was turning into something serious then he definitely deserved to know. She couldn’t, in good conscience, keep him in the dark forever.

  No closer to an answer than she’d been before, she took a quick trip to the bathroom. When she came out of the stall, she saw Monique standing near the sinks, waiting for her.

  "I’m sorry to disturb you, but can I speak to you for a minute?” she asked.

  "Umm, sure.” Sherry frowned and stepped up to the sink to wash her hands. “What’s this about?”

  "Well, it’s really none of my business,” Monique began as Sherry started running the water and lathering up her hands with soap. “But I thought it would be a good idea to tell you to be careful. Roberto has indulged in many affairs with women in the office before, and not one of them has walked away without being hurt. You seem to be a nice person, and I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

  Sherry rinsed her hands off, then reached for a paper towel. “Thanks for your concern, Monique,” she said, smiling, “but don’t worry about it. I know what I’m getting myself into.”

  Monique looked doubtful, but she only nodded. “Bonne chance,” she told Sherry before they parted ways. Good luck.

  The car arrived on time, and she had the driver take her to her flat so that she could change. It was a warm night so she wore a short red sheath dress, paired with a thin black shawl and red pumps. The butler greeted her when she arrived at the house, took her shawl, and led her through the house and out back, where a table for two was set on the veranda. Two long tapers burned brightly, the only source of light, but it was bright enough that she could see the long table set off to the side, laden with covered dishes—a buffet.

  Her stomach rumbled, so she served herself and then sat down and waited for Roberto. He came in several minutes later, wearing a black silk shirt and slacks, a bottle of wine in his hands.

  “Good evening, bellisima,” he smiled as he caught sight of her, then placed the bottle of wine on the table. “Stand up. I want to see what you’re wearing.”

  She stood up and turned once so that he could see the dress. When she faced him again she saw that his green eyes gleamed with hunger in the candlelight. “No sex right now,” she warned. “I want food first. And I want to talk.”

  He nodded and sat down at the table with her. “Let’s get started, then.”

  They chatted about the present this time—she about her lifestyle in Toronto, he about life with his siblings in Tuscany. She found herself listening more than talking as he described the ambiance of Italy, and she found that she wanted to visit, though she didn’t dare say it out loud.

  The night air grew chilly, and so they moved their conversation indoors to the parlor. “What’s your favorite sex position?” he asked as they made themselves comfortable on the settee.

  She swallowed. That hungry look was back in his eyes again, and every time he looked at her like that her nipples hardened and her pussy ached.

  “I like being on top,” she answered honestly.

  “Really?” his eyes gleamed as they raked her body, intrigued. “I don’t belie
ve we’ve tried that position very much.” He moved closer and slid his hand up her dress and between her legs. “Mmm, would you look at that. You’re already wet. Let’s see if I can make you wetter.”

  He stroked between her legs until she was at a fever pitch, crying out and coming all over his fingers. Smiling, he licked the juices off them and then unzipped her dress, pulled it down her shoulder and it slid to the ground surrounding her feet. “I love it when you come prepared,” he hissed as he leaned back, pulling her on top of him. By that he was referring to the fact that she wore nothing beneath the dress.

  She fumbled his cock out of his pants and wrapped her fingers around the length, stroking him hard. “Oh yes,” he groaned. “That’s good. But not good enough.” He removed her hands, shoved his pants down to his knees, and pulled her closer. “Ride me, bellisima,” he pleaded, and groaned again as she slid her tight pussy down over his cock.

  “Oooh,” she moaned, her eyes closing as she filled herself up with him. “That’s good.” She moved her hips up and down, sliding herself against him, and soon he was gripping her hips, slamming her down onto his cock, picking up the pace until they were both crying out in orgasm again.

  When it was done, she laid her head down on his chest, utterly spent. He fumbled for a nearby blanket and threw it over them.

  “I love you,” she murmured happily, and then they both slept.

  ****

  Sunlight streamed in through the window directly onto her face, waking her. He’d moved them to his bedroom at some point during the night, and though she was alone she could feel that the spot he’d lain in was still warm, so he couldn’t have been gone very long. She sat up and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece across the room—7:30 A.M. Shit. How is it that she was always oversleeping whenever she had sex with this man? This has really got to stop, she thought.

  She got up, then stopped dead as she caught sight of the chair near the foot of the bed—one of her work outfits was laid across the back, pressed and ready to put on. Roberto walked in just then, already dressed.

  "Good morning, bella," he said as he gave her a kiss. “As you can see, I had my driver go over and pick some things up for you last night. “I put your toiletries in the bathroom and your clothing is in the closet.

  "How?" She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or angry.

  "I have a key to your place." He grinned, obviously pleased with himself.

  She definitely wasn’t happy about that. "Give it to me. We need to talk about last night."

  He smiled. "Get dressed so that I can take you to work. We can talk in the car.”

  Sherry opened her mouth, then shut it as she checked the time again. They could argue later—if she didn’t hurry she was going to be late.

  Morning rush hour traffic was a bitch. Drivers leaned on their horns, filling the air with a cacophony of sounds and curses. Roberto ignored it as sang along to the Italian music playing on his radio. Not even rush hour could bring his good mood down.

  Sherry, however, was less than pleased. She looked out the window in silence waiting for Roberto to say something to her, but he continued to sing along, obviously so happy about what she’d said last night that his head was in the clouds. After ten minutes, she decided to break the silence—the guilt was killing her.

  "Roberto, what I said last night wasn't true."

  Roberto stopped singing. “Excuse me?”

  Sherry cleared her throat. “I don’t really love you.”

  He stared hard at her for a long moment, then returned his eyes to the road. “So, you’re telling me it was a lie?” he asked carefully.

  She felt like her heart was breaking, but she had to get the words out. "Yes. It was stupid. I said it in the heat of the moment, but I didn’t really mean it. I like you a lot, but love? No. It’s just sex.”

  "I understand,” he said, his eyes still on the road. “Don’t worry about it, Sherry. It's no big deal."

  Roberto turned the music off and continued to drive. They arrived at OS International and parted ways, he to his office, she to the training room.

  She didn’t see him at all for the rest of the day, and when the office closed up she took a cab home, alone.

  Chapter 8

  Sherry lay on the couch, a paperback in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. She’d settled down with the intention of losing herself in someone else’s fictional world, but had been staring at the first page for the last twenty minutes and the wine glass was nearly empty. No matter how hard she tried to focus in on the murder mystery, thoughts of Roberto were all that filled her head.

  Dammit, she thought, setting her wineglass on the glass coffee table and allowing the book to slip from her fingers and onto the floor. It seemed that no matter what she did in regards to her relationship, guilt was there to greet her at every turn. Have sex with Roberto—guilt about her relationship with Nick. Tell Roberto she loves him—guilt about her relationship with Nick. Take it back—guilt about hurting Roberto’s feelings.

  What the hell was she supposed to do? Should she just walk away from everything? Leave and go somewhere else entirely to get a fresh start away from the men in her life? Or should she just go back to Toronto now to try and start over with Nick as they’d agreed?

  Her new doorbell chimed, startling her, and she went to the door and peered through the peephole, then gasped. Nick was standing outside her door. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be in Toronto! Was she ready to face him?

  “Sherry?” he called through the door. “Are you home?”

  She sighed. She could go hide under the covers now and avoid him, but she was pretty sure that would backfire—he’d just come to see her at work, which would be a disaster. Steeling herself, she opened the door.

  He stood there in jeans and a t-shirt, bouquet of roses in hand, looking as handsome as ever with his slicked-back blonde hair, deep brown eyes and killer smile that had never failed to melt her heart in the past. She wasn’t sure how she’d feel when she came face to face with him again—anger, grief, pain—and was surprised that she felt nothing. Nothing at all.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, taking the roses when he held them out for her. “You didn’t tell me you were coming out.”

  “I wanted to surprise you,” he answered, then craned his neck, trying to see past her. “Mind if I come in?”

  “Of course not.” She stepped back and allowed him to brush past her.

  “This is a nice place,” he remarked as he strolled around, his practiced eye moving over the walls and furnishings—Nick always had a taste for décor. “Looks like you’ve got it fully decked out, which is surprising. I thought you were only staying a few months?”

  Sherry cleared her throat. “That hasn’t changed. I’d only planned to purchase or rent the bare necessities, but my boss had different ideas.”

  Nick turned to face her, eyes narrowed. “Your boss paid for all this? That seems a little… extravagant.”

  Sherry laughed nervously. “Yeah, well, he seems to have a thing for me.” Oh, hell. She couldn’t stand here and lie to Nick, too. “Nick, I have something to say…I’ve been sleeping with him for the past few weeks.”

  There was a very pregnant pause in which the two of them simply stared at each other. Sherry was the first to look away—she couldn’t stand the accusatory look in Nick’s eyes. She didn’t understand how, when he’d cheated, she was the one who felt like a dirty slut—but Nick always was good at making her feel guilty regardless of whether or not she deserved it.

  “It’s okay,” he finally said, and she whipped her head back to look at him. His voice was steady, but she could see the flash of hurt in his eyes—thank you, guilt trip. “I understand, and I really can’t blame you. I was the one who cheated, not you. If you felt you had to go looking elsewhere for… companionship—” for whatever reason he didn’t seem to want to say ‘sex’, “—that’s my fault, not yours.”

  Sherry sighed in relief. “
I’m glad you understand, Nick. I really do want to try and work things out with you when I come back.” The words sounded hollow even to her, but she forced them out anyway.

  “If you want, we can start trying to work things out now.” Nick took a step toward her. “There’s no need to go running to another man now, Sherry.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

  “Oh.” He stopped. “Well then… I guess maybe I should go.” He turned away from her and towards the door. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “Wait.” She stepped forward and took his arm, the guilt eating at her. “You’ve come so far. Why not stay for a little bit? I can show you around Paris.”

  He turned back to her and flashed that dazzling smile of his—which still wasn’t dazzling her, dammit. “That sounds like a plan!”

  Across town, Roberto lounged in his flat, lingering over a meal of lasagna and bread. He’d done his best to avoid Sherry, not trusting himself to speak to her without grabbing her by the shoulders and demanding that she take back what she’d said earlier about their relationship being just about sex.

  How could she say that to him? Sure, the sex was great, but they’d also spent time simply talking and enjoying each other’s company—or at least he had. And he’d even gone out of his way to help her find a flat, and then to help her move into it. Admittedly he could see how she might feel as though he were simply setting her up as a mistress, but he couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel a bond forming between them the way he did.

  Was it just the Italian blood in him, making him out to be a romantic, sentimental fool?

  Disgusted, he got up from the table and went to stack his dishes in the sink—a maid would come by to clean them up later. This was all supposed to be a quick fling, a distraction until Simone returned to his arms. He should be glad that Sherry was trying to keep their relationship strictly sexual. When Simone did come back to him—and there was no doubt in his mind that she would—he was going to have to let Sherry go. While many considered him to be a bit of a playboy, he wasn’t a fan of juggling more than one woman at a time, together or separately. And he knew that Simone wouldn’t be interested in sharing, either.