- Author: Mechele Armstrong
- Genre:BDSM & Fetish, Contemporary
- Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter
Kari takes a walk on the wild side of wicked and has a fling with a stranger in Paris. It’s the most impetuous thing she’s ever done. Only now Maynard has ideas of making the fling permanent--which doesn’t fit into her desire to be a wicked woman.
Experiments in phone sex, body paints and restraints all show her a side of herself that she never knew she had. But she refuses to lose herself in a man, refuses to let him take over her life just because she likes being dominated in the bedroom.
Maynard aims to show her that to know herself and to surrender to desire is the only way to truly experience what it means to be wild and wicked.
Maynard watched as Kari’s hands trembled while she tried to insert the key card into the scanner of her hotel-room door. It was an older, small hotel tucked out of the way. The front had been all stone and brick. Even old hotels had to look posh.
She dropped the key card, muffled a frustrated cry, and bent to pick it up from the faded brown carpeting.
Her ass thrust back invitingly. Such curves. Her body was not the rail-thin one the models all possessed but had a robustness Raphael would have found appealing.
Oh yeah, it was lust.
He moved forward almost instinctively and pressed his hard cock against her upturned rump.
She squeaked and straightened up. “Maynard.” Her voice was already breathless. She hadn’t picked up the key card in her journey upward.
Something flowed deep within him at the thought he could distract her that much. Her reactions to his attention were unvarnished. Much lovelier than the contrived feedback of the women with money who wanted to add his name to their conquest list or his fortune to theirs. The key card, which he was keeping her from, was the only way to get what he wanted. He could use the walls out here, but that might lead to them getting thrown out of the hotel. Not the way he wanted this night to go. “Get the key card.” He didn’t move away from her but placed one hand on her hip. The curve of it entranced him. He could hardly wait to kiss her there. And everywhere.
“I’m trying. You’re not helping.” She lowered herself before bending, but she still pushed her ass back against his groin.
He rocked against her, enjoying the sensations. She’d feel good naked and under him. He could almost lose it just thinking about that. If he’d been an uninitiated teenager, he probably would have squirted. “What am I not helping?”
Another squeak. But this time, she managed to retrieve the key card. “You know.” She pushed the card into the scanner and swung the door open.
As he held her against him, they both crept into the small room, trying to keep as much contact between their bodies as possible. Kari shut the door behind them, and Maynard made sure the lock engaged before he switched on the light.
The room was dark both in lighting and hue. The curtains and bedspreads matched the tan color. A picture of fruit hung above the small bed. A full-size bed. Not like his California king back home. They’d have to make do. The carpet had probably just been cleaned because it was in better shape than that in the hallway and was a shade darker brown than most of the furnishings. There was no desk and no armchair, unlike in American hotels, only a bed and dark wooden dresser. Her suitcase rested on a metal stand-up holder. Other than that, it could have been an empty hotel room. There was nothing out of place, not even a stray piece of clothing to tell him anyone was staying here.
His careful Kari. She was probably methodical about putting her stuff away. He couldn’t help a smile at that. He speculated she was pent up. He’d always preferred blondes, but this woman’s red hair was long and looked silky. She had it pulled back in a tight ponytail, which had started his perception of her as fastidious. His fingers already ached to touch it and the rest of her. What would she be like in bed? Was passion lurking under all that preciseness? And damn him, but he wanted to be the one to unlock the ardor if it existed.
She turned toward him and licked her lips. “Maynard, I don’t…I mean…usually do things like this.”
“I know.” He moved to her side and ran his hand down her neck. So graceful. She had a neck like a swan. So soft too. Like down. She had pale skin, almost alabaster in coloring, had a few scattered freckles. “I don’t, either.” He didn’t. He’d never picked up a woman like this before, especially one who seemed to be as untried as she did. Her responses to him outside her door had filled him with enthusiasm but had also given him pause. He’d never been with someone who wasn’t in touch with her sexuality. Maybe that had been his problem with women up until now? Or maybe it would cause great havoc in his life later to be with this one? Maybe he should back away? But the parts of him that desired her didn’t want to budge. “Blame it on Paris.” He claimed her mouth, gently parting her lips and tasting her fineness. “We’ll have a night to remember.”
She stayed tense for a few long moments, then slowly began to relax as her mouth opened more under his.
He took several minutes, kissing her. Teasing her. Testing her. He moved his hand up and down her back. Settled on the curve of her ass where torso became butt cheek. Then he moved his hand up and tangled it again in her beautiful hair. He found the clip and released it, allowing all her hair to tumble down her back. So silky. He’d always loved a woman with long hair. Maybe all men did. But a woman with wavy, long hair that stretched down her back like a Greek goddess had always been quick to get his blood flowing. Somehow she’d pushed all his buttons and led his passion to win over his logic. No woman had ever done that before.
He nipped her lips before thrusting his tongue into her mouth to duel with hers. When she shyly met his with hers and coyly thrust into his mouth, he let out a groan. Whatever she lacked in experience, she made up for with willingness to try and an eagerness that touched him. God, what was she doing to him? He was reacting like someone as seemingly innocent as she. He released her mouth and slipped off his suit coat. His body felt hot, and he had on too many clothes.
She shook her head as if she were clearing it with a wild look on her face. Was her life spinning just as much as his from this chance meeting?
This one night with her was going to be spectacular. He’d give her a fling worth talking about. She’d have stories when she returned to America. And maybe he would too.
He moved his hand up to the top of his white button-down shirt. Undid one button.
She didn’t glance away, but her feral appearance hadn’t calmed any.
He undid the second button. Then the third.
She seemed captivated. Her gaze moved with his hand as he undid each and every button to the last.
His shirt fell open, baring his chest.
She swallowed, her gaze still focused on his abs and pecs.
With one fluid move, he shrugged off the shirt, letting it drift from his arms to the floor.
Her gaze met his. She’d gone back to the look of amazement she’d had when he’d first kissed her back in the café where they’d had coffee. “This is happening.” Her voice was low, and had he not been paying attention, he would have missed her whisper. She sounded incredulous.
He couldn’t believe it either but had to reply. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“I’m doing this.”
“Yes. Yes, you are.” He kicked off his black dress shoes and then left them near where his suit coat had fallen. He flexed his feet encased in plain white socks. The carpeting in the hotel wasn’t plush, though at one time, it probably had been.
After moving toward her again, he stopped before he took her face in his hands. She had a little freckle cluster on her nose. He leaned down and kissed her, inhaling her vanilla scent. Sliding his arms down, he reached for the bottom of her shirt until he found it on both sides. Slowly, he lifted it up and broke the kiss to get the garment off.
After pulling it from her, he tossed it on top of her red suitcase. An odd color choice for someone so conservative. Maybe she’d been trying to be rebellious even in that small choice? He’d have to find out. She ducked her head and stood there, arms akimbo, as if she didn’t know what to do. She wore a peach bra, which complimented her milky skin. She’d tasted of peaches, come to think of it.
He curled his fingers, wanting to touch her breasts. Slowly. Take it slowly. He didn’t want to spook her. She looked like a rabbit that might bolt.
Just how experienced was this woman?
“Sweetheart.” He moved against her, rubbing his skin against hers. Her bra needed to come off.
“Yes?” A definite whisper that again he barely heard.
“Have you…had sex before?” What the hell was he going to do if she was a virgin? Virgins didn’t just have flings in Paris. Virgins probably didn’t enjoy half the stuff he did during sex.
She nodded. “Once.”
He tilted his head at her answer. Was that better or worse? “Once?” He continued to move against her, enjoying the feel of her. “Did something happen?”
“I…It was okay.”
That explained nothing but was probably all he was going to get. He didn’t dare ask about her kink experience. That lack of information would probably come to bite him in the ass eventually. “All right. I’m going to make love to you. And it will be wonderful.” He’d make it glorious for her tonight, and in doing that, it would be great for him as well. He kissed her repeatedly, feeling the tenseness had started again.
Couldn’t have that.
He took it slow, just as he had before. He didn’t press into her until she was ready. He kissed until they were both breathless, and she’d relaxed again.
When he stepped away from her, her bra came off before she could catch it. She let out a small gasp and fumbled a moment as if she could stop the movement of the garment.
He grasped her small hands in his, didn’t let them move up to cover herself or pull back on the bra.
Her breasts were firm. Perky. The dusky pink of her nipples stood out against her pale skin.
She’d taste like peaches and cream.
“So beautiful, sweetheart.”
“I am?” She didn’t try to escape his hands. Maybe that was a good sign for what would come later. Much later.
“Très belle.” He slipped his hands up to settle on the parts they were discussing. “Très belle.” His father had been French and had taught Maynard bits of it. When Maynard traveled to France, he found he could get the accent better than most Americans. But when he returned home, he was back to speaking with a slightly Southern accent.
She parted her lips as she watched his face while he touched her breasts. Did she like her breasts being caressed? Did she find whatever it was she sought from him in his expression? There were no answers in her features.
He stood still, palms covering her breasts, letting her adjust to his handling for several long moments. Did the time seem as long to her as it did to him?
This was going to try his patience. But she’d be worth the wait. Somehow, he knew that.
He brushed the pad of his thumb over one elongated nipple and felt her jump. Yes, this was going to be fun.
He curled his free hand around her other breast and caressed it like the first. Her nipple pebbled against him, thrusting out into his touch.
She murmured something low in her throat.
He alternated brushing across her nipples. First the left. Then the right. Next, his forefinger met his thumb to pinch her nipple.
She shifted her weight and shivered.
He moved closer to her and caught her eye, deliberately and slowly slid out his tongue and wiggled it.
She shut her eyes and seemed to go limp but stayed on her feet.
With a smile, he lowered his head. Pressing his hand against the bottom of her breast, he touched the tip of his tongue to the tip of her nipple. He reached his other arm around her to hold her up.
He pulled her nipple into his mouth, only a smidgeon before sucking it in all the way. He worked her with his tongue, teasing and tasting all her goodness. Again and again, he took her nipple in and out of his questing mouth before releasing it and moving to the other side. He let her feel he was going to give her the same treatment there before he started.
A shudder rocked her body.
Yes, he was sure this woman had passion trapped deep within her that he would release.
After he’d thoroughly laved her breasts, he released her. She looked as though she’d already been ravaged, and he was just getting started.
“If you don’t like anything I do, say the word ‘pardon’ and I’ll stop.”
She didn’t blink as she nodded.
“You heard me?”
She nodded again.
He didn’t intend to bind her. Neither of them trusted the other enough for that. But his dominant personality and the penchant he had for topping might make her uncomfortable.
He tugged on the waistband of her pants and brought her that much closer to him. He undid the clasp and unzipped her jeans. “Do you want to stop?” He’d deliberately gone further before asking her the question. Yes, he’d make it difficult for her to say no.
He had no desire to end this, but he had to give her an out. It would be the last time she’d get to reject this night with him.
She shook her head.
“Say the words.”
“No, what?” It was important for them both to hear this.
“No, I don’t want to stop.” She looked almost as if her eyes were tearing up. “I want this.”
“So do I.” He rubbed his thumb underneath her eye, catching the wetness. He brought the digit to his mouth and licked off the salty drop. There should be no wasting tears tonight.
He lowered her pants to her knees. “Take off your shoes.” There was no going back now. He would have this woman.
She kicked off her flats.
Damn, her legs would look lovely in a pair of stilettos. Stilettos and nothing else. That image burned into his brain.
Only this was a fling. A one-night affair. They’d discussed that.
This meant he’d never see her in those black high heels.
He frowned, because he’d been the one to term the evening like that when he’d propositioned her in the café. That was all this could be, right?
He lowered her jeans the rest of the way, and she stepped from them. She was wearing green panties. Green silk panties. Bikini style. She was an odd mix of innocence and naïveté butting up against sexiness and rebellion.
Be still my heart.
“What wicked little underwear.” He circled around her. The cloth clung to the curves of her ass. “Definitely not granny panties.” He came around to the front side of her.
She laughed, the sound like a bell. “No. Definitely not.” She blushed, her face turning a dark shade of pink. “They were…part of my wickedness. Like you said. Coming here. Alone. Coming to Paris, it’s the only…the first…wicked thing I’ve ever done.”
Until now. This had been an adventure for her. He’d do his best to keep it that way. “Wear these, and you can be wicked with me anytime.” He lowered his voice and waggled his eyebrows.
Yes, this was a woman he could enjoy on all fronts.
Copyright © Mechele Armstrong
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