International Guy: Paris, New York, Copenhagen (International Guy Volumes Book 1) Page 4

  I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, suddenly feeling bone-tired. We spent seven hours flying from Boston to Paris on a red-eye, dropped off our bags, freshened up, and left first thing to meet our client. I think a bit of jet lag is taking its toll.

  “Thanks, man. I’ll work it out.”

  He waggles his eyebrows like a creeper. “I’ll bet you will.” He rolls his hips in a circular motion, mimicking a sexual act.

  I punch his shoulder as Sophie walks out in a skintight pair of 7 For All Mankind jeans. My heart fucking stops beating, and my dick hardens instantly.

  “Oh . . . hot damn.” Bo whistles and circles around Sophie as I stare at her pert little ass in the best-fitting jeans known to mankind. Praise the 7 brand gods, for they know how to dress women’s bodies. “The slim fit. Perfect, honey. Like numb nuts back there, you’re going to have the men swallowing their tongues when you take on the town with a pair of your girls.”

  She flings her hair over one shoulder and looks at me through the mirror she’s standing in front of. My gaze is on her perfect fucking ass.

  “Vous aimez?”

  “Amen to you. Yeah, that!” I cock my head to the side and inspect her long legs. The denim cups her ass and hugs her thighs and calves to utter perfection. A better pair of jeans could not be found. No way. Nohow.

  Sophie giggles, and it makes my heart start pounding out a staccato beat in my chest.

  “I said . . . do you like? Not amen.” More laughing.

  “Oh, yeah.” I walk up to stand behind her, curl my fingers around her hips, and press my hard cock against the soft flesh of her ass. The sandy brown of my hair looks lighter next to her darker color. The bright blue of my eyes is piercing as I take in all that is her fine body. I grind down on my teeth and thrust against her a bit harder.

  She gasps, sucking in a breath, her brown eyes growing darker, pupils dilating. I grip her hips more fully, ensuring she can feel me completely against her ass. “I think you can appreciate the evidence of how very much I like seeing your body encased in these jeans.” I give her another shallow grind, and she releases the breath she must have been holding and licks her lips.

  Fuck. Now I want to kiss her again.

  I swallow, dig my fingers into her hips, and try to get back on topic. Moving my lips to her ear, I hold there, waiting for her to lock her gaze with mine in the mirror.

  “Now tell me, sweet Sophie, do you feel sexy in these jeans?”

  She shudders in my arms.

  “This is number three of my sure things. A pair of skintight jeans that show off all your assets. And by God, these do wonders for your . . . assets.” I slide my hands down and cup each ass cheek. Her body arches, her breasts jutting forward in offering.

  If we were at the hotel alone, I’d have my hands on far more than her ass. One hand would be down the front of these jeans, working her clit, and the other, cupping her tit. I’d shove the jeans down her long legs, bend her over the arm of the couch, the vanity, the breakfast table, and take her from behind, hard and fast. I can tell she’s thinking about it too. She sighs, presses back against my cock, and bites down on her bottom lip.

  “Parker, it’s unfair to have you this close, your gorgeous body hard against mine, the beauty of your face and form in my vision. I can hardly breathe as it is when looking at your chiseled jaw and stunning smile, and to have it so close, all that is you, pressing into me . . .” She shakes her head dazedly.

  Yes, sweet Sophie is quickly turning into something else. Admitting how hot she is for me is an awesome step forward. Not that I didn’t expect it. I’m not stupid. If my parents hadn’t graced me with great genetics I wouldn’t be as good at my job. I’ve been told countless times by women that I’m good-looking. Regardless of what anyone says, a handsome face, cut muscles I work hard to keep, and respect for the opposite sex can get you far in life.

  I step back unsteadily, and she slumps forward.

  “I think we’ve had enough for today. Pick this up tomorrow after we meet with Royce and your team?” I clasp my hands in front of my groin because I’m out of fucking control.

  Sophie Rolland is sweet and a great kisser, with a lean, fit body. I’m dying to bone the shit out of her.

  Space.

  What we need right now is space from one another. Space for me to get my libido under control so that I can do my job.

  “Go ahead and change, babe, we’ll wait for you,” Bo suggests.

  Bo.

  Once again, I’ve forgotten the guy is even here. Seeing Sophie in those jeans, her body just begging to be peeled out of them, rubbing my cock against her pert ass . . . I lost it. Totally fucking lost myself for the second time in a public place.

  Bo shakes out his leather jacket and puts his hands in the pockets. “You, my main man, are gonzo. When was the last time you got laid?”

  “Seriously?” I growl.

  “Dead. Fucking. Serious. You need to get laid. I have not seen you wrapped up in a woman like this in a long fucking time. As in, back in the day when you were gaga over Kayla McCormick. Fuckin’ bitch that she is.” He makes a face like he’s about to puke.

  “You’re really bringing up my ex? It’s been years, Bo. Years.”

  “Yeah, years since I’ve seen you lose it over a girl.”

  “This is nothing.”

  “No, it’s something. Maybe not exactly like Kayla, but dude . . . I’m thinking you could bust a nut if you don’t bury the snake and soon.”

  My entire body feels too heavy, his words weighing on me like two-ton weights.

  “What I need is for you to shut the hell up. And maybe a cold IPA, a hot shower, and a burger and fries. How’s about you manage that shit for me so I can cool my jets. Yeah?”

  He chuckles and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I got you, bro. No big. We’ll get you settled with all of that and maybe even find you a chicklet.”

  “Ugh! No chicklets!” I pull on my hair and cry out to the glass ceiling above.

  “You okay?” Sophie lays a warm hand on my forearm.

  I nod my head. “Yeah, I think I’m a bit jet-lagged. You decide on the jeans?”

  She smiles shyly and looks down at her feet, then back up at me. “I’m buying two pairs of the ones you liked but in different colors.”

  “Atta girl, SoSo. Let’s get you checked out.”

  She walks in front of me, and I can’t help but stare at her ass. It doesn’t look as good in the dress as it did in the jeans, but damn close.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Sure, I know it’s been a while since I’ve gotten my dick wet, but this is “out there” behavior, even for me. Sophie’s sweet. Definitely not my normal type. Usually I shoot for the good-time gal. The one that immediately leaves after sex, or allows me to make her breakfast and then leaves. That girl understands the score. That girl isn’t sweet. She’s a woman who knows what she wants and gets it. I’m typically the lucky fuck who’s the beneficiary of a sexually liberated woman. If she shares her body with me, I treat it and her well. No exceptions.

  What I do not do is charm clients toward an end goal of wrapping their legs around my waist and burying my cock so deep inside of them I forget my own name. Sophie does that to me, and it’s damn distracting.

  Then again, maybe Bo is right. Maybe I need to take her to bed, but be honest. Women do not like to be lied to, and there can be a slippery slope where honesty is concerned. Tell too much and they’re offended. Tell too little and they feel betrayed.

  I’m not sure where Sophie will fall. Which is the absolute exact reason why I’m not going to take it there . . . until we’re both confident we are aware of and accept the outcome. Long-distance relationships, intercontinental relationships, are not part of my plan. Never were, never will be.

  Still, the attraction is there. I’m not the only one experiencing that pull. Had I been a different man, I could have followed sweet Sophie into the changing room and taken her up against the wall.
She deserves more than a quick fuck. She deserves romance, flowers, and all the things I’m not prepared to give her.

  Bo knocks my shoulder, reminding me I’ve been in la-la land thinking about this issue.

  “Bro, don’t worry. It will all look crystal clear in the morning. As long as you’re not gnawing off your own arm to avoid waking up a wench, you’re A-OK. Yeah?” He smiles with full teeth on display.

  I cough and chuckle at the same time. Leave it to Bo to put a little light into an otherwise confusing-as-hell situation. He’s right, though. Tomorrow, everything will come up daisies. Happiness is a choice. How you deal with your day starts the second you roll out of bed. And with God as my witness, I will wake up alone in bed.

  Alone.

  4

  My nose itches. No. Now it’s my right nipple. Wait, something is trailing light as a feather down my sternum, past my abs, and straight down to my hard . . .

  I open my eyes and arch my hips up into the warm hand encircling my morning wood.

  “Levier et briller. Stud.” A black-haired, gorgeous American woman butchers the French language when she attempts to say “rise and shine.” I may not be able to speak it fluently, but I paid enough attention in my high school French class to know she jacked that phrase to shreds. Not that it matters, because the woman has the palest blue eyes and a sassy come-hither look plastered on her face.

  “Shit!” I flop my head back down on the pillow as Blue Eyes scratches her nails down my entire chest and through the hair at my groin. Her devilish hand encircles the root of my dick harder as she covers the tip with the heaven of her mouth.

  “Fucking hell!” I tunnel my fingers through her long tresses to hold on to her nape while she swallows me down.

  As she works my cock, I try to remember how I got into this rather welcome predicament. I vaguely remember agreeing to go out with Royce and Bo to have dinner and a couple of beers. They urged me to stay up later and get on the Parisian time clock so that I wouldn’t be slammed so hard by jet lag. Stupidly, I followed their advice, and now, here I am. Getting my dick sucked by a woman whose name I don’t even know. Not exactly the worst situation I’ve been in.

  Flashes of last night weave into my conscious mind like a debauched X-rated B movie.

  Laughing with the guys at a local pub down the street.

  Pints flowing steadily.

  The dark-haired goddess sitting in my lap.

  Kissing her in the taxi.

  Pressing her curves against the wall of my suite, hands all over one another.

  Clothes falling like dominoes, scattering over the hotel floor as we make it to the room.

  Taking her from behind.

  Missionary.

  Reverse cowgirl.

  “Fuck, shit!” I cry out as she lays the hoover lockdown on my cock, physically pulling my release from my body. Now I recall why I gave her the nickname Goddess. Some of the best head I’ve ever had.

  My release comes fast and furious. I ride her mouth like a bucking bronco. She takes it all in stride, never losing her grip or pace until I’m gone, shooting into her mouth and groaning loudly into the room. My breath comes in heavy, labored pants as I attempt to pull myself together.

  When every last drop has been wrung out of me, she giggles, wipes her bottom lip with her thumb, and glides up my body like a sexy snake charmer. Neither of us has a stitch of clothing on. Her wet slit comes in contact with my bare abdomen, and I grit my teeth, trying to stave off another rising.

  “Don’t get hard again. I don’t have time. I’ve got a master class today that I’m going to be late for as it is.”

  “You’re in college?” I’m certain my eyes widen to the size of baby elephants. What the hell was I thinking? I’m turning thirty this year. “Please tell me you’re at least twenty.”

  Blue Eyes laughs and nods. “Cool your jets. I’m twenty-four, stud. You asked me that last night, but you obviously don’t remember.” She shimmies her hips, waking up the beast once more. I thrust up against her as she leans forward and kisses me. I hold her close, kissing her back, enjoying her womanly curves pressed along every inch of my front. God, I love women. Soft, pliable, and they always smell divine. Of course, now she smells a little like me and a lot like sex. Still, there are undercurrents of her flowery scent that I inhale deeply while kissing down her jaw to her neck, pushing her up so I can get at her lush tits.

  The naked goddess grips my head, running her fingers through my hair. “Okay, maybe one more round, but then we go our separate ways. I’ve got an on-again, off-again man back in the States.”

  I smirk and bite down on the slick tip of her nipple before pulling off. “And I’ve got a hard cock ready to make you forget him for one more hour.” Kneeing her legs apart, I roll us both over and notice the handful of discarded condom wrappers on the end table. Safety first. Thank God! I spy one unopened and fist pump myself mentally for bringing a stash with me before grabbing the foil packet and ripping it open with my teeth.

  Blue Eyes grabs the rubber and wiggles between us, rolling it down my eager length. She wraps her legs around my hips. “Gimmie,” she coos on a pout.

  “First, Goddess, what’s your name?”

  Her lips curl into a delicious smirk. “Does it really matter since we’re never going to see one another again?”

  I purse my lips, run one hand down her delightful curves while pondering her question. In the end, it turns out she’s right.

  “No, I guess it doesn’t,” I say, before centering my cock at her slit and slamming home. Her entire body arcs on a pleasured moan.

  “God, yes! Make it hard!”

  What kind of good-time guy would I be if I didn’t give the lady what she wants?

  I open the door to my hotel suite. Blue eyes, long legs, and fucking-hot hair stops, presses a hand against my chest, and kisses me. Her tongue tangles with mine for a long couple of minutes until she hums low in her throat and pulls away.

  “You rocked my world, stud. I’ll be feeling you between my legs all week. Thanks for that.”

  I palm her ass in a bruising grip. “Have a nice life.” I peck her lips once more.

  “You too!” She winks and saunters toward the elevator. I lean against the doorjamb, finally feeling more like myself. Bo was right. I needed to get laid like I currently need a gallon of water.

  A throat clears down the hall, and I glance over to find Royce, his big form towering over the woman he’s standing shoulder to shoulder with. Our client.

  Sophie.

  I cringe, and my entire body goes straight as a board, suddenly scared shitless. A crazy reaction for me, because I haven’t exactly done anything wrong. And yet, an uncomfortable loathing sensation slithers along my spine, resting somewhere between my heart and my stupid, wandering dick.

  Yesterday I kissed Sophie in the middle of a department store, fondled her ass, and made my attraction to her clear. The very next morning she catches me kissing my one-night stand goodbye at my hotel room door.

  I’m a schmuck.

  “Hey guys, I’m just about ready. Come on in.” I wave them over and avoid eye contact with Sophie at all costs.

  Royce and Sophie both enter. Royce is dressed in a fly suit. The man knows how to rock a suit. Like Sophie, he pays some serious coin for his threads. Usually Armani or Tom Ford. I prefer variety in my wardrobe and a good tailor. Today’s attire: a pair of chinos, a Ralph Lauren sport coat in a dark gray with thin plaid striping, and a yellow-striped Ermenegildo Zegna tie over a crisp white dress shirt. No cuff links. Royce is the only one I know who always wears cuff links. Today he’s got his favorite black onyx ones on alongside his ever-present and stupidly expensive $6,000 Breitling watch.

  I tug on the sport coat and button the single button. “Coffee, anyone?” I gesture to the coffee I’d made for nameless Blue Eyes and myself. That’s the moment I allow myself to truly make eye contact with Sophie . . . and she looks incredible. Absolutely knock-down, drag-out beautiful.r />
  Dressed in one of the new skirt-and-blouse combos Bo picked out, she looks fierce and ready to take on the world. Her hair is in a slick ponytail, making her neck look delicate and swanlike. She’s got on a pair of Louboutins with a rounded toe, the signature red sole, and at least four inches in the stiletto. My dick would take notice if he hadn’t already been sucked and fucked and now needed a serious rest. Though my heart and mind are fully aware of how our client is blooming in front of my eyes.

  “You look incredible, Sophie.” I smile softly, hoping I haven’t already ruined a budding friendship or our new business relationship.

  Sophie’s cheeks pinken. “Merci. I have you and Bo to thank, of course.” Her eyes meet mine for a split second before she looks down and away.

  My heart sinks at her inability to look at me for longer than a few seconds. Like a dog with his tail between his legs, I take a few steps closer and glance over her shoulder to where Roy is making himself a cup of joe, making sure he’s not listening. Sophie’s lips flatten the closer I get.

  “SoSo, I’m sorry about what you saw. I got drunk last night . . .”

  She cuts me to the quick. “You owe me nothing.” Her words are a whisper but carry with them a sincerity I didn’t expect. I can’t tell if she’s mad and hiding it, putting on a brave front, or truly okay with what she saw.

  Before my eyes, she stands taller, lifts her chin, and eases closer. “Parker, I do not expect anything from you. If we choose to act on our attraction to one another, we both must go into it knowing it is short lived. You live in America. I am never leaving France. I have a business to run. You have a business to run. That is far more important than—” She gestures between the two of us. “What is it you Americans say? A roll in the streets?”

  I tilt my head back and laugh. Hard. I can’t help it. “A roll in the hay, or a roll between the sheets. Yes. I understand. I’m just happy you’re not . . .”

  “Pissed on?” She messes up American colloquialisms once more.

  “Pissed off. You don’t ever want to be pissed on.” I point my hips forward and pretend to pee on her, making a whizzing sound.