Unwavering, Brandon replies, “Thanks, but we’re going to pass with MIP starting tomorrow and the big Kurt Kussler event in the evening. Plus, I have some work to do with Zoey.”
“Totally understand. Don’t work her too hard.” Jennifer winks at him. Oh yeah, she so knows. “I’ll see you both tomorrow at The Palais. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“You too,” says Brandon before she heads toward the bar area. He slaps the UP button again and the elevator doors immediately re-open. With me still riding his back, we step inside the elegantly appointed lift.
“Do you think she suspects something?” I ask Brandon as the doors close.
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
Drunk with love, I burst into laughter. “That’s so not original.”
“Shut. Up. Or I’ll have to f*ck
your mouth into silence.”
Not knowing if I’m going to laugh my head off or suck him off, I reach for my floor button. But Brandon grabs my wrist and stops me midway.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask as he forces my hand down.
He answers my question with a question. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To my room.”
“Nothing doing. You’re sleeping with me.”
My breath hitches. I kiss him everywhere I can as he waves his key card over the button marked PH—the exclusive penthouse floor. The elevator smoothly ascends with no stops. I can’t stop loving him.
Brandon’s Sean Connery suite is almost as big as his house. It’s got to be close to five thousand square feet. Stunning black and white photos of the debonair actor in his James Bond finery line the walls and meet my eyes first. The rest of the décor is classical, the rooms tastefully filled with plush furnishings in muted tones of brown, beige, and tan. Complementary textured rugs cover the dark hardwood floors while creamy silk curtains accent the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a terrace and the city. The panoramic view of the Croisette and the Mediterranean is breathtaking.
Brandon takes me directly to the ginormous bathroom. What makes it really spectacular is that it’s circular—the sexy, curvy shape dictated by its position directly beneath one of the hotel’s Belle époque arched domes. All creamy marble and shiny chrome with pale blue accents, it’s a suite within a suite, with separate bathing and toilet areas. The lights are dim. He sets me down on a marble vanity and then reaches for the wall phone. He holds the receiver to his ear and speaks into it. My eyes fix on his flexed bicep and the rigid muscles of his sculpted back. His skin is bronzed velvet. Christ, he’s gorgeous. A f*ck
ing sex god. Even his sultry voice excites me.
“Oui, this is Monsieur Taylor in the Sean Connery suite. I’d like to order two hot chocolates, two shots of crème de cacao, and a plate of praline truffles if you don’t have M&Ms.” He pauses and then smiles. “Oui, beaucoup de whipped cream.”
He hangs up the phone and faces me. “Are you okay with that? I thought maybe we’d get hungry later.”
“Oui, Monsieur Taylor.” I put on my best French accent and make my voice as breathy as possible. Truthfully, the only thing I’m hungering for is his cock.
A saucy smile tugs at his lips. “I like it when you call me that. It turns me on. I want you to call me ‘monsieur’ for the rest of the evening. Deal?”
“Oui, monsieur.” My sexy, throaty voice is deeper and breathier. I’m channeling Simone Signoret. “What’s our next activity?”
He eyes me sheepishly. “I want to watch you use the bidet.”
“Excuse me?”
“The bidet.” He lifts me off the vanity and leads me to a white porcelain basin that’s right next to the toilet. About the same height, it resembles an oblong sink with a pair of faucets.
“What’s this for?” I ask suspiciously.
“It’s going to clean the sand out of your ass and make your p*ssy
feel better.”
“My p*ssy
’s just fine,” I lie. It’s still sore as hell, but I don’t want him to think I’m unf*ck
able. Then again, maybe that’s what he has in mind. Restoration. Then f*ck
ing me senseless again until I cry. My heart skips a beat with another thought. Or maybe f*ck
ing me hard in the butt?
He flicks my nose. “Trust me.”
“Aren’t you going to turn the water on?”
“Sit,” he orders with a playful slap on my sore ass…that turns me on.
My skin prickles. I do as I’m told. I plop down on the edge of the basin, scrunching up my chiffon dress and pulling my panties down to my knees. Much the same as I would do if I were taking a pee. The rim of the porcelain basin is a cool contrast to my heated ass.
Brandon rolls his eyes at me. “Baby, it’s not a toilet. You need to take off your panties and straddle it.”
“Oh.” I feel totally stupid, but the amused smile on his face saves me from humiliation.
I slide off my panties. The cotton crotch is soaked and laced with a few granules of sand. Brandon snatches them from me while I reposition myself. My legs are spread-eagled over the basin. My exposed p*ssy
is in full view. Brandon examines it.
“f*ck
. Your p*ssy
’s really red. And swollen.”