I’d spent the last two weeks trying to convince myself that this was what I wanted to do, where I wanted to be. I’d spent three more days in Venice, but that was mostly because I’d forgotten my luggage on the train when I’d run off with…her.

I could’ve bought new clothes, but I’d decided against it in favor of spending the time drinking while I’d waited for them to be shipped back. The next day, I’d bought a new ticket to Madrid and left, hoping the memories would stay in Venice.

They hadn’t.

I’d partied in Spain, drinking enough that I’d spent most mornings hanging over the toilet. After a week, I’d moved on to Lisbon, Portugal. Two days ago, I’d given up on the cities and headed to my family’s villa in France. It was just outside of Marseille, perfectly located for a trip in to the city, to enjoy what it had to offer, but far enough away that I could have quiet if I wanted it.

I’d tried quiet yesterday. It had ended with me drinking pretty much everything in the villa and passing out on the floor until past noon today. Tonight, I planned to head into the city and see if I could find someone to take my mind off things. I’d been focusing on alcohol rather than sex, but I think that might have been why I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I ran my hand down my face.

Her. Nami Carr. Fucking Princess Nami. Meeting her had been chance, but everything that had followed had been choice. Hers and mine. I’d intended for it to be nothing more than a fling. A fun one, but a fling nonetheless. I’d had dozens of them during my trip, and none of them stood out. I could barely tell one from the other in my memory. Blondes and brunettes – no red-heads because I hadn’t wanted to be reminded of Piper – they all blurred together. Some had been aggressive, liking it rough. Others had wanted me to be gentle. I remembered bits and pieces of what we’d done. The positions we’d fucked in, a little kink here and there.

Except for Nami. I could remember every detail of my time with her. How her body had felt beneath mine. The sounds she’d made…

I bolted off the couch and headed for the bathroom. There was no doubt about it. I needed to get laid. The lack of sex had to be the reason I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I needed someone else to get my mind off of the pretty princess.

I splashed some cold water on my face, ran my hands through my hair and then headed into my bedroom to find what I wanted to wear. The villa wasn’t as large as my family’s home in Philadelphia, but it was big enough to have a bedroom for my parents, myself, my younger sister Rebecca, and a guest room, as well as two bathrooms, a full kitchen, dining room and living room. My parents had bought it for family vacations. I hadn’t been here in years though. Running the Stirling family business hadn’t left much time for vacations. Hell, I’d even cut my honeymoon short.

I snorted a laugh. Honeymoon. The entire marriage had been a joke. I hadn’t wanted to marry Britni Michaels and she hadn’t wanted to marry me either. Sure, we’d slept together, but there’d been no passion, no real attraction. We’d done what we’d needed to do. I’d never asked who she’d been thinking of when we’d fucked, but I sure as hell hadn’t been thinking about her. I waited for the familiar burst of shame and guilt but didn’t feel it. For the first time since I’d left Philadelphia, I could think of the entire mess without any strong emotion. I was pretty sure that Piper had been right when she’d told me that what she and I’d had hadn’t been real, and this was further confirmation of it. That was a relief. I wasn’t in a hurry to rush home, but at least now I knew that when I did, I’d be able to handle it.

I gave myself a glance in the mirror, thought about trying to smooth down the mess of gold that was my hair, then decided against it. I knew I looked tired, but I also knew it wouldn’t matter. I was a good-looking guy. I wouldn’t have trouble getting a woman to come back with me. I looked away from the mirror before I could see the doubt in the near-black pools of my eyes. Not doubt about my ability to get a woman. Doubt about whether or not I really wanted to.

I pushed the thought aside and headed out to the garage. We had three cars here and our groundskeeper kept them all in excellent shape. I chose my favorite – the black Spyder – and drove in to Marseille to see what I could find.

A couple hours later, I had a bit of a buzz, but not so much that driving was a bad idea. I also had a tall, thin blonde wearing a dress that probably should’ve been classified as a handkerchief. Said handkerchief was currently riding up so that I could see the tiny string of red lace that made up her thong as well as her firm ass. I could see this because she was on her knees in the passenger’s seat despite my strong objections that this was dangerous. Her breasts were pressed against my arm, her hand rubbing my half-hard cock through my pants. This was my compromise. She’d originally been trying to get her hand down my pants while promising to do things with her mouth that I was pretty sure were illegal in most places in the States.

When we got to the villa, she climbed out of the car, gave me a grin and pulled her dress over her head, dropping it onto the floor of the garage. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her rose-colored nipples jutted out from her small breasts. Her thong barely covered more in the front than it did in the back, the sheer fabric leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“Is this your car as well?” she asked as she turned to the car to our right. Her words were heavily accented, but understandable.

“My family owns all three cars,” I said, looking across the top of the Spyder at her.

She cast a grin over her shoulder as she walked over to the Aston Martin and bent over the hood, giving me an even better view of her ass.

“What are you doing?” The question was stupid. It was obvious what she was doing.

Je veux que tu me baises ici,” she said, wiggling her ass at me.

I wasn’t going to turn that down. I walked over to her, taking the time to admire the view. As I reached her, however, I couldn’t stop another image flashing across my mind. Nami in the same position, her hard nipples brushing against the cool metal, back arched in obvious invitation.

I frowned, pushing thoughts of Nami out of my head. I needed to focus on…shit. I couldn’t remember her name. Now that I thought about it, had I even gotten her name? Oh well. It wasn’t like I was planning some sort of relationship with her. Ma chérie would work just fine. There were three things people always needed to know how to say in other languages: Where is the bathroom? Do you speak English? And at least one endearment.

Thanks to her attention in the car, my cock was hard and ready, and as I slid my hand down her ass and between her legs, I found her soaking wet. I slid a finger inside her, then a second, earning a small moan. She pushed back against my fingers as I pumped them into her a couple times before pulling them out. She made a sound of protest, but I ignored it as I reached into my pocket and pulled out a condom. I’d make this one quick and then we could head inside and find out how long it’d take her to get me hard again. I doubted any of the things she’d talked about before were illegal here.

I opened my pants, pushing them down just low enough to get my cock free and rolled on the condom.

“Ready, ma chérie?” I asked as I pulled aside the flimsy fabric of her panties, exposing her bare skin.

Oui.” She spread her legs even further apart. “Fuck me. Se il vous plaît.”

I rubbed the tip of my cock across her entrance, then pushed inside. She let out a string of French obscenities as I stretched her wide. I might’ve only been on the high end of average when it came to length, but I was thick and it always took a bit of work to get inside. By the time I was balls deep, her breath was coming in pants mixed with sounds of pleasure.

I slid my hands up from her hips, across her ribs and then around to cup her breasts. My hands covered them completely and I couldn’t help but remember what Nami’s had felt like, the weight of them. My grip tightened for a moment and then I began to move.

I started with a few shallow thrusts, letting my partner get used to the feel of me as I played with her nipples. The tips were long, perfect for me to tease, but they didn’t feel quite right between my fingers. A flare of anger went through me. Anger at Nami for leaving. Anger at myself for not being able to forget.

I straightened, grabbing on to the girl’s hips. The first time I slammed into her, she let out a surprised squeal. The second stroke was just as hard as the first and she swore, pushing back against me, wordlessly asking for more. All of the pent-up frustration from the last two weeks exploded and I began to pound into her, taking her as fast and hard as I dared.

She dropped to the hood of the car, working one of her hands beneath her to rub her clit. Her bare flesh squeaked against the metal, mixing with the moans falling from her lips. I barely registered any of it. All I could think about was the wet heat of her, the way she was tight around me. I needed to come, to lose myself in the oblivion that only an orgasm could give me.

I didn’t last long. I felt her start to come, her muscles tightening around me, milking me and I exploded. I groaned, biting back the name I wanted to call out. I closed my eyes, wanting to see only darkness, but it was Nami’s face I saw. I opened my eyes as I took a step back, panting heavily.

I didn’t look at her as I pulled off the condom and tossed it into the nearby garbage can. I heard the click of her heels as she walked over to me and I forced myself to smile at her. Her fair skin was flushed, her nipples swollen. She was beautiful, but not enough to completely distract me. I needed something more than just a quickie.

“Would you like something to drink?” I asked as I tucked myself back into my pants. I didn’t bother doing up the zipper or buttons, however. I wasn’t planning on wearing them much longer. Either she’d be leaving and I’d head to bed, or we’d be fucking again. Neither option required pants.

“Champagne?” she asked.

I nodded. “I think there’s a bottle or two somewhere in the kitchen.”

She smiled as she moved closer. Her hand slid down the front of my pants and I sucked in a breath as she cupped my sensitive flesh. She leaned forward and took my bottom lip between her teeth, lightly biting down before running her tongue across it to soothe away the sting.

“We fuck again, yes?” she asked as she took a step back, breaking our contact.

There was one decision made. “Yes,” I said. “As many times as we can.” I gave her a more genuine smile.

She smiled back and licked her bottom lip. “Good. I want to suck your dick next.”

In spite of – or perhaps because of – her crude words, my cock gave an interested twitch as I thought of what it would feel like to slide into her mouth. Unbidden, the memory came to me of Nami on her knees in a storage room.

“This way.” I reached out and took her hand.

A plan quickly formed in my head. The kitchen had counters that would be a perfect height for me to get my mouth on her. Then we’d head to the living room where she could return the favor while I sat on the couch. We could fuck there too. If I thought I could get it up again, we’d go to the bedroom.

As we walked into the kitchen, she spoke, “En passant, mon nom est Cosette.”

Cosette, I thought. Nice name, but I doubted I’d remember it. She was just another fuck, after all.

 

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