Page 80 of Pleasure Games

“This sculptor? Jean Hugues? How do you think he knows a woman’s torso so well?” He paused, even though he didn’t expect an answer. “By touching her.” He rubbed her fat little clit with his thumb while he vibrated his fingers inside of her. “Caressing her.” While his hand on her shoulder and throat was gentle, the one beneath her skirt was not. “He probably fucked her in every way possible,” he whispered softly in her ear.

The low whine, which Luca had come to learn meant she was close, started deep in her chest.

“Shh, ma colombe.” He rubbed his jaw against her hair while he placed his palm flat between her legs, cupping her. “You need to keep quiet when you come.”

Her whole body flinched within the circle of his arms and a surge of moisture filled his hand.

“Yes, just like that.” He buried his face in her hair. “Luca.” She clung to him and he loved it. God he loved it.

In fact, he loved it so much—loved her so much—he swept the hair away from her ear and told her how he felt.

* * *

Oh. My. God. She’d had an orgasm in a museum. With other people in the room. It was...unbelievable! But even better—like a billion times better—was the fact that Luca had told her that he loved her.

And this time she believed him.

After the museum, Luca took her to the Eiffel Tower and they went up to the top where a wind gust threatened to expose her, literally, to the world. As if she hadn’t been exposed enough in the last month. But none of that mattered anymore because she was here, at the Eiffel Tower, not gazing at it from a balcony alone but sharing it with the man she loved.

It made all the difference.

Once they were back down on the ground, Luca unpacked a picnic lunch and spread everything on a blanket on the grass. Before he let her sit, however, he wrapped his arms around her, held her close and whispered wonderful things in her ear.

Not naughty things—well, there may have been a couple of naughty suggestions—but mostly it was about how he felt about her. How scared he’d been that she wouldn’t show today. How he wanted to make her dreams come true, and her fantasies—like they’d just done. But mostly he wanted to prove to her that this was about more than sex.

It was about connection and understanding and about two people who trusted one another.

She turned in his arms and linked her hands around his neck. “Luca?”

“Yes?”

“I forgive you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“That simple?”

“Um...you call confessing your love on international TV, giving up your inheritance, flying across the country to give me a lamp and then flying me here, simple?”

He laughed. “Well, when you put it that way...”

She went up on tiptoes and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Then she tilted her chin up and said, “By the way, I love you, too.”

He whooped at the sky, then picked her up and spun her around.

“Careful,” she squealed so he’d set her down. She patted her skirt into place. “I’m not wearing anything under this, remember?” She laughed, wondering at how life could change. Luca brought out extremes of emotions, from the most pleasure she’d ever experienced to the greatest anger. In between those extremes, her heart had ached for him. All of it, all of the emotions—even the extremes—made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt.

They sat down and shared a lunch of bread, cheese, wine and pastries gathered from local shops. They were not the only picnickers in the park and Luca borrowed a corkscrew from a neighboring group.

God, she loved Paris. The people were so uninhibited.

Here she was drinking wine in a public place after being fingered in a public place, hanging out with a rich and famous man in a public place.

This was living.

“You’re smiling.”

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