Page 39 of Madam Alana

I gulped in air, the pressure of him so intense. He pushedin and out slowly, adding another inch as he went, making sure I’d adjusted tohim and his size.

“So good,” I mewled, and ran my hand down his long back,loving the brush of his chest against the sensitive tips of my breasts.

He tucked a hand underneath me and across my back, his handcurling around my shoulder. His lips came down to mine as he plunged his tonguein to tangle with mine, thrusting deep and using his hold on my shoulder forleverage.

He grunted and planted his mouth at my neck, his pace gentleas he moved within me.

“Does this feel good enough for forever?” he whispered intomy ear and moved so deeply inside I didn’t know where he started and I ended.All I knew was that I never wanted him to stop.

His words slowly weaved through my mind like a ray of goldensunshine, obliterating any darkness and shadows it found there.

“Oui,monamour. It ismore than good enough for forever,” I whispered, meaning every word.

He doubled his pace, and together we raced to the peak ofour releases and tumbled right over, holding one another close, being eachother’s soft place to land.

Chapter 14

SheDidn’t Come Back

Three months after the auction…

In the months I’d lived as Alana Toussaint, I’d changed. Ihated to think that a man had changed me, but Christophe was the exception.Being his wife had taught me that having the love and support of a person withmeans who only wanted the best for you could drastically change anyone. Even awoman like me—who’d once believed I was tainted goods, used up and spit out bythe world at large. I didn’t feel that way under Christophe’s constant praiseand contributions to the work I was doing on myself.

I looked across the desk I kept in Christophe’s massivestudio and watched him work. He was a master at so many creative mediums itwould make anyone’s head spin. His talents with paint, clay, wood, marble, andeven metalwereimpressive. He brought everything he createdto life with his skills. Each piece seemingly more moving than the last. And heswitched the pieces he worked on often, his mind bouncing from one thing to thenext. Still, the process was fascinating, and he said he worked best when I wasclose, so we’d added a desk in the studio for me to use. While he created, Icompleted my university assignments and studied French.

“It’s finished,moncoeur,” he announced suddenly.

I put a placeholder in the business administration book Iwas reading and stared at the canvas he’d been working on. For the most part, Ispent my days getting to know Paris, learning how to drive, taking Frenchcourses with a private tutor, as well as taking weekly business classes. I hadan idea of what I ultimately wanted to do for a job, but I hadn’t confided inanyone yet. Not even Christophe or Celine. I’d kept it for me, preferring totake my time evaluating such a large undertaking before I made my intentionsknown to others.

I eased my chair back and walked over to where he stood infront of the windows, the natural light highlighting his canvas perfectly.

I gasped when I saw the image of the Grand Canyon. It lookedexactly as I’d remembered it when we were at the sky rim overlooking the vastlandscape.

“It’s uncanny.” I moved forward to get a closer look. Hisattention to detail was so meticulous I swore I could feel the very grooves inthe red earth where millions of years had aged the mountains, creating thoserecognizable horizontal lines that cut across them. “The shadows…the smallplant life, the river… Christo, my God. It’s exceptional,” I breathed.

He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist,resting his chin to my neck. “You like it?”

“Like is too simple a word for this,cheri,”I cooed, having picked up the French endearment.

“Where shall we hang it?” he hummed.

“You mean you’re not selling it?” I gawked at the piece,unable to believe that something of this quality and skill would reside in ourhome and not on a wall in a museum for all to enjoy.

“I told you months ago I would paint it for you upon ourreturn.” We stared at the image for a long time, neither of us saying anything,both enjoying the incredible painting before us until suddenly he sigheddreamily. “I think above our bed would be lovely. Then every time I take youfrom behind, your hands to the headboard, you can stare into this image. Amemory of our honeymoon, of a time where we shared something special, just thetwo of us.”

I smiled wide, turned around, and wrapped my arms around hisneck. “I would love nothing more.”

“You know what I would love more?” He grinned devilishly.

I pressed my lips together and pretended to think about it.“Hmm, I can’t think of a single thing.”

“You. Naked. Riding my face and then my cock.” His voice wasa sultry growl as he palmed my hips with intent.

Instantly arousal pooled between my thighs as my heartpounded. I licked my lips and quirked a brow. I kissed him lightly and thenpulled away, slowly backing up while undoing the buttons of my blouse. When Ifinished, I let it fall to the floor. I wore only the palest pink lace bra, thebrown tips of my nipples visible through the mostly sheer lace.

He stalked after me, one step at a time, keeping pace. I gotto the door of the studio, unzipped my skirt, and let it puddle down at myfeet. His eyes practically set fire to my lingerie as he caressed me with hisgaze.

I’d taken to wearing business attire, feeling powerful inthe clothing in a way that felt more like me. The confident, put-togetherversion of me that I’d become under the love of a good and supportive husband.

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