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๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฅ๐๐ง๐ | Post #16
It was mesmeric how his voice vibrated in her ears.
The way he'd pushed her back into the rail and forced himself onto her, forced her into her place. Contact she'd been aching for, for far too long caused her entire body to ignite immediately. She knew she was sex. She knew she dripped sex every waking moment of her life. Not many got to experience it. He was so graciously invited into her world now. Every part of her being was hot. Hot for him. It wasn't fair that he did this to her and so easily. He was tired? So was she. Tired of aching? As was she! Tired of throbbing? Now she'd be able to help with that. The tips of his fingers grazed her skin, and finally part of what she'd been waiting for was his hand meeting her ass. But it wasn't enough.
That was her weakness but kept her poker face strong. In reality, she wanted him to ravage her, grabbing, slapping, and kissing on her ass. More of his touch, pushing, shoving, pulling her. Her hand moved to his chest the further into her he pushed into her. His skin was just as much on fire as hers. If there was anything she didn't lose was his eye contact. As soon as his lips moved from her ears it was her move. A beautiful game between the two. Eyes dark, laced with desire. She smiled at his question, a sly one that arranged itself against her dark red lips.
"What do I see?" Despite his power and his hold against her on the balcony, she knew she was still free to move. Her delicate hand against his chest pushed him back. "I see a man hiding." Into the room they were again, she'd managed to kick both of her heels off, becoming much shorter than he. "Waiting. Throbbing, and aching for his woman. For her touch," Within seconds they'd reached the foot of the massive bed. Directing him onto it, Oliver knew to sit. With very little stopping her, she'd pulled his shirt away from his shoulders, letting it loosely fall to his wrists and giving her a full display of his build. The muscle, the tone, the perfect shape... All the fun she was going to have with him.
Crazy how nothing was stopping them now.
Crazy how now they were where they needed to be to release this frustration, this desire, this lust for each other. Another push with her hand, gently guiding him down against the soft white sheets of her bed. She beginning to do just what she was sure they both dreamed of.
"A man wanting to remain lost in the ocean of his woman." Her hands started at his thighs and moved up achingly slow, nails dragging, teasing with a tickle to his tender skin. They stopped right where they were supposed to suddenly. Just as he had with her, both hands of hers just one slip inward of his own heat. "A greedy man that wants to indulge freely." But for now, they continued upward as did she. Trailing along each crease, each cut, each ab each muscle, up over his chest and into their rightful place at his shoulders, pulling him in towards her. "Eyes that want to so badly devour his woman. Taking all of her." Her hands moved into his hair, with nails gently massaging his scalp as she took a good gentle handful of his hair. Scarlett forced his head back gently, allowing his eyes to find hers again as she stood in her familiar spot between him. Her face lowered to meet his, lips just excruciating inches from his. She spoke, this time hot against his lips.
"I see a thirst," It was a whisper of a conversation between them now. Her voice, a trance, intimate, and sensual song. Alas, the many songs she'd soon be singing for him. "Waiting so patiently," lips bearly touching with the emphasis on her p. "To quench a thirst only his woman satiate for him." Nodding her head forward for Oliver to move further up the bed, Scarlett moved with him, releasing her light grip on his hair, but never breaking contact. Not once. She'd sat upon him, the seat she'd waited much too long to take. Both of her thighs on either side of his torso, created an even grander silhouette of her figure. The skirt was a problem but not wanting to give too much away so soon, she'd managed to force it up enough for her legs to be comfortable in her straddle.
"I see," she started again, her hips moving, connecting their sexes. An exhale mistakenly slipped. A momentary waiver as she was able to feel the power that'd pressed up against her pussy. Even through his pants and through her thong in the verse, she was sure to feel his heat and hers for him in return. Eager hands moved up his chest again, allowing her upper body to fall light to the chest. Her hands continued on, arms stretched up against the bed at either side of his head as she grabbed at the sheets by his head. It was like watching a cat stretch before getting into some trouble.
And just as he'd done, she'd too pressed her lips to his ear as her spell continued to spill from her sex-laced lips. "A man holding secrets of a desire he keeps for his woman." Another impatient exhale filled his ears as her hips moved barely. "I see a man dying to fuck his woman. This is what I see when I look into your eyes."
Along came a bite, a gentle suck, and then her tongue, tasting him finally right as another groan slipped.
"Mmm... Are you ready for a woman, Oliver? This won't be like the little flings you're used to. It'll be much deeper than that."
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | Post #3
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐: ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐'๐ ๐๐๐๐.
It was never meant to be this way.
It was never meant to turn into her meeting him again. Time again she was forced to let him go completely no matter how much her heart and body remembered. The image of him, thoughts shared, feelings connected, words said, and memories relived. Fuck. It was a method of protecting him and protecting herself from him time and time again. And yet, all that effort was wasted. A meeting between families was called for. Beaumont and Rousseau. And just as she'd feared, a deal was struck between the two. A deal of peace, a ceasefire, and a partnership. Matrimony.
She watched him walk in, an expression she'd never experienced seeing him with. Cรฉline already arrived with her father, Dieudonne Rousseau. He didn't entirely lie to her, just left out important details as to why she was made to attend an assembly she would have otherwise never been at. Not a day had gone by had she wondered how he was. If he was happy, if he moved on, married, started a family, and finally lived his life. After the situation with Serge and him threatening both her life and Damien's, she wanted nothing more than for him to live and be happy without having to ever think of her. There was no will to drink despite the half-filled flute of champagne placed before her. The lump in her throat, complied with the crippling anxiety in her stomach wouldn't allow for it. Not that she'd even be able to hold it down if she tried.
"Cรฉline, mon cherie," her father hummed as he leaned into her, ripping her from her thoughts.
There was something seeking in his eyes. Approval? Reassurance? That the choice he made for his sweet daughter was the right one?
"This is for us. You know I would never do anything to hurt you. I would never do anything to put danger, my Soliel." Cรฉline in turn searched for an answer in his. Where had this sudden decision come from? Why had her father, one of the most powerful men in France decided he wanted to give his daughter to his rival in an effort for peace? Fear perhaps? That Beaumont's were rising to become just as powerful as them in a short amount of time and he hadn't taken a chance to stop it before it got to be too great? Not wanting to risk it with more bloodshed? "I want nothing more than to make you happy. This will be good for us. For you and your brother, for the future. Two powerful families coming together."
Regret? This was the one thing he had promised she was allowed to have. Allowed to choose her spouse, and control over her love life. She wanted to fall in love her way, not forced or arranged. Once upon a time, this would have been a secretly joyous day for them. This was what they wanted those years ago. The nights under the stars with Damien, hand in hand, telling him how she couldn't wait to be not just the woman of his dreams but his bride, his wife. And yet, here she was getting... well not exactly what she wanted. Was it because of what happened with Serge? The engagement and how much of a spectacle it was? Spectacle wasn't even the right word. It was a mess. An unfortunate, frustrating, wreckage of her life because of his selfish desires.
The mixture of emotions on her father's face was too hard to read as he raised his glass. Being her father's pride and joy, his second-born and only daughter, he cared for her more than anything in the world. Cรฉline was his little girl, his petite soleil, and would always be his little sun despite being her grown age.
She was no sun today.
There was no happiness.
An ever-dark cloud loomed over his daughter. "We can trust Beaumont now. Damien is a good man. Reliable, and gets the job done. Your mother would have been-"
The mediator then interrupted.
"We will curtail any future violence with something more binding than gold or assurances. We will do so with holy ceremonyโ and matrimony."
To see the very man she tried just a decade ago to protect from Serge now back in her life and now the one she's to marry? โYou should go and meet him tonight. Get to know each other. Let him take you out.โ Her head snapped to her father, cinnamon eyes ignited in a furious passion. The last thing she wanted was for Damien Beaumont, the man who hated her to do anything of the sort.
โPapa no. I donโt need to meet him. We can meet the day he needs me to sign the papers. Otherwise, no.โ She hissed through her teeth. โIt's already been arranged. You'll be going to him. Itโs time to do your part in this mon Cherie. Your mother would have at least wanted you two to meet. Do this for me and your mother, please.โ It was harder when her mother was mentioned. Cรฉline looked away from her father, looking everywhere but him, and Damien. โCarmen will drive you. Behave.โ
โI can drive myself.โ
โYouโll be stepping into his territory. Carmen will be taking you, two men behind you. End of discussion.โ
She slid and twisted the ring he'd given her years ago up and down her middle finger anxiously. After all this time she was surprised it even still fit, then again she never really took it off. A constant reminder of the love she held, and the sins she currently carriedโ her deepest shame. Cรฉline was always asked who'd given her such a beautiful piece of jewelry. Chagrin always painted on her face as she made some half-assed story about how her father got it for her 18th birthday or how it was passed down to her from her long-deceased mother. A girl's first love was supposed to be her father, but Cรฉline was different. For her, it always was Damien, it would only ever be Damien. Into her late 20s, she realized it was easier to follow the orders of her father than rebel and put up any sort of objection. While the belief in the family coming first was at the forefront for the Rousseaus, a family could at any moment betray. She'd already done it once without her father's knowledge. Now having to bear the ache of sitting in the same room, both of them holding secrets from their fathers. Above everything she was being driven straight to his villa because their fathers wanted them to meet. Another sigh breezed past her lips, the now fifth one as Carmen informed her.
After all the drama, heartbreak, and pain, Cรฉline shut that side of her life out. Closed her heart off completely. No other person needed to see love from her or would deserve it as he once had. She was well desired and generously pursued by men of all statuses, whether it was to further their wealth and power or in all seriousness to court her. Nothing could appease her like what she had so long ago. What she did to Damien she knew he'd never forgive her for. With no word either. Knowing that Serge threatened to tell her father of their relationship, and harm Damien in the process because, well he simply felt like it? She'd never let a man have the advantage over her like that ever again. Celine couldn't risk it even if she knew Damien was capable of holding his own. But it always lingered in the back of her head. What if he let her explain? What if he listened like he used to? Like how he used to watch her and give her his full undivided attention when she had something to say. As if. Another sigh.
The villa came into sight around a bend of trees and her heart was in her throat. It'd been over ten years since she'd last seen him aside from in the room where they were officially โengagedโ so to say. Cรฉline sat in the backseat of her black 7-Series that crept close to that seaside villa. Her father insisted they meet, and get to know each other. Alas, he knew his daughter all too well. Dieudonnรฉ Rousseau knew that when Cรฉline urged that she could 'drive herself' anywhere meant she wasn't going to show up at all and it would have her father looking foolish. Fool him once, shame on him, but she wouldnโt dare fool him again. Carmen, their long-time driver had taken her nearly an hour out from her home to once more meet the man who was once of her dreams. The car stopped, suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. "I'll be here the entire time. Two more are behind me a mile down the road. You let me know when you want to leave and weโre out of here."
โIn that case can we leave now then?โ โOne hour, Cรฉline. Thatโs the best I can do for you.โ
Carmen smiled gently at her before another gentleman in a black suit approached the car, pulling open her door and extending a hand to her as she stepped out. Long ago she used to dress for him, used to love the way his eyes would light up when he saw her in a new dress or outfit she spent too much money on. Her stomach hurt the moment her stiletto heels hit the pavement, her black, draped dress following behind. For the first time in a long time, someone actually made Cรฉline Rousseau, daughter of one of the most powerful families in France, anxious and sick to her stomach.
After everything, Damien still had good taste in his home at least. His villa was beautiful and a sight to see for certain. A bodyguard stopped her a moment, running a detector of the length of her body before allowing her inside. A little extra considering Cรฉline at the moment was harmless as ever. Harmless, nervous, wanting to run back into her car and tell Carmen to drive off as fast as he could. Taking one last calming breath before her poker face settled, she was escorted to his living room. Not a word was said to her but it was clear with his guard said with his silence.
Stay here and don't touch anything or I'll have your hands.
Noted.
Not that she would have moved unless it was to leave, anyway. She didn't want to watch him walk into the room. It'd be too weird for her. Instead, she moved to one of the grand windows of his home, letting the afternoon dusk keep her attention as the countdown til they spoke again blared in the back of her head.
๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ข๐ญ๐ ๐๐๐๐ | (PMs)
"Next New Message-"
"Vera, please answer- I swear, You're going to be the death of me if my mother doesn't kill me first. Call me back. NOW. I need your manuscript by 9. Matter of fact, I'll even give you 30 extra minutes. 9:30. You have till 9:30. The publishers are literally waiting and calling me nonstop. This is my livelihood just as much as it is for you!!!"
Olive-green eyes flirted with a digital clock that read '10:45 AM'.
"Oops."
"Next New Message-"
"Vera Giselle fucking Silvius, I swear to God if you don't answer your phone- If you're fucking still sleeping, so God help me. Vera seriously?! Answer your phone. NOW."
"Next New Message-"
"I'm going to be at your place in literally 3 minutes. You better open the door or-"
A series of knocks and frustrated mumbles at her door ripped her away from her voicemails. Before the third knock could land on the cherrywood, the door swung open to a short, petite, fuming little brunette who abruptly threw her things down to the floor and let herself in. "Howdy Princess." Vera's ever-cool, never-stressed, and shameless voice chimed as her eyes narrowed deviously. Her sweet and stressed manager was greeted by her sitting, propped back against the at the end of her stairs in nothing but a silk robe, legs crossed with her phone in hand in return.
"Ah. Sorry, my apologies. Hi Charlie, The most wonderful, intelligent, magnificent, girl boss all of New York-"
"Ah-ah-ah. No. No ma'am. Not today, not this time!"
It was inevitable and it could have been worse. There was no getting her sweet manager to calm down knowing she'd just missed her manuscript deadline. Again. But what was new? There was something about being on a deadline that killed the mood for Vera. A bunch of stuffy business people wanting her to write her little heart out in the span of weeks? Uncrossing her thick, tan legs she beckoned her sweet manager closer with her foot. "No. No Vera. You're seriously driving me crazy. I told you about this deadline about forty times yesterday and forty times a month before. I set literally five alarms for you. How is it possible that you still managed to miss it?" "Is that what those were for? They just kept going off one after the other. I had no idea what they were for." Her manager stood before her in awe, mouth hung, staring just so devastated at her employer. "You're a fucking piece of work, Vera."
Charlie, her sweet brunette- that maybe girl bossed a little too hard and landed a job as a manager to the world's most infuriating author, droned on and on about how she was going to be more strict with her and her schedule and deadlines and how it was completely and utterly unacceptable and irresponsible for her to miss the deadline with the publisher. Blah blah, blah. The same speech every time for every missed manuscript, every finished, printed, and delivered novel. It was just that Vera worked at her own pace and on her own time. It was hard work creating beautifully written, raunchy stories of experiences she'd fantasized about with the plethora of gorgeous men she'd come across in her lifetime. Her faithful readers could wait a few extra weeks for it she was sure. her fanbase was loyal enough to keep her employed which in turn kept Charlie employed. It wouldn't have made a difference in the sales anyway! If it meant the perfect novel, she was sure they'd wait.
Vera was a very successful romance, (borderline smut as Charlie liked to actively express) author in the industry, having been in it for only five years. However, she wasn't the typical, older veteran-looking type. She was a woman of class, a little eccentric, unconventional, gorgeous, and way too handsy. She was a Leo woman! What could anyone expect? Hands that were not only talented in creating her stories but had gotten her into much trouble. But what better way to get proper inspiration than with her hands or her entire body at that? She was just insanely beautiful and she knew it too. Never humble about what she was blessed with, Vera used every bit of herself to her advantage to be where she was now. Tanned skin like the sweetest caramel, long, jet-black hair that looked somehow both perfectly tousled but coiffed at the same time. Jade green eyes that sat behind long, dark lashes. The perfect hourglass, one that women paid tons of money to look like, but in her defense was as natural as ever. Hips that filled out into a perfectly plump bottom, and into long, slender legs. She always thought she was to die for. A woman of many dreams in the flesh as if she was written and crafted by Calliope himself. It was funny meeting other authors who were just as successful as her. It was always, 'Vera! You're gorgeous! I would have taken you for some 50-year-old married housewife writing out the adventures you and your husband explored!' There was no husband, never married, and 30.
Marriage meant a commitment and commitment meant a suffocating duty to appease her husband quit her 'studies'.
The more 'hands-on experience' she got, the more she was able to put out the kind of work she did. All in the name of her darling fans! She didn't need a stuffy husband telling her to quit her dream and focus on the house and children. A drab life and Vera was the furthest from drab.
It was just those darn steamy romance novels that were pumped out one after the other, read and collected by lonely stay-at-home mothers with terrible sex lives, watching their kids day in and day out. Introverted girlies who wanted to explore sexual possibilities they hadn't thought of or deep dark fantasies they wouldn't dare ask their partners to pull off. Closeted nymphos that needed that extra push to explore things that Vera had done so well at describing in her novels. Fans emailing her and telling her how she'd changed their sex life, how they'd tried what she'd written in Book Two, Page 146. That was what kept her going. That was what kept her thriving.
"Vera! Are you listening? Geez."
"Yes babe, I'm listening. I know you're angry. I'll make it up to you. You know that, love. Because-," Vera began again, pushing herself up from her seat on the staircase of her much too lavish home.
"No. No, no, no. I don't even want to hear the end of that. Don't bother. La-la-la I'm not listening! You're the worst!" Charlie said plugging her ears with a pout trying to scurry away. Vera laughed, catching her in an overly chest-heavy hug from behind. "Because, our lovely publisher that worked so hard to establish such a wonderful connection with, is allowing us the opportunity to fly all the way over to Switzerland for not only the book signing but a writers retreat. Imagine that!" Vera squeezed the small woman, her large chest, pressing deeply into her back. Charlie squirmed under her, continuing to pout. "And guess what you won't have to do a thing! Consider it a vacation, my treat. Meet a gorgeous man, and get laid or something." A scoff. "Your treat? Get laid? What do you mean by your treat? I set this entire thing up with the publisher!" And once again Charlie was on a roll, rambling the usual as Vera tuned out and began to walk away.
Her publisher, 'Literary Wonders Prints' had worked together with the Owner and Manager of Bรผrgenstock Resort to get the whole thing set up. A book signing that would have the hotel buzzing with her international romance fans and a 2-week writers retreat so she was able to finish the rest of her next novel. They were due to leave the following day but by the looks of Vera's nonchalant attitude, packing was the last of her worries. At the end of the day, everything always got done, one way or another. "And your book signing is Tuesday the day after we arrive."
"That, I actually remembered." "Mhm, yeah I'm sure you did," Charlie rolled her eyes. "You remember it for now."
"After the book signing, I'll be out of your hair for the rest of the trip. A whole trip of just working. I'll work hard, and I'll write and I'll get you the first 15- no, 20 pages in 2 weeks of the trip, I promise." Vera wasn't completely lying. It might not be 20 pages but she'd get something to Charlie. Maybe. She'd sure as hell be out of her way for sure. The next book was due for a couple of months and impatient fans were already speculating dates for the drop though she hadn't said a word on it yet.
Besides, she'd driven Charlie crazy enough as it was.
The least she could do was give the girl a break. The book signing was supposed to let her fans know the details for the next series of books, how many volumes there'd be, and a short reading of the first few pages to leave her fans excited. Simple. Sign some books, a meet and greet, shake a couple of hands, take a few photos, and talk about her next body of work. Then, spend the next 2 weeks trying to find someone to snuggle up with during a cold winter for the sake of her muse. Despite her immaturity with her manager, Vera was always on top of her game. A professional, literate well-read woman when the mask called for it, yet ever the seductress and always one step ahead of things when she also needed to be.
So, when Charlie asked if her bags were packed for a trip she was flying out for the next day of course she said no because it was always a pleasure to see her little manager freak out.
Her favorite pastime.
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