Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance, Natasha Boyd [e reader books .TXT] 📗

“Is that so?” I asked, my breath choppy. “Are you one of those men?”

He bit his lip as if deep in thought, then looked me square in the eyes and slowly got down on his knees.

I laughed nervously. “Xavier, get up. I was joking.”

His fingers wandered up my thighs and hips to my waist and then encircled me, his forehead coming forward to rest against my belly.

I swallowed, my mouth dry and my heart racing. My fingers danced through his soft hair.

His lips found my skin under my shirt.

I hissed in a breath.

“Please,” he begged against my skin, peppering soft kisses and taking small tastes. “Will you be with me? Will you be with Dauphine and me? Will you let me love you? Will you love this broken heart of mine? And forgive me for hurting you? Let me wake up every morning to your smile, to the smell of your skin, to the sound of your love?”

“I don’t—ouch!” I hissed. “Did you just bite me?”

“Mais, oui. You said something that did not sound like yes.”

“Maybe you aren’t that good at begging.”

He raised an eyebrow in challenge, mischief dancing in his darkening eyes.

“Also, I actually do want to consult on that project.”

He laughed as his fingers made quick work of the button and zipper for my white jeans.

“This is unfair.” I gasped as his mouth followed my jeans down over my hips, his breath hot against my fast dampening core.

“Is it?” he asked, pausing to slip my heels off. At his prompting, I stepped out of my jeans. His hungry gaze on the tiny pair of panties I was wearing was going to burn them right off me, showering us in floating sparks of burned silk. His hand ran up my inner thigh and then a single finger ran over the center of me.

“Oh, God,” I moaned. “Yes. Yes, it’s unfair. How can I think straight?”

He hooked into the side of my underwear and peeled them down my legs. “I don’t hear you asking me to stop.”

“Just don’t bite me again.”

“I can’t promise that,” he said with a dark chuckle.

He stood then, and his mouth took mine. I surrendered to the kiss, winding my hands around his neck and sliding into his hair. His lips moved over mine, urgently, nipping and tasting. I parted my lips, sneaking a taste with my tongue against his.

A guttural groan came from his throat, and his tongue came back for mine, hungry and demanding. He tasted of tart wine, sweet sin, and lifelong promises.

“Joséphine,” he uttered in that unique way of his.

If my heart were a ribbon, it would be swirling up and up and wrapping around his. “You were wrong, you know,” I managed between kisses.

“What about?” An arm locked around my waist, and his other hand tilted my head so he could take more. He drank and sucked and licked into me. I was being devoured, and I loved it.

“That I’m a woman who doesn’t need anything,” I said into his kiss. “I need you.”

Then suddenly I was airborne and deposited on the ice-cold kitchen counter. I squealed in shock.

He drew back, breath sawing in and out of his chest, lips glistening. “Mon dieu. You make me lose my mind! I’m sorry. I was ready to taste you right here. And we’ll wake Dauphine.” He pulled me off the counter as quickly as I’d landed on it and scrubbed a hand down his face. His hair was tousled and sticking up in five directions.

My heart squeezed and my body throbbed. “Go put the fan on in her bathroom. Let’s … let’s take this to your room?” My cheeks heated.

“Yes. Mon dieu, yes.” He backed up and then hurried to her room. I took a second to gather myself, then I gathered my shoes, underwear and jeans and tiptoed up the stairs. I knew we still needed to talk. And me sleeping with him right now didn’t mean we didn’t still have a lot to work out. I mean, was he moving here? Did he really buy out the developer just for me to teach my old boss a lesson? Did he mean to actually build a hotel? I thought, due to his father, that he didn’t dabble in construction. Or was he expecting me to go back to France with him? My mind tumbled around, and I felt weird and exposed standing by his bed waiting for him while naked on the bottom half.

The second level of the suite was an open loft with a half wall hiding us from below, and the bed was king-sized and sumptuous. But there was no door, nor walls, and should we really be having sex when his daughter could come up here any time she woke up?

Feeling utterly self-conscious, I slipped my underwear back on, and then sat to pull my jeans on. We should be talking realities not tumbling into bed.

Xavier jogged up the stairs. He got to the top bare foot, took one look at me, and growled.

“Non.” He shook his head and prowled toward me. Leaning down he grabbed my face and covered my mouth with a hungry kiss, then he slipped my shirt over my head and undid my bra. He pushed me back on the bed and grabbed my jeans, yanking them off the one ankle I’d managed to slip on and sent them sailing over the loft wall to the level below. “Je veux te baiser, Joséphine,” he whispered.

“W-What does that mean?” I asked.

“You’ve already heard it. It means I want to fuck you, Josephine.”

“Xavier!” Heat flashed through me.

“Oui?” he asked, then with one hand tore my underwear off.

I gasped in shock. “Did you seriously just rip my underwear off?”

“I think I have finally run out of patience,” he said, and standing up, and with one hand behind his head, pulled his shirt over and off.

My eyes devoured this strong, beautiful, loving father of a man. My gaze trailed down