Page 145 of The Stranger

“It can wait.”

“What if the children come back out?”

“Then I’d better take you somewhere they can’t find us.”

“Luc, be serious,” she says, though she doesn’t put up much of a fight as she trails along behind me, her fingers in mine.

“I love it when you say my name.” I glance back at her. “My real name, that is.”

“I only ever use your real name, Monsieur.”

Her innocent expression seems to suggest she’s just insulted me. What other names has she been using for me, I wonder? “I will find out,” I purr warningly.

“Try your best. Sir.”

I make a sound between a snort and a laugh as I lead her to the disused landscaper’s shed. It’s perfect for a moment of privacy, out of sight and shaded by a gnarled pomegranate tree. No one will think of looking here for me.

The old clay wall is warm from the afternoon sun, the scent of baked soil and dried wood heavy in the air. As her back meets the wall, a small gasp escapes her. My body responds instantly, anticipation tightening beneath my skin.

I’ve been thinking about her for far too many hours and, now that she’s here, I don’t want to wait any longer.

“You’re far too tempting,” I whisper, as I watch my knuckles chart the side of her throat. Her honey-colored hair falls over the back of my hand in waves.

She swallows but is valiant in her response. “Let the record show that I’m not the one who seems unable to wait until later.”

I brace my forearm beside her head and watch her breath speed up. “I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough, don’t you?” My hand settles at her waist, and I brush my lips over hers.

“I tried not to want you, but you kind of made that impossible.”

“That was the plan.” And my intention right now is to kiss her slowly, thoroughly, as though we have all the time in the world. Though her plan, it seems, is very different, as her mouth meets mine and fingers rake through my hair, dragging a rasping sound from my throat. My fingers flex on her hips as my breathing becomes embarrassingly uneven when she sucks my tongue into her mouth.

“Primevère.” I draw away, before this ends quickly and embarrassingly, when she follows—actually follows my mouth. “Now who’s desperate?” I give a satisfied tilt of my lips.

“I’m not.” Her answer is immediate and contradicted by the hand she still has fisted in my shirt.

God, her competitive nature, I adore⁠—

I shut the thought down before it finalizes. Such dangerous territory. Leaning in, I lower my face to her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume, warm skin, and rosemary.

“It’s okay to admit it,” I murmur, plucking the sprigs from her fingers. “I know I’m irresistible.”

“Big-headed, more like.”

I press my smile to her skin. This is better. Desire I can handle. It’s the rest I need to stop feeding.

“Well, that too.” Taking her hand in mine, I slide it between our bodies. She gives a little purr as I press it over my cock.

“You’re…”

I don’t wait for her to finish as I put my mouth to hers, my kiss hot and hard as she tightens her fingers around me.

“Je veux te baiser.” The words fall quickly. I want to fuck her. “I want you on your knees and your lips wrapped around me. I want to be inside you when you come, to feel your body pulsing around me.”

“You’re doing it again,” she whispers, tightening her fingers around my cock, and making it cock throb. “Whispering dirty things to me in French.”

“I don’t possess the vocabulary for all I want to do.” I make manacles of my fingers over her wrists and pull them above her head. I give them an instructional squeeze. Hold them here.

She looks so fucking good pinned to the wall, captive to my hands. Her eyes, fathoms deep, and her mouth a soft pout, this woman seems to have been designed to drive me wild.