Page 80 of The Stranger

“Maybe I’m broken,” she adds in a tiny voice.

“We’re all a little broken, ma belle.” As I cup her cheek, the endearment catches us both off guard. I don’t remember the last time I used sweet words with a woman. “It’s called being human.”

She gives a shaky laugh. “You must be feeling very French. The English offer tea and words of sympathy, not philosophy.”

“This isn’t really a tea moment,” I say as I slide my hands under her knees to part her legs. Stepping between them, I press myself just there. “Primrose, you are misguided”—to put it very mildly—“but very, very beautiful.”

“You don’t have to flatter me.” She quirks a brow, though the tremor in her tone contradicts her posturing.

“The ways I would praise you,” I whisper the wicked taunt at her ear, relishing her sharp gasp. We’re so agonizingly close and she’s so frustratingly fuckable, even if she doesn’t seem to think so.

“This is a new version of you. I’m not sure I like it.”

A quick tug and she’s at the edge of the countertop, pressed against me. Against my cock. “Liar.”

She gives another tiny gasp as I cup her backside, bringing her closer and graze my teeth against the fleshy lobe of her ear. I slide my lips down the silky column of her neck, then press my mouth to the gentle slope of her shoulder. A suck. A flick of tongue, all the while, my cock strains to get closer.

She gives a tiny moan that’s a little ragged around the edges. “You’ll be disappointed.”

“Impossible,” I say with a dark chuckle. “I’ve seen you eat cake.” Whatever she was about to say seems to die on her lips. “The way people approach pleasure tells you everything about them. And that night aside, watching you eat cake was the hottest thing I’ve seen for a long time. You closed your eyes as you savored it, rolled it around your mouth just for the pleasure of its flavor. And I’m sure that sounds very familiar.” Her brows tighten a touch before I add, “Because you saw that same expression on my face as I devoured you.”

Her gaze skates away, but I bring her attention back, my finger pressed to her cheek. “The truth is, I’ve thought of little else since the night I dropped to my knees in Paris.”

Her teeth come down on her bottom lip, a slash of red highlighting her cheeks this time. “That sounds like a very strange kind of apology for pushing me out the door.”

“I want you. I want to taste you again. Let me.” Need claws at my insides. I want this so fucking badly.

“Is this your attempt at being nice?”

“I told you, Primevère.” My words sound a touch rough as I lean in. “I am never nice.”

Her mouth opens to the pressure of mine. It’s a delicately first meeting that melts into tease and want and hot, aching breath as I gain carnal knowledge of her mouth.

The best kind of kissing.

“What are you doing to me?” she whispers.

“Seducing you.” I kiss my way down her neck as her fingers slip into my hair. I grunt as she pulls the strands, the resultant hot throb lighting me up inside, the moment intensifying as a consequence. “Is it working?”

“It’s madness.” She shivers as my hand span her ribs, sliding the soft cotton of her T-shirt higher. I growl when I find bare skin. “Is that why you brought me to Spain? Because you think about that night? About me?”

My hand halts. I pull back, and her expression reminds me of how she looked in my Paris office. Chin high. Haughty. Unapologetic.

How lovely she’ll look on her knees.

“You are here because you tried to force my hand.” She swallows a gasp as my thumbs slide up the soft underside of her full breasts, finding her nipples. “And I’m a very, very sore loser.”

Her laughter is velvet dark as she relaxes. Melts. Gives an almost breathless moan.

“But now that we find ourselves here…” My voice sounds hoarse as I press into her, my cock notching instinctively where she’s hot. “In this kitchen, this moment, it would be a shame to let it pass.”

Her gaze turns wary. “I can’t spend a month in this house with you after you find you can’t… that.”

I give a soft chuckle.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s cute that you think so.” My left hand trails lower, my thumb ghosting between her legs. “Je veux te bouffer la chat,” I whisper roughly, my grip on the moment turning tenuous.