him as a non-parent, parent.
The rest of our time, we didn’t speak much about Hugo or his history. It was spent about her reminiscing over the beauty of Paris and how she’d love to go back someday. When she was ready to face her wounded past, she’d make that trip to memory lane.
Entering the vast foyer, Chantel and I had just arrived at the villa when the house vibrated with sounds—and I meant heavy moans and pounding.
The echo of a woman’s screeching and screams as she was being pleasured made me stop in my tracks. Standing in the middle of the circular foyer, I stared ahead in the vast , freshly waxed, marbled hallway, mystified and visibly in shock. There was no doubt that it was Hugo’s skillful efforts that made the woman shout to the rooftops. And since I was with Chantel, the woman singing his praises was Sherry.
Was this an insult to me? Maybe I was overreacting , but I somehow felt offended, because last night he blatantly dismissed me like I was some rubbish.
Chantel came up behind me. “Have you ever seen him in action?” Her question made me frown.
Shaking my head, I glanced back at her, wondering what she was thinking about.
She winked at me before taking my hand. “Come , he usually doesn’t mind.”
“Usually doesn’t mind?” I parroted like a frightened idiot. “Hell , no. I’m fine.”
Was she out of her loony mind? What she was suggesting was shameless. Besides, if I said yes, what did that make me? A very curious individual? My mind kindly provided.
Her hold tightened , pulling me farther into the house while I tried to stop her, but she didn’t care. Maybe because she had no clue about some of my secretly hidden insecurities when it came to Hugo.
“You’re such a shy girl. We can hide if you want.” She kept on pulling us farther in, and the sounds became harsher. It was much more profound, echoing against the walls, and I couldn’t help that I was getting goose bumps from Sherry’s animal dying-like sounds.
“Come on , you have to see.”
Dammit . As much as I hated to admit it, I was beyond curious.
“And you promise he won’t see me?”
“He won’t if you don’t make a sound…”
Feeling like the ultimate peeping tom , the temptation of seeing him in action overrode rational thought. The two hadn’t even bothered shutting the double doors in his library. They’d simply gone at it, uncaring of the helpers and other people that could easily witness them mate like rabbits—well, more like Hugo not having sex, but fucking to be precise. Yes. I hadn’t known what fucking meant until that very moment.
“Look at how he thrusts . Only a man with enough muscular strength on his lower back and arms and a great sense of rhythm can thrust perfectly like that,” said the woman, whisper-hissing into my ear, who thought Hugo was the ultimate sex god. She’d admitted as much.
As much as I would like to quietly think of a snarky comment to make myself feel better, I couldn’t help noticing the power he exuded with each thrust. The only thing I could think about was him thrusting and how it would feel to be spread eagled on his antique desk, wide-eyed, gasping for his next invasion, feeling thrilled and utterly consumed by one man—Hugo.
“Watch how he dominates . He makes you come undone. With one touch, you just want to do anything to please him,” she went on with her words of awe and worship.
I couldn’t fault her. No wonder she was fine with this arrangement . A part of me wondered what it would be like to have him like this. At the same time, I knew my imagination would never turn into reality. I was a controlled woman who didn’t give in to her urges of sexuality. I wasn’t carnal; I was in love with Damen. No more, no less.
“He makes a woman tremble.” Chantel gave me a quizzing look. “Don’t you think so?”
Her whisper-hissing aside, it annoyed me she was saying the right words about Hugo’s masculinity and sexuality. Because, yes, as
The rest of our time, we didn’t speak much about Hugo or his history. It was spent about her reminiscing over the beauty of Paris and how she’d love to go back someday. When she was ready to face her wounded past, she’d make that trip to memory lane.
Entering the vast foyer, Chantel and I had just arrived at the villa when the house vibrated with sounds—and I meant heavy moans and pounding.
The echo of a woman’s screeching and screams as she was being pleasured made me stop in my tracks. Standing in the middle of the circular foyer, I stared ahead in the vast , freshly waxed, marbled hallway, mystified and visibly in shock. There was no doubt that it was Hugo’s skillful efforts that made the woman shout to the rooftops. And since I was with Chantel, the woman singing his praises was Sherry.
Was this an insult to me? Maybe I was overreacting , but I somehow felt offended, because last night he blatantly dismissed me like I was some rubbish.
Chantel came up behind me. “Have you ever seen him in action?” Her question made me frown.
Shaking my head, I glanced back at her, wondering what she was thinking about.
She winked at me before taking my hand. “Come , he usually doesn’t mind.”
“Usually doesn’t mind?” I parroted like a frightened idiot. “Hell , no. I’m fine.”
Was she out of her loony mind? What she was suggesting was shameless. Besides, if I said yes, what did that make me? A very curious individual? My mind kindly provided.
Her hold tightened , pulling me farther into the house while I tried to stop her, but she didn’t care. Maybe because she had no clue about some of my secretly hidden insecurities when it came to Hugo.
“You’re such a shy girl. We can hide if you want.” She kept on pulling us farther in, and the sounds became harsher. It was much more profound, echoing against the walls, and I couldn’t help that I was getting goose bumps from Sherry’s animal dying-like sounds.
“Come on , you have to see.”
Dammit . As much as I hated to admit it, I was beyond curious.
“And you promise he won’t see me?”
“He won’t if you don’t make a sound…”
Feeling like the ultimate peeping tom , the temptation of seeing him in action overrode rational thought. The two hadn’t even bothered shutting the double doors in his library. They’d simply gone at it, uncaring of the helpers and other people that could easily witness them mate like rabbits—well, more like Hugo not having sex, but fucking to be precise. Yes. I hadn’t known what fucking meant until that very moment.
“Look at how he thrusts . Only a man with enough muscular strength on his lower back and arms and a great sense of rhythm can thrust perfectly like that,” said the woman, whisper-hissing into my ear, who thought Hugo was the ultimate sex god. She’d admitted as much.
As much as I would like to quietly think of a snarky comment to make myself feel better, I couldn’t help noticing the power he exuded with each thrust. The only thing I could think about was him thrusting and how it would feel to be spread eagled on his antique desk, wide-eyed, gasping for his next invasion, feeling thrilled and utterly consumed by one man—Hugo.
“Watch how he dominates . He makes you come undone. With one touch, you just want to do anything to please him,” she went on with her words of awe and worship.
I couldn’t fault her. No wonder she was fine with this arrangement . A part of me wondered what it would be like to have him like this. At the same time, I knew my imagination would never turn into reality. I was a controlled woman who didn’t give in to her urges of sexuality. I wasn’t carnal; I was in love with Damen. No more, no less.
“He makes a woman tremble.” Chantel gave me a quizzing look. “Don’t you think so?”
Her whisper-hissing aside, it annoyed me she was saying the right words about Hugo’s masculinity and sexuality. Because, yes, as
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