If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan) novel Chapter 16

Shay

Paris doesn’t sleep at night. Or if she does, it’s not until long after I’ve fallen asleep. It’s eleven, and customers loiter at tables in front of brasseries, drinking wine, smoking, and talking. Cars roll by, and the moon creeps higher in the sky, bringing me closer to the moment when I’ll have to say good night. I dread that moment with everything inside me. I’d keep walking forever with aching feet and my exhaustion-fuzzy brain if it meant I didn’t have to let go of Easton’s hand.

Dinner was amazing. Not the meal—I have no recollections of what the food tasted like—but the experience. I’ve been with him for four hours and I’m right back to the lovesick girl I was the last time I saw him. Maybe worse. My chest already aches when I think of saying goodbye tomorrow night. I still can’t believe Easton came to Paris when he can only stay one night. He has to get back for a PR obligation—some black-tie event where he’s promised to appear—so he’ll leave only twenty-four hours after he landed. Insane.

“When do you have to be back to your room?” he asks, stopping to look at his phone.

“I’m a big girl now.” I bite back a grimace at my word choice. Big girl, indeed. “No curfew.”

“When do you want to go back to your room?”

I shake my head. I’m in no rush to return to Heather and the sounds of her sneaking Steve into our room after lights out, them making out in her bed. And yet that’s all secondary to how much I don’t want my time with Easton to end. “I wouldn’t go back at all tonight if it was up to me.”

He smiles, and it’s a smile I haven’t seen on Easton many times. It’s big and wide and makes his eyes shine. “Do you . . . Would you want to stay with me? I have a room.”

“So we wouldn’t be sleeping in the streets?”

He pinches my side. “You’re such a pest.”

I squirm, trying to avoid his tickling hands, but he’s stronger and bigger and spins me around. Then I’m in his arms, his body pressed to mine, his gaze on my mouth.

I lift a hand and tentatively touch his cheek. “Where’s your room?”

“No idea.” I feel his laugh more than hear it, and he nods up the block. “But my driver is right up there.”

His driver. “You’re so fancy these days.”

He grins. “Nah. Just trying to impress a girl. You’re sure about this?”

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice a little shaky.

He huffs out a laugh. “It’s not even a question. Tonight, I want as much of you as you’ll give me.”

“So it’s a plan.”

He leads me to the car, and the driver jumps out and opens the door for us. I slide in first, and Easton follows.

Outside my window, the lights of Paris glow, making this fantasy seem even more like a dream. Last night’s bus tour doesn’t hold a candle to riding in a private car around Paris with Easton—and Steve and Heather have nothing to do with that. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask.

“It is. I see why you’ve been so excited to visit.”

I look over my shoulder and find his eyes on me, not the lights outside. “You look worried.”

“I’m not sure if I can trust myself with you tonight. You might have to tie me to the bed so I keep my hands to myself.”

“If that’s what you want.” I stick out my tongue.

“No, Shayleigh. That’s not what I want.”

“But you only kissed me the once when you got here.”

He frowns. “You’re broken-hearted. I want to be a better guy than the one who takes advantage of the pretty girl on the rebound.”

“My heart’s not broken, Easton.” I shake my head. “I’m pissed off, and my pride is bruised, but Steve and I grew apart months ago. We’d planned for this trip for so long, I think both of us were just trying to hold on until we made it through. The suckiest thing about it was his timing, but now I’m riding around Paris with Easton Connor and I’m liking the way things turned out.”

He skims his fingers down my arm. “Then come here.”

I scoot over in the seat and angle my body toward his.

“Closer,” he says.

I scoot more, until my thigh presses against his.

He smiles. “Still not close enough.”

I laugh. “To get any closer, I’d have to sit in your lap.”

His hands go to my waist. “That’s a plan I can get on board with.”

I stiffen. I’m all too aware of the thirty pounds I’ve gained in the last two years and of the fact that I wasn’t small to begin with. But rather than ruin this, I pull my legs under myself on the seat. I grip his shoulders as I straddle him, trying to keep my weight on my knees so I don’t crush him.

His hands cup my jaw. His eyes dip to my cleavage. And if I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d become someone else—that I had a different face, a different body. The way he looks at me makes me feel beautiful. When he kisses me, I liquify and forget all my insecurities.

He slides his hands down my back to my ass, tugging me tighter against him until I can feel the long ridge of his erection through my jeans. “Do you remember that night in your room?” he whispers, his breath warm in my ear.

Do I remember? Hell, it’s moved from memory to my favorite fantasy. I wonder how many times I’ve relived that night in my brain. “Of course I do.”

“I almost left as soon as you fell back asleep.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted more. And I thought you might give it to me. And then I’d hate myself.”

I run my fingers down the line of his jaw. He hasn’t shaved since before he flew here, and rough stubble abrades my fingertips. “I would’ve given you anything.” The idea is terrifying. He touched me and made me come, and I was ready to throw away my plans and move across the country to chase him. If we’d made love that night, I would’ve been a mess.

“I never expected you to wait for me, but I hate that he got that piece of you.”

I turn, watching the lights flash by outside my window. “Is this about my virginity? Was that first time a guy was inside me somehow more important than what I can offer now?”

“No. I’m just jealous, Shay. Jealous as fuck that the timing was right for you and him and not for you and me.” He cups my face. “Jealous that no matter what happens tonight, when you go home it’ll still be easier for you to be with him than me.”

Easton is jealous of Steve. This baffles me. Half of my brain is convinced this is a dream. The other half is pretty sure I’ve somehow slipped into an alternate reality. “I wanted more that night too,” I whisper. Because in this timeline, I get to say exactly what I’m thinking. “You touched me, and then I wanted to . . .” I swallow. “I wanted more.”

His lips brush mine, then open, and he sucks at my bottom lip. When he tilts his head and nibbles up my neck, shivers of pleasure race along my skin. He flicks my earlobe with his tongue before sucking it between his teeth. I lean into him, half mortified by the moan that slips from my mouth. He wraps me up tighter.

I close my eyes, afraid the moment might disappear if I focus too intently on anything. If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.

The car stops too soon, and I reluctantly drag myself off Easton’s lap just as the driver opens the door.

“Le Pavillon de la Reine,” he says. “Sir, your bags have already been taken to your room.”

I climb out, and Easton follows me, taking my hand and leading me into the beautiful old building and up the stairs. He uses his key to unlock the room and holds the door open for me.

Easton’s hotel room is nothing short of spectacular. It’s a suite, of course. The room is so beautiful that when he flips on the lights, my nerves fall away and all I can do is wander around and take in the opulence. Parquet floors, high ceilings, big windows, and chandeliers. It’s not fancy the way upscale U.S. hotels are. This is old-Europe fancy. I grew up wanting for nothing, but I’ve never in my life stayed in a place this nice. I didn’t even know Europe had hotel rooms this big. They’re known for their tiny spaces.

It’s not until I make it to the back of the suite and am studying the piles of plush bedding that I remember why I’m here and what’s about to happen. My nerves tie my stomach into knots.

“It’s a really nice room,” I say lamely, turning to him.

He looks around, and I’m suddenly aware that he’s been so busy watching me that he’s just now taking in the space for the first time. “I made my assistant track down the nicest available suite in the city. I got lucky that this one had a last-minute cancelation.”

His assistant. For a beat, I wonder if I even know this Easton—the one who doesn’t have to worry about money, the one who reserves the nicest available suite in Paris, the one who has an assistant and a driver. But that worry’s gone in a blip. He’s still Easton. He’s still the boy who bought me a signed copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone for my fifteenth birthday. The one who always looked back for me when I was swimming to the dock with the boys, just to make sure I was okay. The one who makes me feel beautiful when he touches me.

“Do you want some wine?” he asks.

Toeing off my shoes by the door, I shake my head. I don’t want anything that might make me forget part of this night.

He drags a hand through his hair. “We should’ve gone by your dorm and gotten you clothes. I’m not thinking clearly tonight. I’d like to blame jet lag, but”—he drags his gaze over me—“I’m totally distracted by your presence.”

I snort. He’s been saying stuff like that all night, so maybe I should be used to it by now, but it’s so outrageous. Him distracted by me. “I can just sleep in one of your T-shirts or something.”

He prowls forward, his eyes skimming slowly down my body. “I wouldn’t mind if you slept in nothing.” When he’s a breath away, he slides his hands up under my tank, and I’m way too conscious of his big hands on my soft stomach.

“I’ve gained weight,” I blurt.

He cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Are you worried about it?”

“It’s just college, you know? Stress and convenience food and . . . beer.” I laugh, nodding. “There’s definitely a beer factor in this tummy as well. Anyway, I wasn’t exactly little before, and now . . .” I shrug, hoping the gesture says, What you see is what you get.

He squeezes my side with one hand and brings the other hand to my lips, pressing a finger against them. “Do you think the freshman fifteen is going to make me suddenly not attracted to you anymore? I think you’re beautiful.” He slides his hand from my side to my breast, and his thumb grazes my nipple. “These curves have driven me crazy for years. The summer before I left, I couldn’t look at you without my brain serving me really dirty thoughts. Every day we were both at the cabin, I was fighting embarrassing erections and trying to hide my infatuation from Carter. Unsuccessfully, I might add. You can ask him about it.”

The thrill of his admission sends my stomach into a series of somersaults. “I had no idea.”

He shrugs. “I promised myself I wouldn’t touch you until you were eighteen.” He gives a bashful smile. “I’m honestly surprised that I made it.”

I study his face, looking for any sign of a lie or exaggeration, but I see none. I want to believe Easton really has been attracted to me all this time, but it’s so incongruous to the way I see myself that it’s hard. “I think you’re crazy,” I say with a nervous laugh.

“I might be a little. When it comes to you.” He dips his head, skimming his lips up and down my neck. No sucking, no open mouth, tongue, or teeth, just the slightest pressure of his soft lips. I shiver. “You know what you do to me. You felt it on the way here.”

The reminder sends a thrill through me. I felt it, all right. Felt him.

“You turn me on so much. That hasn’t changed in the last twenty minutes, but if you’re not ready for us to—”

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s not that. Easton, I want this.” I don’t know what tomorrow brings. I don’t know how long I get you. I don’t know if I’ll ever get a night like this again. They’re words I can’t let myself speak, so I just repeat, “I want this.”

I muster all of my courage and pull off my shirt.

He steps back and has such wonder in his eyes as he looks me over that I have to check if maybe my body isn’t how I remember it. All I see are my breasts practically spilling out of my black satin bra—I really need to buy new lingerie—my soft tummy, and the waistband of my jeans digging into my hips.

Easton reaches out with shaking hands, unbuttons my jeans, and drops to his knees as he pulls them down. I step out of the denim and watch him toss it to the side, but he doesn’t stand. He stays on his knees, curving his hands around from the front of my thighs to my hips. He slides rough palms down and up again, and when he sweeps around to cup my ass, my whole body clenches. There’s heat in his eyes as he looks at me, and there’s reverence in his pose.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” he murmurs as if he can read my thoughts. Then his mouth is on me—starting just above my knee and kissing his way up. Mouth and teeth and tongue trail a wet path toward the apex of my thighs and send a blaze of need rushing through me with every centimeter he inches closer to my cotton panties.

I say a silent prayer of thanks that I’m in cute underwear. It’s not a matching set or something super sexy, like I’d have chosen if I knew where this night was going, but I could’ve chosen worse than a black satin bra and purple panties with a black lace trim.

I’m entranced by the sight of his mouth on my skin. He trails his tongue across the crease of my hip, right along the lace trim, following it down inside my thigh. I tremble so hard that I’d probably fall over if he weren’t holding me up with those big hands, like he’s afraid I might run away. He nuzzles me right between my legs, breathing in deep, like he’s trying to smell me, and the sight is so erotic. I don’t know if I’m breathing.

“You’re so wet.” His eyes flick up to mine. “Were you like this in the car? I wanted to touch you right there. I’ve never forgotten how it felt to make you come on my hand.”

Me neither.

Slowly—so slowly I could cry—he hooks his thumbs into the sides of my panties and pulls them down my legs. When his eyes land on me—on my sex, bare and exposed—he curses. “Look at you, so bare. You’re full of surprises.”

“Steve liked it if—”

He pinches my ass, and I let out a breath at the sweet sting. “I don’t want to hear his name on your lips right now.” He guides one foot and then the other from the purple cotton then blows a cool stream of air right between my legs. “If you’re thinking about him, I’m not doing a very good job.”

He stands and nudges me backward until the backs of my thighs hit the bed. I lie back then prop myself on my elbows and look up at him, a potent mix of awe and lust making my breath come short. He guides his fingertips over my shoulders, my collarbones, down between then over my breasts and down my stomach. He lowers himself to his knees beside the bed and sweeps his hands out to my hipbones then back in, nudging my thighs apart as he continues his teasing path down my legs.

His eyes are so dark, so hungry, that by the time he comes back up to my thighs, I can hardly remember why I was nervous. I don’t care about anything but his hands on me and the way his fingers are inching closer to the ache at the apex of my thighs.

I’m not innocent. There’s not much I haven’t tried, but the majority of my experience was with Steve. And this is Easton. Everything seems new. Everything feels like a first.

As he hooks my legs over each of his shoulders, his grin is the perfect combination of smugness and delight. He lowers his mouth between my legs, and I can’t remember how to breathe.

His tongue is as patient as his fingertips, and the pace of his strokes is nearly torturous. I have to fight to keep my hips on the bed, but then he slides his hands beneath my ass and tugs me closer to the edge of the bed. He holds me there, devouring me, his short beard scraping at my inner thighs. When I rise off the bed again, he tightens his grip and groans in approval as he strokes my clit faster with his tongue.

Receiving oral sex has always made me uncomfortable—it’s too vulnerable, too intimate—but his tongue sends my thoughts scattering. He slides two fingers inside me and touches some spot I’d chalked up to mythical before this moment. I lose all control and come against his face with a violent jerk of my hips.

He stays right there, licking me through the aftershocks, stroking me as I slowly find my way back to earth.

When he stands, he watches me as he strips out of his clothes and slides on a condom. His eyes are on mine, and he’s . . . smiling.

“What is that look on your face about?” I ask. My cheeks blaze hot.

“I’m just realizing I’m not going to want to let you leave this room tomorrow.” His gaze dips to my sex. “Christ, Shay. I want to make you come over and over again.” He trails his fingers over me and I shudder. “I almost came just listening to your sounds.”

I reach for him. I want to feel the weight of him on me and kiss that smile.

“In a minute.” He guides my legs around his waist, and I wait for him to climb on top of me, but he stands there at the edge of the bed, his big hands curled around my hips as he lifts them off the bed and slowly enters me.

My breath hitches and my body stretches around him. I’m so tender from my orgasm that the pleasure is almost too much, but it’s so damn sexy to watch him look down, his eyes fixed on the place where our bodies are joined.

He moves slowly at first. His thrusts are gentle, tentative, like he plans to do this all night. But I need more, and when I arch my back and reach for him, he finds my clit with his thumb, stroking that spot I thought was too sensitive for more contact. My body clenches and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Damn, Shay. You feel unreal. I can’t even . . .” His hips jerk and his pace increases. I can feel him trying to hold back and love that he’s losing the battle.

It’s my turn to watch him fall apart, and it’s glorious. He tries to keep his gaze locked on mine but surrenders to it, throwing his head back and growling, gripping my hips like he’s afraid I might disappear.