Pearl (The Pearl Series) (6 page)

B
ut Pearl didn’t flip out. She didn’t even call. I’d had the pearl choker delivered by hand to her apartment; the box within another box, within a huge box with her name on it. It couldn’t have gone missing. Nothing. No reply. Not a word.

I began to ponder the reason for her silence. My interest was piqued. It should have been a warning sign, telling me,
She’s an ungrateful, ill-mannered brat.
But it made me wonder about her. Did she have a boyfriend? Worse, maybe,
she was married.
Shit, that possibility hadn’t occurred to me.
The husband was probably having a jealous fit!
Maybe, he’d found the box first and chucked it away.
Fuck, I should have thought of that.
Duh! On our date and at the coffee shop, I had never actually ascertained whether Pearl Robinson was attached!

My mind flipped back to all our conversations. Yes, I remembered her asking
me
if I had a girlfriend. But did I ask
her
if she had a boyfriend or husband? NO, I DID NOT!

It was obvious by that point. This woman, whom I was fantasizing about, was bloody well married!

That’s
why she freaked out about spending the night at a hotel with me!
That’s
why she looked terrified of having sex. A little flirtation, fine. But cheating on her husband? It obviously wasn’t her style. He must have been out of town on business and she was up for having a little fun. That’s why she accepted going on a date. My mind wandered back again to our conversations. I did remember asking her about her family and she didn’t mention a husband, but had I asked her directly,
Are you single?
No, I had not!

I thought of one of my golden rules:
Don’t fuck another man’s girl.
I felt like a fucking idiot.

By the time a week had gone by, piqued interest had morphed into near obsession. I should have called, should have just said,
Hey, Pearl, did you get the necklace?
But my pride got the better of me.

I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Her ass. Her pert breasts which I’d noticed through her light, summertime dress. Just thinking about her was giving me a hard-on. Why hadn’t she called me? She had my business card—I’m sure I’d given it to her. Hadn’t I?

All these thoughts were spinning about my head. I was trying to concentrate on work, but all I could do was think about fucking Pearl Robinson.

So by the time, one whole week later, I got a message from her on my voice-mail, saying ‘thank you’ and apologizing for taking so long about it (the doorman had apparently forgotten to give her the box), my dick was behaving as if it had a brain of its own and propelled me to get in a cab and head straight over to her apartment. If she wasn’t single, I told myself, I’d soon find out. Her apartment would give me instant clues.

If she was attached, I’d walk away.

But if she wasn’t, I’d fuck her.

I took a risk and bought champagne and flowers. If I was greeted by the husband.…

Well, I’d have to cross that bridge when I came to it.

The doorman opened the door for me and I sauntered into the lobby, trying to look casual but realizing that I was feeling edgy. I gripped the chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon in my hand and tightly held the bunch of roses I’d bought.

“Good evening sir,” the uniformed doorman said.

“Good evening. Pearl Robinson, please.”

“Ah, Mrs. Robinson,” he replied with a knowing smile.

Mrs?
Fuck! So
she is bloody married,
I mumbled to my dick, which had been, up until now,
so
cocky,
so
confident that he was going to score. “
Mrs.
Robinson?” I repeated.

“Mrs. Robinson is upstairs, sir.”

“Is her husband in?” I asked weakly.

“Husband?”

“Yes, her husband.” My dick was seriously disappointed. I felt like a fucking fool standing there with flowers and a bottle of Dom Pérignon.

“No, no husband,” the doorman answered, his thick moustache twitching above his inanely happy grin.

“But she is
Mrs.
Robinson?”

“She
was
Mrs. Robinson, now she’s Mzzzz. Robinson,” the doorman replied, still smiling. “She is a very modern woman. I call her now.”

The Ms. Made me feel more relaxed. Although, a lot of American women prefer Ms. even if they are married so that was no guarantee. Or, if not married, Ms. meant Pearl could be dating on a regular basis. But I figured that if Pearl was busy, otherwise occupied with another man, she’d tell me to piss off.

I waited, trying to look patient while the doorman called on the landline.

“No answer,” he told me.

“But you say she’s in?”

“Yes, she’s definitely at home.”

I realized that I was about to be just as guilty as the ‘bulldozer’ types I despised. I wanted Pearl Robinson and I wasn’t going to let this go. I called her myself, on my cell.

She finally picked up. “Yes?”

“I’m downstairs,” I said, forgetting to say who I even was.

“I’m in the bathtub,” she replied.

And my dick (because I swear it wasn’t me) answered, “Good, I’ll join you.”

“Pass me onto Dervis, the doorman,” she said.

Uh oh. This is the moment that she’s about to get me flung out of the building.

Dervis listened, nodded, smiled into the receiver and said, “Okay, Mrs. Robinson.”

So it
was
Mrs
.
Robinson, after all. I turned on my heel to go, but the doorman shouted after me, “Mrs. Robinson’s expecting you. You can go up.” He buzzed open the elevator door for me and pressed the button for her floor. “Enjoy your evening, sir,” he said, beaming.

When Pearl opened the door, my heart missed a beat.
Fuck!
She was wearing the choker, and all she had on was a towel draped about her hot, sexy body. She had just gotten out of the tub and smelled like heaven, sweet and tender and…
Jesus
. She looked so gorgeous, so fucking fuckable. Her eye make-up was slightly smudged, giving her a sleepy, bedroom look. I could feel my cock expand in my jeans. I
had
to have her. Right there, right then. Mrs. or Ms. I didn’t care, I’d have to break my code, if need be. Pearl Robinson was going to get my attention that very night.

I moved in on her like the bulldozer I was morphing into. “I’ve missed you, Pearl,” I said, putting down the champagne and flowers on the hall table.

Her mouth opened and her eyelids started fluttering. Sex was so thick in the air that neither of us could hardly breathe. “You’re wearing the necklace,” I said, raking my eyes down her body, knowing that I was about to rip that towel off her.

“The necklace is stunning,” she whispered, then caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

She started protesting about how she shouldn’t accept such a gift. Women always do that. They don’t want you to believe they’re greedy but they have no intention of
not
accepting your gift. Pearl was no different. I saved her by saying something like:

“That necklace was made for you, Pearl. Nobody else has the right to wear it.” Did I tell her that she was beautiful? I must have, because she did look incredible. Like a classical painting. Elegant, even half-naked. Poised, even though wanton.

I couldn’t stop myself. My cock was on fire. I pushed her up against the wall, right there by the elevator door, and start licking her lips slowly, softly. She moaned. I growled like a beast, ripping that towel off her, as I probed her mouth with my tongue, kissing her deeply, passionately.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I murmured into her mouth, and I meant every word. She closed her big blue eyes and yielded to me completely, returning the kiss with everything she had. I let my mouth wander down to her neck as my lips brushed softly over her sweet skin. The choker accentuated every delicate curve, every tiny muscle. I noticed how she swallowed as if she was about to drown in her own desire.

My tongue traced across her collarbone, down her chest, to her tits. Her beautiful, pert tits that turned upwards, but were full and hard. I slid my tongue over to one nipple, swirling it around till her rosebud turned taut, and I sucked greedily. I groaned again and grazed my fingers down the crack of her butt, trailing them further down between her thighs. She was soaking wet. Already, and I’d hardly even begun. I could feel her nails in my back, then clawing softly across my biceps, they made their way over my pecs and the muscled ridges of my abdomen. Her touch was driving me crazy. She cupped my huge, throbbing cock through my jeans.

“Not yet,” I said. “Ladies first.”

She splayed her legs apart a touch, thrust her hips forward, trailed her hands from my back, up the nape of my neck and then dug her fingers into my hair.

“Fuck, baby, I’m going to have to do all sorts of things to you,” I whispered in her ear, before nipping her gently on her lobe, then along her jawline. She shuddered. I was burning with unprecedented desire, every cell in my body awakened. Her skin was so soft and unblemished and she smelled like an exotic flower. I breathed her in, ran my thumb over her full lips, taking a moment to appreciate all that was before me.
Sugar and spice and all things nice.
I remember thinking, in that second, how women really were the best invention. Ever. God must have been particularly inspired on that extremely creative day.

I palmed her pussy with one hand and slipped a finger inside her. Her hot flesh was deliciously slick. “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you, Pearl Robinson?”

She said nothing, just whimpered and circled her hips. She was so ready to be fucked by me, but I’d make her wait. Make her beg for it.

“Ooh, chérie, so perfect, so wet,” I said, spinning her around so her ass was up against me. That peachy round ass that was doing things to my brain. I felt it press against my groin; my erection was screaming at me to fuck her, right there. Pound into her, hard. Push her down on the floor and fuck her senseless. But I needed to control myself. With one hand, I rolled her hardened nipple between my fingers, and with the other, I slipped my thumb inside her, with all my fingers cupping her mound, tautly. I had her, all of her, in my contained grip.

“So juicy, so designed for me,” I rumbled into the nape of her neck. I could feel the swell of her wet clit, hard and pulsating. So ready for me. I was driving her to distraction but I wanted her to be totally and utterly relaxed, so I said, “Let’s have some champagne, shall we?”

With my other hand I grabbed the champagne and flowers from where I’d set them on the hall table, earlier. I steered her forward while I walked behind her, my thumb still inside, her pussy all mine in my hand, while I simultaneously massaged her clit, her moisture hot on my fingers. I loved it. This woman was mine. All fucking mine. After a little while, I took my hand away, trailing a finger up her butt crack again, and letting my hand rest on the small of her back.

I said, “Come on. Champagne time. We need a drink. The flowers also need a drink.”

I was still fully dressed. She was nude, with only the pearls about her pretty neck. The whole scenario made me feel amused. And very in control. Pearl was utterly undone.

She spun around to face me. “Is this what you always do, Alexandre Chevalier?
Manhandle
women like this? You were holding me like a six-pack!”

“But you loved it,” I said, getting down on my knees. I whispered light kisses on her taut belly and flickered my tongue downwards. I could feel her quivering as I nuzzled my head in between her thighs. She gasped. I rested my tongue quietly on her clit and she pushed herself closer with a moan. I licked her in great sweeps and tasted her honeyed juices as I explored her wetness with my tongue. She tasted delicious, her sweet nectar making me so fucking hard it was almost painful. Hot. Welcoming.

“Sexy little pearlette,” I mumbled into her pussy, coining a new word that suited her perfectly; fucking her with my tongue, flicking it on and around her sensitive nub.
My Pearl and her little pearlette.
Pearl was groaning out loud. As for my part, this was giving me so much pleasure, I was literally about to come myself.

“Oh, God,” she murmured, fisting and clawing her hands in my mussed-up hair. “This feels incredible.”

But I taunted her again. Stopped what I was doing and led her to the kitchen. She got up onto a chair to retrieve some champagne glasses from a cupboard. They were vintage, crystal ones, the kind you didn’t often see anymore. She mentioned that they were a wedding present from her mother and I realized that,
oh shit
, I
was
fooling around with a married woman, after all. I decided that, as long as I didn’t actually penetrate her, I could get away with this.

My rule was,
Don’t fuck another guy’s girl,
not,
Don’t
play around
with another guy’s girl.

I made excuses for myself.

I liked having her up on that chair. She was vulnerable and couldn’t escape from me. She had the delicate glasses in her hands so her wrists were as good as bound, because she didn’t want the glasses to drop. I held her hips still so she couldn’t move. I began with her ass—what was it about that ass that had me so fucking mesmerized? The fact that it was round and firm? Maybe. Whatever…I was transfixed. And hard as a fucking diamond.