Page 14 of Eat Slay Love

Chapter eleven

The Art of Worship

Fabien

In France, we have a saying— l’instant décisif —the decisive moment.

It is the moment where it all matters, where fate balances on the edge of a blade, where time slows, and you either seize the opportunity or watch it slip through your fingers.

Henri Cartier-Bresson, a French photographer, coined the phrase, believing that in every story, in every life, there is one moment that shapes everything after it.

A single second where everything aligns—light, emotion, motion—and if you capture it, you own something timeless.

I never thought I would have a moment like that.

Not in my line of work.

Not in my life.

Yet tonight, this is my moment.

And what’s more unbelievable. . .it refuses to end.

Because I have stumbled upon a goddess.

An American goddess with dark brown eyes that threaten to unravel me, full lips I could worship for years, and curves that could have toppled kingdoms in centuries past.

And what do the men in this country do with such a woman?

They let her roam free.

Unclaimed.

Unworshipped.

Ridiculous.

In France, she wouldn’t have lasted a week in celibacy.

Not untouched.

Not sleeping alone.

In fact, if I had met her in Paris, I would have had her pressed against my sheets before she could even finish her glass of wine.

Well. . .I have her now, and I’ll make up for lost time.

My cock was aching, throbbing in my slacks like a beast caged too long, desperate to break free.

My self-control—the careful restraint I prided myself on—had been unraveling by the second, and now, with her in my arms, her scent thick in my lungs, the taste of her still on my tongue—I was losing it.

The way she touched my cock while I was kissing her—I nearly lost my fucking mind.

If it had been any other night, if I weren’t trying to pace myself, I would have had her bent over the seat, pulled her panties to the side, and buried my cock deep inside her pussy, fucking her until she forgot how to say her own name.

And the way she moaned when I kissed her?

Like she was already picturing it.

A dark groan left me.

She turned to me, looking all innocent like she didn’t know what was going on in my mind.

I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through my hair.

My jaw went tight with restraint.

I had tried— fuck , I had tried —to be a gentleman, to take my time, to give her the slow seduction she deserved.

But now?

Now that my cock was aching, throbbing against my slacks with every needy pulse of her body against mine?

Now, I couldn’t help it.

I brushed my lips against her ear. " Désolé, ma belle, mais je ne peux plus me retenir. "

She licked her lips. “What did you say?”

“Sorry, my beautiful, but I can’t hold back anymore.”

“Maybe, I don’t want you to hold back.”

My hand tightened on her thigh, sliding higher. “I was trying to be good for you. But now that I’m this fucking hard, I don’t think the words coming out of my mouth will be particularly gentlemanly.”

I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze—searching for hesitation, for doubt—only to find fire.

She smirked. “Bring it on.”

I breathed her in. “First, I should give you some form of a disclaimer.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.”

“And what is the disclaimer?”

“I want to fuck you senseless. I want to wreck you.”

She blinked.

“And unfortunately. . .my cock doesn’t know what compromise means.”

“Mmmm.”

“There will be no half-measures once I’m deep inside your pussy.”

She shivered against me. “Fuck.”

I groaned, watching the way she clenched her thighs, her body already reacting to my words.

The city lights flickered through the car, painting golden patterns over her dark brown skin, illuminating every dip, every curve.

She was a masterpiece in motion—glowing, breathless, soon to be mine.

I dragged the backs of my fingers down her arm, watching the way goosebumps rose in my wake. “Do you like it when a man takes his time with you?”

“That depends.”

I raised a brow. “On what?”

She licked her lips. “On whether or not he knows what he’s doing.”

A growl of challenge rumbled deep in my chest.

“Oh, I know what I’m doing, chérie .” I leaned closer, my breath hot against her ear. “I know how to take my time. How to spread you open, how to taste you until you lose your mind.”

A soft gasp slipped from her lips, and my cock jerked painfully against my zipper.

“You like that, don’t you?” I murmured, dragging my fingers along the curve of her hip, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. “You like knowing that I’m going to devour you. That I’m going to lick you so slow, so deep, you’ll be trembling before I even fuck you.”

Her head tipped back against the seat, her big, beautiful breasts rose and fell with her shallow breaths. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I like that.”

A wicked grin spread across my face. “Do you like your pussy licked?”

She moaned.

I didn’t mean to, but my voice shifted to a deep, possessive rumble. “Answer me.”

She swallowed hard. “ Yes. ”

I traced my knuckles over her jaw, tilting her chin toward me so I could watch the way her lips parted, the way her lashes fluttered. “I can’t wait to lick your pussy.”

A whimper escaped her throat, and my cock throbbed violently.

“Because I plan to make you purr, chérie . Just the way you deserve.”

She exhaled a shuddering breath.

Fuck.

I was losing it.

My body blazed with lust. “Are you sensitive to touch?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That means you’ll cum easy for me. Therefore, I plan to make you cum a lot tonight.”

She widened her eyes.

I growled, grabbing her wrist, bringing it over to me, and pressing her fingers against my cock. “Do you feel how hard I am for you?”

“God yes.”

I groaned, grinding against her palm, desperate for any relief.

She moaned, and curled her fingers around my length through my slacks. “So fucking big.”

I chuckled darkly. “Mmm. And you’re going to take every inch, aren’t you, chérie ?”

That bottom lip quivered. “Yes.”

I exhaled sharply, barely holding myself together. “Tonight. . .I’m going to make you cum on my tongue first. Next will be my cock. Then, after that. . .we’ll get creative.”

I hope to God she isn’t planning on getting any sleep tonight. Even more important. How much time do we have RIGHT NOW?

I glanced out the window.

Lots of traffic. Perfect.

This Valentine’s evening, the streets of Manhattan were decently congested—a mess of glowing lights and impatient horns.

It would take time to reach the hotel.

I smirked.

Perfect.

Unable to help myself, I moved my hand down to her gown and slipped my fingers beneath the shimmering pink fabric, feeling the heat of her body before I even touched her.

She parted her thighs for me, slow, hesitant at first, but when my fingers brushed against her skin, a soft shudder ran through her, and she spread them wider.

Mon dieu.

I swallowed hard, taking my time, savoring the feel of her—soft, thick, perfect thighs. My fingers traced along the plush curve of her inner thigh, reveling in the warmth, the way her body seemed made for touch.

For worship.

And how fucking dare any man ever make her feel otherwise?

Her ex-husband.

The imbécile who had broken something sacred inside her, who had taken one of the most beautiful, sensual women I had ever laid eyes on and made her question her worth.

The thought made my jaw clench, my fingers pausing against her skin.

I wished I could find that misérable batard and beat him until he understood what he had done.

Until he understood that he had never deserved a woman like her.

He had spoken down to her.

He had made her question her body.

Her beauty.

Her power.

And I wanted so badly to tell Rae how much of an idiot he had been.

I wanted her to hear it from my mouth, from my soul—that there was not one fucking thing wrong with her.

She was everything.

And I would show her.

I exhaled slowly, loosening my jaw, forcing my focus back where it belonged—on her.

On the way she shifted under my touch, her thighs parting further, giving herself to me piece by piece.

I dragged my fingers higher, tracing the delicate lace of her panties .

She gasped, her thighs parting instinctively.

It was a silent invitation.

Delirious with lust, I traced the edge of her panties with my fingertips, teasing her, feeling the damp heat already soaking through the lace.

Mon dieu.

She was wet.

Soaked.

Dripping.

My cock throbbed at the realization that she had been sitting here, in this car, getting wetter for me with every suck of her nipple, with every filthy word I whispered into her ear.

I leaned in, pressing my lips to her temple, my voice dark and full of promise. “You’re already dripping for me.”

“How could I not?” She let out a shaky breath. Soon she gripped my wrist with her hand, but she didn’t stop me.

No.

She only held on—like she knew she was about to fall.

I leaned forward and brushed my lips against her ear. “You are divine.”

Her breath hitched.

I whispered, “You know that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

I slid my hand higher, my grip firm, possessive. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

Her body trembled.

I pressed my mouth to her jaw, tracing kisses down the column of her throat as I slid my fingers lower, pushing the panty’s lace to the side.

And there she was.

Soft.

Slick.

So fucking ready for me.

I groaned, dragging my fingers through the heat of her folds, gathering her arousal and circling her clit, slow, deliberate.

She whimpered.

My gorgeous, wet, fucking perfect woman.

My breath was hot against her skin. “Look how you open for me.”

She whimpered.

Her thighs shook as my fingers brushed against her slick pussy folds.

“Do you feel that?” I whispered against her throat, sliding my fingers through her wetness and spreading the moisture along her clit. “That’s how badly you need me.”

She moaned, and her hips shifted toward my touch, desperate for more.

I smirked against her skin, slipping one thick finger inside her pussy, slow, deep.

She gasped, and her hands flew to my arm, clutching, holding on.

I stilled.