Page 17 of Eat Slay Love

Chapter thirteen

French Laws of Possession

Fabien

Seconds later, we stepped into the hotel, and the lobby—with all its chandeliers and excess—barely registered with me.

The doormen nodded in respect.

The staff moved swiftly, but I barely saw any of it.

Rae walked beside me, unaware of the way she commanded the space.

We got to the elevator and entered.

It was an exquisite space—gold-paneled, spacious, the kind of luxury people killed for.

Yet it was empty of everything that mattered except her.

The doors closed, and I pressed the top button and then turned to Rae, gathering her into my arms. “Come here, mon amour .”

She gasped and then chuckled.

And my God. . .

Her scent.

Her warmth.

It all cracked my last bit of restraint.

I kissed her again.

Slow.

Deep.

Purposeful.

She moaned.

When I finally pulled back, her breath was uneven.

Sighing, I pressed my forehead to hers. “ J’adore tes lèvres. Parfaites, comme du velours. ”

“What does that mean?”

“I adore your lips. Perfect, like velvet.”

She shivered. “Say something else.”

A slow smile spread across my face. “ Tu es plus précieuse que l’or. Tu es la plus belle femme que j’ai jamais vue. ”

“And that?”

“You are more precious than gold. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

“So sexy.”

My cock rock-hard, pressed against the zipper of my slacks, throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

Once the elevator finally glided to a stop, I placed a final kiss to her lips before the doors slide open.

Thank God. I almost fucked her in the elevator.

I took her hand and guided her toward my suite.

The door unlocked with a quiet beep, and we stepped inside.

The wealth of the space was all there—shimmering chandelier, soft lighting, luxury linens, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a glittery Manhattan.

Yet, none of it mattered.

Only Rae.

Is she ready for what’s about to happen?

I grabbed her hand, pulling her deeper into my suite without hesitation.

The second the door shut behind us, I had Rae against the wall, my hands on her hips, my body caging hers in. “Do you know how fucking hard it was to stop myself from slamming my cock into you, when we were in the car?”

“Your tongue was. . .everything.”

I exhaled sharply, trying to think, trying to remind myself that this was our first night together, that I should take my time with her.

But patience was a thin, frayed thread now, stretched to its limit.

“But, I wanted to do this right.” I licked my lips. “Because you’re not some quick fuck in the back of a car. You’re a goddamn meal. And I want to feast. ”

“Fabien, you can feast all you want to.”

And that was that.

I had that fur off her so fast, she gasped.

It fell to the floor with my coat.

Then, I grabbed the front of her shimmering pink gown and pulled it down in one very rough motion, exposing her.

Mon dieu.

Her breasts.

Full .

Heavy.

Perfect.

Mine.

I had always considered myself a man of refined tastes, drawn to the finer things in life—art, luxury, a perfect meal, a well-aged wine.

But this?

This was something beyond indulgence.

Her H-cup breasts, full and luscious, spilled from the delicate pink lace of her bra, the intricate embroidery barely containing the sheer magnificence of her curves.

My cock throbbed painfully at the sight, stiffening so hard it nearly made me dizzy.

The biggest.

The most beautiful.

I had never seen, never touched, never even imagined anything like them.

And now that I had her in front of me, standing there with that rich dark brown skin wrapped in silk and lace, those breasts plush and heavy, the dusky peaks teasing me through the lace—I would never let them go.

My jaw tightened as I fought the primal, animalistic urge to claim them with my mouth, my hands, my tongue—all at once.

I reached out, almost reverent, tracing my fingers along the scalloped lace, feeling the decadent weight of her breasts beneath my touch.

Soft.

So impossibly soft, yet so firm, so full, as if they had been sculpted for the sole purpose of filling my hands, my mouth, my obsession.

" Mon amour . . ." My voice came out low, guttural, thick with pure, unfiltered desire.

She shifted as if she could feel the madness she had ignited in me.

I cupped them fully, both hands barely able to contain the sheer, overwhelming size of her.

My thumbs dragged over the lace-covered peaks, feeling the way she trembled under my touch.

Perfect.

Fucking perfect.

I wanted everything.

To peel the lace away with my teeth.

To press my tongue against the deep valley between them, kissing, tasting, marking.

To bury my face in them, to savor their warmth, their weight, the way they spilled over my hands like a feast made for a starving man.

I growled, squeezing just enough to make her gasp.

"You were made for this, chérie ." My lips curled into a smirk, and my thumbs flicked against her nipples.

She let out the softest moan, and fuck, I nearly lost it.

The things I plan to do with these.

I could already see it.

A future moment, a night where I would take my time, strip her bare, and watch those perfect, big soft mounds bounce as she rode me.

Or better yet, I would have her on her back. Her lips parted, her big, dark brown eyes looking up at me with that delicious mixture of surrender and mischief, her breasts pressed together, forming the most perfect, tight, wet heat.

I could see myself there, kneeling before her, guiding my cock between those breasts, slick with oil, or perhaps the mess we had already made.

My hands would slide under the heavy curves, pressing them together, trapping me in their warmth.

I would thrust between those breasts, slow at first, letting her feel every thick inch of my cock dragging along her skin, teasing the sensitive peaks, watching as her dark nipples hardened from the friction.

She would moan for me, that pretty mouth open, her tongue flicking out just barely as if she knew exactly how to drive me insane.

My pace would quicken, my breath ragged, the sound of wet, obscene pleasure filling the space around us.

My cock would glide between them, hot, swollen, desperate, the tip brushing against her lips each time I thrust forward.

And then—that final moment.

When I would growl her name, fists tightening around her breasts, body locking up as hot, thick ropes of white cum spilled onto her throat, her chin, her beautiful, flushed cheeks.

FUCK!!!

Pre-cum spilled into my pants.

I exhaled sharply, forcing myself back to the present, to the way she shivered under my hands, completely unaware of how close I was to losing it right here, right now.

Not yet.

But soon.

And when I finally had her like that, she wouldn’t just feel worshiped.

She would feel owned.

Groaning, I leaned down toward her breasts and let my mouth hover over the lace, inhaling the sweet, intoxicating scent of her skin.

"Tell me. . .has any man ever truly worshipped these?"

Her breath caught. "No."

A dark, wicked satisfaction burned through me. "Then let me be the first. And the last."

And with that, I lowered my head, sinking into pure heaven.

My cock twitched violently against my slacks, demanding to be freed, but I needed to taste her first.

I needed my mouth on her breasts again.

I couldn’t wait another second.

The lace had to go.

It was an insult to her beauty, to my hunger, to the worship she was about to receive.

I slipped my fingers under the delicate straps and yanked them down her arms, making her gasp.

My other hand slid to her back, fumbling with the clasp for only a moment before I tore it apart, the small hooks snapping under the force of my need.

And then—perfection.

Her full, heavy breasts spilled free, dark, aching nipples pebbled tight from hungered desire, begging for my mouth.

My cock pulsed, the sight of her so devastating that another drop of pre-cum smeared against my boxer briefs, thick and hot.

I let out a slow, guttural groan.

She was going to ruin me.

I traced my fingers down the soft, supple curve of her breasts, spreading my hands over them, reveling in their sheer size, the way they molded to my palms.

Too big to let go.

Too fucking perfect to ever let another man lay eyes on them again.

“You are a masterpiece, chérie .” My voice was thick, hoarse, and wrecked.

She shuddered.

I took my time, rubbing slow, teasing circles over her nipples, feeling the way they hardened further beneath my touch.

A soft moan left her.

“You like that?”

“Y-yes.”

“Mmmm.” I rolled those nipples between my fingers, pinching just enough to make her moan. “I can do this for the rest of my life.

She whimpered, “Fabien.”

I tightened my grip, twisting just a little, watching as her lips parted, her body arching toward me, her thighs pressing together.

My cock twitched.

I flicked one nipple, then the other, my hands alternating between slow, lazy caresses and rough, possessive tugs.

“Shit.” She was losing it.

Her hands flew to my suit jacket, tugging at the fabric, desperate.

Smirking, I leaned in, letting my hot breath drag over the sensitive peaks before finally flicking my tongue over one tight bud.

She gasped and dug her nails into my shoulders.

I licked the nipple—slow and teasing—circling the peak before closing my lips around it.

And then I sucked.

Hard.

Her body jerked, her head falling back against the wall. “Oh, fuck.”

That was what I wanted.

I flicked my tongue against the bud while I sucked, alternating between gentle and firm, feeling the way her body melted into me.

Then, I released her nipple with a slow pop and moved to the other, giving it the same thorough, sinful attention.

My tongue swirled, my teeth grazing just slightly before I sucked her nipple deep into my mouth.

“Oh my God.” She whimpered, her hips shifting, searching for friction.

My cock pulsed.

And then to my shock, her hands were on my cock.

Oh yes.