Page 32 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

HOLD THE TUNA

Hazel

I lean against the railing, the summer breeze fluttering my hair, the boat slowly curling along the Seine. “And to think I was going to spend the day in the vineyards,” I say with a contented sigh as I drink in the view.

We’re motoring toward Notre Dame, passing under a bridge, the cathedral in the distance.

He lifts a brow in a question, and I answer, “My current book. He owns several vineyards.”

“Please tell me they fuck among the sweet raccoon wine grapes.”

“The barrels, babe. He bends her over the barrels. You just can’t hold on to vines with the way he fucks her.”

Axel doffs an imaginary top hat. “You win.”

“Oh, were we playing?” I rub my palms. “I don’t think you misused a word, but hey, I’ll happily take another lunch.”

And I would love it. Truly, I want another lunch with Axel. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow too.

“I meant you win for the new game. We’re playing…devise dirty scene scenarios on the fly,” he says.

“And you let me win already?” I ask, offended, utterly offended, he’d give in so easily. So offended I slug his shoulder. Maybe to touch him a little more.

“Fine. You don’t win. I take it back.” Then boom, he says, all rat-a-tat-tat, “A rooftop garden. He bends her over the railing.” Axel points to a pretty building on the Left Bank, wrought-iron balconies hugging the windows.

My turn. “In the Rodin Museum. Behind The Thinker. A fingerbang.”

He gives an approving nod, then tips his forehead toward the Left Bank too. “The Tuileries. At night. Behind the flower bushes. She sucks him off.”

“That would work in a public park, so points for realism,” I say. He smiles devilishly, and I toss him another one. “At a brasserie in the Latin Quarter. Under the table.”

Axel furrows his brow. “We already listed a fingerbang.”

My lips curve up. “This time…” I pause, slide closer, then tiptoe my fingers down his shirt. “…she fingers herself while they wait for the salade nicoise , hold the tuna. She’s quiet, concentrating fiercely, and he watches her every move with avid eyes.” I say, painting a delicious scenario.

Axel’s irises flicker with sudden heat, a burner turned to high.

“She lets him lick it off when she’s finished,” I continue.

He swallows, breathes out hard. He looks like he can barely speak. It’s a good look. Then he rasps out, “What are you doing for lunch?”

“I think you’re taking me out,” I say.

“You definitely won.”

“It was the hold the tuna bit, right?”

He laughs, then drops a quick, possessive kiss to my lips. “It was definitely for the hold the tuna bit.”

At lunch, I’m feeling as risqué as expected. But also safe, as a red tablecloth hangs low enough to cover my lap, both the corner and the cloth giving us some privacy.

Only some.

But I don’t need much.

In two minutes, I’m close, so close I’m pursing my lips, swallowing my moans. Axel’s fingers roam up and down the back of my neck, and his soft, feathery touch is nearly as erotic as my fingers tripping the light fantastic.

“Don’t say a word, baby,” he commands, low and powerful.

I rein in a whimper as pleasure whips through me, fast and fierce.

“You dirty fucking woman,” he praises me.

I tense as that familiar, electric pull pulses through me. I’m almost there.

“Bet you look maddeningly sexy when you come in public,” he whispers, and that does it.

I’m there, cresting, crashing, coming.

And I can barely hold back.

Right when I think I’m going to embarrass myself in public with a loud cry of pleasure, his lips slam onto mine, and he swallows my sounds.

When he ends it, he utters one word: “Mine.”

I shudder.

I don’t know if he’s claiming ownership of me or my climax, but right now, he can have both.

He reaches for my hand and licks my fingers, staring hotly at me with each deliberate suck. Then he lets go. “I won too.”

What a game indeed.

The server swings by. “Your salad nicoise. Hold the tuna.”

A little later, we walk along the Seine, this time admiring the river cruises from the banks.

“Admit it,” I say. “Brooks is going to make out with some gorgeous beauty on a boat, and then he’ll save her.”

I tell him what I pictured a few hours ago in my room. His eyes blaze with amusement. “I have one question for you. Did you come up with that scenario so I’d kiss you on a boat?”

Busted and I love it. “Maybe I did,” I say, feeling daring. Maybe the fingerbang gave me courage to say the things that have been welling up in my chest. “I wanted to see you on the boat.”

I say it without guile. Without teasing. Only truth.

His smile grows bigger. He seems happier in ways I’ve never seen before. I’m happy too.

He glances around, gesturing to the water, then the land where we are. “But we’re not on a boat now, Hazel,” he says.

I exaggerate a sigh. “Such a shame.”

He steps closer, getting in my space. “Ask for it,” he says in a low but demanding tone. A hero’s voice.

“Kiss me,” I say, eager for more of him.

He inches closer, cups my cheek, then brushes his lips against mine. It’s better than the kiss I imagined in my room. Maybe because there’s no hitman hellbent on killing me. But mostly because I like kissing Axel so much.

I like talking to him.

I like spending time with him.

I want to sleep with him, and I want to fall asleep with him.

When he stops kissing me, I ask, “Want to sleep in my room tonight?”

His smile is both genuine and soft when he says yes.