Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance by Natasha Boyd (books like beach read txt) 📕

look into his eyes and see what I wanted to imagine. That this wasn’t just his base human need, but something deeper. He slid his finger out and then back in, his palm flattened and rubbing and oh, so good.

A wave of aching pleasure rolled through me as he did it again. And again. And each time I thought, I’ll stop this now.

He watched my face.

And I watched him right back.

His eyes grew glassy, his lips parted, and his nostrils flared slightly.

Then I answered him. Not in words. No, I didn’t want to stop. My hands fumbled at his shorts. Urgent. When had I decided? Who was I kidding? There was never a question I’d stop. I wanted one more piece of him, even though it would be leaving another piece of my soul behind.

“Oui,” he rasped, and he withdrew his hand from between my legs, helping to shove down his shorts. In moments, he’d lifted me and my legs were wrapped around him. The stone wall bit into my shoulders. It hurt. It distracted from the pain in my chest. And the ache of needing him inside me was stronger. My heart pounded and my eyes burned with unshed tears.

He was hard and silky between my legs, close, but not quite there. The hand wrapped around my waist held me still while his other shoved between the tight fit between our bodies and took his length. He rubbed the tip of his cock through my wetness, sliding along my slit, and then he was there. Poised.

We stilled. My head dropped back carefully against the stone. His eyes glittered back at me in the dark. “Joséphine,” he whispered. And then he shoved forward, and his length filled me, stretched me, completed me.

I cried out.

My back burned against the stone, but the fire between us was stronger. And the pain in my heart screamed, “Yes! You see, you cannot let him go.” I’d wanted a final goodbye, and now I wondered how I could be so crazy to let him so close to my heart again.

“Xavier,” I whimpered. My legs tightened around his waist. My arms clutched him close.

“Oui, that’s it,” he grunted the words, his face now against my neck, his breath hot.

He thrust again, long and hard. Then faster. Each time I thought I’d die of the pleasure.

“Xavier,” I begged, deep and guttural, as the beginnings of my climax clawed its way along my spine and spread out in a sharp burning wave through my body. I thrust back, every movement pain and pleasure. I held his head, his hair, his shoulders.

His body pounded into mine. Unintelligible French words came groaning and streaming from his mouth against my skin. Every one of them choked through grunting need and staccato breaths.

We shouldn’t have let this happen, but it was too late. Both of us had been taken by a tsunami of raw desperation. We didn’t stand a chance. His words, though I couldn’t understand them, grew harsh, begging, angry.

This wasn’t making love. No, this was fighting it.

We were fighting, both of us. Fighting against our hearts being blown apart.

And then everything pulsing through me coalesced—the ache, the need, the want, the fire, the pain, the love. My straining body bowed and snapped taut. My head crashed back against the wall and I stared upward. Stars were strewn across the black sky above me, and it was as though I flew up and out of my body, joining them.

I was still as Xavier followed soon after, like he’d been waiting. His body gave a final, brutal thrust and froze. The sound of a man in pain came from deep inside his chest.

Our breathing was loud in the silence, sawing in and out. The world around came back, soft distant music that had been playing out of the speakers on the patio. The sound of cicadas and the rustling of the wind across the fields. From the distance came the faint tinny tinkle of a cow bell.

My cheeks were wet and cold. My shoulders suddenly screamed with fire, and I gasped with it.

Xavier slipped from my body, and I winced as the jostle moved my back. Everything inside and out ached and burned. He seemed to sense my distress, and after tucking himself away, he knelt and grabbed my underwear, gently using the fabric to clean me. He tucked them into my jean shorts pocket, and then carefully directing my feet to step into the shorts, he pulled them up. He kissed my thigh and looked up at me.

I didn’t realize how much I was crying until a splash of water hit his cheek. He wiped it off with his fingertips and brought them to his mouth. His hand took mine and tugged, bringing me down. My legs buckled and he moved so he was cradling me in his lap, turning his own back against the rough stone.

As if that alerted him, he pushed me forward and looked at my shoulders. “Dieu,” he hissed, his voice rumbly with shock. “I cannot see in this light, but I have injured you. I’m so sorry. Are you in pain?”

It was nothing to what was hurting inside my chest. Instead of answering, I nestled closer to him and he held me close, careful not to squeeze too hard. I pressed my cheek against the pounding in his chest.

His mouth moved in my hair, kissing me softly.

The night sounds around us stretched out, keeping us cloaked and safe.

“Stay,” he said suddenly. His voice was quiet.

I stilled my breath. Shocked. I’d expected him to withdraw emotionally.

“Please. Forget everything I said and stay with us.” He swallowed, the sound audible against my cheek. “Stay with me.”

“I can’t.” I turned in his arms, raising my face to meet his. “Because you don’t mean it.”

He gazed down at me. “I thought you said I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean."

“I guess you learned. Nothing has changed,” I said and waited for him to refute it. “I need to return to