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

hands gripped my hair in a tight fist that bordered on painful. Good. She was no fragile flower. Because my need was so brutal right now I was likely to break her. I should take my time, I knew I should. But she’d been invading my mind and body for weeks, and my greed for her knew no bounds now that it was unleashed.

I left her breasts, sucking and biting and devouring her skin as I moved down. It would leave marks, and somehow, I wanted to. I shoved her legs apart, and she spread them wide. I boldly lifted one, pressing it back, opening her fully. My dick strained against the bedding and towel beneath me, urging me to rut with the bed just to get some relief. Especially as I inhaled the scent of her, lightly soapy from her shower laced with the faint musk of her arousal that glistened in her pink folds and on her tight little entrance.

My mouth watered, and lightening zipped down to my balls. I was in danger of coming too soon. I tried to slow myself down. I breathed her in and snuck my tongue out for a quick taste, licking up the seam of her.

She gasped and thrust her hips up. I did it again. Softly. Torturing us both, trying to slow my heart down that pounded so heavily she could probably feel the vibration through the bed. I began whispering things between each little taste. French things. Things I knew she couldn’t understand, and it made me feel free. Things about her body only, to remind myself this was just sex. I told her how gorgeous her pussy was. How pink. How perfect. How sweet. How wet. How she’d bewitched me. With my fingers, I spread her open, tasting deeper. Telling her how I couldn’t wait to be inside her. I tested her with my fingers, the burning heat closing over my skin. The sounds she made like last night in the club, sang through my senses. I closed my whole mouth over her, tongue probing, and ending with a deep suck on her clit.

She thrashed and her legs tensed. “Xavier,” she whimpered. “Please.”

I did it again, and again, honed in on that sweet spot with rhythmic persistence. Inside her, my finger pressed upward.

“God. Yes.” Her hands held my head, her body hardly moving it was coiled so tightly. “Right there. Please don’t stop.” She didn’t even breathe. It was like every single part of her stopped and coiled as I worked her.

She waited.

She strained.

And then she snapped. Her back arched, her hips bucked. I felt the shudder as it rolled down her body, and a cry tore through her and reverberated around the room. The sound slammed into my gut, imprinting itself on my memory. I took one last taste, her body quaking in an aftershock, then gave a small kiss to the little cut that had left a blood smear on her thigh. My hips were grinding into the bed. God. I needed her so bad.

Fuck. “I have no protection,” I gritted out. And it wouldn’t take long. There was no chance I’d be able to withdraw.

She pulled me up to her, hands running over my face, caressing me, running through my air. “I’m on the pill. I’m religious about it. I’m clean. I—are you?” Her eyes were warm, luminous, watery, questioning.

“It’s been more than two years—” the confession was out before I stopped myself. Fuck. I squeezed my eyes closed against the fleeting look that crossed her Josie’s flushed face. I didn’t need her pity. “Yes, I’m clean.” I gave the answer I should have before.

“Then come inside me,” she whispered, her thumb pad running over my closed eyelids. “No rules, remember?”

Jesus. I never did that. Never. But …

I couldn’t look at her. I didn’t want to. Didn’t want her to see something I didn’t want to show. Eyes still closed, I sought her lips, kissing her languidly, letting her taste herself on my tongue. Then I pushed upward on my arms, and slipping a hand under her back, roughly flipped her over to her belly.

She squeaked.

Now my eyes opened and I feasted on her. Her ass. I grabbed the soft skin. Pushed, kneaded. I dug my fingers into the skin and ran my hand up her spine and fisted it in her hair. “No rules. Two days. Just sex,” I said.

Her neck arched and she gasped.

I let her hair go and pulled her hips up. My cock was ready to yell at me. I closed my hand around the hard length and found her wetness, running my tip up and down. Readying it. “That’s all it can be.”

“I-I know.”

I notched my cock at her entrance and warred with my patience. My stomach clenched as I willed the wave of lust to recede just a bit. The boat rocked, and I slipped farther inside. I groaned and tried to stop myself. I wasn’t ready for it to be over, but she rocked back, taking more and letting out a soft cry.

I gritted my teeth, stopping myself from pressing in farther, hands digging into her hips. She was so tight. So hot. “God, I love your body,” I breathed, my eyes greedily taking in the view. As my gaze slipped up her back past her shoulder, it snagged on hers. Her face lay sideways, pressed to the pillow, cheek flushed, mouth slightly parted, eyes soft—watching me. Her fingers clutched the bedding, knuckles white.

“No rules,” she whispered. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

“Ah, fuck,” I breathed. “I know.” I slipped forward. “I know you do.” And she did. That was the most terrifying thing. I switched to French. “I’m worried I won’t be able to stop wanting you,” I admitted, knowing she couldn’t understand, and hissed as the feel of her enclosing the length of me swept up my body and down my legs. Pressure grew in the base of my spine. I gritted my teeth and withdrew, letting