LA PETITE MORT

LEVI

I’m fucking ravenous when my hands are too sore to continue. I glance at Brie. Her cheeks are flushed, sweat beads on her brow, and when her eyes meet mine, her lips part, and she exhales as she smiles, spent. I can last all damn night, but I’m not a natural piano player, and I sure as hell ain’t Zed—who masters any instrument he picks up in a matter of seconds. I’ve played piano since I was seventeen, but not well, and not since my days at the institute.

Brie stands and sets her cello into the hardcase she ordered. It makes sense that her instrument would be high maintenance. They make a great pair.

“Three songs in one day, that’s not bad.” I shake out my fingers, stand, and stretch. Her hungry eyes track my movements.

“You are very talented with lyrics.”

“I’m very talented with many things.”

She folds her arms across her chest. It gives me a much better view of her tits. “Really?”

“Uh-huh, there’s my hands—for one—my mouth, my tongue, my cock. Hell, I bet I could even find a use for my feet.”

She laughs. “Oh my God, there is something wrong with you.”

“Yeah, it’s called withdrawal.”

I head out of the room and Brie follows. “Deprivation from what?

“From pussy. What else?”

“Oh.” She teases by pouting her lower lip, but her eyes are hard and mocking. “I guess you are king of pussy no longer then, non?”

I grab her arm and yank her to me, spinning us so her back is to the wall. My hand digs in to the supple flesh of her hip. The other grasps her wrist above her head. I lean in, so my face is just inches from hers. “Don’t toy with me, kitten.”

She raises her chin defiantly and whispers, “Meow.”

I glance at her lips, wonder what they’d look like wrapped around my cock. And then Dog barrels into us. Jumping up and pushing into the space between our legs, driving us apart.

“Monsieur, Mademoiselle, lunch is ...” Margaux trails off as she reaches the top of the staircase and her gaze zeros in on us. “Excusez-moi. It is not important. I come back later. Dog, come here,” she hisses. The furry little cock blocker’s ears prick up, but as usual, he disobeys. “Viens ici maintenant! I will cook you up for supper.”

The idiot mutt just stares at her.

“He seems awfully fond of you,” I say, watching the way Dog glances between us, his head bent low as he whines.

“Just because I feed him, monsieur.”

“Right,” I say, but you could choke a horse with the sarcasm in my voice. I grab his collar and attempt to remove him from between us. He whines and struggles against me, burying his nose in Brie’s skirt. Apparently, I’m not the only one fond of pussy.

“Come, Dog,” she says, as she slides out of my grasp and walks towards the staircase. I have no idea if she’s addressing me, or my mutt, but we both follow.

In the kitchen, Margaux has laid out wine, several different cheeses and cold meats, and a baguette. I snatch up a chunk of crusty bread; it’s hard, not soft and fluffy like at home. It doesn’t melt in your mouth, but I’m pretty sure there’s a Brie in my kitchen that I could pair it with who’d melt just fine. Assuming my dog doesn’t cock block me again.

Margaux slaps my hand away as I reach for the brie—the cheese, not the woman—and mutters something in French that I’m fairly certain is the equivalent of calling me a pig, because it sounds exactly like pork without the “K”.

Angry French Girl laughs. “ Oui, c'est un très beau cochon.”

“Oui, mademoiselle. Si beau.” Margaux gives one of her belly shaking chuckles, and I glare. Why the hell did I pick France of all places to get lost in? Not that the view isn’t stunning, I note, as Brie leans across the island to grab a slice of bread, her cleavage on display. Fuck. Now I’m hard.

“You wanna get out of here?” I blurt, and both women turn to look at me. “I mean, after we eat.”

“Don’t you have the entire world looking for you, Monsieur Rock Star?”

“Fuck the world,” I say, taking a gulp of wine.

A smile plays on her lips. “Where would we go?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. That’s the beauty of it.”

She raises her brow in challenge, as if she isn’t sure whether to take me seriously. I’m not sure either. I don’t even know where that came from. “Okay.”

Wait. “Okay you’ll come?”

“Oui.” She shrugs.

“Oui.” I nod. Yes! Fuck yes. And if I have any say in the matter, she’s gonna come all fucking night.

***

“I don’t know” turns out to be a vineyard just outside of Nimes, a three-hour drive from my chateau. I pull the repaired and technically-now-mine—thanks to a lengthy and expensive conversation with the rental company—Ferrari 458 Spider into the lot and look at Brie. Her long chocolate hair stands up in all directions thanks to me driving with the top down and the wind that whipped it all around us no matter how she tried to tame it back with a braid. It’s perfect. She’s perfect. And though I haven’t had a drink since lunch, I feel a little buzzed as the afternoon sun beats down on us. Buzzed and thirsty, and like I want to fuck.

“That was some drive,” she says, finally smoothing her hair down in the mirror. I wanna grab her hands and beg her not too, but I climb out of the car instead, so I won’t look like such a fucking creeper.

“Yeah, I need a drink.”

“I’m beginning to wonder why you don’t just have it inserted into your arm via an intravenous injection.”

“You think they do that here?”

She laughs and climbs out of the car. “Come, mon petit alcoolique, we will get you your precious liquor. Though I doubt they have whisky here.”

“Mon petit means little, right?”

“My little, oui.”

“That’s funny.”

“What is?” She turns, folding her arms against her chest. I’m beginning to think it’s not a defence mechanism, and that she just likes to push her tits up and watch me drool like a fucking puppy over a new chew toy.

“Well, you remember that time that I had a casting of my cock at the house, don’t you? And then there was the day I caught you watching my sex tape.”

“What is your point, Levi?”

“My point ...” I say, stepping closer and getting all up in her personal space. She glances up at me with those big doe eyes. I tuck a wayward hair back behind her ear and her lips part as I lean in and whisper, “Is that you know full well that there’s nothing petit about me.”

Her breath is shaky as it rushes from her lungs. I step back with a smirk and a challenge in my gaze. “Now, are you coming or not?”

***

“We are drunk,” Brie says, leaning her head on my shoulder as we sit at the bar. “I have not been drunk for a very long time.”

I don’t know how many wines we’ve had but we’ve tasted them all, walked the vineyards until dusk, had a little dinner, and finished off several bottles since revisiting the bar.

“You are drunk. I, on the other hand, am not buzzed, not even a little bit,” I lie, because one of us has to be the responsible adult here.

“Give me your keys. I cannot allow you to drink like this. I mean ... drive.”

I chuckle. “I am fine. I can drink and drive like a fucking pro.”

“Yes, and that is why your very expensive rental car ended up parked inside your house,” Brie slurs. She’s cute when she’s drunk—unguarded—as if she removed the stick from her arse.

“It wasn’t my house, it was my gate. And you need to quit talking to Margaux so much.” I finish off my wine and attempt to set the glass back on the bar. It takes a bit to locate the right bar through my merlot-coloured glasses because there’s more than one. Brie grabs hold of my wrist and steers it in the right direction.

“You are too drunk to drive, and I am not getting in the car with you. Also, you are not allowed to leave me here.”

“So, what the hell are we supposed to do?”

“We spend the night.”

I swivel on my stool to face her. “Together?”

“Non. Not together. Séparement. Different rooms.”

“Fucking killjoy.”

I slide my credit card over the bar and the waiter swipes it and hands it back to me along with the case of wine I apparently purchased. It’s heavy, and I’m way too drunk to be trusted with several glass bottles all at once, but I man up as we walk up the narrow path to the office.

Once inside, I set the case of wine on the counter and declare, “Your finest room, Gaston.”

“It’s garcon, you idiot, and it means boy,” Brie says, shaking her head. “Gaston is a made-up character in a Disney film.”

“Oh shit, sorry. I don’t speak French.” The man looks at me with a raised brow and Brie covers my mouth to keep me from speaking.

“Un touriste typique. Il ne parle pas grand-chose, sauf stupide,” she replies in her usual rapid-fire French. I understood tourist and I’m pretty sure she called me stupid in there somewhere too. They both laugh. He looks at her. Really looks at her, and I have to fight the urge to beat his fucking head in because it seems the French just have this way of studying a woman as if she’s a delicacy. And yeah, okay, she might just be that, but if she’s not fucking me, she’s definitely not fucking this dickhead. Right? Except, she smiles back, and I don’t like the looks they’re exchanging.

“Comment puis-je vous servir, mademoiselle?”

I frown at Brie, “Did he just ask if he could service you?”

She rolls her eyes and gives me a look that pretty much says. “The adults are talking now,” before turning back to the jackarse behind the counter. “We need a room.”

“Juste une?”

“Deux.”

He taps away at his keyboard and frowns. “Je crains qu'il ne nous reste plus qu'une seule chambre pour la nuit.”

“Of course you do.” Brie sighs. “Fine, we’ll take it.”

“And we need your finest champagne brought to the room. Two bottles. And strawberries, with chocolate,” I say, because this guy is really pissing me off with the way he checks out Brie’s cleavage as I hand over my card to pay for the room and she signs the paperwork.

“Of course, monsieur.” The man takes the paperwork from Brie,

“Putain de rock stars,” Brie mumbles as she heads out of the office. I snatch the room key from the attendant, pick up my box of wine, and follow her out. The path to the cottages is dimly lit, and despite Angry French Girl and Flirty Desk Clerk, my buzz hasn’t died yet. I haven’t felt this fucking Zen in a long time. Long before Ali, long before Taint ever stepped out of the Ryan’s family garage. Funny that I should be feeling Zen now while the evil harpy at my side calls me names and drains my bank account dry.

Brie glares at me. “What?”

“Nothing. Just, I like France.”

She rolls her eyes and snatches the room card off the top of my precious cargo. “Everyone likes France. You’d have to be British or dead to not like France.”

“You know what else I like?” I glance up at the rolling clouds blotting out the stars overhead.

“Non. But I am certain you are about to tell me.”

“I like you. Even though you’re angry, and French, and kind of stuck up.”

“I am not stuck up. And what is wrong with being French?” The sky opens up, a deluge, a cleansing, and she shrieks, but I simply stand there and tilt my head up to it. Cold, fat drops spatter my face, drip into my eyes, and land on my tongue. Brie covers her hair with her hands, not that it does her any good. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I shout over the torrent. It’s soaking us through now. The button up she has tied over her dress sticks to her skin, and her mascara runs. I want to kiss her, but I don’t because she tilts her face up to the sky and laughs.

The box in my hands is heavy as hell, and it’s getting wetter by the second, which means it will likely start falling apart soon, but I don’t dare fucking move because I’ve never seen her free like this. I doubt she’s ever been free, not like this. She wipes the water from her eyes, smearing mascara onto her cheeks. I wanna rub it off. I wanna touch her, but I’m carrying a box of wine, and when she finally looks at me, her laughter dies away.

She’s shaking now, because spring is even slower to start here than at my chateau, and the rain is freezing. Her hair is plastered to her head, her clothes glued to her body and her nipples stick out against the wet fabric, and from the way she looks at me—a combination of awkwardness, trepidation, and lust—I’d be willing to bet her clothing isn’t the only thing that’s soaked.

“We should go inside,” she shouts over the rain.

“We should.” I nod, but neither of us move. Cold droplets pat down all around us, freezing, but she just stares, and I stare, and it’s as fucking weird as it is awesome.

“I like you too,” she says finally, blurting it out all at once, as if she was daring herself to do so. “Even though you make me want to strangle you. Even though you’re brash, and rude, obnoxious when you’re drunk—and you’re always drunk—you’re completely inappropriate ninety-nine per cent of the time, and you stare at me as if I’m wearing nothing, and I’m yours to look at ... I like you too.”

I don’t know what the hell to make of any of that, except that Brie wants me, but she turns on her heel and slowly walks away, and I have no choice but to follow. 

She slides the key into the lock and pushes into the room. It’s small, cosy, and most importantly, it’s dry. There’s a medium sized bed—all the beds are small in France—and two big winged-backed chairs in front of the fireplace.

There’s also a bathroom, and Brie disappears inside and closes the door. A beat later, the shower is running. I set the sodden box by the door and move about the room, trying to warm my blood after the early spring rain. I might have even followed her into the bathroom, if she hadn’t locked the door. Instead, I empty my pockets and set my wallet on the nightstand. I find two thick terry towelling robes in a tiny closet, and strip off my sopping clothes. I throw on the robe as I grab the remote and try to figure out how to operate the fireplace with no instructions and all the buttons in French.

Eventually a gas flame burns in the hearth, and by the time Brie steps out of the bathroom in nothing but a fluffy towel, her skin all pink from the scalding hot water, the room is warm too.

“Found us some robes.”

“Merci.” We share a long look. It’s loaded because I want her, she wants me, and we’re both naked right now save for some terry towelling. A knock on the door startles us both. Brie grabs the robe off the bed before disappearing into the bathroom again.

I pull back the door. It’s the desk clerk. His hair and uniform are peppered with rain, and he looks at the closed bathroom door as he wheels his little cart in. Creepy fucker. “Bonsoir!”

“Hey,” I say, deliberately using English despite this being the one word I do understand, because I know that pisses off the French. “You can leave it there.”

“Oui, monsieur.” He pops the bottle of champagne and sets it back in the ice bucket. Then he steps away from the tray, and glances toward the bathroom door as Brie opens it. She’s no longer in a towel. Thank fuck. But knowing she’s naked under that robe doesn’t help. My cock wants to say hello. I’ve never been backward about my intentions with any woman I’ve wanted to fuck, and it’s not like I’d try to hide my boner—it’s not like I could even if I wanted to—but this is awkward as fuck because this arsehole won’t leave, and I don’t like the way he’s staring at her.

“Bonsoir, Mademoi—”

“Okay, we’re good here.” I push him towards the door.

“Merci,” Brie calls, and I turn my head and glare at her. I don’t tip the arsehole either. I slam the door and stride back to the tray. There are strawberries, and chocolate, but also bread and cheese. Of course there’s fucking cheese. It’s as if the French can’t go a single meal without it.

Brie has already poured herself a glass and picks up a hulled strawberry. She doesn’t dip it in the chocolate but nibbles it slowly, from the wrong end. I pick up the champagne and pour myself a glass.

“That was rude,” she says coolly.

“So was the way he was ogling you.” I down my champagne and set the glass on the tray.

“And what if I enjoyed the idea of another man ogling me? The same way you like to think of all of those women fucking your sex toy and watching your videos online.”

I grin. “I knew you were jealous. Don’t worry, I’ll send you one.”

“I don't know why I bother talking to you.” She slams her glass on the tray and throws her hands up. “Tu es méprisable!”

Brie heads to the door, and I don’t know where she thinks she’s going dressed like that but it’s certainly not back to that douche in the office. I stalk behind her, hot on her heels, and when she’s close enough to the door, I reach out and grab her wrist turning her towards me.

She lets out a soft cry, but it isn’t one of pain, it’s another kind of anguish. It’s need. “Please let me go,” she begs.

I study her face. “I don’t think you want me to let you go.”

“You’re wrong.”

I let her wrist slip free of my grasp and search her gaze. “Prove it.”

“I do not have to prove anything to you.”

“Then quit looking at me like you want me to fuck you, because it’s torture,” I snap. A week worth of pent-up frustration, of wanting this woman who refuses to give in, and never backs down. “It’s fucking torture the way you look at me.”

“Torture?” A crease forms between her brow. Fuck, she’s hot when she’s angry. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just what I said. You can’t keep looking at me like that.” I take another step closer and she backs up against the door. “Or walk around in these skimpy little outfits, and you can’t be this close to me.”

“The robe was your idea, and you cornered me!”

“You’re right.” I sigh, and step back but she catches my collar in her fist and draws me closer. She doesn’t kiss me though. Just glares as if she’s torn between kissing or biting me.

“Tell me you want it, Brie,” I whisper, holding her gaze. “Tell me you want me.”

“Please,” she whispers, so quiet I’m not sure if I imagined it.

“Please what? What do you want?”

She shakes her head. “Please, don’t make me say it.”

“Say it.”

“Fuck me, Levi. S'il te plaît, baise moi.” I grip her neck and draw her closer, crashing my lips down on hers, and shove my tongue deep inside. Her kisses are as ferocious and demanding as my own. Her tongue thrashes against mine, her nails dig into my biceps, hard, marking my skin with little half-moons. I slam her up against the door. Her hands fumble with the tie at my waist. I shove her away, so I can get to it quicker. She works on her own, unfastening the knot, and slipping the soft towelling from her shoulders. I was wrong about her being completely naked—she put her little lace panties back on, as if they were some form of protection from me, from my hands, from my cock. I slip my fingers inside and feel how wet she is, how ready. I stroke her clit. She gasps, and wrenches my arm away. “S'il te plaît? Je t'en prie!”

“I love it when you beg.”

She frowns. All need. All consuming passion ... for me. “You are a bastard.”

“Yes, but lucky for you I’m a very giving bastard.” I take my cock and rub it against her, sliding my crown through her slick heat. She moans. I pull back and grin at her forlorn expression. Then I drop to my knees.

“Non. Non. Fuck me, Levi.”

I wrap my hands around her ankle and lean forward, sliding her leg over my shoulder. “Baby, I have every intention of fucking you. But first, you’re gonna ride my face.”

I dart my tongue out and taste her. Fuck. She tastes as good as she looks. I glance up the line of her body, grabbing a handful of her tits and rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. I bring my mouth to her pussy again and flick my tongue over her clit. She jerks away, but seconds later as I grin up at her, Brie’s eyes narrow and she grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me towards her. I chuckle as I open my mouth and gently suck her clit. Brie tugs on my hair, and I let her go, but I cover her slick flesh with my mouth and kiss her cunt as if I’m starving. And I am. This week of fighting, teasing, all of it is the best kind of foreplay known to man. Brielle Kagawa is just what I need.

So I eat her out as if I’m never going to get the chance to again. Her legs jerk and spasm, and I press her hard against the door, letting the wood take her weight. I grab her other ankle and she follows my lead, wrapping her long leg over my shoulder. Her hands grapple for purchase on my hair as I stand with her straddling my face. Brie squeals. I slam her back into the door, and her whole-body shudders as she grinds her hot pussy against my mouth.

I could stop flicking her clit with my tongue altogether and she probably wouldn’t know any different. I may be an arsehole, but one thing I’m not, is lazy. Not when it comes to showing women how much I appreciate it when they serve themselves up to me. I’m the kind of man who eats his fill of the all-night buffet, and then goes back for more.

Brie’s upper body curls, her stomach clenching, her hands tugging my hair so hard I’m afraid she’ll pull it out, and then the sweetest moan comes from her mouth, her pussy contracts and her head falls back against the door with a laugh. “Oh my God.”

She clenches her thighs together, which of course forces her pussy closer to my mouth. I can’t help but dart out my tongue to taste her again. She jerks forward. Almost sending us both toppling. I slide my hands under her arse and she lowers her legs one at a time, and slides down my body until she’s straddling my hips, my cock pressing against her sweet cunt.

“Jesus Christ, you almost suffocated me.”

She laughs. “Good. Maybe then you’ll stop talking and ruining the moment.”

“Fine, you can have the moment, because I plan to ruin you,” I whisper, sliding the head of my cock through her slick flesh. “Hard and fast, and then soft and slow. I’m gonna fuck you all night, Angry French Girl, and you’re gonna scream for me.”

I lay her back on the bed and run my hands along the taut curves of her body, her small tits, that I pinch and tease, over her ribs, and then down between her legs. I circle her slit and then slip two fingers inside. She moans. I don’t give her time to adjust or accommodate me. I fuck her hard and fast with my fingers until she really does scream. Her body convulses, and she squirts all over the bed as the violent waves of orgasm drag her under.

Giving her a beat to recover, I slide my hands free of her body and coat my dick in her cum. She’s lost to me right now, lost to feeling, floating, but that’s okay because I meant what I said. I will ruin her for any other lover. That’s just the selfish kind of arsehole I am.

Brie’s body is wracked with after tremors. There’s no better drug than a fucking awesome orgasm. She inhales on a gasp, sucking in breath as if for the first time. There’s a reason the French call it la petite mort—the little death.

“Oh my God.” She grabs a fistful off her hair and covers her face with it as she laughs. “You’re very good at that.”

“Baby, I’m the best at that.” I grin and slide a hand through the wetness pooling into the sheets. “Besides, I want you wet and pliant as a fucking newborn kitten. I’ve been dreaming about this since I first saw you play, and I intend to make you come all night.”

I grab my wallet and pull out a condom, tearing into the foil packet with my teeth. I slowly roll it over my cock, smiling at Brie who watches each movement with undisguised lust, and perhaps just a hint of fear. I slide the tip over her entrance, through her juices, coating the head and pushing inside before pulling out and teasing her clit. I delve just a little further each time. When her body tells me she’s ready, I sink in deep, or as deep as she’ll allow. A cry comes from her throat. I don’t know if it’s pain, or desire, or a mix, but when I pull back, she shifts her arse so that she’s taking more of me inside her tight cunt. Fuck. It’s been so long, and she’s so hot and so fucking tight around me that I may just break my promises altogether. I’ve never broken promises about making a woman come. I grab her legs and wrap my arms around them, pulling them to the side so her feet rest on my right shoulder.

“Oh,” she moans, as I piston my hips and drive in slow and deep, feeling her stretch around me, loosen up, and take more of my cock into her body.

Brie slides a hand between her legs and strokes her clit. I watch, mesmerized as she takes her pleasure into her own hands. I drive deeper, fuck harder until she comes on my cock, screaming and panting, begging for more, disoriented from another orgasm. Pride swells within me. I kiss her instep, her ankles, before parting her legs, and leaning forward, pushing deeper inside.

I have to kiss her. I need to feel my mouth on hers, my tongue caressing hers as I take her body again, bringing her right to the brink before pulling out. I slide my hand around her throat. Brielle’s eyes widen and flare with fear that quickly morphs into desire. I snag her earlobe between my teeth as I drive back in and all the air leaves her lungs in a rush.

Her heels dig into my arse, her nails claw my back, and we settle into a rhythm that I was never afforded with Ali. I’ve never made love to a woman. My whole adult life has been one empty, fast-paced, and furious fuck after another. Until Ali, but even with her, I wasn’t allowed to take her like this, never allowed to take my time and explore her body as if it were my own, because it never was mine. Not to have and hold, not to possess. Not like Brie. Not like now.

I look into Brie’s eyes, upturned in the corners, revealing the secrets of both her French and Japanese heritages. An exotic almond shape that’s as intriguing as it is beautiful. Her dark pupils are glassy with desire, her milky skin flush with that freshly fucked glow.

I come, imagining I get to keep her. I come, pretending she won’t leave me in two days’ time and never look back, and I curse myself for letting my heart get carried away again.