Page 11 of A New Year's Toy

Warm spurts of his semen shoot into my mouth. His loud exhale lights my body up. My satisfaction from pleasing him doesn’t compare to anything else I’ve achieved, worth the tears and the fear of another pending orgasm.

Which Alistair holds at bay. He fulfills his promise, kneeling at my side in a matter of seconds to switch off the wand and our scene with it.

His fingers are soft and caring as he undoes the ties and puts aside the wand. As he bends my knees to have my legs in the air, he removes the ribbons painlessly.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing the imprints of the tight knots left on my thighs as well as my sore, aching clit.

He then rolls me to the side, undoing the bow he tied around my wrists, and cradles me in his arms.

I’m loved and safe, not an inch less than I was during our scene, not an inch more.

I’m completely and hopelessly in love with him too, falling asleep to the echo of his voice.

Especially when he murmurs something about getting me my tea.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nola

“ Bon jour, Monsieur et Madame Cromwell ,” the concierge greets us in French.

While I’m not fluent, I don’t speak over ten words on a good day, I understand the titles perfectly fine.

The independent woman might get pissed off. She might suggest that I correct Alistair’s presumptuous ass to sign us under his surname.

Thing is, this woman is an idiot. Respectfully.

She would’ve read the room all wrong, would’ve missed how madly in love I am with Alistair.

I don’t mind marrying him, as in, today. Whatever Vegas version France has to offer, sign me up.

But maybe Alistair didn’t tell Hannah, his PA, to book us as Mr. and Mrs. Cromwell. Maybe it’s an honest mistake on her part. That might be the case, and since I don’t want to assume what isn’t there, I keep my excitement to myself.

I glue my eyes to the white marble floor and its intricate gold vein embellishments, hoping my husband doesn’t catch me blushing.

Alistair skips acknowledging the titles as well, getting me a little curious in the process. It’s a question I probably won’t be brave enough to ask, so I block it out, listening in on their conversation.

It’s virtually impossible to catch a word here and there at the speed both men are speaking, but Alistair and his impeccable accent that send shivers down my spine with how sexy he is make up for what I can’t understand. Another point to his advantage.

The concierge—Bernard, as Alistair called him—hands him two brown electronic tickets with gold lettering at the end of their conversation.

Alistair barely finishes thanking him when the bellboy who’s waiting for us runs the cart with our luggage to the reserved elevators. Their dark wood covering looks pristine, like everything else in this hotel.

The sheer beauty, though, is dampened by a slight sense of unease that prods at my conscience. I’m about to tell Alistair he’s overdone it—first the plane, now the hotel.

His hand slipping around my waist stops me dead in my tracks. The comfort, the warmth of it, the possessiveness. I succumb to his care, postponing this conversation for some other time.

At the top floor, the elevator stops and the bellboy gestures for us to step ahead of him.

Floor-to-ceiling windows are installed across the hallway, allowing the bright sunlight of the morning to seep in. The light casts on the potted fruit trees, the beige couches, and the lamps at the side of the walls, highlighting the colors of the gigantic paintings decorating it.

Our feet pace on identical marble tiles to the ones they have in the lobby as we’re escorted to what seems to be the sole room on this floor.

“We were discussing the weather,” Alistair whispers into my hair.

Yet again hindering my need to reproach him on how much this must’ve cost. With that small sentence, he surrenders me into a blubbering mess due to his insistence on not leaving me out of the earlier conversation.

“About new restaurants worth checking out.” His fingers curl around my waist in his domineering fashion, dragging me to him. “And about how exquisitely beautiful you are.”

---