Page 51 of Closer

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LA PETITE MORT

LEVI

I’m fucking ravenouswhen 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?”

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