Page 104 of Sweet Surrender
I’d fallen in love with Paris, the food, the wine, the people…everything about it really, and I was glad that we were staying for another week so we could enjoy everything the city had to offer without the worry of the show hanging over my head.
Naturally, we were staying in the penthouse suite of the ElysiumCasino and Hotel, a Carson-Fox Resort.
The entire hotel was stunning, decked out to look like a hotel from the1920s. When we’d first arrived in our suite, Nash opened the balcony door, revealing the spectacular view of the city. I’d never seen anything like it.
The best part was how close we were to the Eiffel Tower which wasless than half a mile away. It was incredible, and I told Nash that I never wanted to leave.
As soon as we arrived back to our suite, I ditched the killer heels I’dbeen wearing, and quickly slipped out of my dress, opting to wear my loose-fitting nightshirt.
My dress had been a little on the snug side like most of my clotheswere these days, and I reminded myself that I ought to watch what I was eating a bit more now that I had delicious meals three times a day.
I hadn’t eaten a single noodle since leaving Oregon.
Nash took a quick shower, and when he emerged with only a towelwrapped around his waist, and droplets of water running down his sculpted chest, my mouth watered.
His silvery-gray eyes darkened, the telltale sign that it wouldn’t belong until I was screaming his name. But instead of pouncing on me, he surprised me by opening the balcony door, nodding his head, and indicating for me to follow.
As I stepped outside, a gasp left me when Nash flicked a switch. Hundreds of twinkling fairy lights spread all around the long balcony,lit up, and casting a soft glow over us. Rose petals had been scattered all over the floor, and on the table, chilling in a bucket of ice was a bottle of champagne, next to it, two crystal flutes.
“Nash, it’s beautiful,” I said, looking all around and admiring the effortsomeone had put in to decorate the balcony.
A beaming smile from ear to ear took over my face as Nash poppedthe cork and poured us both a glass of bubbly before handing one to me.
“To you,” he said, holding his flute up. I chinked mine against his,unable to stop the smile on my face from getting bigger. “I’m so fucking proud of you, sweetheart,” he added after we’d taken a sip of our champagne. There was nothing but pride and adoration shining in his eyes.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat. As determined as Nashwas to make me have more self-belief, it was something I was still trying to overcome.
Taking my free hand, Nash led me over to the ledge of the balcony,standing behind me, and caging me in with his arms, his glass of champagne now abandoned.
“I told you you’d ace today,” he said smugly, his gravelly voicerumbling in my ear.
I rolled my eyes playfully before putting my glass down next to his.“Alright, Oh mighty one.”
He chuckled. “I thought my name was Master of Orgasms?”
As if to back up the nickname he’d called himself once too oftenthese last few months, he rubbed his hard cock against my ass.
“I dunno,” I replied, trying to keep my tone serious. “You’ve beenlacking in the O department of late, maybe you ought to prove you still deserve the title.”
I wiggled my ass against him, my core throbbing deliciously, morethan ready to take him.
A low growl left his throat. In less than a few seconds, Nash hadwhipped his towel off, and tugged my nightdress up, revealing that I wasn’t wearing any panties.
“Oh, my sweet Savannah. I think I can prove to you that the titlebelongs to me. In fact, maybe I should make you scream so loud that the whole of Paris knows what my title is.”
That was all the warning I got before Nash pushed me forward andthrust his length inside of me before fucking me hard, and letting the city know that he was indeed my Master of Orgasms.
Nash
One week later
Savannah and I didn’t want to leave Paris. It wasn’t necessarily thecity we didn’t want to leave, but rather the time we’d spent there. We didn’t have the stresses of trying to make it as a fashion designer or the demands of being the CEO of a billion-dollar business.
It was just us. We were free to enjoy each other’s company, and wetook full advantage of that.
For a week after the fashion show, we had no distractions, spendingthe time eating fancy French food, taking in the sites, and fucking.
And hell, did we fuck.
