Sweet Filthy Boy

The negligee is made of lace and layered, soft macramé tulle. The layering gives the illusion of coverage, but even in the dim candlelight I’ve set up throughout the apartment, my ni**les are clearly visible beneath. The only other thing I’m wearing is a small, matching red thong.

This time I’m not nervous when I hear the elevator doors open down the hall, and the steady pace of Ansel’s feet walking to our door.

He enters, dropping his keys in the bowl and sliding his helmet beneath the table before turning to where I sit in one of the dining room chairs I’ve placed about ten feet in front of the entryway.

“Christ, Cerise.” Slowly, he slides his messenger bag over his head, carefully setting it on the floor. A heated smile starts at the corner of his mouth and lazily stretches across to the other side as he notices the horns. “Am I in trouble?”

I shake my head, shivering at the way his accent scratches trouble into my new favorite word, and stand, walking over to him. Letting him take in the entire outfit.

“No,” I say, “but I hear you’re in a situation you’d like to see changed.”

He stills, brows slowly lifting. “A situation?”

“Yes,” I say. “A work situation.”

His eyes turn playful. “I see.”

“I can help.” I step closer and run my hand up his chest to his tie. Loosening it, I tell him, “I’ve been sent here to negotiate a deal.”

“Sent by whom?”

“My boss,” I say with a little wink.

He looks me over one more time and reaches up to drag the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. It’s a familiar touch now, but instead of opening my mouth and licking him, I bite.

He pulls back with a little gasp, and then laughs. “You’re irresistible.”

“I’m powerful,” I correct him. “If everything goes well tonight, with just a snap of my fingers I can finish this horrible, time-sucking lawsuit.”

I pull his tie loose and blink up to see his amused expression straighten into something more earnest, more pleading. “You can?”

“You give me your soul, and I make your problems go away.”

His smile returns and his hands slide forward, framing my hips. “When you look the way you do, I don’t think I have much use for a soul.” He leans in, runs his nose along my neck, and inhales. “It’s yours. How do we negotiate this transaction?”

I push his hands away, and slide his tie off, draping it around my neck instead. “I’m glad you asked.” Unbuttoning his shirt, I explain: “I’ll ask a few questions so I can determine the value of your soul. If you’re pristine, I’ll end this tonight and make you look like a hero who broke down the other side. If you’re sullied, well . . .” I shrug. “It may be messy but the lawsuit will be gone. And then I take my payment.”

His dimple makes a cameo. “And what kind of questions do I need to answer?”

“I need to see how bad you’ve been.” Lowering my voice, I add, “I hope you’ve been very bad. My boss doesn’t like to pay very much, and making you look like a hero is pretty expensive in this business.”

He looks genuinely confused. “But isn’t my soul more valuable to you the more corrupt I am?”

Shaking my head, I tell him, “I’m only bargaining to lure you away from the angels. I get you for a better price if they’d be unlikely to want you anyway.”

“I see,” he says, wearing an amused smile.

Silence slides between us and the threat of tension looms just outside the little circle our bodies form, standing so close together. For once, the rules are all mine, the game all mine, and still I feel power in this, too. My fingers shake against his chest with the reality of this full circle, closed. I’m his equal. I’m his wife, wanting to save him.

“I suppose I’m at your mercy, then,” he says quietly. “If you can do what you say, I’m game.”

Tilting my head, I say, “Get undressed.”

“Completely naked?” Amusement returns to his expression.

“Completely.”

He pushes his fancy checked blue shirt off his shoulders. I struggle to keep my attention on his face, knowing that the skin he’s slowly revealing is quite possibly my favorite thing about France.

“How did you get into this line of work?” he asks, unfastening his belt.

“My boss found me, alone and wandering the streets,” I tell him, unable to resist reaching forward, running my hands lightly down his chest. I love the way his breath hitches, his skin seems to tighten beneath my fingers. “He thought I’d make a good negotiator. When I found out I’d get to play with pretty boys like you, how could I resist?”

His hand pulls at his belt, sliding the smooth leather free so fast it makes a sharp cracking sound against the stretch of leather still looped through his dress pants. It drops to the floor, and his pants follow not far behind.

When his thumbs hover in the waistband of his boxers, I can tell he’s teasing me, waiting for me to look up at his face.

But I don’t.

“Off,” I tell him. “I need to see what I’m working with.”

He lowers the shorts from his body and slowly—confidently—steps out of them. I’ll never get used to the sight of Ansel completely naked. He’s bronze, and strong, and looks like he would taste good. And God, I know how good it is. It’s all I can do to not slide down onto my knees and lick a wet line from his balls to the tight crown of his cock.