The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (28 page)

"Oh, hell yes."

"Lift your skirts for me,
mon abeille
.  Let me glide my tongue over your treats for dessert."

"But what about the dessert in the fridge?"

"You are still hungry?  Go get it.  But I will be displeased if you do not return naked."

"Is that so?" 

Such a demand would have normally had me snappishly refusing to play along with any man's silly desires.  But this man was different.  He was mine.  And I wanted to please him.  And I had been thinking this dress was getting too hot.

"Be right back."

I took the supper dishes away from the table and set them in the sink.  Unzipping the back of my dress as I pulled open the fridge door, I let the sheath fall to the floor around my heels.  Comfort whore, remember?  I stood there in the light from the fridge, allowing the coolness to waft over my warm skin.  It tickled.  It teased.  It was weird, I know, but hey, I was working with what I had.  And that was a laptop, and an eager Frenchman whose voice could bring me to my knees. 

I wasn't about to disappoint.

A small white box sat in the fridge, labeled
dessert
, as if the White Rabbit had been in here while I wasn't looking.  If it had said
eat me
, I wouldn't have blinked at doing just that.  I took it out and stroked my fingers over the box.  It was a nice box, not like those flimsy takeout boxes.  Something designed to present a gift.

I recalled the red envelope and wrapping paper he'd used to send the bee notebook and his email address.  Fine.  Elegant.  He was a discerning shopper.  Dare I believe his discernment went as far as the woman with whom he'd chosen to engage in an affair? 

I almost didn't need the treat inside the box.  The thrill of knowing he liked to spoil me with fine things was more than enough.  Seriously.  A man who took the time to attend to the small details? 

There had to be something wrong with him.  Sooner or later his warts would show.

"But hopefully not tonight," I whispered.

I pulled off the box top.  Inside sat an exquisite little cake topped with an artful arabesque that had been dusted on the creamy surface with what looked like dark chocolate powder.  Drawing it out, I set it on the counter.  The dessert sat on a gold circle of cardboard.  I think it was ganache or maybe mousse.  Three layers, starting with dark brown on the bottom, a lighter brown in the middle (probably milk chocolate) and a creamy white vanilla section on top. 

I dashed my finger down the side, swiping all three colors of the cool, whipped delight onto my skin, then licked it off.

"Oh, heaven."

"
Mon abeille
?"

I peeked around the refrigerator door.  He couldn't see me from this position. 

"No sneaking a taste until I see you naked," he called.  "Come, my cyber lover."

He wanted me to come?  All in good time, my sexy musketeer.  All in good time.

Sliding my tongue along my lips to thoroughly clean away evidence of sneaking, I closed the fridge door and skipped back to the kitchen table with dessert in hand.  I stood before the laptop with the smeared side facing me and performed a Vanna White sweep of hand beneath the plate.

"Is this what you've been waiting for?" I asked sweetly.  I even batted my lashes.  Yeah, I could work the corny seduction like a pro.

"All day.  But you look even better than I imagined.  Lower the dessert.  Lower.  Bon, just there."

I held the treat below my breasts now so he got a view of my torso topped by hard nipples, a sweet treat, and my trimmed pussy.

"Want a taste?" I cooed.

"You've already tasted it," he decided smugly.

"Who me?"  I swiped a finger along the corner of my mouth.  Had I a telling smear of chocolate there?

"You see?  The guilty party tries to clean away the evidence," he said.  Waggling a finger at me, he chastised, "I caught you."

I shrugged and then dashed a finger across the top of the dessert and displayed it to him.  "You got me.  It's incredible."  I licked off the cream and chocolate powder, following with a moan.  "Did you get one for yourself?"

"Non.  You are my dessert,
oui
?"

"Yes."

"Did you get the camera I sent for you?"

"Uh…you sent me a camera?"  Right.  The box from Amazon.  I'd forgotten all about it.  "I haven't had time to open it.  I'm sorry.  I'll do it later.  This is good though?  I mean, you can see the important parts, right?"

"I like to see your face and your reactions most of all."

  I dashed another finger through the creamy white section, and just before putting it in my mouth, on a whim, I traced a line down from my bellybutton to my mons.  "You want to lick it off?"

"I wish I was there to smear that over your skin and then eat you until you shove your fingers through my hair and tug."

One ticket to Berlin, please?

Dipping a finger into the darkest chocolate layer, I pulled up a wodge and bent so the camera could capture my face as I waggled the finger at him.  "Lick this, lover boy."

I bit off a portion of the wodge, moaning at the exquisite dark sweetness and the whipped creaminess that melted over my tongue and drizzled down my throat.  I wandered my hand lower, gliding it over my breasts.  My nipples were so hard.

"You following me with your tongue?"

"Yes.  There.  Show me where you want my tongue."

I slid the chocolate over my mons, drawing a line across my skin that spread as heat melted the dessert further.  By the time my finger eased over my clit there was no chocolate.  Didn't matter.  I wasn't sure of the efficacy of chocolate mousse as a lubricant.  Surely a little food down there wasn't going to hurt anything, though.

"Lick me," I said in a groaning, achy voice that surprised me with its wanton tone.  "Give me your tongue.  Deeply."

"Yes, slow and all over your skin.  You taste sweet, better than the chocolate.  Mmm, can you feel me nudge my nose against your pussy?  I like how you shave that narrow strip there.  It is inviting, and the hair is soft and smelling like chocolate.  Can you feel my tongue press hard against your clit?  Tell me how you like it.  Softer?  Harder?"

"Mm, yes, firmer.  And hold it there," I said as I pressed my fingers lengthwise along my clit and held firmly.  It hummed, pleading for movement, yet at the same time my entire system enjoyed the intense pressure and the wanting scream for more.

"More," he said.  "Paint your pretty pussy with more sweetness so I can devour you."

Oh, fuck, devouring sounded exquisite.  His tongue taking all it desired, his fingers pressed against my ass, digging in as he crushed my mons to his face and ate me, licking me so no dessert remained.

I plunged my fingers into the creamy chocolate, thinking it felt a little dirty, and imagining that it was some kind of sexual toy.  I licked some from my fingers (because seriously, I wasn't going to let it go to waste without eating some of it).  Then wantonly rubbed my fingers over my mons and along my folds, sliding the instantly liquid chocolate over my skin.

"Eat this," I said, and noticed the scene on the monitor.  Just my torso and crotch showed, and my hand, rubbing the dark treat up and over my skin, between my legs.  It was erotic to watch it.  For a moment it wasn't me, but some sexy porn actress putting on a show. 

"Put your fingers on your clit and squeeze it," he said.  "I need you to feel me now.  I wish you had that silver vibrator.  I want you full of me,
mon abeille
."

Mention of the vibrator elicited a gasp from me.  Just thinking of having something hard inside me as my fingers worked at my slippery clit paced my breaths faster.  I squeezed my thighs together and drove my fingers over my clit.  I swore because orgasm was close, so close. 

Glancing up, I saw his gorgeous eyes fixated on me. The messy chocolate smears that glistened on my skin.  My fingers rubbing vigorously.

With orgasm racing through my core and aiming for my pussy, I slammed my hand on the table.  "Fuck.  I want your tongue on me so badly."

"You can feel it.  Close your eyes."

I did so, and the wet chocolate was so slick as my fingers slowed over my clit, teasing up the release.  And finally with a firm squeeze of my thighs, I came.  Thrusting my head back and shouting, I—I had never come standing up before.  I wobbled, and landed on the chair behind me, knowing his view was only of my face.  I swept away the hair from my eyelashes and laughed then because I caught my face on the screen.  A smear of dessert dashed under my eye like a footballers' sunscreen.

The giddy wave journeyed through me and left as quickly as it had arrived.  Panting and pleased, I leaned an elbow on the table and inspected the mess of dessert remaining.  Fingering up a thick wodge I licked it off.

"
Vous êtes es dans un bel êtat
."

"Whatever you just said, I agree."

He laughed.  "I said you were a gorgeous mess."

"I'm just getting started."

"How so?"

"It's time to suck you."

"Yes?"

"You have your hand on your cock, lover?"

"How did you know?"

I dragged my fingers through the mousse.  My body was loose and warm, my breaths panting from climax, and I couldn't wait to make him feel the same.

"Let me see that big boy," I demanded.

He stood and stepped aside the table, revealing his hard-on on the screen.

"Mmm..."  I pushed my fingers into my mouth, licking the sweetness.  "I'm going to lick you now.  Watch me."

Using my fingers in the best estimation of his cock as I could, I licked along their length slowly, then nibbled the sides, delighting in the chocolate taste.

"Faster," he gasped.

At that demand, I stopped and curled a smile beside my fingers.  With my other hand, I grasped the base of my fingers.  "This is your cock," I said.  "You feel that at the base?"

His hand had wrapped about the root of his gorgeous erection, squeezing.  Eyes closed, he nodded. 

"You want this?" I teased.

"Yes—no!  Go slower,
s'il vous plaît
," he groaned.

He was so close.  Even while he slowly hugged up and down his length, I noticed the signs of imminent climax.  He always closed his eyes tightly.  His hips shook, pending explosion.  And his muscles tensed all over, tightening the fingers of his free hand, the powerful muscles strapping his thighs, and banding fiercely across his abs.

"I want to know your name," he said with a gasp. 

"What?"

"So I can call it out as I come."

"Uh..."   Weren't we busy with something here?  Why the sudden need for my name?  I wasn't ready for that.  Maybe?  I needed time to think about it.

I'm sorry, I am a woman who likes to think over her options and not jump into anything.

While I struggled with that simple yet monumental request, Monsieur Sexy came, his tension releasing in a long, winded groan.  And instead of crying my name, he made do, "
Mon abeille
!"

I sighed.  I was depriving him of something necessary to a healthy relationship.  But I didn't want to do the guilt trip right now.  All I wanted was to be there, standing beside him, running my fingers through his hair.  Kissing his mouth as he gasped through the last tendrils of orgasm.  And slicking my fingers through the cum on his thigh.

"Tonight has been lovely," I said softly.  Because to tell the truth right now would spoil the sensual mood.  Truth being that he'd just thrown me for a loop.

"Your name," he said in panting breaths.  "Will I ever learn it?"

I nodded.  Brushed the hair from my face and caught my chin in hand.  "When I'm ready."

"Fair enough. 
Bonne nuit
."

Chapter
Six

I had to be at the map shop in an hour, so I downed a breakfast of black tea, a crumpet spread with chunky almond butter, and a peach I'd found lurking amidst the lettuce at the grocery store.  Peach season was past, but this little gem tasted sweet enough to make me pine for a summer's-end orchard visit.

Clearing away the dishes, I also cleaned up from last night's sexy dessert debacle.  Chocolate was smeared on the table, and I found traces of dried vanilla mousse on the chair, laptop and—

I swiped the dishtowel over the creamy dash on the wall by the table.  "How did I manage that?"

Laughing, I tossed the towel in the clothes hamper, reminded myself to do laundry later after work, and then headed out for a half shift at the shop.

Richard greeted me with a gleeful glint to his eyes.  The Mister Rogers sweater he always wore was buttoned up to his proper plaid bowtie.  He held up a receipt that wasn't one the shop issued with purchases. 

"Look what I've done," he announced, his British accent making every word a delight to listen to.