The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (32 page)

I swept my blade through the air between us, dismissing him with a bow. 

Yeah, so my fantasy life was fulfilling.  What was new?

Only a little sad that I didn't hang up the foil next to an actual musketeer's rapier, I left the equipment and wandered to the far end of the practice space where a leather sofa demarcated the living area.  I set my purse on the floor.  His flat was a big open space, but he'd set up a sofa and two chairs before a small television. He owned an old tube version.

"What the heck?"  I didn't think they actually made TVs in cabinets anymore.

I looked about for the remote, but decided by proof of the apparent relic that a person probably had to walk up to the TV and turn the knob to bring it to life.  I couldn't remember a time when I had ever physically touched a TV to make it work.  I did recall though, my mother regaling me with tales of her childhood when her parents had used her as a human remote control by directing her to switch channels during commercials.

I dismissed the antiquity with a shake of my head, and wandered into the kitchen, which, in keeping with French standards, was small and a mere stretch of counter along the wall which boasted glass-fronted cabinets overhead.  The fridge was short, the stovetop petite.  A two-person table sat in the middle of the tile flooring that designated the kitchen area.  The table was clear of all personal or business detritus, in vast opposition to my disaster at home.

Could I ever allow this neat freak to venture into my messy yet lovable domicile?  A distinct twinge of doubt niggled at the back of my neck.  So out of the man's comfort zone.

Ah there, hanging before the kitchen window, was a gorgeous froth of greenery.  Vines and leaves climbed over the pot edges, spilling three feet down until it nearly touched the floor.  Beautiful and full and so green.  It even smelled like summer.

Pressing my palms to my stomach, I approached it with caution.  The last thing I wanted to do was kill my lover's plant.  A symbol of his care and attentiveness.  I had never been able to nurture a green thing. 

Did that make me lacking in the ability to care and be attentive to others?  I swallowed.  I wasn't an ogre.  I could care for living things.  It was just the silent green ones that gave me challenge.

"Do you really need water?" I asked timidly.

I reached into the pot and tested the soil with a finger.  Yep, it was dry.

Blowing out a breath, I filled the watering can at the sink.  While standing there I browsed over the fridge surface.  No magnets.  No kitschy towels or cute tchotchkes that would grant me a clue to his personality.  The entire fencing/living/kitchen area was bland.  There weren't even colors.  Save for the green plant and the brown sofa, everything was gray.

So was this to be the ugly in the man I'd feared was too perfect?  He had no decorating sense?  What man did?  And yet wasn't a man's home a reflection of his personality?

"No, he's a fun guy.  I've seen him dancing naked with a cupcake."

It was then that I noticed the laptop at the end of the sofa and the thick book on top of it.  Must be one of those computer manuals I'd seen him reading.  Was that it for his office?  Besides the sofa, coffee table, chairs, and TV, there was no other furniture.  No desk or office cupboards. 

"Maybe in another room."

Clasping my arms across my chest, I exhaled.

We were seemingly so completely opposite it made me wince.  But then, if his place had been a disordered mess like mine, would that have endeared me to him?  Doubt it.  I could not tolerate a slob, or a man who couldn't, at the very least, clean up after himself. 

I decided that I liked his clean control because I knew that wasn't completely him.  I'd seen his fun side. 

I would give him a pass on the decorating since it had only been a few months that he had lived here.

Tilting the watering can over the plant, I set upon killing it.  I spied another plant sitting in a big pot at the corner of the room, a sort of marker dividing the kitchen from the living area.  I filled the can and gave it a generous sip, crossing my fingers all the while.

He'd said
plants
when we'd talked.  This could be it, but I'd better check all the rooms.  I hadn't seen any when we'd been looking at each other through our respective bedroom windows.  Then again, I'd only had eyes for him.

Again filling the can, I then wandered down the hall and tried the first of two doors.  It opened into the bathroom, which I knew must also have a door on the opposite wall because he could enter it from his bedroom.

I flicked on the switch.  More gray walls, but the tile was gorgeous.   Clear green and blue that resembled sea glass lined the wall behind the vanity mirror and in the shower.  It glinted under the light.  Atypical for Paris, it was a good-sized bathroom that two people could easily navigate together. 

Well, you know, I had to consider options for the future.  It's how women think.  I know you'd do the same.

Another plant hung near the shower door, so I gave it a sip.  I strolled my fingers over the white towel hung from the rack and imagined it wrapped about his hips, his erection tenting the terrycloth from beneath.  When his cock grew harder and thicker it would stretch at the towel and…finally tug the tucked corner away, dropping the towel to the floor at his feet.

I would curl my fingers about that demanding rod.  Tugging him close to me I would give it a squeeze.  He'd suck in a gasp, his eyes shuttering in pleasure.  Kneeling, I'd stroke a fingernail along the bulging vein on the underside of his thickness, following it down to cup his testicles.  Heavy and snugged up against the base of his cock, I'd lick them, tasting his faint salty flavor and the clean wet droplets from the shower.

The watering can clanked against the tiles.  I stood suddenly upright, realizing I'd bent forward and was gripping the towel hanging before me.

"Wow.  I so need to get a real boyfriend," I said.  "One that I can touch.  And lick.  And…

And just everything.

I wandered into the bedroom, my heels clicking the hardwood floor.  No plants in here.

I strolled along the end of his king-size, which sat low because there was apparently no box spring.  I hadn't noticed that when looking through the window.  Interesting.  On the table beside his bed sat a digital clock and a stack of books.

Leaning over, I pressed my palms onto the mattress.  My fingers sank deeply into the foam surface.  Nice.  I'd like to snug into this temperpedic and roll up against his strong, muscled back, pressing my bare breasts to the heat of him.  Slide up a leg and hook it over his thigh while I rubbed my clit against his ass...

Oh yeah, this chick was frustrated.

Standing abruptly, I twisted around, fanning my face.  Standing in his bedroom did things to me that I liked.  A lot.  My heart raced.  My skin flushed.  Arousal came so easily when considering Monsieur Sexy. 

A dresser sat against the wall.  On top sat an iPod dock similar to the one I kept beside my bed.  No iPod in it, though, so I couldn't snoop through his playlists.  Bummer.  He must take it along when traveling.

I tugged open the top dresser drawer and glanced over my shoulder toward the closed bedroom door as I did.

Silly, girl.  No one was looking.

Inside the drawer lay his boxer briefs, each spread out flat and neatly stacked and—they were in order from lightest color to darkest.  A control freak's wet dream. 

I ran a palm over a gray pair.  Soft.  I loved how the briefs snugged his erection so possessively.  Almost as if a tease to me. 
Ha, ha, look at this.  I am right here, against his skin, hugging this nice thick cock you desperately want to touch
. 

Wishing there was a hard cock beneath my hand right now sent a shiver of desire through my system.  I squeezed my legs together and the bows on my shoes tickled my bare ankles.  Mmm...

The lower drawers contained some folded tee-shirts, jogging pants, and socks.  No pink panties, thank God.

"But wait."

I shimmied down the panties from under my skirt—completely planned—and pulled off the black lace bit of nothing.  Tucking it between the stacks of his underwear toward the back, I closed the drawer.

Then I tugged the drawer open again and snatched the gray pair.  I'd left my purse in the living room on the floor beside the sofa.  I scrunched them up in my hand, but then…

I held them before my hips to check the size.  "Why not?"

Bending, I stepped into the boxer briefs and pulled them up my legs and under my pleated skirt.  They fit loosely, and the seam of the flap in front was a different feel against my shaved pussy.  I wiggled my hips, moving subtly within the male undergarment.  Did guys actually use the flap to whip it out and take a pee?  Seemed like it would be just as easy, if not easier, to pull the things down.

I was wearing his underwear.  It felt sneaky and naughty.  I giggled and pulled my skirt down, smoothing over the pleats.  I'd tell him about it later. 

Maybe.

I wandered to the closet and pulled open one of the French doors.  Inside a half a dozen suits hung neatly on wooden hangers that smelled of cedar.  I strolled my fingers down the fabric and inhaled.

"OhmyGod."  For the first time I smelled him.  And it wasn't spicy, as I'd hoped, but instead a sort of sable, bay rum scent tainted with the overwhelming cedar.  Sweet and, mmm...

I pressed my nose to the suit, aiming for the collar, where I knew the fabric had lain closest to his bare skin.  There the scent was stronger.  I inhaled deeply.  Drowning in the imagined feel of his nose against my neck, his scent caressing me, I hummed with pleasure.  "Mmm, yes."

The white and gray shirts also smelled faintly of him, as did the purple silk tie I drew out to rub against my cheek.  Turning, the tie still pressed to my face, I climbed onto the bed and stretched out on my back.  Thinking to turn my head into the pillow I was rewarded with more of his delicious, sensual fragrance.

"Nummy." 

I curled up my legs and tugged the pillow against my face, burying myself in his essence.  A wiggle of my hips rubbed my pussy against the soft reminder of his closeness. 

Chapter
Eight

I slipped into a reverie.  In my dream, I walked out into Monsieur Sexy's living area, strolling my hand along the back of the leather sofa.  It was brown and worn, like a seasoned cowboy's chaps.  It smelled as if it belonged in the corner of a bookstore, comfy and welcoming to anyone who cared to settle in for a long read.

Someone cleared their throat.  I turned in a spin, hand going to my mouth that had opened in a surprised O.  Before the window, he sat on a chair, one ankle propped across his knee.  Bespoke Italian leather shoes gleamed in the sunlight beaming in from over his straight, broad shoulders.  An arm was draped across the back of chair.  A curl of brown hair tickled his ear.  He sat in arrogant expectation, those sky-gray eyes taking me in as he had done so often through his bedroom window.

No glass this time.  Not even a computer screen. 
Just a dream
. 

Here's to not waking too quickly.

"Did you leave your panties in my bedroom?" he asked in that French-laced deep voice that had the capability of making me wet
like that
.

"I uh…"  Feeling almost guilty, I gave a sheepish shrug.  "Yes."  A little defiance in that reply.  And why not?  I couldn't wait to see what he would do next.

"Then you've no lace on under that flirty little skirt of yours?"

My hand slid across the pleated skirt hem that stopped high on my thighs.  A curl of wanton need shivered in my core.  The room was not hot, but I was suddenly warm and moist between my legs.

I shook my head no.

"Then what are you wearing?"

"Your briefs."

His eyebrow lifted.  A tilt of his head.  He caught his fingers against a temple.  "Good girl."

The approval should have felt juvenile and silly, but instead it caused my shoulders to shift back, lifting my breasts with a confident inhalation.

"Slide the skirt off and let me look at what you've done."

Tongue teasing at the backs of my teeth, I nodded and unzipped.  I'd undressed before him; this was nothing new.  The skirt dropped at my beribboned heels and I flicked it away with a foot.  Standing there in his boxers, my blouse spilling over the waistband, I felt ashamed only briefly. 

Then the tiny vixen within me pushed up and giggled.  I tilted forward a hip, boldly displaying what naughtiness I'd gotten up to.

"You like the feel of my clothing on your skin?" he asked.

"Oh yes.  Makes me feel as if you are right here.  Standing before me.  Will you—"

"Not yet.  I want to look at you," he said.  "Turn around."

Telling me what to do?  Yes, please. 

I turned away from him.  The boxer briefs hung loosely at my hips yet they did caress my derriere.  I teased a finger at the corner of my mouth, wanting to peek over a shoulder.  Feeling a bit like the student forced to stand before the front of the classroom with all eyes on her, I was suddenly nervous.