The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (42 page)

"Help!" I cried and motioned my inability to sit up.

Jean-Louis laughed then leaned over me, placing his hands to either side of my shoulders.  "You are stuck?  That puts you at my mercy,
mon abeille
."  Eyes crinkling, he smiled slyly.  "I like you this way."

And I liked his easy closeness, and the ease with which we'd accepted this new experience of togetherness.

"Oh, come on," I pleaded.  "I thought it was my turn to undress you and finally..."

"Finally what?"

"I want to suck you," I confessed.  I'd mastered speaking my sensual needs while we'd enjoyed cyber sex.  It had initially been uncomfortable to say words like pussy and cock out loud, and to put my desires into voice, but now I was a pro.  "I want to hold your gorgeous, big, thick cock in my hand.  You want that, don't you?"

"
Oui
.  But I must have one more look under your skirts while you are at a disadvantage."

My skirts flew up, the hem landing on top of my face.  His mouth found my tender bits, and the sure glide of his fingers slicked my labia.  The sudden entrance of his fingers inside me captured my breath.  I gripped for something, anything to tether myself to this world, but the heady gratification of feeling him within me would not allow such safety.  And so I let my fingers relax, as well as the last tendrils of inhibition.

"I love you there," I uttered, abandoning the idea of giving him a hand job for now.  He was focused on me.  Why should I distract him? 

A curl of his finger inside me hit the super-sensitive G-spot.  I thanked all the deities whenever a man was lucky enough to happen upon it.  Which was rare.

Jean-Louis, on the other hand, had found it immediately in the coatroom.  And he now returned to the spot as if a favorite refuge often visited.  A practiced man? 

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," I hissed, clutching my skirts.  My hips bucked upward, seeking the hot, firm wetness of his tongue on my clit while his fingers stroked me intently.  The man was so focused.

"You like my tongue on you?" he asked in a husky tone.  That French accent scurried shivers under my skin.  The good kind that heightened my arousal even more.  "Or inside you?"

"Both," I said on a gasp. 

His tongue thrust inside me then darted here and there, lashing my skin and suckling it. 

I dug my fingers into the sheets.  The damned skirt lay over half my face, and when I inhaled, it sucked into my mouth.  I tugged it down quickly, which covered his head.  His firm hands parted my legs gently, wider, as he concentrated on my clitoris.  Sucking slowly, teasing the firm tip of his tongue over my slickness.

My heartbeat raced.  Breaths panted.  A sheen of perspiration glistened on my chest.  I could feel my heart in my throat.  And his mouth at my core.  His intent desire to pleasure me overwhelmed.  Sweet, sable-tinted aftershave mingled the air to a delicious aroma.  My thoughts swirled into that deliciously vast and giddy stratosphere that preceded orgasm.  Nothing mattered but the sensations coursing through my body.

Our connection.  We had come together.  At last.

My hips bucked as the orgasm burst to fruition.  Jean-Louis kissed my inner thigh and laid his head on my leg.  Head pushing into the mattress, I surrendered to the Frenchman. 

The night was just getting started.

Chapter
Three

"Tell me what's going on in your brain," I asked as I rolled to my side on the bed next to Jean-Louis.  Head snuggled on the pillow, his eyes heavy-lidded. 

"It's ten in the morning on the day following the first night we touched, kissed, and made love," I continued.  "You're lying here like some kind of sex god, your penis at half-mast looking ready for more action.  You smell like my wildest sex dreams.  You feel like heat and stone.  And I need to know what you think of all this."

He tapped my nose then leaned over to kiss it.  "I think when I told you a few days ago that I loved you that wasn't a mistake."

Indeed, he had confessed to loving me at a particularly harrowing moment in our video conversation: after he'd revealed that he was married.  I'd initially felt it was a defensive 'I love you'.  Yes, those are possible.  But then I'd settled, thought about it, and decided that maybe he was the kind of person who fell in love quickly.  That was possible, too.

It sure sounded good right now, as I lay in his bed, soaking up his warmth, deliciously exhausted from our exquisite lovemaking.

"I also think you are one of the most genuine people I've known," he added.  "You are what you present to the world,
mon abeille
.  No mask.  No fake.  All...this."

"What you see is what you get."

"I admire that about you.  I also admire this."  He leaned in to suck one of my nipples into his mouth.  As much as they were tender from his all-night attentions, I again felt the sensual tug at my insides and arced my chest toward him in a quest for more.  "Your nipples are so sensitive."

"Let's not get distracted just yet," I said, gently extricating myself from his soft, hot mouth.  Because I did want to talk. 

There was much I already knew about him, and so much I did not.  I didn't expect to interrogate and learn all of him in one day.  That's what relationships were for: learning about one another.  I imagined a couple could be together for years, decades even, and still never know everything about the other.

"You're not disappointed?" I asked the one question that every woman probably thinks after their first night together with a man.

"In what?  I told you that you are genuine.  If you are talking about the sex, then no.  All is
très bien, mon amour
.  I sense self-conscious backtracking in that question?"

The man was perceptive.  "It's a girl thing.  I think.  Do men ever worry about their performance?"

"Every time."

"Really?  Because you rocked my world, lover.  And now I need to do something I've only been able to dream about."

"What is that?"

I reached down and secured a firm grip about his penis, which was still a little soft, but at my touch, it flinched to attention and quickly grew harder.

"I'm going to lick you, and suck you, and..."  I slid down on the bed, and cooed sweetly over the hard object.  "You okay with that?"

He put his hands behind his head and settled into the pillow, his taut, muscled body stretched out before me.  Oh, those tight abs.  They really were rock hard.  "
Bien sur
."

I'd had my hands on his penis all through the night.  I'd stroked and sucked and licked it in between tending his abs, nipples and mouth.  But I hadn't taken the time to give it my full attention.  A devoted undertaking that I now took to with glee.

I've never considered a man's penis a thing of beauty.  Nor was it ugly.  A penis was sort of an alien life form sprung from the edge of a man's torso.  Surrounded by a thatch of curly dark hairs, Monsieur Eiffel grew up strong and straight, naked and veiny, with a thick maroon cap that pushed back the foreskin the more erect it grew.  If I compared it to a mushroom one might find deep in the middle of some enchanted forest, it could only be that rare species the lost forest maiden sought out in a quest to discover true ecstasy.  Once located in the center of the woods, she'd pull up her skirts and lower herself onto the rigid phallus, and piston herself madly until she creamed and fell to the lush mossy ground in fits of sighing pleasure.

I did mention my wicked imagination, yes?

Putting myself eye level to Monsieur Eiffel, which indeed, sprang up as straight and proud as the landmark, I hushed a breath over the column.  His penis responded with a tightening flinch that bobbed against my lips.  Without using my hands, I mouthed him, teasing my tongue along the suede-warm skin and tasting the sweet saltiness of him.

I shifted my body, straddling his legs.  My breasts settled against his thighs.  My nipples tingled expectantly as the fine hairs on his legs tickled them.  I glided my feet along his, our toes dancing as I wedged my biggest toe between two of his.  I did love having my feet touched, and his were soft, the skin on them ridiculously smooth.  He never walked barefoot in the woods, I guessed.  Socks on always.  A city boy.  Nothing wrong with that.

I liked the weird connection of toes entangled within toes.  And don't get me started on how eagerly I wanted to bring up my fantasy of him licking my toes.  That could wait for another day.

Clasping his cock firmly, I traced a zigzagging trail up the side of the column, dancing back and forth over the engorged vein.  Drenched in musk and yes, traces of me, the scent of him appealed to the animal center of my brain that simply wanted more, more, and more.

His hips pushed upward in a greedy plea.  His breathing was measured, yet deep.  I managed a glance up over the landscape of his abs and chiseled pectorals and saw his eyes were closed, his jaw tense.  Yet I sensed a certain relaxed expectation that made me grin against his cock.  The man enjoyed my performance. 

I turned my head, rolling the hard column over my cheek.  This part of a man may not be the prettiest, but it was fun to play with, to touch and admire.  To see how it reacted to a quick lick or a lingering draw of my tongue along its length.  It bobbed and thickened, and the vein on the underside swelled.  So intricate, and it was mine.  All mine. 

Feeling frisky, I nipped the side of him, using my teeth, but not biting hard.  He flinched and tutted me playfully, which was quickly followed by a long moan.  I loved the sound of his moans, and the gasping pleas that generally accompanied them.  He wasn't a silent lover, and I found that strangely appealing considering I had preferred no chatter in the bedroom in the past.  Perhaps it was because the last two weeks of our relationship had been fueled by talk.  We knew how to ask one another for what we desired.

"You are hungry?" he asked on the end of one of those exquisite moans.

"Yes, I want a mouthful." 

I tilted his cock downward, taking the head of it into my mouth as deeply as I could, and then sucking hard until his hips pumped in a pleading rhythm.  Using a firm grip about the base of his cock, I cupped his testicles with my other hand, all while sucking him in and out of my mouth, licking around the firm edge of the corona, then past my lips until I felt him against the roof of my mouth.

His balls were so tight against his body I knew he could come at any moment, but that didn't stop me from tracing the oval curve of them down and around to the back where the skin met body.  I traced quickly about his asshole, and then tickled my way up to the testicles again, cupping them gently.

The art of sucking cock was to not ignore your own pleasure.  I was so wet.  I rubbed my pussy against his knee, grinding the sweet spot with delicious friction, and encouraging him to nudge up hard against my clit.  Oh yeah, that was what I wanted.

I quickened my speed, slicking my hand up and down his shaft while alternately licking the head, and then sucking it like a lollipop.  His hips shuddered, as did his thighs, and he'd forgotten about giving me pressure with his knee.  I didn't.  I wriggled my mons against his leg to finely tune my burgeoning climax as I sucked him.

"
Oui
," he gasped.  A hand gripped the back of my head, urging me gently, yet insistently forward.

A tilt of my hips intensified the teasing connection of my pussy to his knee.  I could get off...just...  A.  Bit.  More.  Pressure.

Two more strokes and a deep, drawing suck at his cock head released Jean-Louis from the expectant, tight anticipation of orgasm.  An explosive but brief shout burst from his lungs.  The hand previously at my head beat the bed with a triumphant fist.  He came in my mouth and down my chin.  And I shifted on his knee, tendering out the softest yet sweetest little flutter of orgasm I could manage. 

I slapped my palms to the bed on either side of his hips.  With cum dripping down my chin, I licked at it, wiping most away with the side of my hand, and winked at him.  The man's face was flushed.  His eyes smiled brightly.  He leaned up and pulled my head to him and kissed me hard, deep and long.

The taste of his cum, the wine we'd indulged through the night, and his salty essence mingled in a heady cocktail.  My clit twitched and I squeezed my thighs together to capture the last twinkle of orgasm.

"Your cock is mine," I said into his mouth. 

Then I collapsed beside him and drew up a knee to rest on his hip beside his lax penis.  I spread my fingers across his hot, panting chest.  We hadn't slept all night.  It was probably close to noon. 

Within minutes, we drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

***

It was morning.  Again.  Had we really spent two days in bed having wild, passionate sex with one another?

Oh yeah.  Save for a few bathroom runs and a couple trips to raid the fridge of plums, wine, and cheese, the bed had been our island of exotic pleasure.  Proof of our extended liaison lay in the parts of my body that were sore and achy.  But it was a good kind of ache that made me smile so broadly I feared cracking my cheeks.