by MARTIN, KC
It was dusk now, the sky indigo, as Laine keyed in the code to the outer door, while Colin held her from behind, pressing impatiently into her backside and making her feel dizzy with lust.
Once through the door, in the dark corridor, she reached for the button to turn on the timed light, but Colin intercepted her hand.
“Don’t,” he whispered, as he turned her toward him and pressed her against the stone wall.
“But we’re almost there,” whispered Laine, heady with the intensity of his appetite. There was nothing more powerful, more intoxicating, than being the source of a handsome man’s desire. She felt sexy, languid, terribly wet, standing, legs splayed, in the semi-private corridor.
The fountain gurgled just out of sight. Tenants would be heading out to dinner soon, and they would have to pass through this corridor.
“Let’s go up,” she urged.
“In a minute,” he breathed into her collarbone, and then he nipped lightly at her skin. “I can’t wait any longer to touch you.” His hand was up her skirt, but blocked by her winter stockings; he cupped her pussy through the fabric and moaned.
“You’re soaked,” he growled, and then he forced his hand up and under the waistband of her stockings. He navigated his middle finger deep into her folds until he’d slid inside. Laine gasped. She’d never been this wet, this fast, for Richard.
Colin moaned deeply, “Oh, yes. Oh, Laine. I did this to you?” She nodded, squeezing his finger with her inner muscles.
“I’m the luckiest bloke in Paris,” he whispered. “I want to take you right here.”
Her head was swimming. She didn’t think she could refuse him, but she’d never had sex in public before.
“Would you like that?” he said. “Would you like me to take you right here against this wall?”
His other hand went to his slacks, undid his button and fly, and Laine felt the heat of him against her thigh, on the other side of her stockings. He thrust towards her, pretending, while his finger swirled deep inside her. She choked back shallow breaths.
“I could pull these tights down to your ankles, turn you around, and take you from behind. Would you like that?”
She suddenly felt frightened. In part because she didn’t know this man, but more because she was afraid she really would like that.
She gulped. “Colin, wait. The shoes. You wanted to see me in my shoes.”
He chuckled, softened his press against her, withdrew his finger just a bit.
“Don’t be frightened, sweet thing. I’m just trying to get you as revved up as you’ve gotten me. A woman who knows what she wants is a powerful turn on. Makes a man want to give her what she wants. And I know you want something. You wouldn’t be wearing those shoes if you had no desires.”
It was true. She hadn’t realized it until this moment. Her red shoes were a symbol of her desire—when she first bought them and then packed them and then wore them. At first they stood for something she wished she had, something she wanted to find, a power and a peace within herself to go after what she really wanted, a fulfillment of her heart’s desire, and now they had brought her to this threshold…
“Take me upstairs,” she said.
He escorted her across the courtyard, kissing her all the way over the cobbled stones and then up the three flights of wooden stairs. At each landing, he took off another item of her clothing. Her coat, her scarf, her blouse. She unlocked the door to the flat wearing only her bra and skirt, stockings and shoes, with Colin kissing her back and running one hand up her inner thigh.
They stumbled through the door, dropped what they were carrying, and groped each other in the dark.
“There are candles,” she murmured. “And I need a second. I’ll be right back.”
She untangled from his embrace, during which he’d managed to slip out of his coat, suit jacket, and shoes. He stood before her in his light blue dress shirt and undone pants. She stared at the open zipper. She had felt him but still not seen him. She dropped to her knees, pulled at the waistband of his boxers and withdrew a satisfying specimen of the male anatomy. Pink and veined, with a smooth thick head that seemed to be bursting at the seams. She kissed it, and then took it into her mouth, wondering if it would even fit her lucky charm condom.
His hands found her hair, his fingers weaving through the strands. “Oh, that’s good,” he murmured. “Very nice.”
The slight must smell of him turned her on even more. It represented the day, his movements, bumping into her, finding her again, turning her on and being turned on by her. She had been part of the fine workings of his body, and now she tasted and smelled and touched it all.
“This isn’t fair, he said. “I need to taste you, too. Tell me what you want.”
She leaned back on her heels, looked up at his half-lidded pleasure-drunk green eyes.
“Give me a minute.”
She ducked into the bathroom, removed her skirt and stockings, decided to leave on her thong and bra, and then slipped back into her red shoes. They felt even tighter going on, pinching at the toes, but they had guided her this far and she was determined to let them be a part of this experience.
She returned to the combined sitting room-slash-bedroom, with a wrought iron bed against one wall, a small table and chairs near the kitchen nook, a desk and a leather lounging chair in the corner by the window. Colin had lit about a dozen tea lights and now sat in the leather chair basking in the glow.
“There you are,” he whispered, staring at her, drinking her all in, his gaze lingering on her red shoes. He smiled. “Yes,” he said. “They’re a beacon. Even in this light.”
Laine knew the candlelight flattered her figure and hid the small flaws, so she turned confidently, letting him appreciate the view.
When she propped one foot on the desk chair, he leaned forward. He had removed his slacks and she could see his erection poking out above his boxers.
“Take your panties off and do that,” he said.
She obliged and said. “Yours too then.”
He stood, pulled, and a second later had stepped out of his boxers and taken the two strides over to where she posed. His fingers slid between her open legs, dabbling among the slippery folds, and roving purposefully over her clit. She moaned and reached for his shirt buttons, undoing them one by one as they stared into each other’s eyes. After she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, he clasped her to his hard, bare chest. His cock was dangerously close to her pussy and Laine was so aroused she was dangerously close to not caring if she swallowed him up raw.
“You’ll wear a condom?” she whispered, not wanting to break the spell but neither wanting to end up full of questions, or worse.
“Of course,” he said. “But this is okay for a bit?” He was sliding his cock lightly along the length of her slipperiness.
“Yes,” she nodded. “Feels so good skin to skin. But I’m afraid you’ll slip in. I want you in.” She kissed him hard on the lips to show the fierceness of her building desire. “I have one,” she said. “In my purse.”
He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “A woman who knows what she wants and comes prepared? Almost too good to be true. But I have some of my own and I know they work for me.”
He backed away from her, reaching for his slacks, his cock quivering in the candlelight.
He returned to her, sheathed, kneeled down in front of her, and licked as if she were made of Chantilly. With one hand he held her buttock firm, so his tongue could lap at her pussy with more force. With his other hand, he held her calf, just above the heel of her shoe, and his fingers caressed gently up to the back of her knee and back down to her ankle.
When she felt her climax roiling deep inside, her moans and cries told him she was close. He stood and took her there, standing, one arm against the wall for support.
The feel of Colin inside her felt both foreign and familiar, both dangerous and safe, both liberating and encompassing. He thrust deeply up and into her, drawing her closer to her own private h
eaven, and then he picked her up and carried her—her legs wrapped around his waist—across the room and splayed her across the arm of the chair, where he plundered her from behind. She savored the deep spearing and the feel of his hands cupping her breasts, his fingers squeezing her nipples. But when she heard his breathing roughen and catch in his throat, when his rhythm sped up, she wriggled out from under him and led him to the bed covered in white linens and laid him down. By now she’d removed her bra and only wore her red shoes.
She straddled Colin, took him deep inside her, and, rocking slowly at first, she worked herself up to a wild bucking, a frenzy of plunging pleasure that made him stare and moan and beg her to come all over him. She gave him what he wanted, after he’d given her what she needed, and watching her coming—her face taut with concentration, wild abandon, and vulnerable receiving—he poured forth his release. She felt his contained pulses deep inside her, the flexing surges of his satisfaction, along with her own tender aftershocks.
Breathing heavily, happily sated, Laine draped her spent body over Colin’s. When she cooled, she curled next to him, drawing the covers up over them both. He spooned her and she fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.
Chapter 5
When Laine woke the next morning she remembered that she was in Paris and for the first time in months, she hadn’t woken thinking of Richard. She smiled. It was Valentine’s Day morning and she finally had her heart back.
She could sense that she was in the bed alone, that Colin—her green-eyed angel—had left in the night. She rolled over and saw, on the pillow beside her, the red rose he had presented to her yesterday. Tied to the stem was an email address scrawled on a little slip of paper.
Laine wiggled her bare toes; she had managed to kick off her shoes in the night. They were somewhere under the covers. She didn’t need them now, not in this moment, but she knew she would again. Because she was full of desires, and determined to fulfill them. She decided to add a new item to her bucket list, something involving Florence, Italy and red shoes.
THE END of PART I
THREE MONTHS LATER...
Part II:
FULL MOON IN FLORENCE
KC MARTIN
Part II
Chapter 1
Laine Dixon sat at her desk in the administrative offices of San Francisco’s Coalition of Fine Arts attempting to compose one of the hardest emails she’d ever tried to write.
Dear Colin.
No. She backspaced. Maybe just,
Colin.
Direct, upbeat.
Delete.
A simple C?
She shook her head. Too casual for someone she hardly knew.
Laine sighed and looked out her window. She hardly knew him and yet he’d already seen her naked.
Dear Colin.
Remember me?
Three months ago in Paris…
“I bet I can guess what you’re daydreaming about,” said Tina, slipping through Laine’s partially open door and dropping some papers on her desk before perching on its corner.
Laine’s dreamy gaze sharpened back to focus on reality. “Bet you can’t.”
Tina smiled. “Heaps of fresh pasta, freshly grated parmesan cheese, tiramisu, Chianti. Mmmmm.”
Laine laughed as she sorted the new papers. “Wrong.”
“That’s what I would be dreaming about if I was on my way to Italy next week,” said Tina, crossing her arms and watching Laine closely.
Tina’s obsession with good food was not obvious when you looked at her, perhaps because her obsession with going to the gym was just slightly more intense.
“The whole office is so jealous, I’d be careful walking down the hall on your way out today,” continued Tina. “Though it’s really no surprise Mark tapped you for the task.”
“Oh no. Those rumours aren’t spreading again are they?”
Tina shrugged. “We’re low on gossip in the outer office.”
“You know there’s nothing going on between us. Never has. Never will. I wish people would pay attention to their own lives instead of making stuff up about mine.”
“Aw that’s no fun. Besides, everyone loves to live vicariously. Beautiful single woman jetting off to Florence on her boss’s dime? And, the strangest coincidence. Mark’s taking next week off, too.”
“What? He didn’t tell me that.”
Tina raised an eyebrow. “So that’s not what you were daydreaming about? That would have been my second guess.”
Laine whacked Tina on her bare knee. “I don’t know what Mark is up to but he’s not coming with me to pick up the painting.”
“So then what’s got you all starry-eyed?” said Tina, glancing at Laine’s computer screen a split second before she put it to sleep.
“The sexy Brit? Ooh.” Tina waggled her eyebrows. “Thinking of a side trip are we?”
Laine shook her head. “It’s nothing. I can’t even bring myself to write the darn email.”
Tina twisted off the desk and hovered over Laine’s shoulder. “What have you got so far?”
Laine and Tina stared at the blinking curser on the blank page. “Nothing?”
“I delete everything I write.”
“Show me the last email exchange. We’ll go from there.”
“There isn’t one.”
With one arm on the back of Laine’s chair and the other leaning on her desk, Tina had Laine practically pinned where she was, so she swiveled the chair slightly towards her until their eyes lined up and she stared intently into them.
“You’re telling me that you had a mind-blowing one night stand with this guy, who left you his email address tied to a red rose on the pillow beside you, and in the three months since then you have never written to him?”
Laine shook her head sheepishly. “I could never figure out what to say.”
Tina closed her eyes briefly and sighed. Her disappoint was obvious.
“Laine, I’m your assistant, and even more than that, your friend. You told me how much this guy meant to you after Richard jilted you last December. He was your green-eyed angel in Paris, remember?”
“I know, I know, but it was a perfect night. You can’t recreate something like that.”
“Maybe not, but you can move forward and create new, wonderful things. Do you think he would have left you his email address if he hadn’t wanted to hear from you?”
“It’s probably not even a real one.”
Tina threw up her hands. “If the outer office crew knew how shy and timid you really are there’d be no fantasizing about you and the boss or you and some hot Italian Ferrari-driving dude. You really make me work too hard to keep up your reputation.”
“I don’t want that kind of reputation.”
“You’re like a prude librarian shut up in this place. I thought something had changed when you dashed off to Paris a few months ago. When you told me about your one night stand, I thought, good on her, she’s finally seizing the juicy fruits in life. Colin’s one of them.”
Tina stared at Laine’s computer screen. “Move over.” She hip-checked Laine’s office chair and it rolled to the side. Positioning her fingers over Laine’s keyboard, Tina spoke out loud as she tapped.
“Colin Baby. Haven’t stopped thinking about you since our perfect night of sex.”
“I’m not writing that.”
“You were so hot, I’ve been masturbating to those memories ever since.”
“I’m definitely not writing that.’
“But it’s true isn’t it?” Tina focused on the screen and kept typing. “I bet you’ve been jacking off, too – oh wait, the Brits say wanking, don’t they?”
Laine got out of her chair and physically removed Tina from her computer, hitting delete in the process.
“As an assistant and a friend you’ve gone a bit too far,” said Laine, but she couldn’t keep from smiling at Tina’s efforts to embolden her a little.
“I memorized his email address. I’m going to write to him if you don
’t,” Tina threatened.
“I will.”
“Tell him to meet you in Florence. There are all those cheap flights from London. It won’t take long to pick up the painting, you’ll have days and days to indulge in wild passionate sex.”
“Reality check, Tina. He’s probably forgotten me, or he’s with someone else, or not interested. Or, most likely, it’s a bogus email.”
Tina frowned. Laine had wrestled her to the threshold of her office door, where she held her ground for one last challenge.
“Reality is a drag,” whined Tina. “That’s why we work in the arts, isn’t it? But if you’re so keen on reality, at least find out what’s real. Write to him, Laine. You’ve got nothing to lose.”
“Back to work,” said Laine, pushing Tina out the door. “I promise I’ll send him a bland, tasteful email by the end of the work day.”
“CC me on it, okay?” said Tina.
“No way.”
Laine returned to her desk, thinking about what Tina had said about having nothing to lose. But she did. She had her hope.
After Richard had dumped her just before last Christmas, and then was seen with someone else by New Years, to whom he planned to propose on Valentine’s Day, which made Laine, impulsively and uncharacteristically, book a last minute trip to Paris, where she literally quite accidentally met Colin Ellington on the Daru staircase in the Louvre, which lead to a night of steamy hot sex, Laine had finally felt hope bloom in her heart once again.
That hope had been sustaining her for the past three months, not masturbation, as Tina had implied (or at least not only that). So reaching out to Colin actually did mean a lot, and she did have something to lose, because if he had forgotten her, or didn’t care, or had given her a false email, then that tender hope that had been ballooning inside her would pop and she’d be left with the reality that her life might simply be that of a dour and dull librarian despite being surrounded by the beauty of art. She didn’t know if she’d be able to bear the disappointment. And that’s why she’d put off trying to contact him for so long.
