“But there is just one thing,” he said taking his hands and freeing her hair from the soft bun. “There. That’s better.” He smiled to her, brushing some of her hair from her face with his finger. “I like this dress,” he continued. “Here.” His fingers traced along the crochet over her ample bosom, and she let him.
She stood staring up at him not knowing what she was supposed to do next. He knew. “So, have we wasted enough time on observations?”
“Uh…Um.” She swallowed hard. “Yes,” she said hoarsely.
His hand caressed the back of her neck. “Good,” he said, as he bent his head and kissed her deeply. His tongue dipped and stroked inside her mouth, sending tingles and small electric shocks throughout her body.
Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. She remembered his kisses. His lips. He was an expert at seducing her mouth with his. She thought they would forget about dinner. The ruse that had been set into play for the reason she was over at his house. She thought he would take her up to his bedroom and they would have sex again. She thought he would awaken her memory of that night and give her even more to remember. She thought. But Jean-Michel only planted a small kiss on the side of her lips, smiled softly at her, and went back over to the stove.
She stood blinking in disbelief. With one kiss he had tightened her nipples. With the touch of his hand on the back of her neck, her body had responded on command. Her nipples tightened, damn it! Her skin blushed. Her pussy became wet with desire. And he was over by the stove checking on his sauce.
He turned to her then, taking a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, and two glasses from under the cabinet. He held them all with one hand, and took her by the other. “Come. The chicken needs twenty more minutes,” he said leading her into his living room.
He put the wine bottle and glasses on a stylish table, and sat down on the sofa. It was a large, blue, corner group set in the middle of the living room. He was a large man, and the large piece of furniture suited him. A huge TV was positioned on the wall in front of the sofa. The room was sparsely furnished and decorated, but tastefully done in homey colors of blues and greens. He was in the corner of the sofa, and she couldn’t help but sit close to him. She thought, finally they would have some heavy making out time. Some rediscovering of each other. Nope.
“So, tell me about yourself,” he said opening the bottle with a corkscrew on the table and pouring healthy amounts into their glasses.
“We’re talking? Oh,” she said almost disappointedly.
“Taffy,” Jean-Michel said staring at her. “I was serious when I said I wanted to get to know you. Did you think that the only reason I asked you over here was to make love to you?”
“Kind of.”
Jean-Michel only stared at her. “We have already made love—”
“Sex,” she corrected.
“No. It was not just sex,” he said with a frown. “Maybe it was only sex for you, but I made love to you.”
“Jean-Michel, we didn’t know each other. We don’t know each other. There was no connection between us.”
He seemed to think about what she said, leaning back into the sofa. He shook his head. “No. There was a connection for me. From the moment I saw you come into the club, I was connected to you. Here,” he said pointing to his heart. “What do you think?” he asked gazing at her. “Do you think I would have taken any woman home with me? To my bed? No. It was you and only you that captured me. But I want more than a casual fuck, Taffy. I don’t casually fuck anyone. I’ve been with women, yes. But I made love to each of them because that is all I know how to do. Sex isn’t some meaningless bang that you try to accomplish. I’m not looking for the next notch on my belt. Fucking some woman that I don’t want to see anymore is not satisfying to me. I would rather pleasure myself than have meaningless sex. I want you, but not only to have in my bed. I want to have you here,” he said pointing to his heart again.
Taffy’s heart was beating a mile a minute. She had felt a connection and it frightened her. She had never felt something for a man that she didn’t know. She hadn’t felt anything for some of the men that she had known. That included her last boyfriend. She’d stayed with him because his best friend was going out with one of her best friends. It was socially convenient. But the last man she had been even remotely close to loving had been Seth. She didn’t want to go through that pain again. But even as she gazed at Jean-Michel, he held the promise of pleasure not pain.
“So, you’re going to tell me that you’ve had a connection with every woman you’ve slept with?” Taffy asked him disbelievingly.
“Taffy, I know men are supposed to conquer as many women as they can,” he said nonchalantly. “From the time they learn what sex is, they are supposed to get as much as they can. Fuck around, as they say. My parents didn’t teach me to do that. For me, sex wasn’t something so taboo that I had experience it no matter what. My parents were very open about sex. About what it was, and the best way to experience all that it could be. So, by the time I was fourteen, I wasn’t interested in getting my dick wet because I wanted to tell all of my friends that I had. I wanted to experience that passion, that sensuality, that carnal eroticism that my parents told me sex could be by taking your time. By waiting for someone with that connection. That connection can be emotional, spiritual, physical, metaphysical…anything. But it has to be there. And getting your rocks off to feel a release won’t bring the most pleasure.”
“Wow.” She was intrigued.
He picked up his wine glass, holding it out to her. “It’s like this wine.” He gulped down the last of the contents. “I just had the wine. I drank it as many people would do, without thought. But I was only drinking it to…to drink wine.” He poured more into his glass. “Now,” he said taking the glass and holding it to his nose. “I will take the time to enjoy what I have. Take in the color, the scent.” He closed his eyes. “The grapes. The pungent scent of the alcohol and the slight scent of…aged wood, yes?” he said with his eyes still closed. “I can smell the barrel that the wine was aged in. There is also a scent of something else…Elderberry? Or currant, maybe?” He sipped some of the wine delicately, holding it in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing it.
Jean-Michel smiled and opened his eyes. “The taste is sweet, but subtle. Tangy, but very smooth. And as it went down my throat, it excited all of my senses. I heard it, as I poured it into my glass. I saw the deep purple color, as I held it before my eyes. I smelled the scents of all that went into making it. Grapes, wood, elderberry, currants, smoke. I felt the liquid in my mouth and on my tongue.” He smiled at her. “Then the warmth from the alcohol, as it hit my stomach. I have experienced the wine. I didn’t just drink it.”
She wanted to experience him. She understood him now, nodding to him in earnest. He wanted to get to know her, and she wanted to be that glass of wine.
“Making love should be like drinking good wine,” said Jean-Michel. “It shouldn’t be rushed and…” He smiled slyly. “Gulped. Making love is something to be savored. Slowly. It should be appreciated. Like a woman should be appreciated and savored. Every, single inch of her,” he said staring at her.
She sat staring at him, trying to remember how to breathe. “I’m an advertisement artist for a firm in California,” she said to him, smiling.
“Yes,” he sat back into his seat nodding and they talked.
Jean-Michel was an amazing cook. They sat at his table in a small alcove by the kitchen. The lighting was muted and intimate there. He’d made a delicious chicken dish that she couldn’t quite place.
“This is amazing, Jean-Michel. The sauce especially,” she said around a mouthful. “What is it?”
Jean-Michel poured some white wine into their glasses. “This is something I made up myself. I love to cook, but sometimes my recipes don’t come out like they should,” he said with a laugh. “This one time, I was making what I thought was drowned chicken. A French version of drowned chicken, but my chicken refused to dr
own.”
Taffy started laughing with him. “So,” he continued, “I improvised, and started to add my own herbs to the recipe. I hate to sound to French, but voilà!”
They didn’t stop talking for the rest of the night. She helped him clean up, loving the domestic feel of it all. Then they sat back on the sofa, still immersed in conversation. He took a remote from the table in front of him, and pressed a button. Soft music came from somewhere. The walls? She realized that he had surround sound. She knew the song. It was “Last Night” by AZ Yet. She hoped it was a prelude to what lay ahead for the night. The slow seductive music was made for lovers. He kept it low enough for them to continue their conversation.
But then, maybe it was the wine, or… No. It was definitely not the wine. It was them. They were drawn to each other like moths to a flame. It all began innocently. She was sitting close to him. Their bodies almost touching. Each time she laughed, they would touch. Or he would nonchalantly brush her hair from her face with his fingers. It was a small gesture, but conveyed much more than that.
It was when he kissed her neck that she fell. It would be a long time before she would admit to herself that she fell for him then, with that one small kiss in that one erogenous spot, but she did.
She moaned softly, as he trailed his tongue down her neck. He began to kiss along her jaw, ending at her lips, as his tongue teased her, tracing along the soft outline of her mouth. His warm tongue coaxed her lips to open for him, and their lips became engaged in a competition of who could pleasure the other most. She loved their game. And when she felt his hand caressing her thigh, slowly pulling her dress up to reveal her flesh to him, she could only smile at him.
“Are you trying to undress me?” she asked him breathlessly.
Jean-Michel smiled seductively at her. “Yes, I am.”
Taffy had never been the type to initiate anything when it came to sex. In all of her relationships, she was content to let her boyfriends lead the way in bed. Nina called her a submissive, as in being the bottom in a BDSM relationship. She always waited to be told what they wanted her to do, but never took it upon herself to do what she wanted to do to them. Until Jean-Michel. He was like that wine he had described. She wanted to experience all she had dismissed before. She had only gulped her way through sex. Getting it over so that she could get back to what she really wanted to do. But not with him. She wanted more than what she could remember about the night they’d spent together. She wanted to taste and tempt him. She wanted to tease him. And when she straddled his lap, he seemed to want the same, as he smiled alluringly at her.
“Then,” she said softly. “Undress me.”
Jean-Michel gazed at her, pulling her lips to his with his hand at the back of her neck, and kissing her passionately, stroking her mouth with is tongue until she gasped in surrender. He stared at the straps of her dress going around her neck. His hand went to the straps, as he slowly untied the back, letting them fall away to the side. She was wearing a halter bra underneath that fastened around her neck. He didn’t unfasten it immediately, but took his time gazing at her breasts beckoning to him from the lace confines of her bra. He took one finger and traced along the edge of her bra where her breasts overflowed. He then traced his finger over the cup, gazing up at her and knowing he had located with precision the taut tip of her nipple, as it hardened in response to his touch.
She watched his expression, intent on his task, as he slowly unfastened the strap around her neck at the same time that his hand unhooked the three hooks at her back. He took her bra, and threw it to the side, his gaze never leaving hers.
When he cupped her full breasts in his hands, she closed her eyes. “No,” he said to her. “I want to see you watching me. Watch me make love to your breasts, coquette.”
She stared down at him, as his mouth took one hardened nipple into his mouth. His eyes closed for only a second, as the pure pleasure of tasting her flesh seemed to envelope him. Then he speared her gaze with his own, continuing to suck and lick her nipples, smiling slightly at hearing the soft purring sounds coming from her mouth.
“Your tits are only for me, coquette. Say it,” he whispered to her, as he kissed and buried his face between them.
“Yes. They’re only for you,” she whispered.
He was so adept at what he was doing. Caressing and massaging, and kissing her breasts, before engulfing her taut nipples into his warm mouth and sucking them to hardened peaks. He watched her reaction to his mouth. Apparently keeping her attention from his real purpose. She hadn’t known when he had sneaked his hand between the two of their bodies. She had been so entranced at what his lips were doing to her breasts that she hadn’t noticed that his fingers had slipped under the elastic of her thong. When he took one nipple into his mouth again, she gasped at feeling his finger slip inside of her pussy.
“Ah!” Her eyes widened in surprise and in pleasure.
“Shhh,” he said flicking his tongue over her other nipple. “You are so wet, baby. You feel so silky and wet. Tell me what you want.”
She couldn’t think. His fingers were expertly massaging her clit, with one delicious finger deep inside of her, stroking and discovering her pussy. “I…” She closed her eyes, relishing in the sweet sensations he was giving to her. “I want to feel you inside me,” she said breathlessly.
“But I am inside of you,” he said with a seductive grin.
She stared down at him just as he flicked his thumb over her clit. His gaze was smoldering, as she began panting in tempo to what he was doing with his fingers. “You’re hoping I’ll come with only your fingers,” she said tensely.
“I’m positive you will, if I continue. Come here,” he said, taking his hand from her breast and pulling her lips down to his.
True to his word, she couldn’t contain herself when he started to thrust his finger deeper. Then he pulled her toward his lips, capturing them feverishly, wantonly, seductively, as the music played only for them.
“Take this off,” he said, tugging on her dress.
He didn’t need to say another word. Taffy hurriedly pulled the dress over her head, throwing it somewhere in the room. She didn’t care where it landed. Jean-Michel ran his hands over her body, as if he were studying a priceless piece of art. His eyes traveled up and down her full curves, his lips soon followed taking small, gentle, nips along her body.
Taffy dipped her head, kissing along the muscles on his shoulders. She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, but Jean-Michel was impatient. He ripped his shirt off, and then began to remove his jeans, pulling them down his hips. Taffy stayed straddled across his lap, and then felt the warmth of his skin on her thighs. She also felt the strength of his erection straining against his briefs. She knew that if not for the thin material separating them, his cock would spring forth like a python ready to strike. All of his strength. All of his meat. All for her.
She gave him a wanton smile before she began rubbing her crotch over his hard cock. Jean-Michel was the one to moan then.
“You are teasing me, coquette,” he whispered to her, as their mouths sensually explored one another.
Taffy nodded. “Yes, I am.”
Jean-Michel hooked his fingers into the elastic of her thong, and in one motion ripped them off. He flipped her onto her back on the sofa, piercing her with an intense gaze. “No more teasing,” he said.
Taffy nodded, gasping out as she felt the hard strength of his cock began to push inside of her. In all of her sexual experience, the man she was with slid into her vagina as if she’d been lube up like a prized race car. For some time, she thought her vagina was too big for any man to gain pleasure from her. She had been wrong. She wasn’t too big. The men she’d been with had been boys. Pencil dicks. Gherkin pickles. Because Jean-Michel had to fight for every inch. She didn’t care about having a sore vagina. His cock was the golden prize of Olympus!
But then he began to move with the finesse of a stallion, hitting places inside of her that she never knew she had. He thrust
deeply and slowly, making her cry out and grab along his back. This was what it was supposed to feel like, she thought. She had been a virgin before, because she had never felt anything like what Jean-Michel was giving to her.
“Tell me, baby.” He kissed her neck. “Tell me how to please you.”
Her experiences hadn’t dealt with telling anyone what she wanted. Her man at the time would enter her pussy, thrust a few times, groan and moan, grunt his release, and dismount. Done and finished in time to catch the kick-off of the game on TV.
But she was with Jean-Michel. A man that was staring down into her eyes, as he moved deliciously inside of her. A man that wanted her to tell him what felt good to her. It was sex talk. Shit yes.
“Faster, baby,” she whispered to him. She felt his tempo increase, and it was as though small fireworks began to shoot off in her vagina. “Oh!”
“Yes? Oh, yes,” Jean-Michel moaned, as his eyes closed for a second.
Taffy tightened her muscles around him, making Jean-Michel gasp aloud, and smile down to her. “You are amazing,” he said. “I never want to leave your body. Harder?”
Taffy nodded, as Jean-Michel took hold of her leg, tilting her pelvis up as he began to thrust harder inside of her. She wanted it all to last, but her body began to betray her. Her nipples tightened. Her pussy became drenched in her excitement. She gripped his butt, as she bowed her back.
“Ah! Oh, shit!” she yelled out.
“Yes, coquette. Come for me.” He began to thrust maddeningly inside of her. The slap, slap, slap of their flesh driving them both over the brink of erotic pleasure. Jean-Michel yelled out his release, joining Taffy, as they held on to each other, riding out their orgasm.
She didn’t want him to leave her, as she held him close to her body. Her legs wrapped around him, as he lay between her large thighs.
Enigma of the Heart Page 7
