The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin

by Michele Renae

  "Are you rubbing your cock?" I asked, tongue dashing to the corner of my mouth in anticipation.

  He nodded. "Is okay with you? I can suck you at the same time."

  "Very okay. I wish I could see you jacking off."

  "I…uh…" He closed his eyelids tightly. Trying to maintain the sensual feeling, I'm sure. "Tomorrow I will adjust the camera for a better view, oui?"

  "That's fine. Just take that pretty boy out of your pants right now, and rub it like you'd rub my breasts and nipples, please?"

  "S'il vous plaît," he corrected.

  "S'il vous plaît," I repeated. The French means to saying please was much more delicious on the tongue.

  He stood and unzipped then shuffled down his trousers. "You like this?" He turned to the side, gliding his fingers down the hard shaft that was so close I could reach out and touch it.

  I'd seen him handle the main stick before, so now I focused on taking it in, learning the color and shape of it. Deeper colored than his lightly tanned skin, the head of it growing darker as his fingers slid up and down, slowly, not rushed.

  He turned toward the computer. The underside of his cock was thick, and I knew if my fingers were pressing on it, it would feel full and yet supple, filled with his need to get off.

  "Squeeze your nipples," he said. "Let me watch you so close to me. Lick your fingers to wet them and make your tits slick."

  I followed directions, my breast and hand becoming the star of the show. He bent again to watch me, and his hand worked faster up and down his cock.

  "Tell me how you like it," he said, pumping at his cock. In the background a phone jangled.

  No, don't answer it.

  Another tweak of my nipple arched my back and I shoved my free hand between my thighs.

  The phone again rang. He glanced to the side. "Mon abeille, I have to take this. It is work." He grabbed the phone and signaled for me to pause.

  Pause?

  But I was touching myself for him. We were having a moment here!

  He spoke to someone, stood, and wandered out of camera range.

  "Shoot." I exhaled and pushed the hair from my face. "Work this late?"

  He flashed back into view, the phone tucked between shoulder and crooked head, and I saw him type. Words scrolled onto the screen before me.

  Tech problem for tomorrow. Must straighten out. Will take some time. So sorry.

  I typed: I understand. We did agree to go slooowly. We can pick up tomorrow where we left off.

  Promise!

  "Sweet dreams," I said. "Until tomorrow night."

  His screen went black and I closed the laptop with a frustrated sigh.

  Okay. So the something that had to be wrong with him had just revealed itself. The man was a workaholic. And he was far too casual about coitus interruptus.

  I couldn't get upset about this. And I wouldn't. (Okay, just a little. I mean, come on!)

  Setting the laptop on the floor, I pulled up the sheets and snuggled into the pillow. Slipping a hand between my legs, I replayed Monsieur Sexy's voice in my reverie as I brought myself to a soft, shuddering orgasm.

  Chapter Three

  I was responsible for closing the map shop this evening. Richard, the owner, was out of town for a few days on another map-sleuthing adventure. Tourist season was settling to a lull, and while the shop normally closed at seven, we sometimes kept it open as long as tourists kept stopping in to browse. We were featuring a ten-euro reprint of a 19th century Parisian map. Sales were moderately brisk.

  At eight, I decided to turn over the closed sign, even though the boulevard still bustled with tourists snapping shots of Nôtre Dame, which loomed against the purple and gray night sky just across the river. Tourists passed by, browsing the nearby shops for scarves, keyrings and baby bibs that all touted Paris bedazzled in rhinestones.

  One of these days one of those glittery tee shirts would be mine. I did like anything that sparkled. I still considered myself more a tourist than a resident.

  But I did enjoy working at the shop, and adored my apartment, so I really should start thinking more in terms of resident. And now there was Monsieur Sexy. We'd known each other almost three weeks. But the notion that we could create something more permanent hit me like a burst of confetti. I wanted to do it. I was capable of doing it.

  I was rushing into this happily ever after too fast.

  "Slow down," I warned, as I wandered into the back room. "You don't want to marry the prince and get stuck in the castle cleaning toilets, do you?"

  Right. Slow and easy was fine with me. For now.

  Actually, since crossing the ocean I had become a bit of a short-term dater. A month or two had become my relationship max. Enough time to have some fun, some great sex, and learn a little about the guy, but not long enough to commit. And that worked swell for me. I had no plans to start thinking marriage and babies until after I'd passed the big 3-0.

  In the back room, the map Richard had found on a previous expedition lay upon a wooden drafting table covered with linen to protect it. He believed it was an original map drawn by Leonardo da Vinci. And I was inclined to agree, having noted that the knotwork monogram in the key legend was exactly like another Da Vinci monogram featured in one of his published notebooks.

  It was fun to imagine it could be something so valuable. And if it was, I was surprised Richard had left it here, lying out in the open. If I had been distracted out in the shop, any customer could have slipped into this small office and taken off with the map. Not that I ever lost track of a customer. The shop was small. Four people filled it.

  Now, as I closed the safe and twisted the dial, I gently glided my fingers over the linen and recalled Richard telling me how a person never truly knows something unless they engage all their senses in the discovery.

  I had engaged a new sense with Monsieur Sexy. And oh, what his voice did to me. The French accent made some of his words shorter than usual, a little uncertain before he spoke another word, but always correct in his choice of English words. He was smart. But I already knew that. The guy was some kind of IT genius. Geeks had never attracted me. But this geek wore his smarts with style.

  Computer smarts were vastly different from street smarts, though. And sensual smarts. Just because a guy knew his way in and around a computer's hardware and software didn't mean he could do so with a woman. My software required a delicate touch. And when it did not, a firmer touch must be employed. But to know when which touch was needed? Definitely an art form.

  He'd been doing all right thus far. Not that he'd yet to navigate any of my software. This no-touching business was admittedly weird. But then again, I had asked for it, and I liked it.

  Yes, I liked the distance.

  I sighed dramatically. Who was I kidding? No touching was for the birds. I needed stimulation that came from the surprise of a man's touch.

  Flicking off the office lights, I walked through the shop, and once outside, locked the front door. I wasn't on the schedule for another three days. That was fine. I had enough research work at home to keep me busy for months.

  Deciding against walking home, even though the night was bright and many tourists strolled along the river boulevard, I headed down the sidewalk and turned at the corner where a café sided in brown with gold embellishments mastered the corner. Set back in the intersection was a massive pink granite fountain that depicted St. Michael stabbing a downed dragon. Parisians were all about glorifying the macabre.

  The Métro stop was tucked amidst the sidewalk café tables. Walking beneath the Art Nouveau-styled sign, I skipped down the steps, slashed my Navigo card, and hopped a train to the seventh where I lived.

  Living only five blocks from the Eiffel Tower should be every girl's dream. Am I right? It was all fun and games until you had to battle the crowds in the Métro tunnels, and then the masses that queued up around the Iron Lady and stretched out for blocks in quest of historical sites and photo-ops.

  My building sat at the edg
e of all of that madness. It was nestled in a quiet vee. That was how I'd met Monsieur Sexy. Our bedroom windows were positioned across from one another. And when the lights were on in our respective rooms we could see everything.

  Now that the romance—and yes, I did consider this a romance—had graduated to the computer screen, I hoped to get to know him a lot better. Get inside of his brain and pick about. I'd always thought the way to learn a man was through the mental rather than the physical.

  I entered my building, nodded to the concierge, and skipped up to the third floor. I never took the elevator. I had a fear of it stopping and me being trapped inside the two-person-only suspended coffin.

  There were two apartments on the third floor. I'd met my neighbors last year, and hadn't seen them since. A young couple with accents I had assessed as Irish. I suspected that they traveled a lot because they were rarely home.

  Walking into my home was always relaxing. I dropped my purse by the door, and aimed for the kitchen where I poured a glass of red wine, or moscato, if I had that on hand. Tonight it was a nice, sweet red. Heeling off my shoes in the middle of the kitchen floor, I padded into the living room to collapse on the chaise.

  A day on my feet, even wearing the comfy kitten heels, always seemed to compress my spine. What I wouldn't give for a massage. Thing was, I didn't like strangers touching me, so I'd never paid for a massage. I relied on generous lovers to do the job. Too bad my current lover couldn't touch me.

  Eyeing the laptop that sat waaay over there on the desk, I sighed. Should have grabbed that before I'd settled in, because now I was just too comfy. I did have my cell phone though. I pulled it from my pocket, and scanned through email.

  Sitting up as I read, I landed on a particular email I'd been waiting weeks to receive and swallowed awkwardly on a quick sip of wine. "Yes! I got it!"

  The job I'd applied for a month ago. The author had interviewed me via email because he was looking for someone to produce a bible for his ever-growing fantasy series. It would involve re-reading his six books, making character profiles, term lists, maps, and keeping track of all the elements in his stories for as long as the series continued.

  "This is going to be fun."

  I couldn't wait to get started. He'd emailed me digital copies of all his books, and wanted to see a first draft in three months. I could do that, as well as keeping my current research schedule. The extra income would be awesome. But more so, the experience would look great on my resume.

  Sipping the wine, I wished Monsieur Sexy were sitting next to me so I could clink my goblet against his in celebration.

  I cast a glance toward the desk. The laptop blinked at me.

  "He works all day. The only time I get to chat with him is a few hours at night. I have to share this good news with him."

  Dragging my weary bones upright, I wandered to the desk with goblet in hand. Hooking the laptop under an arm, I veered toward the bedroom and landed on the comfy velvet chair that matched the chaise. I hadn't realized just how much space there was on this chair until I'd picked up the other day. Bending my legs to sit yoga-style, I set the goblet on the floor beside the chair, nestled deeper into comfort, and then signed on to Skype.

  A message waited. He'd pinged me half an hour ago.

  Bummed I'd missed him, especially since he wasn't presently online. Looking for you, the message said. Had he given up waiting for me?

  Sorry, worked late tonight. You out there? I have exciting news! I sent back, and hit the chime button that would alert him if he was near the computer.

  While waiting I finished the wine. I wasn't a big drinker. A goblet once or twice a week was about all I indulged in. Though, since I'd met Monsieur Sexy I'd been imbibing more often. What was that about? Not like I needed the soft release of inhibitions to, er…release my inhibitions.

  Or did I?

  I tapped my lip, considering that one. No. I didn't need alcohol to feel relaxed and comfortable sharing my body with a man. Even if it had been before a third floor window, in which, at any time, a complete stranger standing below could have spied my naked antics.

  Ok, maybe a sip now and then helped.

  But now we 'd garnered a certain privacy communicating screen to screen. It was weird to consider. We'd gone from bold exhibitionism to more secretive play. Such a crazy ridiculous backwards relationship.

  The computer pinged and I pulled the laptop back onto my legs.

  "Hey," he said. "Wasn't sure I'd catch you tonight. Forgive me for abruptly ending our talk last night?"

  "Of course. You had business. How did that work out?"

  "I was on the phone for two hours, but we sorted out the problem. You look gorgeous."

  "Thanks. I got home late from work. Kept the shop open until the tourist crowd slowed. Most of the day I worked on some accounting the boss left for me. He's old-fashioned and does everything on paper. No computer."

  "Some people cling to what they are comfortable with. My father will never come into the computer age either."

  That glimpse into his personal life made me smile.

  "What's so funny?"

  I shook my head and drew up a leg to my body, leaning against the chair back. "Nothing at all. I like hearing about your life. I only have my father, and he lives in the States."

  "My father is in Marseille."

  "Is that the seaside town where all the celebrities vacation?"

  "I'm not sure about the celebrity quotient, but it is a coastal city. Pretty in the summer if you like to sit topless on the nude beach."

  "Do you go to nude beaches often?"

  He shrugged and leaned forward onto the desk, or whatever it was he had the laptop sitting on. "On occasion. I'm not much for letting it dangle for everyone to see."

  "So then you don't strip for just any strange woman?"

  "Definitely not. Only the pretty ones who peep in my window."

  "I'm not a Peeping Jane."

  "Oh, yes, you are. I recall it was you I caught looking at me as I strode about my room in only my briefs."

  And oh, did I adore the boxer briefs he wore. Snug and hugging that nicely-sized package of his. Mmm…

  "Yes, but you were walking around with the light on and the curtains wide open," I countered.

  "Eh." He shrugged. I loved that sound. A Frenchman's concession to guilt. No biggie, it is just my nature, mademoiselle. "So what is your exciting news?"

  I told him about getting the fantasy bible job.

  "The bible? You know that has been done. And well."

  "Not the bible." I giggled. "It's like a compendium of all the facts about the fantasy world the author has created. And if he likes my work, I can continue as long as he writes the series."

  "Do you like his books?"

  "I do, actually. It's sword and sorcery meets swashbucklers. And the women are strong and brave. It'll be fun being a part of it all."

  "Then I am pleased for you. Felicitations!" He lifted a goblet and we toasted my success.

  "I wish you were here with me so we could actually clink glasses."

  "That is important to you?" he asked. "The clink?"

  "No, but having you here is. I miss you, even though I see you every night. I miss...what I don't have from you yet."

  Wow. Where had that come from? And had it sounded desperate?

  "I think I understand," he said. "I don't know that I've ever had a woman miss me before."

  "Really? I'd say I'm happy to be your first, but that sounds weird. And I'm all about not being weird. Oh heck, that sounded weird." I giggled again.

  He leaned closer to the camera so his face filled the screen. "Your laughter is even better when I can hear it. I want to make you laugh again. Only this time it will be because you've just come, oui?"

  "Give it your best shot, Monsieur Sexy."

  I stood, and with a few steps, landed on the bed. I set the laptop onto the comforter and rolled to my side, head propped against my palm.

  He shook his h
ead and chuckled without sound. "That name you use for me. It is not right."

  "You don't think you're sexy?"

  "Eh."

  Again with the agreement to not agree too much. I loved it.

  "I don't know enough French to concoct a precious nickname like mon abeille."

  "You are my little bee. Carefree and pretty to look at. But maybe you sting if not handled properly, eh?"

  "I don't know about that. Do bees giggle?"

  "This one will."

  He suddenly stood, because the background on the screen changed and I saw him walk into the bedroom, which was plain white and had the standard fake, painted masterpiece on the wall. The curtains were closed and it was dark, so the screen went grainy.

  A light flicked on and I saw him walk away from the computer and sit on the bed.

  "I bought a webcam today," he said. "It picks up a wider range than the tiny computer camera. And I have a remote." He displayed the little silver device.

  "That's cool. So you can walk around while we, uh, you know?"

  "You know?" He tilted a castigating look at me. "You cannot say what it is we do?"

  "We have jack n' jill sessions," I provided bravely.

  Because mercy, it was more difficult to actually speak about it than to do it. Putting our intimate liaisons into words was bold. Raw.

  "Jack and Jill?"

  "You've never heard that term before? Men jack off, and women jill off."

  "Ah, I understand. The term is odd."

  "It's mutual masturbation."

  "Screen sex," he said. "That sounds more sexy, oui?" A wink landed right in my heart. Stabbed by flirtatious sexiness.

  Mercy.

  "Screen sex is more sexy," I agreed. "Unless it's before the window, then it's window sex."

  "Take off your top," he suddenly said. The tone was not a suggestion, but rather a subtle order. He slid back on the bed to sit up against the headboard and the requisite stacks of hotel pillows. "Show me those gorgeous breasts that I love to lick."

  I sat up, and the image of me on the screen suddenly showed only my torso. That wouldn't do. I needed one of those fancy wide-range cameras.

  "Just wait. I need to set the laptop on a table or something."