"Ah? Not much for big slabs of vache—er, cow. Why do you think that of me?"
I shrugged as I drew a fingertip along a strand of glossy pearls. "When I've seen you in your suit you looked so elegant and classy."
"I do like to dress well when I am away from the home office. No use in putting on a suit at home, eh? But I have a certain image I must maintain for clients. And my appetite tends toward the American tastes."
"Really? We Americans love our big slabs of beef."
His laughter paused me in the center of the white marbled floor. I wanted to kiss the screen, but the saleswoman helping me had reappeared, sans dress. She gestured I follow her down a narrow white-marble-walled aisle toward the dressing rooms. I followed the click of her skyscraper heels.
"I'm going to change," I said. "You coming along?"
"That is the very reason I asked you to go in the store. So I could get you naked in public." He waggled his brows suggestively.
"Naughty boy," I whispered as the saleswoman opened the door.
"I've placed two items inside," she said. "I trust Monsieur will favor them both. I am Roxane. Call for me if you need..." Her lashes dusted over her bright green eyes. I got the distinct feeling she had just summed me up sexually. "...anything."
"Merci, Roxane," he said as I stepped inside.
Roxane closed the door behind me and I stifled a giggle. "Did you get that? Anything?"
"Anything can mean very much," he said. "Or you. Perhaps both of us, eh?
"That's just weird. I've never had a woman flirt with me before. I must be imagining things."
"If that is what you wish to believe."
The dressing room was lined floor-to-ceiling with pink chiffon and it smelled like candy. It was like standing inside a fancy purse. I set the phone on a tiny corner shelf. A pink and gray striped damask arm chair sat in one corner, next to a long mirror that was etched with arabesques around the borders.
"Can you see me?" I asked as I turned to study the two dresses hung before the chiffon curtain and shed my coat to toss on the chair.
"The back of you is as sexy as the front. So you would never consider a liaison with a woman?"
"Are you serious?" I turned, expecting to catch his teasing wink. No wink. "You are. Hmm... I've never thought about it before."
A person didn't have to be gay to be curious about their own sex. I wasn't curious, though I could admit that Roxane was gorgeous and her kohl-lined green eyes had been stunning. And okay, if that had been a flirtatious look she'd given me then I could dig it. I appreciated the attention. Made me feel sexy.
The first dress was silk with a lace cutout along the neckline and around the hem. I kicked off my shoes and pulled the blouse off over my head.
"Have you ever had sex with a man?" I turned to display to him the black bra I wore, and bent to slip down my skirt. "Would you tell me?"
"I will tell you anything you want to know. One time in college. It was curiosity. Not sex. We kissed. It was different than kissing a woman, but I liked it. I also like those lacy underthings you are wearing. You've worn them before?"
"They're my favorites. Makes me feel sexy. So you've kissed a guy. I find that incredibly sexy."
Because, okay, out of curiosity I'd cruised a few Tumblr accounts that featured softcore photos of men embracing. There was something so titillating about hard, muscled bodies pressed next to one another in the most intimate of clutches.
"I think watching you kiss a woman would be sexy," Monsieur Sexy offered.
"But a kiss is so intimate. We've never kissed."
"You think a touch would be less intimate?"
"Depends on where the touch is, I guess."
I unsnapped the front of the bra and flashed him my breasts. Then as quickly I reclasped it and looked toward the door. I knew I had privacy in here, but it still felt more daring than standing before a window naked. Because Roxane wasn't stupid. And she could likely be standing down the aisle, ten feet away, listening to everything we said.
I would, if I were her. Customer walks in with a man on her cell phone and he orchestrates the purchase? That one would be too intriguing to resist.
"You know," I said as I stepped into the dress. It felt like a cloud sliding over my skin. "This little tryst feels more intimate than some of the other things we've done. And sneaky."
"Do you think she is close by, listening to us?"
"I'd bet on it," I said quietly. If she was listening, I was going to make it a challenge.
"Maybe Roxane would like to watch?"
I didn't know what to say to that one so a smirk sufficed. I couldn't imagine undressing before another woman simply for her sexual pleasure. I'd never be able to look her in the eye, that was for sure.
"Look at me," I suddenly said, and paused, back of the dress unzipped, and stared into his eyes. "How often do you really look at your lover when in bed with them?"
"Depends if the lights are on or off. Do you prefer them on?"
"I do. But I confess that I am an eye-contact avoider. Unless of course, it's fifteen feet and behind glass."
"I like gazing into your blue eyes."
"Yes, but will you do it when we are having sex? When we finally lay skin against skin?"
"I will."
"I would like to say I will, but such intimacy is a little scary."
And where had that confession come from? Certainly not from my inner vixen. My introvert was showing. But that was okay. It had to be.
"You know you can trust me, mon abeille."
"I do know that." And the introvert relaxed a bit, willing to play this one out.
I left the zipper undone and turned to study the dress in the mirror. A little loose around the stomach and hips. And the tag claimed it required dry-cleaning. This dress would never survive my need for dropping clothing on the floor as I undressed. Then again, I wouldn't need to clean it often because I rarely went to any places in the city that required such fancy dress.
"What do you think?" I turned before the phone and stood on tiptoes to give him the complete view.
"Pretty," he said.
"Right. But not the best."
He wobbled his hand side to side and gave me one of those Frenchman's 'ehs' that I loved so much. "Next option."
I quickly made the change, loving that the all-lace version hugged my body and especially my breasts. It clung like a second skin and was discreetly lined with a nude fabric so it looked as though it was lace against skin.
A satisfied murmur hummed in his throat. "You should not wear a brassière with that."
"I won't. But say it again."
"What? Brassière? Do you make fun of me now?"
"No. Maybe. I love to listen to you speak. And maybe I like you telling me what to do. Just a little."
"In that case, no panties either. And make a note."
"What's that?"
"The first time we actually see one another and touch?"
I nodded.
"No panties or brassière. Promise me."
"I promise," I said on a breathy gasp.
Telling me I wasn't allowed those undergarments when around him did things to me. The dressing room suddenly felt smaller and warmer. I let my palm fall down the front of the dress, and stopping over my mons I put pressure there where my clit suddenly pulsed for attention.
Monsieur Sexy made a growling sound. "You are aroused."
"You're guessing."
"Your pupils have dilated."
I peered close to the phone screen. "You can't see that well through there."
He chuckled. "No, but your eyes have darkened, so it's a guess. Is it the dress or me watching you?"
"Both."
"Bon. That is the one."
I nodded. "You have great taste. But I would like to get it zipped up to make sure it's not too tight."
With my back turned to him I managed a sneaky look at the price tag. Mercy. Or when in Paris: merde! This one would set him back a month's r
ent on my place. My rent was not cheap. I couldn't let him do it.
"You like it?" he asked. "It is as if it were made for you."
Indeed, it was. The lace was so soft, a possessive hug against my skin. Oh, but it would be perfect with my Louboutins. And to imagine stepping out on the town wearing this dress, those shoes, and holding Monsieur Sexy's hand…
A knock on the door startled me from the delicious fantasy. "All is well?"
"She'll take it," Monsieur Sexy called before I could speak. And then he said to me, "Do you dare experiment with a touch?"
I spun quickly to face the door. I knew what he was asking.
"Mademoiselle, do you need assistance?" Roxane called from outside the door.
I glanced to the phone. He lifted his chin and tilted his head. Defying me?
Daring me.
"I do," I suddenly said. Panic quickened my heartbeats, but I remained calm on the outside. "You can come in. I would like to see the dress zipped up."
The door opened and Roxane stepped inside. Red hair spilled softly over her white satin shoulder. I hadn't noticed her soft floral perfume before, or how petite she actually was. Five-inch heels brought her face to my eye level. Once I looked into her eyes, it was difficult to notice anything else about her. Stunning, simply stunning.
"Zip her up," Monsieur Sexy instructed, "s'il vous plaît."
"Bien sûr, Monsieur."
She stepped around behind me. I faced the phone. Her hand glided down the opened zipper, the cool gloss of her nails skimming my skin. A flinch tickled at me, but I was holding my breath in an attempt not to show my sudden anxiety. She was a fast study. She knew what we were up to.
Thing was, could I do this?
I sucked in a breath as the zipper inched upward, hugging the fabric about my body. Suddenly the dressing room felt small and I felt...invaded. I pressed a hand over my stomach. My fingers quivered. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to look into his eyes.
"An excellent fit," Roxane said in her quiet voice. It felt like the elegant pearls displayed out front with the dresses and slipped around my senses. "Your figure is exquis."
I liked that word in French: exquisite. It relaxed me a bit. Nothing to feel threatened by in here. Just you and your inner vixen trying something new and daring.
I nodded. "I like the feel of it." Opening my eyes I noticed she stood beside me, facing the phone.
"Ça vous plaît, Monsieur?"
She'd asked if it pleased him.
He nodded. "The lace at her collar is not right?"
"Ah?" Roxane stepped around in front of me and checked the front of the dress, tucking her finger along the collar and slipping it between the lace and my skin. "Tucked under," she cooed. "I will fix."
Slowly she journeyed down toward my breast. I inhaled. The touch was so light and not at all tentative as it could be from a man. I wasn't going to stop her. I didn't want to. While slightly freaked, and at the same time a contained bundle of nerves, I felt the need to challenge my inhibitions yet again. My inner vixen was undulating her hips and cooing right back at Roxane.
And I wanted to show Monsieur Sexy that I was no shirking violet.
"You should not wear a brassière with this dress," Roxane said. Her eyes flashed up toward mine. Like emeralds. I bet her lovers stared at them as they made love with the lights on.
"I—I don't think I will. Your eyes are gorgeous." The compliment slipped out on a cool exhale. I had become the vixen.
Then she tilted up onto her tiptoes and touched my mouth. One glossy fingernail trailed along the upper curve of my lower lip. Exploring. Curious. She was going to kiss me...
"Ses lèvres sont seulement pour moi," Monsieur Sexy suddenly said.
Pouting her mouth into a bright red moue, she nodded and leaned in to whisper at my ear, "He said your lips are only for him."
I lifted my chin and parted my lips, eyeing him slyly. Thanks, lover. At that moment I felt like his possession, and it was amazing.
Then Roxane kissed my earlobe. First she nudged my ear with her nose, then, her lips closed over the lobe. She tugged it gently and sucked it in. The sensation tickled along my neck and toward my nipples, which hardened beneath the lace. Her wrist brushed my nipple and she again cooed.
I noticed then that I squeezed my thighs together because...I was wet. And all I could think to distract myself from the feelings I should only get from another man was to close my eyes. My hand glanced across the front of Roxane's silk shirt. Her nipple was erect, and the surprise of that knowing came out in a sigh.
"You have never done anything like this," she whispered at my ear, so softly, I'm sure the man on the phone did not hear.
I shook my head subtly.
"Relax," she cooed.
From outside the door and down the hallway, a woman's voice called out for Roxane.
"My boss." Roxane stepped away from me, smoothing her hands down her blouse and then shrugging her fingers through her long, red hair. A glance toward the phone, and she nodded. "Excusé moi. I must return to the sales floor. When you've changed, call for me, and I'll bring out the dress for you."
I touched my earlobe as she left me alone in the room with my curious lover. Butterflies fluttered out of my stomach, leaving me feeling empty. I sighed heavily. Brushed my palm over a breast and felt my heartbeats racing.
"Talk to me, mon abeille."
I didn't know what to say. It hadn't been a blatant encounter. No kiss. I was glad for that. But the contact with my ear had been intimate, invading, and yet, I'd savored the feel of it. If Roxane had stayed any longer, might I have placed my hand on one of her breasts?
I think so.
"I need to think about this," was all I could reply. I turned my back to the phone and slipped out of the dress.
Five minutes later, after I'd handed the phone to Roxane so Monsieur Sexy could give her his credit card number, I expected to be handed a bag with the dress in it.
"It will be delivered to your address this evening," she informed me while escorting me toward the front door. "Instructions from your lover."
Her boss, a grand dame in diamonds and tweed was talking to another customer within hearing range. No sneers this time, I noticed.
Roxane's bright red lips curled into a knowing smile. I nodded, allowing the moment to sink in. Yes, I had a lover who liked to buy me pretty, expensive things, and who could seduce even a French woman over the phone.
And she had seduced me.
"Merci," I said, holding her gaze for too long. I would always associate emeralds with Roxane.
She blushed. "Return whenever you wish. Both of you."
And it felt like the perfect moment for a goodbye kiss—so I dashed for the door.
Once outside, the cool fall air brisked my face, and I tugged the scarf out of my purse before putting the phone to my ear as I walked. "That was too generous."
"That was the beginning of our evening."
"Even the touching?"
"No, that was an enjoyable aside. You liked it?"
"It was new for me. I'm still processing."
"I could sense your dis-ease, but as well, your curiosity. You know how hard that made me?"
"I can imagine. Men are all about the visual. Okay. So it did feel good in a forbidden fruits kind of way."
"We will return to the shop some day. Together."
"Uh..." I couldn't agree. Maybe? Still processing.
"My lunch is over," he offered. " I have to return to class. I will see you at eight for our date?"
"You will see me."
"In the dress sans panties and brassière."
"Anything for you."
Anything? Even sex with another woman? Oy. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?
"Ciao, mon abeille. I will think of nothing but fucking you in black lace for the rest of the day."
And I stumbled on the curb and bumped into the person in front of me as he clicked off. The woman I'd crashed into turned around a
nd cast me a nasty glare. I couldn't even be ashamed.
I had become a well-kept woman.
Chapter Five
I took the Métro home. The moment I'd clicked off with Monsieur Sexy the sky had darkened and tourists had scampered for cover. It began raining cats and dogs, and I'd worn kitten heels today. The train stopped three blocks from my apartment building, so I still had to jockey for the wall and under awnings. By the time the concierge greeted me and handed me a dress bag I was soaked, but very happy not to have walked home in the rain with the expensive contents.
A package emblazoned with Amazon's cheeky smile waited for me as well. The box was too small for bookshelves, but through a pitiful sheet of wet hair spilling over my face, I thanked the concierge, slipped off my shoes, and padded up the stairs to the third floor, leaving puddles in my wake.
I deposited the box on the chaise in the living room then veered toward the bedroom. I hung the dress from a hook beside the mirror, and then stripped away my wet vestments. I had gone from feeling like a million bucks to feeling like a miserable wet puppy.
A hot shower stirred up the feeling in my fingers and face. Wrapping my wet hair in a towel, I wandered into the bedroom naked and glanced over the dress bag that held the promise of romance within. As well as the memory of the illicit touch in the dressing room.
I glanced in the mirror, tugging the earlobe Roxane had kissed. "Who are you?"
Who had stood in that dressing room getting turned on by another woman's touch? A complete stranger had put her lips on my ear. And I had liked it so much that my pussy had grown warm and moist.
I could never walk by that store again. And yet, the idea of returning, on Monsieur Sexy's arm, intrigued. Did my future hold a ménage à trois?
"Roxane, eh?"
Sting's longing chorus about Roxane keened into my thoughts. I wasn't even sure how the logistics of such a combination could work. Yep, that's me. Vanilla to the core. But if truth be faced, I decided that if there was ever going to be three naked bodies in my king-size bed, I'd prefer it be myself and two other men. Because really? I had no intention of sharing my man with another woman.
I pulled the towel from my head and patted my hair with it. "Dinner with Monsieur Sexy. I wonder how he's going to pull that one off?"
The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin Page 18
