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

by Michele Renae

  Walking up the fabric of my skirt with my fingers, I smiled to myself. Desire rushed forth and pushed away any niggling reluctance. Because, yes, I was nervous. Here I stood in the same room as the man I had only communicated with via window and computer screen. It was real now. Nothing to hide behind. And my heart burst from the chrysalis to flutter its wings.

  Turning to him, I lifted my skirt high enough to reveal my thighs, on which I wore not-quite period appropriate white silk thigh-high stockings. Pink bows tufted at the tops, inviting his eye. And a little higher....

  "Mon Dieu." He brushed the hair from his face, his eyes glued to my nethers. "Mon abeille, you did as I asked."

  He'd once requested I not wear panties the first time we were to meet. Who was I to disappoint a musketeer?

  He dropped to his knees and took off his plumed hat, tossing it aside with a dashing sweep. That move made me suck in a breath. Damn, but I had such control over him right now. And he was my willing sycophant, walking up to me on his knees. He ran his palms up my thighs, looking over my neatly trimmed pussy. He took his time. I could feel his eyes on me, much as I had come to feel his desire through the window, and to sense his arousal while he sat in a Berlin hotel room and the computer screen had provided but a facsimile of sensual awareness.

  Hot breaths hushed on my thighs where the pink bow had first drawn his eyes. Then the heat whispered higher and moved to the apex at my mons. His unabashed study of me swirled a delicious tingle up my spine and I clutched the skirt fabric expectantly. I grew so wet; if I'd been wearing panties, I would have creamed them.

  Eventually, he looked up to me. His eyes were the color of the sky after the rain. Gray-sky eyes. Though the room was muted with low light, his pupils glinted. I ran my fingers through his hair. The soft curls slipped about my fingers like ribbon.

  I gripped a hank and gasped, "Yes, please."

  First press of his mouth to my pussy stirred up a moan from me. His heated breath tickled sensation across my skin. He kissed down the patch of hair that didn't form a pattern so much as I liked to keep it short and neat. A kiss there, another kiss next to it. The pressure of his hands at my thighs pulsed my muscles there. The rub of the gold buttons on his coat tickled aside my knee.

  I'd once fantasized about him dressed as a musketeer, kneeling before me to sup between my legs. Seriously. Talk about a fantasy come true.

  Reality was much better.

  The point of his tongue dashed out and licked along my labia, tasting me, slowly tendering a line from top to bottom of the slit. Then he journeyed along the outside, up, down, and up again. He'd drawn a line around the most sensitive parts of me. Yet when he pressed his tongue against my clit, where the tiny bud had already begun to swell and seek sensation, I gripped his hair tighter and bit down on my lip. "Fuck yes."

  "I have wanted to taste you for so long," he murmured, pressing his cheek to my trimmed thatch and glancing up. "Exquis," he said. He tapped my labia and slicked my juices teasingly along the seam. "May I go further?"

  "Uh-huh," I managed, though truly, my gasps should have been invitation enough.

  His finger glided inside me, and I moaned at the delicious intrusion. How many times had I fingered myself for his viewing pleasure, brought myself to orgasm as he had done the same to himself so far away from me? Now it would be different, and the same, and so, so right. It was fifty ways to heaven to feel him inside me. Invading me in the most desirable way. When he curled his finger forward and brushed my ridged G-spot, I cried out.

  "Ah... That is the place," he said as he kissed my clit and worked his finger slowly, expertly, within me. A hush of hot breath against my swollen bud clenched my stomach muscles. Moans gasped out unbidden. My skin heated and breaths panted. Mercy.

  He stroked my inhibitions away, drawing up the vixen until my entire system tingled in anticipation. My cheeks flushed, as did my breasts. I clutched at the fabric and his hair, seeking stability, yet desiring to soar unbound. His kiss deepened, his tongue manipulating the swollen head of my clit, while his finger inside me danced me closer to the edge, to a wicked fall that I wanted to take, nets be damned.

  This man could make me soar.

  "Hollie." His whisper fluttered through my being. A harmonization to the intensity of the imminent orgasm.

  I was so close. Right there. I squeezed my thighs together, but not for long. Didn't want to stop him from doing as he pleased with me. And when he suckled my clitoris and brushed it ever so lightly with his bottom teeth, I surrendered. His heat, his mouth, his fingers. The tickle of his hair against my thighs. The press of his bicep along my leg. Oh, but he owned me as I shuddered and threw back my head, not crying out, yet moaning deep in my throat as orgasm won.

  He wrapped one arm about my hips, pulling me hard against his mouth; that wicked tongue still teasing at my throbbing clit. It was almost cruel to attempt to prolong the exquisite pleasure, but that didn't stop me from tilting my hips toward him to keep him there. Hot and wet and so hungry against me.

  "Yes," I murmured. Breaths panting, one hand fluttered down to find landing on his shoulder.

  He glided up along me, kissing my breasts that heaved up and down within the confines of the dress. Oh, yeah, real heaving bosoms. Take that romance chicks! His tongue tickled my flushed skin as I gasped, flying on the orgasm that had rocketed me through the stratosphere.

  I usually did not come so easily or quickly. It was because this had been our first touch. Our first intimate connection. Without removing a stitch of clothing, the man had mastered me.

  Now he sought my nipple with his tongue, though the dress stays were tight and not eager to give up the prize so easily. I hooked a leg about one of his and pulled his hips against mine, my mons still bared. The rub of the rough, damask fabric breeches against my skin teased at the fading orgasm.

  "Your orgasm is even better up close and in my face," he said as he nipped the crest of my breast. "You taste like my fantasies, mon abeille. But I need more. All of you."

  The musketeer hiked up my leg and levered me onto the table behind me. Would he fuck me right here in the closet? Had it been half an hour? I didn't want us discovered. And yet I wanted him to fuck me. To shove his cock into me and fill me—but no. We could wait. We had to.

  I pushed him back and yet clung to an intricate button on his coat. Pulling him to me, I kissed him hard, deeply, tasting my own salty flavor and mining a desperate groan from him.

  "Take me home," I said between quick kisses. "I want you to fuck me, but not here. In private. Yes?"

  He pulled my hand down and pressed it over his breeches. My God, his cock was hard. Thick and sturdy, as I knew from witnessing his erection many times through glass. I squeezed my fingers over it, eliciting a strained moan from him.

  "You want me to go down on you quick?"

  "No, not quick," he said. "You are right. We must leave. Now."

  He grabbed my hand, and I shuffled down my skirts as we headed out the doorway. Perfect timing. The valet caught the key Jean-Louis tossed to him, and he winked, sliding me a sidelong assessment as we rushed by.

  Let him look and wonder. What else did he think we had been doing in the coat closet, eh? The guy probably had a small side business going renting out the room to horny lovers while he went on break.

  We glided toward the main foyer, but I abruptly pulled Jean-Louis to a stop. "I have to say goodbye to Melanie. The party hostess. She's my best friend."

  "Very well. I'll hail a cab. You've five minutes before I—" He slid my hand over his erection again. "—take care of this myself."

  "Oh, no, you don't. Monsieur Eiffel is all mine tonight." Monsieur Eiffel is what he called his cock. Yeah, I know. But so much better than Roger, right? "I'll be out in four minutes."

  He kissed me hard and held my stare for so long I whimpered as I felt my pussy moisten to flood level. And then I shook my head, and with a giggle, took off toward the main ballroom to find wicked Alice and thank her for in
viting me to her Wonderland.

  ***

  The cab ride, which was only ten minutes long, was a lesson in self-restraint. At first I didn't care what the cabbie saw. I reached for Jean-Louis's lap, aiming to get a good grip on his main shaft, yet he tutted me and waved an admonishing finger.

  "Patience," he said with a delicious little-boy smirk. "We are almost there."

  I think he tipped the cabbie generously. I'm sure that had been a fifty euro bill he'd handed over. Jean-Louis was comfortable financially; at least that's as best I'd been able to determine. A few weeks ago he'd enticed me into a high-end shop on the Champs Elysees (via Skype) and had bought me a two thousand euro dress without blinking. And his apartment, situated in the snooty 7th arrondissement, must cost twice that every month. Yeah, he was rich.

  But the money didn't matter. Seriously. I wasn't a gold digger. I didn't need much in this life. Books, a cool peachy moscato, and some fancy Louboutins were the things that made me happy.

  And one sexy Frenchman.

  We sailed up the stairway to the third floor where, at his door, I took the initiative and punched in the digital code.

  "I remember the code from when I watered your plants," I provided. It had only been a few days since I'd done so.

  That had been the day I'd learned he was married.

  No, I wasn't going to think about that right now. He was in the process of getting a divorce. And I was too horny to rationalize the good, bad, or downright wrong regarding this hookup.

  It was all good. It had to be. It would be.

  I entered his apartment, which was dark save for a narrow golden beam cast across the hardwood floor from a nearby streetlight. As soon as I heard the door lock click behind me, I was spun about. My back hit the door. He held me by the wrists, gently, yet with the promise of control. I gasped in a breath, my breasts heaving up from the tight stays.

  "Hollie," he said. "I love your name. It is you. It pleases me to finally say it to you. Hollie, my pretty window lover who likes bees and fancy shoes."

  "Jean-Louis," I said as if savoring a treat. "My Frenchman. A man who teaches computer mumbo-jumbo online and loves a great chocolate cupcake."

  "You also like to watch me jack off."

  "I could say the same for you."

  "Oui. You know how to stroke yourself until you cry out. I adore the expression on your face when you come. Eyes closed, mouth open. Mm... Your breasts are so pretty." He kissed the top of each one. "And your pussy is what I want always."

  He lifted me into his arms and carried me across the vast room that wasn't furnished because this was the spot where he taught fencing to students. An aged brown leather sofa delineated the living area from the practice space. We passed by the sofa, of which, I'd once had a delicious dream about the two of us having sex on.

  He set me down briefly then lifted me in his arms, sweeping up my legs and managing to get a good grip despite the heavy and cumbersome skirts. "The men in the seventeenth century certainly had a lot of dress to deal with," he said.

  "Yeah? Well, I'm thinking those buttons on your coat and breeches are going to take far too long for my urgent needs."

  "You want me, eh?"

  I kissed him when he paused in the doorway to the bedroom. Our mouths fit perfectly. Was it cliché to think we were meant for one another? Hell, we'd had practice getting to know one another over the past month. Now was for exercising all the unrealized desires that had been building to a head.

  Once in the bedroom, he deposited me on the bed and I landed on my back, finding it hard to pull up to sit with the tightened corset. The costume had taken some time to lace the corset up the side, which was positioned thus only to make it easier to dress alone. I could understand now how the women from the past had required maids to help them dress.

  "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."