I'd had my hands on his penis all through the night. I'd stroked and sucked and licked it in between tending his abs, nipples and mouth. But I hadn't taken the time to give it my full attention. A devoted undertaking that I now took to with glee.
I've never considered a man's penis a thing of beauty. Nor was it ugly. A penis was sort of an alien life form sprung from the edge of a man's torso. Surrounded by a thatch of curly dark hairs, Monsieur Eiffel grew up strong and straight, naked and veiny, with a thick maroon cap that pushed back the foreskin the more erect it grew. If I compared it to a mushroom one might find deep in the middle of some enchanted forest, it could only be that rare species the lost forest maiden sought out in a quest to discover true ecstasy. Once located in the center of the woods, she'd pull up her skirts and lower herself onto the rigid phallus, and piston herself madly until she creamed and fell to the lush mossy ground in fits of sighing pleasure.
I did mention my wicked imagination, yes?
Putting myself eye level to Monsieur Eiffel, which indeed, sprang up as straight and proud as the landmark, I hushed a breath over the column. His penis responded with a tightening flinch that bobbed against my lips. Without using my hands, I mouthed him, teasing my tongue along the suede-warm skin and tasting the sweet saltiness of him.
I shifted my body, straddling his legs. My breasts settled against his thighs. My nipples tingled expectantly as the fine hairs on his legs tickled them. I glided my feet along his, our toes dancing as I wedged my biggest toe between two of his. I did love having my feet touched, and his were soft, the skin on them ridiculously smooth. He never walked barefoot in the woods, I guessed. Socks on always. A city boy. Nothing wrong with that.
I liked the weird connection of toes entangled within toes. And don't get me started on how eagerly I wanted to bring up my fantasy of him licking my toes. That could wait for another day.
Clasping his cock firmly, I traced a zigzagging trail up the side of the column, dancing back and forth over the engorged vein. Drenched in musk and yes, traces of me, the scent of him appealed to the animal center of my brain that simply wanted more, more, and more.
His hips pushed upward in a greedy plea. His breathing was measured, yet deep. I managed a glance up over the landscape of his abs and chiseled pectorals and saw his eyes were closed, his jaw tense. Yet I sensed a certain relaxed expectation that made me grin against his cock. The man enjoyed my performance.
I turned my head, rolling the hard column over my cheek. This part of a man may not be the prettiest, but it was fun to play with, to touch and admire. To see how it reacted to a quick lick or a lingering draw of my tongue along its length. It bobbed and thickened, and the vein on the underside swelled. So intricate, and it was mine. All mine.
Feeling frisky, I nipped the side of him, using my teeth, but not biting hard. He flinched and tutted me playfully, which was quickly followed by a long moan. I loved the sound of his moans, and the gasping pleas that generally accompanied them. He wasn't a silent lover, and I found that strangely appealing considering I had preferred no chatter in the bedroom in the past. Perhaps it was because the last two weeks of our relationship had been fueled by talk. We knew how to ask one another for what we desired.
"You are hungry?" he asked on the end of one of those exquisite moans.
"Yes, I want a mouthful."
I tilted his cock downward, taking the head of it into my mouth as deeply as I could, and then sucking hard until his hips pumped in a pleading rhythm. Using a firm grip about the base of his cock, I cupped his testicles with my other hand, all while sucking him in and out of my mouth, licking around the firm edge of the corona, then past my lips until I felt him against the roof of my mouth.
His balls were so tight against his body I knew he could come at any moment, but that didn't stop me from tracing the oval curve of them down and around to the back where the skin met body. I traced quickly about his asshole, and then tickled my way up to the testicles again, cupping them gently.
The art of sucking cock was to not ignore your own pleasure. I was so wet. I rubbed my pussy against his knee, grinding the sweet spot with delicious friction, and encouraging him to nudge up hard against my clit. Oh yeah, that was what I wanted.
I quickened my speed, slicking my hand up and down his shaft while alternately licking the head, and then sucking it like a lollipop. His hips shuddered, as did his thighs, and he'd forgotten about giving me pressure with his knee. I didn't. I wriggled my mons against his leg to finely tune my burgeoning climax as I sucked him.
"Oui," he gasped. A hand gripped the back of my head, urging me gently, yet insistently forward.
A tilt of my hips intensified the teasing connection of my pussy to his knee. I could get off...just... A. Bit. More. Pressure.
Two more strokes and a deep, drawing suck at his cock head released Jean-Louis from the expectant, tight anticipation of orgasm. An explosive but brief shout burst from his lungs. The hand previously at my head beat the bed with a triumphant fist. He came in my mouth and down my chin. And I shifted on his knee, tendering out the softest yet sweetest little flutter of orgasm I could manage.
I slapped my palms to the bed on either side of his hips. With cum dripping down my chin, I licked at it, wiping most away with the side of my hand, and winked at him. The man's face was flushed. His eyes smiled brightly. He leaned up and pulled my head to him and kissed me hard, deep and long.
The taste of his cum, the wine we'd indulged through the night, and his salty essence mingled in a heady cocktail. My clit twitched and I squeezed my thighs together to capture the last twinkle of orgasm.
"Your cock is mine," I said into his mouth.
Then I collapsed beside him and drew up a knee to rest on his hip beside his lax penis. I spread my fingers across his hot, panting chest. We hadn't slept all night. It was probably close to noon.
Within minutes, we drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.
***
It was morning. Again. Had we really spent two days in bed having wild, passionate sex with one another?
Oh yeah. Save for a few bathroom runs and a couple trips to raid the fridge of plums, wine, and cheese, the bed had been our island of exotic pleasure. Proof of our extended liaison lay in the parts of my body that were sore and achy. But it was a good kind of ache that made me smile so broadly I feared cracking my cheeks.
Jean-Louis sat on the opposite side of the bed, facing the window. Rare November sunshine beamed across his shoulders like white heaven on a god's physique. He was checking email on his cell phone, so I scampered into the bathroom, completely naked, and sat on the toilet to pee.
Not ten seconds later, the door opened, and he strolled in and over to the vanity to pick up his toothbrush.
"Hey, hey, hey!" I cringed forward on the toilet, protecting my breasts, feeling more exposed than I had the past two nights. "Peeing here."
"I can see that. I want to brush my teeth."
Seriously? "Nope. Peeing is sacred. Well, it used to be. Could you please leave me alone?"
He paused with the toothpaste oozing onto his brush and eyed me in the mirror. Had I just yelled at a puppy? A nod of his head and he headed out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, and eyes cautiously diverted from the crazy woman sitting on the toilet.
Whew. I wasn't crazy. Was I? No, not crazy. Sharing bodily functions was pushing the closeness. I could suck the man for hours, and spread my legs wide to allow him to do the same, but I wanted to keep tinkling private. It was not too much to ask for.
So, Jean-Louis's evil side had finally appeared. He was Share Too Much Guy. Or maybe he was into the golden stream? I cringed as I stood and flushed. Please, don't let him have that particular kink. I didn't understand the appeal. I erred on the side of vanilla sex, after all.
So I wasn't adventurous between the sheets, and did not need to explore my darker side with whips and chains. Just because everyone was reading about it didn't mean I had to be comfortable with it.
I eyed the shower then glanced to the closed door. Poor guy. He could very well be standing out there with a mouthful of toothpaste. Maybe my evil side had reared its head? Crazy Yelling From The Toilet Girl.
I opened the door and popped my head out. He sat on the end of the bed, toothbrush in hand and mouth suspiciously full.
"All clear," I offered. "Want to take a shower together?"
With a nod, he charged into the bathroom to spit. Toothbrush rinsed, a sip of mouthwash gargled, he then spun and pulled me into his arms, kissing me silly.
The kiss was a good, fresh, minty one. It involved a firm, commanding pressure that skittered tingles all up and down my sex-achy body, and focused in my nipples. I moaned and rubbed my breasts against his chest. Digging into his skin with my fingernails, I wanted to keep him there, and also to mark him. To make him mine. And when he stopped the kiss it felt as if he'd taken the air from me and replaced it with a heady hit of adrenaline.
"You should patent that one," I said.
"Which one?"
"That kiss. The silly kiss."
"I thought it was a You Are My Woman kiss?"
"Ooh, I like that even better. I am your woman. And you are my musketeer. Oh no."
"What?" he asked as he flipped on the shower and tended to the temperature. Standing there naked, his cock erect, he embodied casual sex god.
"I just realized when I finally leave and go home—because we have to work eventually—"
"Not until tomorrow."
"Right. But I will have to go home sooner or later. And it will be in my costume. That'll be an interesting walk of shame, even if it is only across the street."
He took my hand and we stepped into the shower stall, which was held us both without having to shuffle for the water stream. He stood with his back to the water and bracketed my face with his hands. "It is not shameful to be my woman. Or to walk across the street." He kissed me and it was a wet, slippery treat that ended too quickly. "But yes, it will be a silly walk in that dress."
"You are so not nice," I said, and playfully slapped his chest. "I've been waiting for your edges to show. You've been pretty open with me. I don't know what could possibly be wrong with you. Oh. Wait. I forgot. You're married."
"That is something we'll have to deal with. Everything out in the open, oui?"
"Yes, but let's not consider that chat until after the shower. I want to stand under the hot water and let it soothe my achy muscles."
"You are sore? Where, mon abeille? Here?" He stroked a finger over my lips.
"No. You could kiss me forever and a day and I'd still beg for more."
"How about here?" He bent to kiss my neck where I was pretty sure I'd find a hickey when I looked in the mirror.
"Nope."
He tweaked each nipple with his fingers.
"A little," I offered. "But don't let that stop you from anything you might have in mind."
His hand glided down my stomach and smoothed over my mons. I shivered, despite the hot water beating against our sides. He slicked a finger between my labia and ever so gently tweaked at my swollen clitoris. "Here?"
"Yep." I nodded against his chest. "It's a good ache. But I think it needs a little rest."
He dropped to his knees and kissed the achy part in question, then rose and pulled me into a hug. "Thank you," he said. "For making this real."
Chapter Four
Je m'appelle Jean-Louis!
Sorry. I will use English. Now that I am seeing an American woman my English is getting a workout. I generally speak my native French. I also speak German and Russian, and strive to begin learning Japanese soon. If I intend to make a mark in the International business world, I'll need an Asian language under my belt.
Yes, it is me, Jean-Louis. Dear Reader, you did not think you would ever get inside my head? Bienvenue! It is a good place to be. Especially after the past few days.
After the shower, Hollie had spread out her costume on the bed to study it. Volumes of pink satin and lace covered nearly the entire bed. I could sense her anxiety over having to wear it home. She lived across the street from my building. It would be a quick walk. I might have to snap a picture of her while doing so. Just for memory and, you know, possibly blackmail material. (I kid you. Maybe.)
All good things must end eventually. It was Monday. And work demanded my attention. I stood before the closet. I had a lunch meeting at the Hotel Regina with a client. He was considering investing in my company.
From behind, Hollie hugged me. I closed my eyes and took in the warm pressure of her body nuzzling against mine. Breasts against my bare back. Nipples hard upon my skin. Her breath flooding my pores. Soft hair spilling over my arm. Could I stop this moment forever?
How lucky am I to know this woman.
She stroked her fingers down the gray suit hanging prominently in view. "This one," she said. "It's perfect."
"Zegna," I confirmed, and pulled the suit coat out on the hanger. "This is my lucky suit."
"Can I dress you?"
My naked lover bounced on her toes, her blue eyes sparkling with glee. I had but an hour before I needed to meet the client. I couldn't refuse her playful suggestion.
I handed her the suit, pulled out a white dress shirt, and before I could select a tie, she reached in and tugged out the purple silk.
"I love this color," she said, smoothing the end of the tie over her lips. "It's sensual. Like you."
The woman said all the right things to polish up my bruised ego. Trust me, before I met Hollie, I'd been pretty low about myself. But I did not like to wallow. And how could I with a pair of perky breasts rubbing against my chest?
"Okay," she said, stepping back and tapping a finger to her lower lip. "Boxers!"
She bounced over to the dresser and pulled open my underwear drawer. In which, I had found a pair of her black lace panties the other day tucked amidst the boxer briefs. Left there when she'd visited to water my plants, apparently. I'd drawn them out and pressed them to my face. The soft fabric hadn't given up any scent of her, but the slick silk had prompted me to shove them down my pants and over my cock.
Monsieur Eiffel stood upright now to remember the feel of the cool fiber sliding over my erection.
"Oh, I see he's ready." Hollie bent to sweetly kiss the head of my cock. I shivered as the wet morsel sent a frisson of sensation throughout the erect shaft.
When Hollie knelt before me and asked me to step into a gray pair of boxers, I complied. She jutted up her derriere first, and I leaned forward to smooth a hand over her bottom. A quick smack produced a surprised cry from her.
She stood upright, dropping the boxers at my feet. "What was that for?"
"Couldn't resist." I winked. "I have to leave in less than an hour," I reminded. "Dress me quickly."
So maybe that slap had been too much. It had taken her off guard. Surprised her. And I wasn't sure if it had been a good or disturbing surprise. I'd had to try it, though. I wasn't into the rough stuff or spanking, but who could resist that gorgeous ass? It demanded the spank test.
She pulled up my boxers, and when she got to my cock she first shifted it to the left then thought about it and shifted it to its more natural position at the right.
"You dress vers la droite," she decided.
"I do. And look at you, Mademoiselle I Speak French Now."
She shimmied her shoulders and shrugged. "I know a few things. But prepare to be underwhelmed by my pitiful command of your language." She adjusted my cock slightly. Her attention only made it harder.
"It's going to be difficult to keep the fellow contained. Monsieur Eiffel doesn't like it when you cover him up."
She bent to kiss my cock through the gray fabric, and then gave it a firm squeeze. I groaned at that pressure. If I didn't manage a quickie before I left, I'd have to sit through lunch with an erection.
"Pants," she said, seemingly without regard for my obvious arousal. "No, shirt next." She turned and retrieved the shirt from the bed and I press
ed my hard-on against her naked derriere. "I thought you were in a hurry?" she sweetly asked over a shoulder.
"I am. Fine. Shirt."
I stood back and held out my arms. Pulling it up each arm, and beginning to button it from the top, Hollie tilted forward, skimming the front of my cock with her hip.
"You are teasing me," I warned.
"Yes, well, if you are patient, I might do the dressing part quickly and then we'll have time for a quickie before you leave."
The woman was a mind reader. I did appreciate her hidden talents. As I also appreciated her full breasts, so I gave one a squeeze.
Despite the distraction, she landed the bottom button in the buttonhole then slid her fingers up the front of the shirt. "This is nice. It hangs perfectly and emphasizes your biceps. I do love a well-tailored man."
"Does it turn you on?" I wondered, eager to catalog her turn-ons.
She nodded. "To me, a man in a suit can be sexier than a naked man."
"Is that so?" I nudged my hard-on against her hip. "So you really prefer me clothed right now?"
The tip of her tongue peeked from the corner of her mouth. "Yes. No. Maybe."
A naked woman was dressing me, and I found it most titillating. Her nipples were tight and hard, a deep rose blossom against her pale skin. Sucking them put me on another plane. It was like a Zen act that calmed me, yet aroused at the same time. The jewels bobbling on my tongue were more delicious than any treat.
She lifted my trousers from the bed and I noticed the fabric skimmed her breasts and she hissed out a delicious sigh.
My cock prodded against the boxer briefs. It wanted attention. But in denying it gratification I was amping up the adrenaline. Anticipation heightened my senses and the citrus shampoo that lingered in Hollie's hair and on her skin teased at my nostrils.
Stepping into the trousers she held for me, I allowed her to pull them up. Carefully she zipped, though I winced, worried she might pinch something valuable—until she did not. A tight fit. It would be obvious over lunch.
"Très bien," Hollie observed. I did love it when she attempted French. Even if sometimes she didn't quite get the pronunciation correct or the right words. "Are you meeting a man for lunch?"
The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin Page 30
