"Why?"
"I'd be jealous if a woman got to enjoy all this sexy."
"I cannot leave with a hard-on," I protested, and pulled her into my embrace. I pumped my hips against hers. "Please, Hollie?"
She ground her loins against mine, and my eyelids shuttered. I tightened my jaw, riding the heady trip of want that shivered through my system. My cock pulsed. It was molten hot, and the building tension had already tugged up my balls.
"Mmm...do not tease me, mon abeille."
"Coat!" she declared, and shuffled from my grasp. "Arms behind you," she ordered, and again, I fought the growing frustration and complied.
"You should do the tie first," I suggested with the coat sleeves halfway up my arms.
"Oh, right." Moving around in front of me, Hollie slid the tie under the stiff shirt collar. Stiff? Oh...my aching cock.
What happened next surprised the hell out of me. Hollie secured my tie neatly and correctly in less than thirty seconds. It was as if she was a man and had been knotting ties for years. But even those of us who had been doing it forever usually struggled with length and knot fifty percent of the time.
"You make me curious," I said as she stepped back to admire her handiwork.
"I think I'll keep the reason to that particular talent a secret."
Really? Now this one would bother me. Had she dated a man so long and tied his tie for him every day? I didn't know Hollie's dating history. I'm sure she had dated a few men. She had once mentioned something about dating short-term since moving to Paris.
Eh. It was her past. It shouldn't be important. And hell, my past was still clinging to me, so I did not have a right to be nosey about hers.
"What's going on in there?" She twirled her finger before my forehead.
Caught in the act. "Just trying to figure if it was a lover who taught you."
"Secret," she said with a wink.
She adjusted the suit coat onto my shoulders, smoothing her hands down the front and the arms. I did have my suits tailored for me and spent a fortune on them. I appreciated a slim, clean line and a charcoal gray fabric.
"God, you look good in a suit. I could eat you."
"Still hungry?" I pumped my hips forward.
"You are a naughty boy."
"And you are a naked woman."
"Fair enough. Do you have a briefcase?"
"That's old school." I grabbed my mobile from the dresser and tucked it inside the coat pocket. "Everything I need is in there." I checked my watch. "Half an hour. I need twenty minutes to make the trip. That gives me ten right now. But I only need two."
"Two?" She teased a fingertip across her lower lip and fluttered innocent lashes. The sneaky vixen knew what I was talking about.
I swept her about the waist with a hand and turned her around to push against the dresser, which topped out level with her breasts. Pulling up her hands, I placed them on the dresser top. Then I unzipped, tugged down, and out sprang Monsieur Eiffel.
She wiggled her tight ass against my freed cock. I didn't bother with foreplay. The foreplay had been her hands gliding over the shirt, watching her eyes take me in as if her own creation, and in the surprise of discovering her tie mastery. She'd stirred me to a boil and now I had to spill over. I knew she was wet. I could smell her need.
One hand grasped her about both wrists, the other I used to guide myself between her thighs and enter her from behind. She jutted back her hips, opening herself to me. I thrust into her hard, quickly. Fuck yes, she was hot and slick and tight. Always ready for me.
I bowed my head to her shoulder and pumped fast, then slow, wanting to linger in her, the hot, slick, smothering, squeezing, sweetness of her. Bliss inside Hollie.
"Two minutes," she reminded softly.
Slamming hard to hilt myself within her, my muscles tensed and I fisted a hand against her stomach, holding her against my rigid, shaking body as I shot into her. A shout of triumph burst out.
Fuck, I'd never been so satiated in my life.
***
The walk of shame from Jean-Louis's place to mine wasn't terrible. I had only to cross the street, slip into my building, shrug at the concierge's raised eyebrow, then battle three flights of stairs in a long, wide-skirted seventeenth century dress that wasn't completely laced up the side because I'd never get out on my own otherwise.
Once at the door to my 3A apartment, I slipped the key out of the pocket handily sewn into the bodice, and spilled into my apartment with a greeting to the furniture that surprised me. I didn't usually greet inanimate objects. Today—thoroughly fucked as I was—I felt awesome.
So, hello, chaise! Hello, desk with a stack of work waiting for my attention! Hello, kitchen table!
"Hello, fridge!"
I swung open the refrigerator door and nabbed a bottle of water. Jean-Louis had only wine in his fridge, and his tap water had never cooled more than lukewarm. I tilted back a healthy, molar-twinging swallow then pressed the crinkly plastic bottle to my breasts as I sighed.
I hadn't been in this apartment for two nights. I was home. And no matter how much I wanted to rush back into Jean-Louis's arms, home always felt great. Here was my place. My things. My soul. I breathed here.
I am here.
Too philosophical? Hey, I had my moments.
With a few tugs at the laces, I deposited the dress on the bedroom floor and stepped out of the mass of fabric. It was a rental, but I didn't have to return it until Tuesday, which was tomorrow. I'd probably swing by the store with it tonight.
Casting a look out the bedroom window did not result in spying Jean-Louis in his respective bedroom. He had left long before I'd shuffled into my dress. After lunch with the client, he planned to collect some groceries for a meal he'd make me later. He was going to cook for me! I couldn't wait. I loved to sit down and be served by a man. What woman didn't? While there was always a chance he was an awful cook, did it matter?
Nope.
Pulling on a pair of soft brown leggings, I twirled about looking for a pretty top in the scatter of clothes on the easy chair by the window. That quick dash across the street had been unrepentantly nippy. I think the temperature had dropped twenty degrees since the night of the party. Time to start wearing sweaters and thick, cozy socks.
So not sexy. But it seemed whatever I wore around Monsieur Sexy wouldn't stay on for long anyway. Or for that matter, neither would his clothes stay on long, even in the process of dressing. That fast fuck up against the dresser hadn't given me an orgasm, but who cared? His cock pistoning inside me was enough. And really, I may be orgasmed out after the past few days.
Was that even possible? I hoped not.
I plucked a hip-length, pink, rayon top from the clothes rack near the chair. Elaborate brown embroidery around the sleeves and hem gave it a bohemian flair. There were little silk tassels at the vee of the neckline. I pulled it on and then eyed the Louboutins. They would look smashing with the outfit, but I didn't need to wear them around the house. I'd slip them on later, when I returned to my lover's home.
***
Lunch went well. I believed the client would invest, but he was going to give it a day or two to think it over.
My company, VSquire, taught clients how to use virtual machines. It's all about cloud computing and virtualization today. And someone has to train the big corporations how to manage the infrastructures built on a virtualized platform. That's where my skilled trainers stepped in. Currently, I employed a small crew of a dozen trainers, but I was hiring every month. Eventually, I hoped to step away from online training myself, and sit back and watch it all run like a well-oiled engine. It would happen. Sooner, rather than later.
I hoped to bring in the investor to expand our reach to military bases and such locales as Afghanistan and Japan. If it was meant to happen, it would.
After filing the groceries away, I shed the Zegna suit and put on other clothes. I strolled through the loft in a pair of jersey pants and no shirt. I liked to be comfortable at ho
me, save for when I work. Even teaching online, I strived to wear a business shirt and comfortable slacks. I have to look professional. I am the boss, after all.
Snagging a bottle of water from the fridge, I tilted back half before sitting at the kitchen table and pulling out the iPad to look up the recipe I intended to make for dinner. When I have the time, I love to cook. It relaxed me, and as well, allowed me to tap into the creative part of my brain that demanded attention.
I paused to glance out the window. Hollie was across the street in her building. The living room windows were too far apart to see well into each other's lives, and the manner in which the sun gleamed onto the side of her building sheened a gloss over the windows on her second floor apartment.
The walk of shame? Wasn't that what lovers called it when they had to sneak out of a hookup's bed and stumble home while wearing the previous night's clothes?
Hollie had no reason to be shameful about our relationship.
I smiled to myself. A relationship. One that had only just moved to the touch level the other night at the All Saints party. Until then we had been staring at each other through windows and a computer screen.
I had needed that slow approach. My life was complicated right now. And Hollie added another kink to that complication. But it was a kink I was willing to embrace. I had to. I had fallen in love with the woman.
I have a tendency to fall in love quickly. Call it a fault if you want to, but I never would. I didn't need to learn everything about a woman immediately. It was all in the eyes, the mouth, and the movement of her body. I could get lost watching Hollie move. The shift of her hips as she strode before me in those beribboned high heels. The swing of glossy chestnut hair across her shoulders. The shudder in her body that jiggled her breasts as she came after fingering herself for my pleasure.
"Merde."
I grasped my cock through the jersey. It was hard. Didn't take much. Thinking about Hollie's breasts and how I had slammed her against the dresser earlier this morning turned it to stone. Her moans and her insistent rocking hips had pleaded for me to thrust harder. Faster.
And earlier than that, as we had lingered in bed. Mm... My tongue dashing into her pussy, licking, teasing and going deeper to taste her sweetness and salt. I could eat her every day. All day. Whenever she offered. And if she did not, I'd slide my hand down her stomach and tickle her clit until she squirmed awake and then I could spread aside one leg and lick her until she panted. And then laughed.
She tended to laugh after an orgasm. I loved the sound of it spilling up after a shout of joy. There was nothing else like a coming, laughing woman who was happy because of something I had done to her. And not just any woman; I preferred that woman be Hollie.
We men might come off as confident and know-it-alls in bed, but trust me, the only way to know we were doing it right was through a woman's approval, be it vocal or the physical squirming and uncontrollable shudders.
I think I found Hollie's sweet spot, too. Right to the side of her clitoris. I just had to rub it gently and keep it slick with my tongue. And then press against the bone beneath her skin. It was like operating a finely-tuned machine. One wrong touch and she'd never make it to climax.
I squeezed my cock and realized the hard-on was not going away unless I took care of matters. Sliding down my pants and right there, with one hand against the wall, the other greased the main shaft.
First I imagined Hollie's delicate hand wrapped about my thickness and mimicked that motion. Her fingers couldn't meet at the base, and that decreased the tightness I enjoyed when she slid down that far. I squeezed and slid up higher, slowly, and then faster. Imagining Hollie's tongue circling the head of it...oh, yes. Slick, slick, slick. Long, drawn out pressure of tongue to my cock head. Her mouth would be so hot against my skin. And tight. She knew how to suck me.
My pace grew rapid and firm. I stiffened my legs, thighs tensing as I felt the tremendous surge building along my length. So hard. So fast. Her mouth on me. Her sighs hot. Blue eyes looking up at me for direction. Faster. Don't stop...
I gasped out a throaty noise as I came and my fingers slicked through cum. My hips thrusted, my shaft swishing the air as I rode the intense pleasure.
But too quickly, I crashed. Without Hollie's hot mouth on me it had felt less than. Empty.
Fuck, I wish my life wasn't so complicated right now.
I hadn't expected to be at this particular crossroad so early in my life. I'd thought by now I'd be raising a family. Married to a loving and faithful wife. Looking forward to a cozy cottage in the country with a tire swing that I could push the kids on over the backyard pond while the pet dog scampered nearby.
It was a dream that had been with me for years. I strived for it. I needed that comfort and peace of family and a loving wife.
Pulling up my pants, I wandered to the kitchen sink and rinsed off my hand. Then I splashed my face with water.
Finding Hollie in the window that September day had been what I had needed at the time. A gorgeous woman who had shown interest in me, but yet, who had remained at a distance. Hell, she'd been across the street in an entirely different building from me. We hadn't touched, but we had shared a kind of trust through mutual self-pleasure. I'd needed that odd connection.
I tend to thrive when in a relationship with a woman. There's something about sharing my life with another and also about being monogamous that appeals greatly. I'm not the kind of guy who can do one-night stands, or sleep around with a new woman every other week.
I'd intended to keep the distance while I had been on work assignment in Berlin, even when Hollie and I had graduated to cyber sex. But to finally hear her voice, that confident giggle that always followed her climax, had struck me hard. I had fallen in love.
Yes, I was in love. You either enjoy spending time with a woman and being friends with her, or you only want the sex. I wanted sex, friendship, and a relationship with Hollie. But how to manage that with a wife still on the line? Mon Dieu, the woman was insisting on taking half of everything I own. We had been married two years. The last year we'd been separated. And as far as I knew, she'd only been faithful to me those first few months of the marriage.
Leaning over the sink and catching my elbows on the cool porcelain, I caught my face against my palms and rubbed my temples.
Was I doing the right thing by encouraging this relationship with Hollie? Was I right in the head? What sane man hooked up while still married? (Don't answer that.) Maybe I should put this relationship off until the divorce papers were signed and I could focus completely on Hollie?
I glanced through the window and across the street to the gleaming reflections on my lover's windows. She was like that. Bright. Always upbeat and gleaming. Like something I needed to survive.
Sunshine.
"Fuck."
Chapter Five
I caught myself humming as I sorted through the dresses hung on the rack at the back wall of my bedroom. It wasn't a song, just a happy melody.
I had good reason to be happy. I'd spent the last two days with Jean-Louis. We had kissed. We had touched. We had fucked. (Oh, baby, had we fucked.) We had lost ourselves in one another.
Yeah, it had been that good. And it was going to stay that good. Right?
I could dream. I wasn't going to let my mind go there. You know that there. The there that warns that nothing good can ever last for too long. The there that makes you question everything you do. Is it for real, or is something wrong with him?
There was nothing wrong with him. Sure, he wasn't perfect. No one was. Hell, he had a wife. But they were in the process of divorcing. And I was not going to hold that against him.
Instead, I'd hold my breasts against his bare, hot chest and breathe in the sable rum scent from his pores. I'd hold my fingers against his skin. I'd hold that nice handful of a cock that, even now, I could imagine pumping inside me, seeking my depths, filling me, owning me...
I groaned, catching a hand at the top bar of the clo
thes rack and leaning into the dresses. Biting my lip, I closed my eyes and slid my hand between my thighs to press against my clit. That pressure captured the hum of desire and intensified it. I ached for the man.
I don't think I've ever ached for a man before. I liked it. I wanted to feel this way all the time. Whirling about in a constant horny state. Ready to get off with a flick of his finger. Alive.
That's what the feeling was. I felt alive and vital, and yeah, sexy.
I know, I know. This was a new relationship. First-time sex and kisses always giddied about in a girl's system and made her feel as if she was a princess floating above the clouds. And then familiarity sank her into the clouds, and eventually the princess fell to earth.
That was fine by me. If I landed on earth then I'd grab Monsieur Sexy's hand and lead him into my bedroom.
So tonight I was dining at his place, and he was cooking. That thrilled me, and made me curious. He could not be kind, a great lover, and a good cook. It didn't compute. I'd have to be careful not to make a face if anything he made didn't taste right. I could fake pleasure, if need be.
Here's to never having to fake it in bed. I didn't believe in that. If a girl faked an orgasm she only enabled the guy. He thought she was having a great time? He'd continue with his lackluster attention to her pussy, or whathaveyou. Men only learned by being taught. And faking it was the worst lesson. I cared too much about my personal pleasure to sacrifice it in a misguided attempt to make the guy look good.
I ran my fingers down the black lace dress Jean-Louis had bought for me. He'd instructed me to go into a ritzy shop on the Champs Elysees while I'd chatted with him on Skype via my cell phone, and had helped me select a dress. There had been an incident with the sales girl. Roxane. She'd...touched me, and had almost kissed me. And I had let it happen. All while Jean-Louis had looked on.
The encounter had confused me, as well as bolstered my confidence. I had no desire to have sex with a woman, but that moment in the dressing room when I had allowed myself to feel a woman's touch on my skin had been incredible. And to know that my lover had been possessive enough to tell Roxane not to kiss me—because my lips were for him—had been an exquisite claiming.
The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin Page 31
