I pushed him up and he relented. "My place it is."
***
"Let's take un asenceur," Jean-Louis suggested as we filed into the lobby of my apartment building.
I tugged him toward the stairs. "No. I'm sure it's broken."
He cast a summary glance over the elevator doors. Heavy iron Art Nouveau curves worked about the small, and deceptively innocuous mechanism. "There is no sign."
"I like the exercise."
He tromped up the stairs behind me. "You are afraid of elevators," he stated. As if he was perfectly correct.
And he was. Mostly. Not all elevators. I liked the vast elevators in the States that could fit a car and a half dozen people in them with doors that opened on both ends. But these tiny little coffins in Paris that often came with a warning that no more than two—sometimes only one—could fit inside? Non, merci.
A roaming hand found its way up the back of my thigh and under my skirt as I reached the second floor (make that third in America). Jean-Louis pulled me to him and kissed me. "Why are you afraid?"
"I'm not afraid. I just... I don't like the small space. And walking up stairs is good exercise. And as a writer stuck behind the desk all day I don't get nearly enough—"
Another kiss silenced my superfluous excuses. The man knew exactly how to tame me. He lifted me into his arms with an ease that had me thinking I had recently lost more weight than I'd thought, and carried me to my door.
I wiggled the key in the lock and pushed in the door as he carried me over the threshold. Which I didn't want to overthink, so I let that one go.
"I am surprised you are not more bold with the lift," he said. Still on the elevator topic? "You are so daring, Hollie."
"Me?" I slid off my coat, took his from him, and...tossed them over the back of the gray chaise. "I'm not so daring."
"If that is so, then how is it a shy, unassuming woman fucks herself with a vibrator before her bedroom window for the man across the street? You still have that vibrator?" He was already unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his pants.
"I do."
He pulled me to him by the neckline of my red dress. Clutching the fabric so it tightened across my nipples, he eyed me with a sensual look that said obey me if you want to get lucky. "Go get it."
The words 'yes, master' formed on my tongue. But instead of speaking, I nodded and scampered—yes, scampered—into the bedroom. Toeing off my boots, I parked them at the end of the bed, and then pulled off the dress and the leggings, which rendered me naked. I shivered, but not from the chill in the air, rather in anticipation of standing before the Frenchman who waited out in the living room.
"I like this chaise!" he called. There was no bedroom door, and the living room was but twenty feet away. "Sexy. I want to make love to you on this chaise."
"I'm cool with that!" I pulled open my underwear drawer. "Where is it?"
Not tucked within the La Perla lace and Target cotton. So my taste in underwear was eclectic. And if a girl was going to invest in La Perla, then she had to save pennies by balancing out her wardrobe with the Tar-jay stuff.
I veered toward the bathroom, glancing out to the living room as I passed, and caught a glimpse of Jean-Louis pulling off his shirt. The side view of his abs resembled a climbing wall of rock. Each flex bulged the muscles and altered his landscape remarkably. Sweet mother, let me find that thing.
Ah, there. Sitting on the back of the tub. Where else?
I grabbed it and headed out to the living room, but by the time I paralleled the kitchen, I slowed and assumed a less eager facade and more sensual stride.
Jean-Louis had unzipped his pants, and at sight of naked ole me, he dropped them and kicked them off. For some reason, spying his erection beneath the boxer briefs, thick and bulging for release, was initially more exciting than seeing the actual thing.
I ran my tongue along my upper lip and waggled the silver vibrator, then drew it down between my breasts to my stomach. I had not perfected my seductress moves, but with practice, there was always hope.
"Is this what you want?"
He pushed down the boxers and kicked those aside, as well. His cock was big but not monstrous like those freakish things I sometimes read about in tales of lust and sex. It was just right; with enough extra girth to make me appreciate the ride.
He sat on the chaise, stretching his arms along the back of it. "Come sit down, mon abeille." A tilt of his hips made his cock pendulum back and forth. "Right here."
I leaned over him and kissed his nose, then dashed out my tongue to lick his upper lip. A wiggle of my mouth over his mustache tickled. I loved the sensation. He cupped my breasts and squeezed my nipples luring me to lean in for more. More, and more. Straddling him, I hovered, my pussy close to his cock, yet not touching.
"Let me have that." He took the vibrator, and as I kissed down his neck, he tested the single button on the end that slid to three different speeds. Slow, nicely faster, and oh, yeah, baby. He clicked it to slow and I grabbed it from him. "No, no, I want to try it out," he protested.
"Exactly." I touched the slick silver tip to his chest and he smirked and made a little grunt. "You've never had your hands on one of these before?"
"Not exactly my style."
"Then I need to give you a lesson." I roved gently to his nipple and pressed the vibrator against the tiny jewel that tightened even more.
"Oh," Jean-Louis said on a curious tone. "That's...mmm..."
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
He nodded, closed his eyes and tilted his head against the chaise. Arms stretched out across the gray, tufted velvet, he took in the sensations. I held back a giggle. This was fun trying something new. And he was willing to let me explore.
I tickled the tip of the Silver Surfer across his chest to his other nipple. Between my legs, his erection lodged against my thigh, hard and hot. I nudged my leg to rub it while carefully tending his nipple. He squirmed subtly, discovering the newness of the vibrator's touch and, perhaps, enjoying it.
"You like that?"
"It is different."
"Good different?"
He nodded. When his vocabulary decreased, I knew he was lost in pleasure.
I kissed his skin and trailed my tongue down the ridges of his abdomen, drawing the vibrator in the slick wake. His stomach muscles tightened and relaxed as I tested each roll of hardness with the silver tip. And down, down, gliding through the dark curls until I circled the base of his cock with the instrument.
Jean-Louis lifted his head, eager to watch what I was doing. He gasped in a breath. Exhaled. Stomach muscles clenched again. A satisfied moan.
"How about this?" I laid the silver rod against the length of his penis and held the two together, the vibrations shivering in my fingers. Drawing in the corner of my lip, I realized how wet I had become. Mmm... I pressed my thighs together and rotated my hips.
"Mon abeille..." he whispered on a lusty shiver.
He loved it. I could tell from the smile on his face. And when he grabbed my hair and clasped it as if to hold himself to something sure, I tilted my head to rest on his hip while I drew the vibrator up and down and all around his exquisite cock. A dip down to try at his testicles, but not long. I wasn't sure the vibrations would be as appreciated on those tender bits. But Jean-Louis did not protest. He opened his legs and then closed them. Untethered and unsure, but willing to take the ride. I could see the pending orgasm flush his skin, engorge the vein beneath his penis, and rise in the glistening pre-cum that spilled from the crown.
His fingers massaged in my hair, grasping, clinging, wanting, and then...he gripped the back of my head and pulled me up to sit on him again. An urgent kiss landed on my mouth. He grabbed the vibrator and pressed it between us, wedged between my labia and his cock. I rode both, rocking my hips as he kissed me with intensity. I wanted him deep inside my mouth, his tongue dancing with mine. I couldn't get him deep enough.
As well, I couldn't press hard enough against the double pleasure of hot c
ock and trembling shaft of steel. But I tried. I ground my clit against them. Fuck, that was good. It was all slick and juicy and hard and—fuck!
Jean-Louis moaned into my mouth. His clutch at my hair hurt and then it did not. He gripped my hips and pulled me down and back and forth.
I arched my back, which pushed everything tighter, closer, firmer. I grasped at air, seeking stability. But I craved the lost flutter of surrender.
"Yes," he hissed. His body trembled beneath mine.
The duel play of hardness and the added vibration worked its magic on me. Aware my lover was coming beneath me, hard and forcefully, I gripped his shoulders and shivered into my own orgasm. Breaths gasping, I bowed my head and groaned. We cried out together. The scent of his skin, hot and salty, filled my senses as he gushed inside me. Hot cum trickled down my thigh as he pulled out with an exhale. Arms dropping to his sides and head falling onto the chaise, he was elated.
I shifted. The vibrator tumbled to the floor with a clunk. Curling up my legs, I settled onto his lap and we shared the blissful tremors of after orgasm.
Chapter Six
Snuggled between soft white sheets, buried beneath the light but warm white goose down comforter, and face smushed against my pillow, I sensed the brightness of morning beaming through the window, but wisely, kept my eyelids shut.
I spread a palm over the bed beside me, but my fingers didn't venture over warm male muscle or even the surprise of a lax penis draped across his powerful thigh. Not in bed? I didn't hear the shower running. But I did hear some clatter out in the kitchen.
Jean-Louis had worked up an appetite last night. The man had sexual skills. In spades. I should probably drag myself out of bed and make him breakfast but...alas, I am not a breakfast-maker. I love eggs, bacon, muffins, all that morning jazz. But I love it most when someone else makes it for me. Like in a restaurant. Crumpets or rye toast and a piece of fresh fruit over granola were all I usually bothered to make on my own.
I turned onto my back, stretching out my legs beneath the sheet and curling my toes. Bed lingering was a skill I had proudly mastered. Yes, so it was a work day. I generally didn't start the official work stuff until around ten. One of the advantages of being my own boss and setting my hours. Don't hate me because I'm a layabed.
"Bonjour, mon abeille."
Savory scents suddenly wafted into my nostrils. I pulled the sheet down and opened my eyes. A gorgeous Frenchman wearing my yellow silk robe with the black bee embroidered over the chest held a plate of what smelled like eggs and toast. He beamed.
And I fell hard.
"Seriously?" I pushed up to sit against the pillow, pulling the sheet with me to cover my breasts. (I don't know, something about eating bare-chested felt weird.) "Who are you?"
"I am Jean-Louis," he announced proudly.
"No shit, you are Jean-Louis. And he is some kind of perfect man who cooks like a chef and fucks like a dream."
"You have not yet tasted my eggs. I did what I could with the little food you have in your fridge."
"Hey, I've looked in your fridge. It's emptier than mine."
"Touché. It is easier to take out when one eats alone. Here's to many more meals to share and a full fridge."
I accepted the plate, which boasted the fluffiest scrambled eggs I'd ever seen. They looked like yellow clouds, sprinkled with some green flakes. I mentally searched my fridge inventory but hadn't a clue what the green could be. Didn't matter. The first taste made me wonder what the hell I'd been eating all my life. Certainly hadn't been eggs. Not like these eggs.
"Ça va?" he asked after I'd shoveled in a few more bites.
I nodded, but wasn't going to waste breath on talking. Egg clouds. Mercy. The toast even tasted better for reasons that were beyond explanation. Same toaster. Same apple jelly. Just...well, this breakfast had been made for me. With love.
Aww...
Corny? Yep. But tasty? Oh, baby.
Jean-Louis leaned in and kissed my forehead. "Much as I would love to linger in bed with you, I've a nine a.m. class. That gives me half an hour to shower and get my notes together. Perhaps we can share lunch break?"
"Sounds like a plan. Maybe I should cook for you?"
His smirk didn't hide his estimate of my ability to fulfill that fantasy suggestion. "I did see a bag of salad in the fridge," he said. "That'll do. See you at noon?"
"Yes," I said around another bite. "Thank you."
He shed the robe, and the sight of his tight ass paused me from eating. I followed his muscular structure up the landscape of his back to the flex of his shoulder blades as he pulled on the dress shirt. Shirt first. I liked that. And his cock was at half-mast, which bobbed under the length of the shirt hem.
Who cared about clouds of eggs?
"Eggs must be eaten quickly or they will cool," he said with a wink over his shoulder. "My pants are out in the living room. A bientôt, Hollie."
That meant: see you soon. I forked in another cloud as he strolled out of the room. A few minutes later my front door opened and closed. Only four hours until I could see him again for a lunch break. I supposed I should try to fit some work in there as well.
This relationship was going to dig into my work time. Which sounded not at all bad. But I did need to support myself.
I finished the last egg cloud and crunched the perfectly toasted bread, then swung my legs over the side of the bed. If I could get lost in work, the time would fly.
***
That afternoon Hollie left after we'd washed the plates in the sink. The bag of salad she'd brought over had served a sufficient lunch. I'd spritzed some lemon juice, olive oil, and cracked pepper on it for a touch of flavor. And when I'd felt the desire to make love to her—because her giggle set off some kind of Pavlovian sex bell in my brain—I'd eyed the clock. Ten minutes until my IT class resumed. I was on a tight schedule this week, teaching an online class from nine to six daily. So I'd kissed her and promised to see her after work.
She'd said something about working a while then taking the afternoon to put together the bookshelves she'd ordered from Amazon. I hadn't too much hope for her mechanical skills, but she did tend to surprise me.
During an afternoon break, I brewed coffee, strong—what I craved was an espresso—and checked my schedule for fencing classes. I had one student this month, which came in on Thursday evenings. He was my age and he was doing it more for the exercise following a car accident, to strengthen his thigh and calf muscles, and he was proving a quick learn.
When six o'clock flashed on my laptop, I assigned my students reading for the night, and bid them au revoir until tomorrow.
I stood and stretched my arms over my head, then did a few fencing lunges that pulled at my leg muscles, as well as my back. Sitting before the computer all day worked hell on my body. I did try to stand often, but when doing so, I tended to pace and walk out of view of the webcam.
I should step out for a jog. I changed into some running pants and shoes and checked out the window. Dark already, and looking chilly. I pulled a sweatshirt over the T-shirt then headed out, intent on running around Les Invalides. The military museum boasted great running aisles and green parks.
An hour later I headed home, paralleling the Seine, and by the time I knocked on Hollie's door my heart rate had slowed and I was feeling the stretch from the run. Nothing was better than a good workout.
Except sex.
The door opened. A hand reached out and grabbed me by my shoulders. Hollie's green eyes were wide and...desperate?
"Help me," she pleaded.
***
The emergency was in Hollie's bedroom. She wasn't bleeding or gasping for breath. Instead, she tugged me to the center of the room where boards and screws lay strewn on the hardwood floor. I quickly assessed that should directions be followed correctly, perhaps a bookshelf would result from the scattered ephemera.
"You are having a time of it," I said to her.
"I've been working on this all afternoon."
"Really?" I bent and picked up the instructions sheet written in English. Only eight points to the assembly. It couldn't be that difficult.
"I'm lousy with a screwdriver," Hollie admitted. "I had to actually run out to buy that one. And I bought the wrong one, the one with a cross shape on the end, so I had to return for a straight one."
Chuckling, I knelt before the boards and tugged off the sweatshirt. I could have this assembled in no time, but I was hungry.
Brandishing the screwdriver, I offered, "I will rescue you."
Hollie wrapped her arms about my neck and kissed me. Her hair smelled like vanilla and the brush of her breasts against my back lured me to turn and kiss under her chin then down her neck.
"All I ask in reward," I said, "is you feed me."
"I'll need to run out for groceries."
"Why don't you run down to the bistro around the corner?" I dug in my pocket and pulled out the leather wallet. From inside I plucked two twenty euro bills and handed them to her.
"Oh, I can't take that." She shooed the money at me.
Americans. They had this thing about accepting help that annoyed we French.
"Hollie." I grabbed her hand and slapped the money into her palm. "Bring me food."
"But I really can't take your—"
"Kiss me," I demanded.
Startled by my tone, she blinked and then did as I'd commanded. Mm, she tasted like tea and her hair tickled down my cheek.
"Now, you stuff that money in your purse and go out and forage for your lover, oui?"
"Oui." But, caught in a dazed grin of pleasure, she didn't move.
"Allez vou!"
She shook out of the daze and nodded. "Right. I must feed my big, strong man. I'm off!"
I chuckled as she headed out, leaving me behind to flex my biceps. Oh yes, I was her big, strong man. And even if she'd said it playfully, I took it to heart. I couldn't remember the last time a woman had complimented me. Was that the reason I had so quickly fallen for Hollie? Did she feed some sort of need for reassurance that brewed within my soul?
The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin Page 33
