by Avery Aster
“I have a very healthy sex life,” I insist.
This doesn’t get his attention either. He’s too busy carefully adding less than a teaspoon of water to each of our glasses.
“I’m very experimental.”
He makes a deep, rumbling sound but doesn’t meet my gaze.
“I don’t need a bunch of crazy positions to get off.”
Finally he looks up. “Tantric sex is not about positions. It’s about the connection.” He motions between the two of us. “It’s about sensations.” He takes my hand and lifts it to his face. Before I know it he’s drawn my thumb into the warm cavern of his mouth, holding it captive while his gaze holds me captive as well.
You’d think my automatic reaction would be to pull away. It’s not. You’d think my brain might kick in right about now and remind me that I’m not supposed to be having any sort of physical interaction with him because of Tal. But it doesn’t. My brain has turned off and all I can do is feel.
The soft heat of Christophe’s mouth.
The warm wetness.
The promise his tongue makes my thumb, of experiences we could—and will—share together.
The promise his eyes make of pleasure beyond my wildest dreams.
My eyes flutter closed as he sucks with more pressure. It’s like the warmth from his mouth seeps down my hand and wrist, along my arm and settles into that sensitive crease of my elbow. Not many people know that this is an erogenous zone for me. I’m pretty sure there’s a nerve connecting my inner elbow to my clit.
Before I’m ready, Christophe pulls away. He kisses my palm and places my hand face up in my lap. “Tell me, Tessa Savage, do you make love like you play poker? Like you drink Scotch?”
My eyes fly open. My fingers curl into fists. I scooch back on the couch. “That sounds like an insult.”
“Not an insult, a simple question.”
“I don’t think I want to answer that.”
“So the answer is yes.”
“No.”
For the amount I moved away, Christophe moves one and a half times closer. His smile is so fucking seductive and knowing I want to kiss it right off his face. “Let me guess how it goes for you.”
“Fine. Go ahead and try.”
His nearness makes me quiver and I grasp onto my thighs to keep him from seeing how much he affects me.
“You meet a lover, someone you haven’t seen in a while and the two of you can’t keep your hands off one another.”
I shake my head and frown. Not because he’s wrong…
“Kissing wildly, passionately.” He glances at where my legs are crossed. “Your pussy already dripping wet just from the thought of the reunion.” He shifts on the couch. “His cock hard the moment he sees you.”
I raise my finger to stop him right there but he plows right ahead.
“Your clothes fly off. Some get torn in the process. All that pretty lingerie, disposable. Barely appreciated.”
How the hell does he know about my penchant for pretty lingerie?
“Once you’re naked, he pushes you down on the bed. The act has become primal. The two of you functioning on instinct. Him needing to claim you. You needing to be pinned beneath his weight. Both of you needing to be joined and making it happen like wild animals. Hard and fast.”
I stop trying to interrupt him.
He takes my hand, unclenches my fist and gently caresses my damp palm while his gaze never leaves mine.
“Fucking,” he whispers, his fingers weaving between mine.
I lick my lips.
“Hard. You like it hard.”
A tiny whimper tickles up my throat.
“Racing toward your goal of momentary bliss.” His fingers trail softly to my wrist and up my forearm, his touch in complete contrast with his words.
“Needing to release.” His hand moves gently up my shoulder to my neck.
“Needing to explode…” His words trail off as his thumb slides into my mouth.
“And then you do.”
My eyes are closed and I feel him lean in. He’s going to kiss me. I know it. I want it.
“Your orgasm rockets through you.” His breath fans my face. “Destroying you for one brief moment. Unable to think or act.” His voice so low, so deep, the timbre of it plays a chord deep in my belly.
God! How does he know me so well? I suck on his thumb in a way that I hope tells him I’ve dropped all pretense of being unavailable.
“And then…” he says softly. “It’s gone.” He pulls away, moves away. I feel the loss of his heat and the absence of his scent.
“Poof.” Christophe snaps his fingers like a hypnotist bringing a subject out of hypnosis.
I open my eyes, blinking in order to focus. I clear my throat. “Sounds lovely.”
“Unsustainable. Eventually, unsatisfying. Not Tantric.”
“Fuck Tantric. Sounds pretty damn hot to me.”
He regards me with a heavy lidded, intense look. “That is drinking fine whiskey with ice, much too quickly to enjoy it and all its intricacies. Playing poker blindly. These are all the same sort of practices.”
“So?”
“So, I think you would enjoy experiencing making love in another way.”
What is it about his voice? Is it the timbre? The accent? Whatever it is, the mere sound sets off fireworks in my belly and rains little shivery stardust down my neck and bare arms.
“Where the goal is not a momentary orgasm, but an orgasmic state.”
“Orgasmic state?” I shake my head. “Not possible.”
His smile says it is.
Damn, his smile!
“Either way, I can’t.”
Wow. Where did that resolve come from?
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“You’re afraid.”
“Excuse me?”
“In order to experience what I speak of, there must be connection, a deep bond. This scares you.”
For whatever reason, I go from hot to cold within the span of his statement. “You think you know me but you don’t.” I point at the glass. “You may have been right about the scotch, Monsieur Chevalier, but the only other thing you’ve been right about tonight is the fact that you and I do not share a connection.”
“But we do.”
“No. We don’t.”
When I don’t get up to leave—which is something I definitely should be doing—he smiles.
“You and I are so much alike it is as if we are two halves of a whole. Together we could be magnificent.”
“How can you say that when you’ve just met me? You don’t know me.”
“I have seen you before. Watched you.”
“Stalked me.”
He laughs. “I know you better than you think. You are me two years ago.”
“What does that mean?”
“Shall I tell you about yourself? Then you can tell me if I’m wrong.”
“Go ahead.” I wave dismissively. “Try if you must.”
He settles back on the couch with glass in hand, never taking his eyes off me. After an extra-long pause that is surely meant to make me feel uncomfortable, he says, “You have enough money to live in luxury, yet material things mean nothing to you. Your life is about experiencing as much as you can, not accumulating as much as you can. So, you love often but not deeply.”
“See, you’re wrong. I do love deeply.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” Why does the word sound like a question instead of a statement?
He does that tilted head gesture and drinks. Afterwards he says, “I used to think I did too. I had many love affairs, with beautiful, exciting women.” He leans forward, elbows on knees. “But always, always the excitement faded. The scenario I described to you? Tearing at one another’s clothes, the fierce need of being inside of a lover’s body? I lived that for so many years, the excitement intoxicating…it always ends.” Finishing his scotch, he sets the glass down on the table. His gaze meets mine.
“So, I would find another. And another. And then the quicker I traded one lover in for the next, the quicker the feelings of passion subsided.” He reaches across the table and takes my clenched hands, rubbing my knuckles. “I became more demanding. Needing more all the time. Anger taking the place of love.”
I try to pull away but his hold is too tight, as if he’s reliving some of the anger in his previous relationships. I can totally picture him, the fierce dominant, tying up his lovers and taking them hard, always needing more, more, more.
“Until I discovered Tantra.” His grip loosens. “And I realized I was going about it all the wrong way.”
I slowly pull my hands from his softened grasp. “So, how does this relate to me?”
“You are the same. Going from one lover to the next. Always looking for new experiences. Always needing more.”
“Ah.” I raise my finger at him. “That is where we differ. Your relationships were not satisfying. Mine are.”
“Are they?”
“Yes.” This time my affirmative has way more conviction.
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.”
He stands and I think perhaps he’s about to leave, but he doesn’t and I realize I’m relieved that he is staying.
“Aren’t you curious?”
“About what?”
“About what I’m proposing.”
“What are you proposing?”
“Not only a new way of making love, a new way of being.”
Needing something to occupy my hands, I slice a piece of cheese and take a bite. “Not really,” I lie.
“So, you do not want me to describe what an encounter between us would look like?”
I raise my gaze. “No.”
He grins. “You truly have the worst poker face I’ve ever encountered.”
Chapter Five
“I’m not lying.”
“Tessa Savage. You are dying to hear how being with me would be different from that primal, animalistic act you’re accustomed to. You want desperately to know how it is that we could reach a state of orgasm, together, rather than the fleeting moment that is over before it even begins.”
Oh my fucking God. He is right, I am curious and I hate him so much right now for knowing me so well.
When he sits back down, he doesn’t sit across from me, he sits next to me. He does not ask me again if I want to hear his tale, he just starts telling it.
“We do not start by removing clothing, but by sitting together. Much like we are now. Looking at one another, holding hands, gazing softly at each other. I wait for your eyes, your breath and the warmth of your skin to tell me you’re ready.”
Unfortunately I’m pretty sure I know what my eyes are saying right about now.
Ready, ready, ready!
“Only then do I begin to remove your clothes. Reveling in every inch of skin revealed. Touching, tasting, breathing in your scent.” He bends closer and breathes me in like I’m the Macallan. Then he lifts his gaze. “Observing your reaction.” His hands move from mine up my wrists to the sensitive inner elbow. “Finding each erogenous zone. Grazing it lightly. Savoring.”
Dammit! He found that one so quickly.
“I will not be frantic with you. I will not tear off your clothes. I will relish you. Appreciate the flavor of your shoulders…” He touches me there, softly. “…of your neck and jaw.” His fingers graze as he speaks. “I will take my time exploring your collarbones and chest…your breasts.” His hands pause before drawing a line down the front of my dress between my breasts.
“I will taste your nipples, delighting in their texture and scent, worshipping each because they are so lovely, so perfect, so much an important part of you.”
Right this second, my nipples are letting me know they are very keen to experience this scenario with Christophe. Very keen.
“My desire is not just to experience your flesh, but to touch your heart and to connect with you on a deeper, more meaningful level.”
Umm, this part sounds unnecessary and I sense my forehead crinkling as I wait for him to move on to the good bits.
“Only then do I explore your belly, your hips.”
Oh yes. Here we go.
“Slowly, slowly I part your thighs. You give me permission to devour you with my gaze, and I am honored for this privilege. I spread your legs wide, opening you with my thumbs and glimpsing the glistening entrance to your body.
“Your arousal is my cue to come closer, to take in your scent. To taste you, to breathe in your unique perfume. I touch the satiny texture of your pussy with my tongue, and it is smooth and slick, like warm silk. My fingers glide inside of you, your most sacred and intimate space. You are wet for me. Eager for me. Made for me.”
Moisture pools in my mouth and I have to remind myself to swallow.
“The simple act of exploring you results in arousal. My cock grows hard…for you. Longing to join with you. Ready to awaken a new and profound passion within you. Eager to journey into love, together.”
It takes me a while to realize that Christophe has stopped speaking in that deep, hypnotic tone of his. Who needs opium when I’ve got Christophe drugging me with sex tales?
I open my eyes. “Is that it?” I whisper.
“Non.” His smile isn’t quite as smug as you’d think it’d be considering how quickly I am on the verge of giving in to his seduction. “That is barely the beginning. You see, there is no end goal in Trantra. No ten second orgasm that’s over before it begins. I will take you to a place where time stands still and ecstasy is embodied. This is something that must be experienced. It cannot be described.”
“Well.” I reach for my glass and take a drink, falling back on my old habit of gulping. I cringe from the burning shock of the alcohol, but it has the desired effect of snapping me out of Christophe’s influence. “What you described sounds nice, but it’s not going to happen. I’m totally happy with my sex life exactly the way it is.” I take another drink. Again too much at once. I cough. When things are under control, I say, “I’m all good.”
“If you say so.”
I hear doubt. Doubt makes me want to prove myself. But not here. Not now. Not with him.
“Besides,” I wave my hand dismissively, “I understand Tantric sex takes a long time. Like six hours or something.”
“It can. When you reach Nirvana, you don’t want to leave.”
I nod because suddenly six hours of sex…with Christophe, well, that doesn’t actually sound too bad. “Of course, if you were Sting, I might change my mind.”
His smile turns to a grin and then to laughter. It’s sexy as hell, dammit. Why does he have to keep surprising me? Taunting me? Tempting me?
He refills his glass, hands me mine and then taps the rims together in a toast.
“You are a remarkable woman, Tessa Savage. I do hope we can become friends. Close friends.”
I lift the glass to my mouth and drink, slowly and purposefully. The taste is so much better this way—dammit—and I wonder whether sex with Christophe would be as glorious as I’m starting to suspect it’d be.
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe one day.”
* * *
It’s my last day in Monte Carlo and after sharing a rushed breakfast with Tal on the Terrace of Le Hotel de Paris—so he could spend the rest of the morning with Alejandro before rehearsal—I find a secluded spot to sit and read. I’m reading a book called Slayer, an erotic retelling of the Princess and the Pea story where the princess in question is a dragon slayer.
Very fun.
I’m a third of the way through the story when a shadow falls across me. Instead of looking up, I breathe in.
I recognize that scent.
“Hello Christophe.”
“Tessa.”
“Would you care to join me?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” There is humor in his tone and I like it. God, he is turning out to be a lot different from the man I thought he wa
s.
“I understand you leave today.”
“You need to stop stalking people. It’s creepy.”
I love the way his eyes crinkle at the corner when he laughs. It’s infectious.
“If certain women wouldn’t drive certain men to distraction, then certain men would not have to stalk certain women.”
“Touché.”
He draws his chair closer. “When do you leave?”
I pull my phone out of my bag and check the time. “In an hour.” I place my phone on the table.
He nods and looks away, gazing toward the sea. “A friend of mine owns a resort on an island. It’s exclusive. Special.” He turns back to me. “I have a long standing invitation. I should like to visit again.”
“Oh?”
His expression is suddenly serious.
Even though he hasn’t asked me to join him, I know where this is going. “Christophe, we barely know one another.”
“Yet, I feel as if we’ve met before, as if I know you.”
I shrug. It’s weird but I feel the same way.
“Is it not the same for you?”
It’s my turn to look away. I think about the moment our eyes met in the salon, him sitting at the bar, me about to play roulette. Though I had just read about him, there was something instant between us.
A chemistry?
A connection?
God, I don’t know.
“Maybe,” I whisper.
“Then take a chance.” He takes my hand and caresses the backs of my knuckles. “Trust the feeling.”
I’m captivated by what he’s saying and by the incredible light in his eyes and am about to ask what he’s proposing when I’m startled by the sound of my name.
“Tessa.”
Christophe releases me and I turn to see Tal striding across the terrace. He looks angry. Upon closer inspection I see it is probably the heartbreak of having to leave his lover that is etched across his forehead, not anger.
“The car will be here soon.” He reaches for my hand, barely sparing Christophe a glance, as if Christophe is ‘the help’.
Christophe is so much more. More than I ever imagined. There’s a depth to him that I wish I could delve into and I feel let down that I’ve barely had the chance to scratch the surface. And now it’s too late.
