“I feel the same about you,” she said. Her expression softened more as she ran her fingertips over his jaw. Her touch nailed him in the heart. He grabbed her hand from his face, and clasped it.
His heart beat so hard he swore it was going to fight its way out of his chest, landing in her fucking hands where it belonged. He was aching to tell her how he felt for her. He fought that instinct hard, shoved it away, and returned to the role he could play well.
“Stay like that. I’m going to put on music,” he said, and grabbed his phone from the coffee table and called up Ravel’s ‘Bolero.’
The opening notes were faint, as the composer intended, and Michelle raised an eyebrow in question. “What are you playing?”
“Bolero.”
She grinned. “Like you told me you wanted to someday.”
“Someday is now,” he said, then he stalked over to her, dropped down to his knees and gently spread her legs apart. Her skirt rose up to her mid thighs, and he could only see a sliver of her panties, but the sight of her arousal took his breath away. She must have been wet all through dinner, because she was soaked now. And that delicious wetness was all for him. “I want you so much,” he said.
* * *
She’d been lying when she said she wasn’t nervous. How could she not be? She might want this, but she’d never done it, and fear was natural. Sure, she’d gotten off to plenty of naughty videos and gifs. She’d seen enough to know she found the possibility of this type of penetration incredibly alluring. The purple jewel had kept her buzzing at a constant state of arousal all through dinner. But that natural born fear of pain still existed. The ass was not designed for a cock, and certainly not one of Jack’s size.
Yet, she wanted to feel him, wanted to know if there was more sexual pleasure to be had beyond all the toys and tricks they’d tried so far. When he said he couldn’t get enough of her, she knew what he meant. He craved her body, and that hunger of his had been healing her. That desire of his had been restoring her sense of sexiness as he turned her into a wanted woman. The more she took of him, the more she’d felt rebuilt. Ready to conquer the world as a remade woman.
She was choosing to exist in the moment of their arrangement. To let herself live in this sensuality, and this feeling of not ever getting enough. To be happy with what she had, and for a little bit longer, she had him.
He came at her like a ravenous man. His jaw was hard, his eyes were blazing, and his hands were strong as he spread her legs further. In a blur, he was between her thighs, kissing the drenched lace of her panties. She moaned and was tempted to close her eyes, but instead she pushed up further on her elbows, wanting to watch him as he flicked his tongue against the panel, then moved lower, pressing his lips against the jewel. She could barely feel his mouth, but the image of what he was doing was so erotic that more heat pooled between her legs. She’d be gushing soon, and she was sure he would lap up every ounce of her.
She exhaled deeply, unsure of how they were getting from Point A to Point B. But the wine had worked its way through her body, softening her muscles, relaxing her mind, so she let go of the need to know what was coming.
Anticipation was its own elixir.
“Sit up and raise your arms,” he told her, and she obeyed. He reached for her dress straps. She lifted the skirt and he tugged the material the rest of the way over her head. His breath hissed when he looked at her breasts. As if he couldn’t control himself, he dived in, drawing one pink bud into his mouth and sucking so hard she heard a loud, wet pop when he let go, replacing his mouth with his big hand.
“Perfect tits,” he said, then returned his attention to the other breast, licking and sucking her voraciously. She curled her hands around his head, tugging him closer, thrusting her breasts into his face. His soft hair brushed against her chest, and a fresh wave of pleasure tore through her body.
The steady beat of drums and flutes filled the room, the sensual music matching her desire. A build, a tease, a long, kama-sutric piece of music that suited the way Jack loved her body.
“Turn over,” he told her.
“Already?”
She’d been expecting a little more foreplay, to be honest.
He laughed as he unbuttoned his shirt. “I’m going to massage you,” he said with a smile, and turned her on her stomach, flat on the bed.
She closed her eyes, and with that sense turned off for the moment, her ears trained on the music, and the sound of him pouring massage oil into his palms. His hands came down on her shoulders, and he began kneading. She moaned appreciatively. She hadn’t even realized she was sore.
“I’m going to make every single second feel good for you,” he whispered, as his thumbs worked the muscles of her shoulders.
“Everything you do to me feels good,” she said, and he traveled down her back, the vanilla scent of the massage oil adding to the headiness of the scene that was unfolding here in their Paris hotel room. He rubbed down her back, working his thumbs and fingers along her spine, then out to her sides, then down to her lower back.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, and his voice sounded different this time. Gone was the commanding, confident tone he usually saved for the bedroom. His voice was full of reverence and something else. Something deeper; something that felt lasting. She tried not to read too much into it. If she did, she’d be lost to him.
She directed her thoughts to her body and the way she felt as he touched her, his hands sending goose bumps across her flesh. His breath ghosted along her spine, as if he were leaving a trail of the faintest kisses down her back all the way to the top of her panties. Then she felt a flick from his tongue along the waistband, and he lowered them perhaps an inch, licking softly across the top of her cheeks.