Free The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin by Michele Renae

gave me a thumbs up.  Whew. 
    I tossed the notebook aside.  I didn't want to write.  I wanted to show him how I was feeling.  But he was writing now, so I stepped to the window and pressed a palm to it.  I gazed across the street that could be a thousand mile distance, yet felt as if he were standing only but a breath away. 
    I wanted to smell him.  To feel his body heat so close to mine that we created sparks.
    He turned the notebook over and I read: Exquisite. Bold. Gorgeous .  He pointed at me.
    My heart fluttered and I pressed my palm over it.  I hadn't realized I needed that until—just, wow.
    I kissed my fingertips and blew the morsel to him.  He made a show of catching it and pressing his fingertips to his lips, as if to taste my kiss.  Soon, I thought.  Or maybe never?  I didn't know where these window sessions would lead, and I decided not to worry about the future.
    Monsieur Sexy drew his fingers down his chest and abs and hooked them at the waistband of his briefs.
    Teasing a fingertip at the corner of my mouth, I walked to the chair and turned it to face the window, then settled into it, relaxing and crossing my legs.  The silk robe innocently slid open, revealing legs to my bare crotch, the fabric catching on my hard nipples.  A tilt of my shoulders would set it free, exposing me completely to him.
    I settled deeper into the chair, my shoulders sliding back.  The robe slid open more.  I lowered my head, smiling wickedly at him. 
    "Let the games begin."
    He tossed the notebook on his bed and stepped up to the window, pressing both palms to the glass as he studied me sitting in repose.  A wanton queen upon her throne.  The entire day had coiled me into a lustful, covetous web of agonizing need.  I closed my eyes and brushed my hands against my cheeks, over my temples, and through my hair, luxuriating in the feel of the soft strands.  The smell of vanilla lingered on my skin and in the steamy air.
    When I opened my eyes, he was rubbing a hand over his erection.  It looked so thick beneath the clingy briefs that emphasized the ridge on the underside and the plum-like head of it.
    I turned in the chair, twisting at the waist, but kept my legs crossed.  Catching my chin in a palm, I twirled my free hand, indicating that he should drop trou.
    His gaze swept streetward.  As nervous about being seen as I had initially been?  Silly man.  Don't think like that.  We were alone, even in a city of millions; highlighted by the glow from our bedside lights, exquisitely framed by our third floor windows, yet safely sheltered from prying eyes by the positioning of the buildings.
    His briefs got caught on the head of his cock, and he had to use both hands to pull them down.  As he did, he swept one hand over his erection, and used the other to tug them off and toss them aside.  He looked to me, tilting his hips forward to display his mighty sword.  It bobbed heavily.  I imagined it bobbing against my mouth; the salty, musky scent of him becoming embedded in my skin, my eyelashes, my hair.
    I licked my lips and nodded.  I bet he smelled like spice cologne.  I wanted him to.  I wanted to nuzzle my face against his cock and smell the rich tones of mingled spice and man.  I squeezed my thighs together, mining a twinge of orgasmic promise.  I was noticeably wetter than when I'd gotten out of the tub.
    Taking his cock in hand, he slid his curled fingers up and down, not establishing a rhythm or going too quickly.  He was displaying the goods, letting me take him in.  The tension in his ab muscles visibly increased, and he winced and closed his eyes briefly.  Already feeling it. 
    I wondered if a man's orgasm felt like a woman's did?  How to ever know?  The best of my orgasms were brain bursting, mind shattering, scream-from-my-gut amazing.  Men came strong and hard, but so quickly.  They collapsed after, and...end of party.
    Inhaling through my nose, I leaned forward, my breasts falling upon