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

the padded chair arm.  Absently, I swept a hand across my breast and thumbed the nipple.  He nodded.  Yes, do that more.
    Sitting boldly upright, I uncrossed my legs and pressed them knee to knee, cupping both breasts as I did.  The intensity of his gaze felt more intimate than quiet sex with a lover in the dark.  In the dark, I was safe from roaming, judgmental eyes.  Here, he saw everything, yet I was emboldened to permit his gaze to take in all that it wished to see.
    So inspirited, in fact, that I spread my legs brazenly.  The air cooled the insides of my thighs, but only for a moment.  Wet and hot, my pussy hummed with anticipation.  Each finger tweak of my nipples activated the want in my core and ignited that signal between my legs. 
    Mmm, I should have been wearing the shoes.  Hell, why wasn't I wearing the shoes?
    Wait.  Don't think like that.  I was moving out of the moment. The shoes bedamned.  (Sorry, shoes.)  I'd wear them some other time.
    Back lengthened, and legs propped wide, I pinched both nipples.  The pleasure shock sensation stirred up a moan.  I wanted him to hear me, and then I was glad he could not.  Voice felt too intimate just now.
    He stroked his cock faster, and without missing a beat he scooted along the side of the bed to the nightstand.  He pulled a small blue bottle from the drawer and drizzled clear lube onto the head of his cock.  It looked like sweet liquid sugar spilling onto a rich dessert, and again I licked my lips to show him my appreciation and want.
    "I'd lick it for you," I whispered.  I wished he could understand me, but I wasn’t in the mood for dictation right now. 
    He slicked his hand over and off the bold column that jut up hard against his belly.  It stood up straight, not an angle or kink to it.  Proud as its master.  And in reward, it was squeezed, slicked, and vigorously rubbed. 
    Men tended to get brutal when they jacked off.  I suppose the main stick had been designed for some rough handling?  I began to question my delicate touch whenever I got cock in hand.  Perhaps something more firm next time?  I'd make a note of it.
    His free hand slapped the window and he bent forward, completely focused on the fast drill, skin against lubed skin.  Slick, slick, slick.  Faster, harder…
    I wanted to catch up.  I hadn't even begun to explore the folds and dark sweet spots in my pussy.  He wouldn't get himself off before me, would he? And if he exploded, then the party was over.  At least, that's how it worked with the guys who had been in my bed.  Thanks for the thrills, sweetie, now let me go to sleep.
    Tonight, this one would not roll over.
    I had no control over that. 
    And yet, perhaps I did.
    I waggled an admonishing finger at him, then glided my other hand down from my breast and over my stomach.  That got his attention.  He didn't stop jacking off, but he did slow his pace measurably.  He reached down to squeeze his balls.  Closing his eyes, his tight jaw pulsed.
    The hairs on my body prickled at the sensation of the light strokes across my belly.  Self-love was something I practiced often enough that I knew how my body responded to specific touches.  Such intimate knowledge then allowed me to direct my lovers toward the best touch needed to get me off.  Therefore, I knew the gentle effleurage was better at increasing my heartbeats and the zinging, swirling want in my core, than, say, a firmer, more intense touch.  At least to begin with.
    It was all about the anticipation. 
    Gliding my fingers downward, they skimmed through the trimmed thatch.  I closed my eyes, guiding a forefinger between my slick folds.  So freaking wet.  I spread my legs wider, and eased the finger firmly against my apex.  My clit responded.  Oh, that touch was nice.  'Bout time you decided to play with me.  So I slicked across it again, delicately, not too firm.
    Nodding, because the touch was just right, not too hard and not too soft, I remembered