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

that I had an audience.  I flashed my eyes open to find him staring at me.  His hand did not move on his cock.  He looked…mesmerized.  And he wasn't focused on my crotch, but rather my face. 
    I dipped my head into a shy smile because he surprised me with that intense regard. 
    Then I shook my head, surrendering to a little laugh.  My finger had not stopped the soft, teasing strokes.  I squeezed a nipple, intensifying the stirrings of release.  Tilting my hips forward, I spread my legs wider.  I don't think I'd ever sat quite like this when I'd jilled off before.  I had to scoot forward to the edge of the chair so my fingers wouldn't jam into the seat with each downstroke. 
    Monsieur Sexy had switched up his moves.  His cock sprang free against his stomach while he pinched his nipple.  Pointing to me, he then pinched his fingers before him and dashed his tongue between them.
    I arched back my shoulders, feeling his tongue on my nipples, hot and wet.  I bent a leg and pressed the heel of my foot on the chair, which moved me forward a bit.  Catching my hand against the glass, I quickened my strokes, slicking into my folds to juice up, and then swiped back across my swollen clit.  My core swirled.  My loins hummed.  My hips wanted to rock quickly, but I couldn't in this position.  It was a different feeling though, and I liked it.
    He flicked his tongue over the top of his little finger, and the sight of it released a moan from deep in my throat.  I imagined his tongue at my breast.  Taking my hand from the window, I glided the fingers over my tongue, then slicked them over my nipple.  Yes! 
    Feeling the wobbly, loosening stir of orgasm focus between my legs, I increased pace of my strokes and made them firmer.  Yes, so close.  And he jacked off quickly now, his eyes no longer on me, but unfocused immediately before him.  Concentrating, probably as close to orgasm as I was. 
    His shoulders shuddered.  Ab muscles tightened, unreal in their sweaty, glistening appeal.  He was so strong, so powerful.  His jaw clenched, and suddenly, he opened his mouth and—I switched my gaze lower.  He spilled over his hand and a splash of creamy ejaculation spotted the window.  Still gripping his cock, he pressed his forehead to the glass.
    The sight of his orgasm pushed me over the edge.  I pressed my legs together, and my rapid strokes lured up the explosion that shimmered through my thighs, hips, and torso.  My hips bucked forward and I cried out a short, blissful sound.  "Yes." 
    Bowing my head and falling back into the chair, I panted through the delicious reward of my efforts.  And then I laughed softly.  My limbs were loose.  I brushed a hand across my face to cover it as the laughter subsided.  I dropped my arm along the side of the chair and lay there, spent and blissed out.
    Tilting my head, I saw Monsieur Sexy grab the notebook off the bed.  He slammed it against the window and I reread the words: Exquisite. Bold.  Gorgeous .
    I blew him a kiss and wished him a good night.
    He saluted me, and then wandered off into the recesses of his bedroom where it connected to the bathroom.  I didn't need to see him.  I would close my eyes and dream about him all night.
     
    Chapter Seven
     
    I caught him dancing about his bedroom, a towel hugging his sculpted hips and water droplets sprinkling the muscles that flexed his back.  Fencing equipment lay scattered across the end of the bed.  I'd seen flashes of the blade in his living room earlier as I'd noshed on creamy risotto in front of the TV.
    There must be music playing in his room because he shifted his hips side to side.  Now I saw his lips moving.  He was singing.  And he wasn't aware that I was watching from my nest on the chair with book in hand.
    He sorted through some books and files stacked on the night table next to the bed.  He read before going to sleep; just like me.  Tucking a file under his arm, he then scooted around the bed,