The Erotic Secrets of a French Maid (21 page)

He ran the point of his tongue against her arch, apparently as hard as he could. Emma flinched and laughed. "No, that tickles!"

He did it again and again, and she tried to get away, her hands coming down to push against the mattress. She tugged her foot, but he held tight and licked.

"No, not like that!" Laughter made her weak, helpless under his torture.

Russ relented and did as he knew she wanted, using the flat of his tongue to stroke her arch. He'd only tickled her to get her to relax, just as he'd deliberately fumbled the striptease.

He had thought, given Emma's bold sexual adventuring, that she'd deliberately kept from opening up to him. Instead, she was just as shy in her way as he was in his. Maybe even more so; at least he had ten years' more experience with expressing his wants in bed, however hesitant those expressions might be.

That she was trying to open up to him now meant a lot to him; he did not underestimate the fragility of the trust she was offering him. Whatever she wanted, he would do it and be grateful she had shared it with him.

At the end of this night, she would have no physical secrets left. The thought of feeling her contractions around him as he thrust deep inside; of seeing her face lost in passion he had created; of knowing she had given herself over to him completely: it made him hard, and he knew he would stay that way through any length of toe sucking.

Before Emma, he hadn't spared more than a passing thought for what went on below the surface of a woman's mind. He hadn't cared enough to ask, and hadn't understood how much it could mean to him.

In his youth, he hadn't even suspected that a woman might hold part of herself separate, that what he saw wasn't all there was to get.

He licked the arch of her foot again and she squirmed, her hands fisting at her sides. She had closed her eyes, and despite the fact that she was dictating his actions, he felt more in control than he ever had with her. It was hard to beat the thrill of a woman writhing in pleasure under his touch.

He looked at her pristine toes and did as she had asked, one toe at a time. He dipped his tongue between each one as he sucked, rubbing against the tender skin. Emma bared her teeth as if in pain and
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her whole body tensed. She held perfectly still, as if afraid that moving would stop what he was doing.

He would never have guessed her toes were an erogenous zone.

He did the last of her toes and set her foot down.

She rolled onto her stomach and he admired her rounded behind before she twisted and sat up, her back still to him. She peered over her shoulder at him. "Finish undressing me."

He put his hands on her hips and slid his palms up her sides, her T-shirt and hoody coming with them.

She raised her arms as he moved upward, then detoured to her breasts, brushing his palms over the mounds pressing into the silky stretch material of her bra. He circled there until he felt her nipples hardening, making pebbles beneath the material.

He pulled her tops off and tossed them onto the floor, then turned his attention to her one remaining garment.

He cupped her breasts in his hands, thumbs stroking over their peaks, then slid his hands back toward her sides and forward again, this time his fingers inside the material. He ran her nipples between his fingers, pinching them gently, and leaned forward until his lips were just above the nape of her neck.

He could hear her breath from her parted lips, and he wanted to lay his mouth against her skin. He waited for her to ask him to, and when she didn't, that stretch of naked skin became twice the temptation. He raised his mouth beside her ear, knowing that she could feel the heat of his breath.

He gently withdrew his hands from her bra and unfastened it, easing the straps down over her shoulders and pulling her back against him as he skimmed over her breasts in a touch that was more tease than caress, taking the lingerie with him. It joined the rest of their clothes on the floor.

"Play with my breasts," Emma said softly.

A command with which he was happy to comply. He held them tenderly in his palms and she rested her head against the crook of his neck and relaxed, her hands resting on his thighs. He could see down the slope of her chest to her breast in his hand. He gently squeezed, then massaged, watching as they changed shape under his touch, his excitement rising as he saw his hands on her nude breast, her nipple appearing between his fingers, vulnerable to his play. He traced around her aureole, then grasped the nipple between several fingertips and slowly, gently pulled outward, as if her nipple were a sucker being pulled from a mouth.

"Go lower," Emma whispered.

He slid his hands down her torso, then back up again, and felt goose bumps rise on her skin.

"Lower."

He skimmed the base of her abdomen, fingertips barely touching the beginning of her nether hair.

"Lower."

He trailed his fingertips down over the tops of her thighs, returning upward on their soft inner sides only to repeat the same path again. Emma parted her legs in invitation and he skimmed up to, but not touching,
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her sex.

He wanted to touch it; wanted to feel if she was damp for him yet; if her entrance pulsed for him. He wanted to feel her warm soft inner lips part for him, and to feel her arch her hips against his hand.

But she had to ask for it.

She seemed to have forgotten the necessity of words. She parted her legs yet farther and reached up and back with one hand to hold his neck.

The sides of his index fingers met where leg curved into sex, his thumbs touching the surface of her curls but no deeper. He pressed his hands harder against the inner tops of her thighs, massaging in a circle, knowing that the motion would transfer to her sex.

Emma pulled away from him, leaving his hands and arms empty. She peered over her shoulder at him, then lay down on her stomach, stretching across the bed.

"Massage the backs of my thighs and my backside. Please." She tucked her face into her arm, lifting her head again a moment later to peer at him over her arm, as if uncertain whether she'd asked too much.

Hardly.

He went to work on her thighs and buttocks, although his hands yearned to tease her until she whimpered
Now. Take me, now.
But as he rubbed her thigh Emma gave a soft
tnmm
of pleasure, and he realized that her erogenous zones weren't limited to her toes, breasts, and her sex. Her whole body wanted to be touched, caressed, made love to by his hands.

He felt a fool for having missed that fact in all the times they'd been together. He'd been touching her the way
he
wanted to be touched, hands diving right for the goods, forgetting that a woman's approach to sensuality could be different entirely.

It was going to be torture for his eager body. Each
ooh
and
ahh
and
mmm
she made as he massaged the backs of her legs and her buttocks went straight to his crotch. He wanted to hear her make those noises as he parted her thighs and pressed the head of his cock against her, her slit parting under him, the wet, hot slickness of her passage tight against him as he slid deep inside. He could already feel himself there, his hands on her hips as she pushed back against him, writhing and moaning with the pleasure he brought her.

Christ.

He was going to have to think of lust-killing things like tax forms to make it through this.

But what sweet torture.

Emma felt his hands moving on her as she had asked and tried to relax and enjoy it. She knew now that he would continue this as long as she wanted, but she sensed a hint of impatience in his touch.

He was the one who had insisted on doing as she wished despite her embarrassment: he could suffer for it.

The thought that she was subtly torturing him was perversely freeing. She could revel in that, in a way that she was afraid to revel in asking for what she wanted without thought of his own pleasure.

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One of his massaging hands slipped between her thighs and pressed a little too close to her sex, setting off a shiver of sensation. It was deliciously tempting, but she wasn't going to give in to it. Not yet.

"My lower back," she ordered, and made a small
mmm
of pleasure when he obeyed. Her skin seemed to soak up each touch of his hands, the very act of contact changing something within her. She was aroused and relaxed at the same time, an intoxicating, shimmering pleasure moving through her blood, drugging her, making her feel that she could continue like this forever. She wanted him to touch every part of her, from back to shoulders to the tender inner bend of her arm, to the sensitive center of her palm. She gave voice to her wishes, sending him on a treasure hunt over her body, finding the places that had lain undiscovered through all their joinings.

It was only when he'd touched every inch of her except her sex; only after he'd gently stroked her eyebrows and the shape of her ears; after he'd run the flats of his hands down the front of her torso, treating her breasts as any other part of her body, making her stretch her arms above her head and arch her back in catlike contentment; only after he'd touched the smooth space behind her ear and let his fingertips press over the faint ridges of her rib cage, that she knew she was ready to ask for something more.

"Lie on top of me and kiss me. I want to feel trapped. Pinned."

She felt his weight on her, his arousal a hard thickness against her loins. "Now kiss me like you're starving for it, and won't take no for an answer."

"No problem," he murmured, and took her face between his hands. His eyes looked down into hers with dark intensity, almost animal in their naked hunger.

She closed her eyes and let him kiss her, enjoying the sure, hungry movements of his mouth on hers and the weight of his body. She
wanted
to be ravished, to be taken without permission by him, if only within the confines of this game they were playing tonight.

She wrapped her arms around his chest and one leg around the back of his. "Take me," she whispered against his ear as his mouth sucked at the edge of her jaw. "Now." She moved her hips against his erection, feeling it slide against her mound, his position changing enough that the head ran down her sex and across her slick wetness.

"Tell me how," he growled into her ear. "Spell it out, Emma."

She felt the head rubbing against her opening, teasing at her with its blunt hardness that refused to enter.

"Don't ask. Just do it. That's what I want!"

"Say it. Say how."

Frustration boiled up within her and in a flurry of motion she fought out of his embrace, making him yelp in surprise and climb off her. She rolled onto all fours, looked over her shoulder at him, moved her knees apart and lowered her torso, her sex spread out in an unmistakable target. "Is
this
clear enough for you?"

Without another word he put one hand hard on her hip and the other to his cock for guidance, and she gasped as he thrust inside her with one long, deep stroke. She dropped her forehead down onto the mattress, feeling him move the length of her, stroking hard, his thickness within her body and seeming to take up half of it. She was no longer in sole possession of her body, and it was just what she wanted.

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"Your fingertip," she gasped out in near incoherence, wanting him to reach around and stroke her nub.

"What was that?"

"Your finger. Use your finger."

There was a pause; then she felt his hands on her buttocks. Her eyes widened, but before she could stop him she felt the tip of one finger dip into her back door.

Shock held her motionless.

His thrusts resumed their former energy, his fingertip following the rhythm, pressing in and releasing along with each thrust.

Her psyche was overwhelmed by the double penetration, the double possession. A cool liquid rush washed over her, and she lost all sense of where she ended and he began.

With her right hand she reached down to her sex, touching the joining of their bodies, feeling the wetness and the movement of flesh against flesh. Her fingertips damp, she trailed them to her nub and stroked.

Triple contact now, her whole consciousness existing in the trio of sensations. They blended together, amplifying each other: thrusts of his cock inside her, the pressure of his fingertip at her back opening, the tingling pleasures of her own hand at work on her desire.

Ohh God, it felt so good

...

She felt herself rising on the tide, felt the tension in her body as she strained toward the crest of the wave.

Yes, yes, it's coming, it's coming

...

Her body tensed, her lower legs clamping against his thighs, a high-pitched keen vibrating in her throat.

She held for a moment at the crest of the wave, balanced there, precarious, and then with one more stroke of his cock she felt herself tumble down the slope. Her inner muscles clenched around him, squeezing and releasing rapidly.

"Oh God, Emma," Russ groaned, and thrust once more deep inside her, where she felt the pulses of his own release blend with hers.

Emma closed her eyes in the afterglow. She felt Russ rest lightly upon her with his cock still deep inside, breathing heavily.

She carefully lay flat and then he rolled them both to their sides, spooned together. She felt him nuzzle his face into her hair.

A smile curled on her lips and she fell into slumber, their bodies still one.

In the bathroom a half hour later, washing up together, Russ glanced at Emma. She caught his look and smiled, a sleepy cat-contented smile. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.