Phaze Fantasies, Vol. 5

by L. E. Bryce, Emma Wildes, Kate Burns

  "Hm?” Jenny's been talking; I haven't been paying attention.

  "I said, are you sure you're over Paul? Really sure?"

  "Completely.” I nod, even though I know she can't see me. “At least Luc was good for that, making me see that I've done the right thing about Paul. I'm so steamed he acted the way he did today. And the way he went off with super-bitch Adrienne ... every time I think about it I want to spit!"

  "Then don't think about it."

  "How can I not? When he came over to me after class I thought ... I thought ... hell, I don't know what I thought.” I thought we were going to pick up where we left off last night, but I felt too foolish to say that, even to Jenny.

  I needn't have tried to conceal my thoughts, not from her.

  "You figured the two of you would just continue where you'd ended last night, didn't you?"

  "Something like that,” I admit, penciling in Luc's hair on my sketch. He looks so realistic I can practically hear his voice.

  "Maybe he wasn't as interested as you thought he was,” Jenny suggests. I hear the sound of her why-don't-you-commit-already speech coming on. She can't help herself. She's trying to be supportive of my choices but sometimes the get-a-man, get-married side of her rises to the surface.

  I'm not in the mood to hear it. Not at all.

  "Maybe not. Listen, I've got to run.” I snap the board onto the ugly table beside me and stand. Dropping my pencil on top of what is now Luc's almost-finished likeness, I rake my fingers through my hair. Curly, as usual. The damp Paris air is making it curlier than it ever was back home. I sort of like it, this wilder version of myself.

  "Run? But we just started talking!"

  "Right, but I've got to go."

  "Where? You're done with class and you don't have a date. You don't even know anyone there, so who are you rushing off for?"

  She's got me. Possibilities fly through my head faster than the interest mounts on my Macy's charge bill.

  "Not who. I didn't say I was seeing anyone,” I say, stalling. A burst of inspiration! “Where. I'm going to the Louvre. You know, the big museum? You've heard of it, haven't you?"

  I do a little happy dance in front of the phone table. I feel tethered to this big black monstrosity. When will the rest of the world follow us into the 21st century? I'll have to pick up a new cell phone tomorrow. Or maybe today, after I shake Jenny from the other end of this damn phone line.

  "Don't be a wiseass, Kim. Of course I've heard of it. I just didn't know you were planning on going there today, is all."

  Neither did I.

  Jenny continues, “Are you going alone? Or are you meeting someone? Or maybe you're hoping to meet someone new, maybe have stand-up sex in another alley?” She giggles and I want to reach through the phone and strangle my twin sister. Why did I tell her about the alley? Why?

  "I'm not going to meet anyone, or with anyone,” I insist. Tugging my top into place at my waist, I say, “I'm a grown woman in search of culture, that's all. And I don't need anyone to help me find it. I'll talk to you later, Jen. Bye now!"

  Without giving her a chance to speak, I drop the receiver onto the cradle.

  * * * *

  Dusk sweeps over the city like a lover's cloak as I slowly walk toward my apartment. The museum was amazing, much grander and more spacious than I'd imagined. Walking through the rooms, looking at masterpieces painted centuries earlier, I felt a connection to the city not within me until then. The pulse of Paris lies in its culture, and a generous measure of that culture comes with its art.

  Almost drowsy, sated as I am by my overindulgence in the great masters’ works, I stop outside the door to the café. Music, loud and with a beat that echoes the rhythm of my heart, comes through the building and into the air on the otherwise quiet street. Clover cigarette smoke perfumes the breeze. There are no bans on public smoking here. Summoning an inner strength, I bend forward, peeking in the window beside the door. The café is not crowded, but it is not empty, either. My gaze scans the dark, wood-paneled room, dismissing images in search of the familiar stance.

  There. In the far corner, partially hidden by an enormous floor plant. It is Luc. I recognize the way his hair brushes his collar, the width of his shoulders tightly stretching a black shirt over his skin, a casual wave of his hand toward the bartender who speaks with him. Yes, it's Luc.

  Anger stabs me as I recall our earlier meeting. How dare he treat me as he had?

  Pushing the door open, I cross the floor. Anger is replaced by something else, something soft and liquid hot, as Luc sees me and grins.

  "Kim! You are here! I have been hoping to see you, ma chere,” he purrs. Luc pulls me against his body, kissing me so thoroughly my head spins. Tightening in my groin takes my thoughts from my head, and I press my thighs together. Whispering in my ear, “I have thought of nothing but you, all day. You, you, you—in the alley, what we did has made me horny, all day. I can think of nothing else, ma chere. Only the way you felt in my arms. The way I felt buried deep within your hot, wet body."

  I want to protest. Really, I do. But my mouth won't form the words. A mug of beer appears beside me, on the counter where we lean. I drink it without thinking.

  Brushing my lips with my fingertips, I ask, “Why did you act that way, then?"

  Luc's brow furrows. Tossing a few euros on the counter, he takes my hand. We wind our way through the café. Outdoors the air is less smoky but my head is still spinning. Could it be the beer? My stomach is empty otherwise. Or could it be the smoke? Or maybe it's just Luc—the nearness of him makes me feel unbalanced, yet steadies me, all at once. I don't know how that can be, only that it is.

  Our alley—for a moment I think Luc will pull me into it at we pass, but he doesn't. We walk quickly, without speaking, almost as if we're propelled by an unseen force. Nearing the park that is across the street from my place, I realize what he's got in mind. I've seen lovers in this park before, shadowy shapes on benches, beneath trees and huddled on the grass. French love, without concealment.

  An empty bench lies just within the park's borders. Partially concealed by the droopy branches of an ancient tree, it is the perfect spot for us. Luc sits, grinning as he pulls me onto his lap.

  My pussy tingles as our lips meet. How can anything else matter now, when I want him so much? Casual sex, that's all this is. No entanglements, no commitments. Right? Yeah, right. I'll tell that to my heart—later. Much later.

  Now, I'm too busy tugging Luc's erection from his tight jeans. My hand pistons on his cock as he pulls my zipper low.

  "Chere—oh, yes, that feels so good,” Luc murmurs. He feathers kisses along my neck. I press myself against him, moaning as he fingers my clit.

  "Yes, that's it.” I feel like I'm going to explode. Luc chuckles, gently pinching my sensitive nub between his fingertips. Pleasure pulses within me, burning a trail between my body and his.

  "It is good, no?"

  "Yes,” I gasp. His cock teases me, a drop of moisture seeping from him. I flick my finger over it, massaging the wetness into his taut skin. “It is good. But—"

  "But what?” he asks. His hips buck, his cock presses closer to my aching sex. I can't wait. My need is too urgent.

  "I want more, Luc. I want—” A whimper, a sound I barely recognize as my own, escapes. “I want to feel you inside me.” My knees feel shaky as I rise to them, hovering above his lap only long enough to push my jeans down. My thighs are forced almost shut but not so close that getting what I want—what I need—will be impossible. “I want you. I can't wait."

  The low, throaty chuckle beside my ear entices me to move faster. Angling his cock toward my need, I spear myself, settling onto his hardness as if it's the center of the universe. There is no foreplay, no sweet word or tender caress. We are possessed, driven by the fire burning between us. Luc's cock, wet with my juice, thrusts upward. I feel the tip of him press deep within me, and my pussy clenches around is hot, hard flesh. My climax slams into me so forcefully I fee
l the air leave my lungs in a swift burst.

  This is not the time to ask questions, only to feel and be felt.

  Chapter Five

  Disappointment washes over me. The class has begun, Adrienne is droning on about light, refraction and the never-ending quest for proper perspective as she walks between our seats. Beside me, Celine sketches absently. Today she wears another of her dumpster-inspired outfits, a wildly artistic looking amalgamation of leggings, flowery scarves, a vest and several silver link belts. The belts jingle softly, like sleigh bells, as she breathes. I'm surprised super bitch hasn't mentioned them yet, called them a distraction from her lesson or some such nonsense. The class is only half over. Adrienne still has plenty of opportunity to bitch.

  It hadn't occurred to me that Luc wouldn't show up this morning. After we'd buttoned up last night, he'd kissed me and walked me to the door of my building. It had been late. We'd made no promises but I'd just assumed...

  Ah. Therein lays the trouble. I'd assumed. Had my years of dating Paul let me grow complacent? Was my assumption based on Paul's predictable nature? It must be, since I'd believed Luc would show up today and he hadn't.

  Damn! How could I have been so naïve? And why does it matter so much whether or not he's here? Really, it's just casual—oh, hell, it's nothing of the sort. Casual ended before it began, I think. At least for me. No, this is much more than—

  "Allors, there you are!” Adrienne chirps. “You are late."

  "My apologies,” Luc says, flashing a smile that made my heart lurch. “An accident, ten kilometers from here. No way around.” Unbuttoning his shirt, Luc shrugs out of the garment and sits on the stool in the center of the room.

  Lessons, talk, absent-minded sketching—all are forgotten. The tempo of the room changes instantly. Luc has arrived, and everyone's focus shifts.

  My fingers fly as if by magic. Steadily a sketch appears. Luc, all lines and whisper-thin shadings. His face is perfectly proportional, shadowed as his gaze fixes on a distant point. The body that had been flat yesterday was today a study in detail. Muscles and planes, ingrained in my mind courtesy of our lovemaking, take shape. Microscopic black dots from my pencil tip brush away, borne by the current from an escaping breath. Too soon, the class ends.

  I have seen, felt, heard nothing save the beat of my own heart. When Luc moves to retrieve his shirt, the spell is broken.

  Adrienne stands beside my chair. My gaze travels up, along her slim legs in yet another pair of tight black trousers, over the untucked, flowing purple blouse that skims her hips toward her face. I watch as she pulls her stare from my sketch pad to meet my gaze.

  "Not bad,” Adrienne says. A smile teases the corners of her burgundy-glossed lips, but she does not allow the smile to fully flower. A nod, small yet satisfying, and, “Your strokes are ... not bad. Not bad at all.” Then she is gone, moving swiftly from the room.

  "High praise indeed, my American friend,” Celine says. She pokes her sketchpad into her lumpy bag. Lifting the bag to her shoulder, she glances at my pad and nods. “Well deserved. Until tomorrow."

  Smiling, I close my pad and place it gently in my bag. Suddenly I'm filled with a sense of knowing—a feeling that yes, I have made the best decision of my life by leaving Paul and home and coming to Paris. Yes, this is where I belong. I know it is, I know it as sure as—

  "Hey!"

  Luc stops, halfway out the door. He turns, a hesitant look on his handsome face. Gripping the door frame, he says, “Yes?"

  "Where do you think you're going? Enough is enough—I put up with this crap yesterday, but today—hell, no. I'm not going to play games with you, no matter how I feel about you!” The way his eyes widen, feigning surprise, angers me. My hip bounces painfully off a chair as I stride across the room.

  "Games? I do not understand—” Luc lifts a hand into the air, acting like he's searching for a word. Again. The same trick he pulled yesterday!

  "Don't give me that crap, that-that-that game you're playing is a load of bull and you know it."

  "Bull?"

  I resist the urge to stamp my foot. Parisian women probably don't do much foot-stamping; I won't sink to making a fool of myself in front of this infuriating man. But he's not going to make a complete ass of me, either.

  "That's right, bull. I mean it; you've got to stop acting like you don't know me from Adam. And just for the record, you have no problem communicating—in any language—when your cock is hard. Maybe that's the problem, your cock isn't stiff. Think you'll be able to speak English if I give you a hard-on?"

  I cup his crotch and squeeze. Not only is he not hard, but he tries to pull away as I begin to massage.

  "Mon dieu!” Luc gasps. He's against the door frame, effectively pinned. I feel a small stirring against my palm. “I don't understand—"

  I smile. “Oh, yes you do. You understand perfectly.” My thumb presses against the tip of his penis as I speak. “You understand just what—"

  "Claude, are you still in there?"

  My hand freezes. The voice is one I know.

  "Claude, are you—"

  I'm living a nightmare. Or my wildest fantasy. Or I've lost my mind. Who knows which it could be?

  Luc—the second Luc—steps around the corner. He stops short in the corridor, just a few feet from where I have my hand on his penis—the first Luc's penis.

  "What is going on here? Kim? Claude?"

  The first Luc twists sideways, pulling himself from my grasp and suddenly I feel completely untethered. I watch as the two men converse in rapid French, hand gestures punctuating each flurry of syllables and eyebrows moving up and down as their expressions change.

  A smile washes over Luc number two's face as the men turn toward me. Luc number one passes a hand over the front of his jeans, pressing his palm against himself.

  "I believe we have what in your country would be called a funny situation.” Luc. My Luc, I can tell by the way he speaks so easily he's my Luc. But who the hell is this other guy, this look-alike? “Today I had planned on discussing you, and the way I feel about you, over lunch with my brother. My brother, Claude.” Luc tilts his head, and Luc number tw—er, Claude nods.

  "Your brother?"

  "Yes. We made plans to get together today so he could tell me about his new romance, with Adrienne. Also, he wanted to discuss an—um, unconventional American in the class Adrienne teaches. One whose behavior he cannot understand. And I ... well, I..."

  "Yes?” I step closer to hear Luc's words. They matter more than I could have imagined. “You what?"

  Luc's eyes find mine and I feel my heart swell as we stare at each other for long, silent moments. Finally, he speaks, his voice bringing tears to my eyes. “I wanted to talk with Claude about a woman I've met, one who makes me feel differently than any other woman ever has before. She makes me do crazy things, like making love in the park. I want her constantly, I think about her nonstop. But it's more than sex, more than a casual affair. I've fallen in love with her. Love at first sight, I think it was.” Luc wipes a tear from my cheek, then asks, “Tell me, ma chere. Do you believe in love at first sight?"

  Nodding, I answer. “I never did before. But now that I've been in Paris for a while, I see that love at first sight happens. It's happened to me."

  "I hoped you would say that. But soon, dear Kim, we will have to see whether or not we can't move our love to a proper bedroom. I can't keep ravishing you in public."

  "Why ever not?” I ask, reaching forward to press my lips against his. “I'm getting pretty used to this free and easy European style of loving."

  "Ah, but there is so much more for us to explore. So much we cannot do ... in public."

  As Claude saunters down the hallway, his eyes thoughtfully averted, Luc slips a hand beneath my top. His fingers find a nipple as if radar guided, and he gives the tender skin a fast pinch. My body responds instantly, heat and moisture coating my sex as I push my hips against his. Luc's cock is erect, a solid presence between us that m
akes me smile. I want him—here, now, later, anywhere I can get him—and he knows it. Oh, God, I can tell he knows, and the knowledge he recognizes my desire, and shares it, brings the sizzle up a notch.

  My voice is hoarse when I force myself to speak. “Where, then? And when?"

  Luc chuckles, the sound like music to my ears. “Soon, ma chere. Very soon. But first, don't you think it would be impolite of us to ignore Claude? I had hoped the three of us would go for lunch. To the café, perhaps? My twin brother does not speak English as well as I do but he is learning. Between you and Adrienne, I think he will begin to really catch on. So, what do you say? Lunch first? Then, afterward, you and I will have our own dessert course? In private?"

  I nod, smiling. Yes, art school in Paris is just what I need at this point in my life. And maybe, it'll be just what I need for a good while longer. After all, it just might take me a bit to get my ... um, stroking technique perfect.

  Unveiled

  Emma Wildes

  Also by Emma Wildes

  Servicing Lady Tremayne

  Ritual Passion

  The Arrangement

  Secret Sins (a collection)

  413 Remembrance Lane

  The faint tap of rain on the window was balanced by the blaze of a fire in the elegant hearth. The duke lifted a brow, a faint smile hovering on his mouth. “Name your price, St. Claire."

  This was, of course, the tricky part. Nathaniel weighed his words a moment, for while he had made similar arrangements before, haggling with a wealthy, powerful peer of the realm was a bit different. “The monetary portion of our bargain is important to me, naturally. However, Your Grace, I have a stipulation you might find unusual that actually takes precedence over the price of my services."