by Serena Janes
Each dutifully sipped. He put the bottle on the table in front of them, stood up straight, and placed one hand companionably on each woman’s shoulder. Again, Jo started a little at his touch. Was he thinking what she was thinking?
He squeezed her shoulder as he leaned slightly into her ear and asked softly, “Well, what do you think, Joanna?”
The touch of his hand fired all of her senses simultaneously—as did the reverberation of his low voice, the warmth of his nearness, the bulk of his body only inches from her face. And then there was the familiarity of his scent—she could just discern it as he leaned into her.
She didn’t know at what point during the evening she decided to go to him—maybe it was just at this moment—but with a wide, mischievous smile on her face, she turned to look up into his extraordinary blue eyes and said, “It’s marvelous, Luc. I give it a Ten.”
When he heard Jo emphasize the word ten, Luc’s eyes widened in acknowledgement. Giving her a wordless nod, he went back to his seat, forgetting to ask Iris for her opinion.
Once she’d made up her mind to accept his invitation, Jo grew increasingly agitated. A perfectly cooked duck confit was served as a main course, but she found it difficult to eat much. Dessert was out of the question, and she’d stopped drinking, taking only a few very small sips now and then in order to make her glass of Montravel last.
A terrible thrill had settled in. And it was accompanied by an equally terrible guilt. What a hypocrite she was! Not an hour ago she’d almost convinced herself to put an end to this insanity. To call Tuesday a one-day stand. Now, after everyone went to bed, she couldn’t wait to sneak into her lover’s room. In her excitement she began to fidget in her chair, and had to will herself to sit still in her wet underwear. She suspected Edward knew exactly what was going on. She caught him frowning at her and she knew her body was giving her away. She couldn’t control it, so she tried to calm herself by rhythmically rubbing the big stone of her ring.
Carol and Marcie, on the other side of the table, had been sending inquisitive looks her way all evening, she thought. They knew something was up, she was certain.
Everybody probably knows what a hypocrite I am. And a slut.
She’d been found out, somehow. It shouldn’t have surprised her. She was no actress, no dissembler, she’d always known that, and Edward’s warning to her had emphasized that clearly. Poker had never been her game.
If they knew something was going on between her and their married tour guide, she deserved their condemnation. She looked up defiantly to face her judgment. But as she looked around the table, she saw that everyone was deep in conversation, arguing for tighter immigration laws, fewer public surveillance cameras, better airline food.
Maybe she had nothing to worry about. Maybe she was becoming paranoid. Maybe Edward was exaggerating, although he didn’t seem the sort to make something out of nothing. Sighing, she lowered her head and pushed the trifle around in her bowl.
Well fuck everyone! So I’m a failure at hiding my feelings! I don’t fucking care…the only thing I do care about right now is going up to Luc’s room to fuck him.
Shocked at her own anger, again she wondered what she had turned into. She looked at Luc, who was watching her. Realizing her face probably expressed her contradictory emotions, she gave him the barest of smiles, lowering her eyelids in what she hoped was a subtle affirmation.
There was nothing in herself she could appeal to. Not duty, nor protocol, nor honor, nor love for James could stop her from going to her French lover tonight.
Where was her sense of common decency?
And common sense? Where was that? Once past her flakey salad days, Jo had matured into one of the most reliable women she knew.
Yes, she’d moved beyond basic common sense all right. Practically throwing James’ engagement ring back at him and then fucking a complete stranger. And now she was ready to do it again. Dying to do it again, in fact.
She didn’t recognize herself at all anymore.
But—and this was precisely the point—she had never felt more intensely alive than she had these past few days. There was something strange and powerful at work in her. Certainly it started with the instant surge of lust she felt when she first saw Luc—but there was more to it than that. She was learning that it was wonderfully freeing to give up her self-control. It was exhilarating.
Throughout her life Jo always exercised a high degree of restraint, yet Luc was easily able to take that away from her. And rather than balk, or rebel, as she had with her father, her previous lovers, and James, with Luc she easily opened to give everything of herself. And in the giving up of her power, she felt, paradoxically, even more powerful.
The Black Virgin’s wise face appeared before her as she thought about this profound change in her attitude. If someone had told her that one day she’d discover the best of her sexuality by handing over her power to a man, she would have scoffed. That wasn’t how her generation was raised to think. But now she respected the Virgin’s ancient wisdom. The wisdom to find the highest expression of her sexual self. And if it could only be found through giving up her will—through losing her self—so be it.
By giving herself over to Luc she’d never felt more animal. But she also felt more feminine than she’d known possible. It was a bizarre contradiction.
Humbled by this profound realization, all she knew was that she would sacrifice everything she had for another snatch at life at this most base, primitive level. She was a full-fledged member of the Virgin’s cult, now.
After the Montravel, Luc took no more wine with his meal. Neither did he join the others in their brandy nightcaps. He quickly finished his coffee and made an announcement.
“Friends, today was a long day, and tomorrow will be even longer, so I want to make an early start in the morning.”
Groans were heard all around the table.
He continued. “I have several hours of paperwork to complete for a project I’m working on, so I’m going to wish you all a pleasant evening and bid you a good night.”
After he left, amidst a chorus of good nights, it was not an easy time for Jo. For the sake of manners, she stuck it out as long as she could. Carol and Marcie were giggling together like two teenagers, and still sending curious glances her way. Did she look scarlet to them tonight, she wondered? She forced herself to wait until someone else left the table before she bolted, not wanting to add more fuel to their fire.
Eventually, thank God, after a second coffee Thomas and Ellen were ready to go upstairs, and Jo joined everyone in wishing them a good night. Then it was her turn to excuse herself, after telling a string of lies designed to convince everyone she was going straight to bed. Alone.
Yes—her arms were sore from canoeing. Yes—her yoga injury still hurt her. Yes—she was absolutely exhausted and yes she knew she’d sleep well after the exertions of the day. She barely glanced at Iris as she suffered through her excuses, but she did manage to see the florid girl’s expression of utter contempt.
As she lied she kept her face calm and her voice even, although she was raging with impatience. In her mind she was already running upstairs to Room Ten. To begin to live.
Once in her room, she forced herself to wait until she heard all the other doors open and close for the night. Waiting was agony, but she didn’t want to be caught wandering the halls in her robe. She’d have to invent another lie, and she couldn’t be bothered right now.
Removing her ring without a shred of guilt, she luxuriated at her toilette, taking pleasure in preparing her body for her lover. When she was absolutely certain everyone had settled down, she slipped naked into a silk robe printed with red poppies, stepped barefoot into the hall, and sprinted up the stairs. The door to Room Ten was slightly ajar, and gave a small squeak as she pushed it open.
* * * *
On the bed, naturellment. Then on the floor. In the chair. Maybe in the bathtub. Throughout the night, past all reasonable expectations of sleep.
> Luc was growing increasingly nervous as he glanced at the clock on the bedside table for the fifteenth time since he’d come up to his room. It was now twenty after twelve.
Merde! Where is she?
He hadn’t done any work at all.
Maybe he’d misread her signs, this time. Maybe he wanted her so much he couldn’t trust his own judgment anymore.
When she ranked the wine a Ten, the look on her face held every promise he could hope for. He had delivered an invitation, and she accepted it.
Didn’t she?
Of course she did!
He thought he knew her well enough now to understand her subtle sense of humor. And he also knew her enough to tell she wasn’t the type to trifle with him.
She would come to Room Ten tonight. As soon as she could. He felt it in his bones. In his gut. In his…
A slight squeak from the door caused his head to jerk up. When he saw her slip into the room he experienced a flood of relief. He didn’t realize he’d been holding himself so tightly.
* * * *
Jo saw Luc sitting at a laptop surrounded by papers when she quietly stole in and locked the door behind her. He turned to her with a look of surprise, then the tiniest of smiles flickered at the corners of his beautiful mouth. He was wearing the same light pants he’d worn at dinner, and nothing else.
A feathery flutter ran up from her belly to her throat as she looked at his muscled arms, his finely formed chest. They stopped at the tattoo on his bicep and her breath caught. She could hear her heart hammering as they both remained perfectly still, looking at each other.
It was very quiet in the room. She moved first, slowly untying her robe as she walked toward him. She loosened it to let it slide down over her shoulders, resting just where her pointed nipples caught the thin fabric. She had all of his attention. A shrug, and the robe slipped down lower, exposing her breasts fully. Motionless, he kept his gaze on her as she let it fall completely to the floor. She inched closer, stopping in front of him, naked, trembling with the thrill of her bravado and an intense desire. A large soft bird was fluttering somewhere inside her, trying to break out of her belly.
Looking up into her face, he reached out, put both hands gently around her waist, and drew her close to him. She sighed, luxuriating in his strength, his warmth.
Yes—this touch was what she had been longing for. He leaned forward to bury his face between her breasts, taking a deep breath, holding her motionless for a few moments. She stood perfectly still, savoring this first sensual contact.
“I didn’t think you would come.” His words were muffled by her flesh.
“Of course I would. I can’t help myself.” She lowered her head and whispered into his hair. “You’re all I can think about.” It felt good to confess this truth.
He must have been anxious, because she felt his body relax as he wrapped both arms around her and hugged her tightly. Then he loosened his grip and began to kiss her breasts. She shuddered with pleasure and joy. She lowered her face into his hair and breathed in deeply—she thought of the word voluptuous. Her hands found themselves entwined in his hair.
Surely this is heaven on earth. Or as close as I can ever hope to get. Perfect, perfect bliss.
Looking down past the mass of shiny dark hair in her hands, she was completely entranced. His mouth at her nipples not only felt delicious, it made one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen. Artists had made thousands of paintings and sculptures depicting children at their mother’s breast. But she couldn’t recall a single traditional image in fine art of a man making love to a woman’s breasts.
Why?
Surely she couldn’t be the only person who found so much beauty there? Was a man suckling a woman’s breast seen as unnatural? Shameful? Pornographic? How could such a joyous act not be celebrated in art? But this was not the time for thinking, and she made a mental note to research the subject later.
While she luxuriated in the moment, he raised his face to her and pulled her mouth down to his. She thought she had never wanted anything more in her life as much as his lips on hers. The soft, warm kiss was deeply sensual, moving. Not like Tuesday’s kisses at all. He was very tender with her. She was disarmed by a sudden wave of feelings for her lover of only two days. She returned his kiss with one that expressed not only her intense desire but also a quality of emotion that shook her.
Now her body wanted to get closer to him. She saw the chance to do what she had been longing to do from the moment she saw him sitting in a chair that first night at the dinner table—climb onto his hard lap, wrap herself around him, push her tongue deep into his mouth. But before she could move onto him, he released her, reached behind him and turned out the lamp.
A large, bright moon filled a corner of the sky, and a pure, white light poured through the open windows. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but then she saw his eyes on her, glistening like an animal’s. He stood up, and never moving his eyes from hers, took her hand in his and led her to the bed.
He sat down beside her so they were facing each other, Jo naked and trembling, he with his hands on her shoulders.
He slid a hand up her back, and she winced when he reached broken skin that hadn’t yet healed.
“What’s wrong. Are you hurt?”
“A little. My back. It’s still sensitive from being ground into a plaster wall.” She stifled a giggle.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you. I promise to be gentle with you tonight.” He sounded earnest but she saw he was smiling.
“Yes, I need that from you, this time.”
Tenderly he lifted her chin toward his and bent down for another kiss. She shivered all over.
“You’re shaking, Joanna,” he whispered as he pulled back from her, taking her two hands in his. Turning her palms upwards towards his face, he first gently kissed one, then the other.
For a moment she remained mute, touched by the sweetness of this simple act.
“It’s what you do to me.” She smiled a little sadly. The overwhelming sexual tension she’d been carrying over the past few days was changing into a calmer, somehow more profound anticipation of where he would take her now. A few moments ago she was ready to climb onto his lap and choke him with her tongue, rake his back with her nails, bite him until blood flowed…
But now…now she felt differently. She looked up at him, seeing parts of his face alternately lighted and shadowed by the moonlight, and felt a softness spreading throughout her breast. She sat still, waiting to see what her lover, and her trickster of a body, would do next.
He smiled at her and moved his head close to her ear. “We must be very quiet tonight,” he whispered as he ran the fingers of one hand along her cheek. “And I want to move slowly—I want us to take the time to be together properly.” He picked up one of her hands and kissed the palm once more.
“Yes.”
“All right then. Will you stay a couple of hours, at least?”
“Yes.”
Then he kissed her lips gently, brushing the long, loose hair from her face.
“And will you try very hard to keep quiet?”
She nodded obediently.
“And promise to let me take this slowly, so that we can get the most from our brief time?”
She nodded again, looking up at the earnest expression in his eyes. What she didn’t say was that she would have promised him anything. And she was a person who always kept her promises.
She would do anything for him.
“Yes, I will. I promise,” she whispered.
His warm hands moved lightly over the tender flesh on her back. She was still shaking, but not as violently. He kissed her again. Slowly. His tongue licked her lips, moving in to sensually caress her own tongue and the insides of her mouth.
He was delicious, hot, succulent, and intoxicatingly sweet. Sweeter and more succulent than those pointed little strawberries she had eaten a few days ago. More intoxicating than any wine she’d ever drunk. She wanted to sip him,
suck the saliva out of his mouth. Again, she wanted to eat him alive, take him into herself.
Her mouth moved to the fragrant skin of his neck, his shoulders, his chest, the Yin and Yang symbol. Once again she tried to climb onto his lap but he gently took her head in both of his hands to stop her.
“Not too quickly,” he reminded her. “Here. Help me out of these.”
He released her and stood up, his erection straining against his clothes. With a will of their own her hands moved to his belt to undo the buckle. Again, this unbuckling was an exquisitely sensual act to her. She slowed her movements to get the full experience of the tightening then loosening off of the soft leather as the clasp was unfastened. Even more slowly she drew the tongue end out through the buckle before going for the button of his waistband and pulling down on the zipper to free him. He stepped out and kicked his pants away. With intense pleasure, she ran her hands over his undershorts. They hugged him beautifully, gracefully, and the moonlight made suggestive shadows of his curves and bulges. Still seated, she rubbed her face over one hipbone as she peeled off the garment, her breath catching in her throat as she freed his swollen cock. Standing in front of her, his feet already bare, he was now as naked as she was.
“Here. Put this on me.” He handed her a wrapped condom. She opened it, and unrolled the slippery tube along the length of him.
What the moonlight did to his body caused her stomach to make a little flip. Without any doubt he really was the finest thing she’d ever seen. One of her hands traced lightly over the Yin and Yang tattoo, moved over the muscles in his chest, and then over his hard stomach. She couldn’t remember ever feeling such intense joy. Had she ever in her life been so aroused, she wondered? So happy?
She panted now, like an animal, ready for him to take her, take her anywhere, to do anything he wanted to her. Hurt her again in their lovemaking. He could use her completely for his own needs, and it would only cause her the deepest and most profound pleasure.