by Galia Ryan
“Very funny.” She glared at him. “I tried to go vegetarian once.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Amelie. She thought I wasn’t getting enough protein.”
“Perhaps she was concerned for your health,” he suggested mildly.
“You’re joking, of course.” Stephanie’s tone was as condescending as it could get. “All she cares about is impressing my father.”
Charles’ view of Amelie was somewhat different. He thought Alain had chosen well. He hadn’t really known Ulla, but Amelie certainly seemed to make him happy.
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
“You should see her. Running after him, making sure everything is exactly as he wants. It’s revolting.”
Charles was taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. Seconds later he was jolted by a horrifying thought. Was that the purpose of her bargaining her virginity? A means to get back at her father for marrying her stepmother? Jesus, he hoped not.
Suddenly he was on unsafe ground. If revenge was her aim, then it followed that her father would need to be made aware of their relationship. Otherwise, what would be the point?
Thank God he hadn’t fucked her yet.
Stephanie was looking at him strangely. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” He managed a smile.
She must have decided it was time to change the subject, for she slid the menu towards him.
“See anything you like?” She was leaning across the table suggestively.
Was he prepared to end it all after so many months of waiting? Even as close as he was, it would be the sensible thing to do.
But since when had he been sensible?
“I can see plenty I like.”
He’d face any retribution when—no if—the time came.
“I meant from the menu.” She placed the tip of her finger in her mouth then withdrew it slowly, allowing it to linger on her bottom lip.
“You do know you’re being unfair to me, don’t you?” he said.
“Of course. That’s what makes it fun.”
“Perhaps I don’t see it that way.”
“Oh but you do.”
The nights had been worse.
Even in such a short space of time they had managed to establish a routine. He would drop her off at the apartment around five so that she had plenty of time to relax, bathe and prepare herself for later. He generally returned around seven.
She would be waiting—her hair piled up sexily, her make-up perfect. She would be wearing something he had bought her, usually a short dress; she knew he loved to see her long, perfectly tanned legs in high heels.
Each time she’d opened the door he’d been convinced he would be allowed her virginity later. She always looked so blatantly sexy.
Throughout the evening she would give him no reason to doubt it. She would flirt with him, teasing him with an expertise that was shocking in one so young. It seemed intuitive, her knowledge of exactly how far to go. Long-buried memories of his teenage years—a period that could only be described as one of extreme anxiety and pent-up horniness—resurfaced. He found it hard to believe he could end up in the same position, some twenty-five years later. At his age, he told himself firmly, he shouldn’t have to endure the deprivation Stephanie was forcing on him.
That was why he accepted the offer he received on the way back to his hotel one morning. He had stopped off for a nightcap. The woman was attractive and, more to the point, willing. He was horny. But the sex was disappointing. He could have given himself the same release, without the need for small talk.
He hadn’t bothered again.
Although not usually superstitious, Charles had taken to touching a finger to the credit card he had arranged for Stephanie each time he settled their restaurant or wine bar account. The night she finally capitulated had been no different, although by then he had accepted that the card was a poor talisman, given that it was still in his possession.
As usual they had eaten at one of the town’s prestigious restaurants, which had no available tables until a fold of bills had been discreetly passed to the maître d’. Afterwards they moved on to a nightclub. Charles shrewdly suspected the outrageous price of their champagne was the management’s way of offsetting any difficulties in regard to Stephanie’s age.
When he returned her to the apartment in the early hours of the morning, instead of turning to him for their usual farewell kiss, she leaned against the doorframe.
“I have a bottle of champagne and a terrace with view of the harbour.”
He couldn’t believe it. Was he really going to get what he wanted? Or was she still toying with him?
He needed reassurance. “Are you sure?”
She pushed the door open a little and, with her eyes locked on his, fingered the hem of her dress. Pleating the material she slowly edged it higher.
Charles swallowed. She was drunk, he thought.
Or was she? Okay, perhaps she’d had a little too much.
She was humming softly, her hips swaying to the rhythm. The dress went higher. She pushed the door fully open. It swung back and hit the interior wall with a loud thud. Even that couldn’t distract him.
Her performance was surprisingly professional. First she exposed one toned and perfect thigh, then the other, teasing and tormenting him more erotically than he could ever have imagined. When she parted her legs, his fingers twitched in anticipation. He focused on the hidden area of her cunt, willing the dress even higher.
Finally he was allowed a glimpse of what he had dreamt of for so long. A triangle of black silk, with fine blonde hair peeking from the sides.
He inhaled suddenly and loudly. He’d had no idea he was holding his breath.
As if enjoying her power, Stephanie gathered the last folds of her dress, and displayed herself proudly. Her belly was flat, her skin flawless and bronzed by the sun. He had not seen such perfection in years.
“Well?” she asked.
It was as if a spell had been broken.
He grabbed her and pushed her into the apartment. This time when the door closed, he was on the inside.
Chapter 6.
He managed only one kiss before Stephanie was out of his arms again and demanding that he open the champagne.
“Wherever did you learn to be such a teasing bitch?” he said, taking the bottle from her.
“I think it comes naturally.” She peeled off her dress and, clad in only her g-string, danced onto the roof terrace.
Charles removed the cork and began banging cupboard doors in irritation. “Okay. Where are the glasses?”
“Next cupboard along.”
She stood in the open doorway, her eyes closed, running her hands over her body. “Do you think my breasts are sexy?” she asked.
“I think they’re perfect.”
“Don’t you think they could be a little bigger?”
She was holding one in each hand, offering them to him for his approval.
“Come in, and get this champagne.”
She was still giggling when she accepted the glass from him. After just one sip she put it down. Slipping her arms around his waist she gently bit the lobe of his ear, tugging it with her teeth.
“Don’t you want that?” He gestured to the abandoned glass.
“Not really.”
He was confused and frustrated. When had the balance of power shifted so dramatically?
He put his own glass on the bench top. Holding her head firmly, as if to prevent her pulling away, he leaned down and kissed her hard. He didn’t care if he bruised her lips. He pushed his tongue into her mouth to mesh with hers. Her breathing was laboured, as if she was fighting for air. He couldn’t care less. There was no way he could have stopped at that point anyway.
She groaned as if in pain when he dug his fingers into her breast. He was not in the mood for niceties. Seconds later he was tormenting her nipple. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and she pressed her crotch against his. Christ, h
e thought suddenly, she needed it as much as he did. His hands roamed urgently over her naked back. Her skin was as smooth and warm as he’d imagined it would be. He cupped her arse and lifted her onto her toes.
But she was pushing him away again. “The champagne.”
“What?” Surely she wasn’t going to deny him after all? She couldn’t. Not now. He made a grab for her but she swiftly evaded him. Her breasts, delectably covered in a sheen of sweat, were rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath.
“The champagne,” she repeated.
“You said you didn’t want it.”
“Well, I do now.”
He swore under his breath. Okay, if that’s what it took.
His hand was trembling as once again he held her glass out. He thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Earlier her hair had been held up with combs and pins. Now it was completely dishevelled, with damp tendrils falling to her shoulders.
She took a large swallow and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The gesture excited him. It was challenging. Lewd even.
He looked down at her g-string. “Take it off,” he demanded.
“Or what?” Her eyes were dancing with mischief.
“Or I will do it. It makes no difference.”
For the second time she set her glass down. She slipped her fingers under the elastic and eased the g-string over her hips. When it fell to the floor she kicked it away.
“Better?” She faced him with her arms above her head, as if tied by invisible bonds.
Never having seen her naked, he was surprised at the sparsity of hair below her belly. The thought came unbidden; he had never fucked anyone with such beautiful cunt hair before. His swollen cock throbbed painfully.
“Come here.” His voice was rough. He had to touch her. Make sure she was real.
Her arms were still raised when she stepped in front of him. He ran a finger down over a breast. Her pink nipples were hard and she shivered at his touch. His hand went lower.
His mouth on hers, he slipped his fingers between the outer lips of her cunt. He found her clit and she gasped, dropping her arms around his neck. As he caressed the sensitive bud, she closed her eyes and lowered her head to his shoulder. He knew she was lost in the sensations he was creating.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured. She had to say it. Even at that late moment he needed to be sure.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Not good enough. Try again.” He increased the pressure, and her knees almost buckled.
“Please Charles. Take it. Take my virginity. I want you to be the one.” Her voice was rising and falling in desperation.
“That’s better.”
His fingers rubbed faster. “Open your eyes and look at me,” he ordered.
He sensed her reluctance, and took his hand from her cunt in punishment. Immediately she gave small, mewling sounds of protest, but then her grey eyes met his. They were deep and smoky, and full of need.
“Go outside. We’re going to do it out there.”
She lay on the sun-bed and opened her legs. As he undressed she was touching herself, almost in wonder.
Lowering himself beside her, he took her in his arms. When he kissed her he was gentle. Consideration was not what she wanted though. This time she was the one urgently forcing her lips on his so that her tongue could fully probe his mouth. Reminded of her need, he found her nipples, rolling and pulling them, and causing her to cry out.
“Oh yes.”
Her hands were in his hair, pushing his head down to her breast. He obediently attended to it with his mouth. Her back arched, and she moaned her delight when he grazed it with his teeth. Then he trailed his mouth down her belly. She was visibly trembling when he paused to kiss the softness of her belly. He could smell her arousal, a warm animal muskiness that filled his nostrils and exploded into his subconsciousness.
Eagerly he went lower, to her cunt.
Parting her slit with his fingers he ran his tongue over her wetness and savoured the saltiness in his mouth. Never had he wanted a woman as much he wanted her. Her clit was hard, and he flicked it back and forth with his tongue, loving that she was powerless to do anything other than buck her hips in response. Wanting to prolong it just a little longer, he slipped further and probed her hole. She was slick with her own juices and he lapped at her greedily. When her groans became incoherent, he knew she was truly ready.
Her eyes were closed, her fingers vainly trying to relieve the aching of her own nipples when he raised himself over her. His cock was excruciatingly hard, the head engorged and deep purple in colour.
He was breathing fast. Lifting and forcing her legs farther apart, he tried to push his cock into her opening. She was so tight it took an effort to get even the tip inside. As if from a distance he heard her cry out. He tried to contain his excitement, but any concern of not hurting her more than necessary was soon forgotten.
He wet his fingers and added his saliva to her own juices. Then he tried again, easing out only to thrust harder. When he finally came up against the barrier of her hymen, he battered his way through in triumph. He was inside her, stretching and violating the walls of her pristine cunt. Having no experience with such treatment, they constricted tightly around him—a unique sensation for him. It took a superhuman effort not to cum immediately.
At some point she had lifted herself to meet his rhythm, deliriously crying out her want, her need. He was thrilled. That she loved having a cock inside her was obvious, but what he really wanted was to give her the gift of an orgasm. He placed his hand on her lower belly, and his thumb over her clit. Then he pressed downward on both and drove his cock deep into her.
Stephanie screamed and thrashed beneath him as waves of exquisite pleasure overcame her. He felt her nails scoring the skin of his shoulders. Then her legs were wrapped around his waist, and she was clinging to him, shaking and groaning in delirium.
He held her close, sharing the final tremors of her orgasm as it subsided. She was panting, trying to catch her breath, and he gently lifted the strands of wet hair that were clinging to her forehead and cheeks.
He had no intention of rushing his own pleasure. For months she had teased and tormented him, making him wait for this fuck. It had to be perfect. For both of them.
He moved over her again.
* * *
Dawn was filtering through the shutters when he opened his eyes. For a brief moment he wondered where he was. Then he remembered.
Stephanie was curled up, fast asleep, her back against his chest. Hesitantly he lowered his head and breathed her in—her hair, her perfume, even the faint trace of deodorant. He touched the tip of his tongue to her shoulder and tasted salt.
She was warm, replete.
He had done it.
He had taken her virginity, or to be more accurate, he had played a part in helping her lose something she had no use for.
He knew that now.
Technically she might have been a virgin. Physically and emotionally, she had been light years ahead. He had been expertly played, caught and seduced.
Just thinking about her deliciously tight cunt made him hard again. He tentatively slipped an arm around her, found her nipple, and rolled it in his fingers.
Stephanie stirred in her sleep, and gave a soft moan.
“Turn over,” he whispered.
Seemingly without waking she rolled onto her back.
His head went down and his lips closed around the hard nub, his tongue flicking over its sensitive tip. He kissed her breast, pressing his face into its warm softness, and then returned to her nipple again. This time her moans were louder.
Her hand found his cock, stroked it. It was all the encouragement he needed. He pushed a hand between her legs, and she lifted her hips to allow his fingers to probe and find their way into her. He teased her engorged clit and wanted to taste it, to gently suck it into his mouth as he had before, but she was already pulling him on to
p of her.
This time it was easier to enter her, and he was able to take things slower. Even so, she winced once or twice. Realising that she was probably feeling a little sore, he was selfishly relieved that she still wanted to fuck at all.
For the first time he thought he might be a little in love with her.
With only two days left in Cannes Stephanie wanted nothing more than to indulge in her newly found passion—her sexuality. Shopping and sightseeing were no longer of interest. With seemingly no inhibitions, she demanded to be shown all the ways she could please him sexually, as well as the ways he could please her.
At first Charles couldn’t believe his luck. Then he worried about his stamina.
They were relaxing on the terrace. It had become a favourite spot, private enough for her to sunbathe naked but open enough to allow the sounds of the Côte d’Azur to rise from below.
“Does it bother you?” she asked unexpectedly.
He looked up from the book he had been reading. She was on one sun-bed, he on the other. Her eyes were closed and her fingers were idly trailing oil around her belly. He watched her skirt the glistening blonde of her pubic hair.
“Does what bother me?”
“That you are as old as my father.”
He thought for a moment. “In terms of age, no. Age doesn’t bother me. Making love to someone as young as you?” He paused. “Maybe a little.”
She half turned and raised herself on one elbow. “I think it’s sexy,” she said.
“Do you? That’s just as well then. I would hate to think that I was a disappointment.” His words were light-hearted, but when he tried to return to his book, he stared unseeingly at the page.
She had no way of knowing, but he was already thinking he needed to spend more time at the gym. He took his figure for granted, and so any exercise was a bit hit-and-miss. Unless he and Antoinette were on vacation. Then he found the time, but once they were home he would lapse into bad habits again. He really should take it more seriously. Maybe get a personal trainer. He’d had such a great body in his twenties. Even in his thirties he had little to worry about. He stole a glance at his belly. It wasn’t too bad, given his lifestyle. Was it?