In the middle of a city, this is a small neighborhood. It’s unique. Prior to Zane’s impromptu white charger act, I didn’t know a single one of my neighbors. I knew some of the faces, even knew some of their names, but not enough to call out and have a short conversation with them. More than anything, I recognized the hookers, the pimps, and the pushers. That doesn’t seem to have the same class as this joint does.
As a child, my hometown was close knit. But my father didn’t encourage idle chatter with the folks next door. I can still hear the sizzle as he pressed my mother’s hand against the iron for daring to take a pot roast around to a woman who had just lost her husband. Her fingers had been bandaged for a month and even afterward, she had the notches of an iron seared into her flesh.
It was a visual reminder to remain an introvert. Something that wasn’t overly difficult when Mei, one of my childhood friends and a girl my father had disapproved of due to her Asian heritage, had left town.
So while it went on around me, the sharing of food or conversation over coffee as neighbors suffered difficult periods in their lives, my mother and I weren’t involved. And I find that I crave this sense of belonging the people in the battered arrondissements have.
“What are you thinking?”
In this regard, Jake is very similar to Zane. If I ever wander off into silence, of the reflective variety, he always asks what’s going on in my head. It’s something I’ve grown to appreciate. No one has ever been interested enough in me to ask. Not even Marina and Eddie. They just accept that sometimes, I’ll drift into the depths of my imagination. They’ll chatter on, not at all discomforted by my quiet, pensive moments.
“I’m thinking that I love the sense of community here.”
He smiles. Its warmth is soothing enough to bask in. “These arrondissements are like small towns. While there are other places like this, I’ve never found anywhere else exactly the same.”
“Paris is unique. I’ve never been anywhere like it. Thank you for showing it to me.”
It’s the first time I’ve expressed my gratitude, discomforted by the idea of doing so thanks to the reason behind this trip—saving Jake and Zane’s marriage. But I have to tell him, have to show him how appreciative I am.
I feel like he’s taken me to the moon.
Paris is in my blood. And even if I never come again, it will always be in my heart.
His hand reaches over the vacant middle seat and I bridge the gap, curling my fingers into his. “You’re welcome, Mona. I’m glad I could show it to you. The only place that makes me feel the same way as Paris is my home in Maine.” He sighs and shoots a rueful grin my way, before turning his gaze to the windshield and the chaos that is everyday road traffic in Paris.
“It’s impractical, stupid even, because I’d be far better off with a base in New York. But I love it there. Bayling Cove is home to me. Zane and I had our honeymoon there. We travelled about and found this old Victorian house. I had to live there, at least for some part of the year. And then Zane realized his word count shot through the roof when he was there too, so we agreed to have it as our base and to travel. ” He hesitates and then, just as I bridged my hand with his, he does the same with his gaze. “I’d like you to see it one day.”
Stunned, I freeze, my stomach feeling like a lead weight.
Then the biggest smile blossoms on my face. “I’d love to, Jake.”
With a matching smile, almost bashful, we sever the connection and retreat to the views of Paris as they pass by our cab.
Our hands remain united.
* * *
The instant Jake’s cock pushes into me, my body jerks into wakefulness.
It’s the middle of the night and I’m already slightly sore from the evening’s extra-curricular activities, my muscles and inner thighs are screaming like a bitch, but the very idea of telling Jake to piss off and let me sleep makes my pussy clamp down all the more.
I whimper as he saws his hips back and forth, hitting every part of my sex and sending shards of magic along the length of my channel.
In the dark, I can’t see much save the millions of firefly lights that is Paris’ nightscape but I don’t need sight for this. My back is to him, our points of connection our sexes and the hand he’s pressed into the softness of my belly.
I don’t even have it in me to suck it in and tauten the muscles. Jake has seen me warts and all, as it were. And from the amount of time his cock is hard, I’d say he isn’t repulsed by my excess pounds.
That hand suddenly moves and slides down to my mons and just as I think he’s going to touch my clit, he doesn’t. His hand travels toward my inner thighs, where he levers the upper leg further upward and lodges it on top of his thigh. Somehow, I don’t even understand it, he can forge a deeper path inside me.
The instant he does, a broken cry bursts out of me and I push my head further into the pillow. The unexpected attack has me shuddering like I’m in the throes of hypothermia. In the best possible way.
With my legs split and spread, the juices from my pussy seep out and coat my inner thighs. The sounds…oh, the sounds are like music. They’re repulsive in truth. I should be as embarrassed as hell. But how can I be?
He’s done this to me.
And more music serenades me in the form of grunts and groans bursting free from Jake. Sharing a pillow as we are, I’m in the prime position to hear his pleasure.
The effect on me is astounding. Those noises, sexy little growls and bitten-out curses send fire racing through my veins. Every inch of me, every nerve-rich pore stands to attention and that’s not mentioning what every fine and tiny hair covering my body does, when his hand slips down and finally pinches my clit.
It would be no exaggeration to say for those first few moments, my eyes cross. My vision blurs as sensations pummel me and not with tender, loving touches, but with punches that would have a three-hundred pound man quivering in his boots.
Another pinch then a deep thrust that’s almost painful as Jake butts the edge of my womb and that’s me. Done.
I bite down on the fleshy pillow and the taste of the fabric and the softener the hotel uses fills my mouth. The dry weave rasps against my tongue, feeling odd. But do I care?
No.
Where once I was loose, now I’m tense. My muscles are rigid in the face of the barrage of pleasure assaulting me. Even my cunt is straining. Clamped down on Jake’s cock, I can feel the amount of effort he has to put in to simply thrust as he normally would. And every inch forced through my unrelenting sex takes me a little bit higher.
The splash of cum, the strange heat I’m still not really accustomed to as well as the sticky messiness comes as a surprise. Since our first night together, Jake has used condoms.
I don’t have long to wonder what he’s up to, because suddenly my back is no longer stuck to his chest thanks to the sweat that had bound us. Fresh air brushes my drenched form and I shiver, my stomach buckling in reaction. Every part of me is still incredibly sensitive.
I’m dazed, almost stupefied by the power of my unexpected orgasm, so it takes a few seconds to realize I’m being rolled onto my belly, and that my knees are being pushed upwards against the sheet. I feel the fabric give way as it pulls free from the mattress, and when I’m almost in a kneeling position, I simply let him move me around to his satisfaction.
God only knows what he’s doing. Two nights ago, I woke to find his hand delving into my pussy for cream which he then spread on his cock and expected me to lap it up like a little kitten.
I’m almost ashamed at how easily he persuaded me to do just that.
The orgasm was worth it.
My spine tingles with the memory and I flinch in surprise as he rubs my buttocks. It’s almost discomforting to feel our mutual juices rolling down my sex and slipping over my thighs. But then, before they can sink into the sheets, his hand is there. Even though I’m still befuddled, a blush tinges my cheeks —the upper ones this time— as he collects the wetness.
With my face pressed into my pillow, my knees folded beneath me so the joints are butting my lower ribs, I’m in a most uncomfortable position. But with his hand there, my awareness shifts and I focus on his fingers.
Then his hand trails wetly toward my butt. I’m not unaccustomed to his touch there. At least twice a day, he plays with my butt hole. Sometimes simply nudging it with his cock, or brushing against it with his fingers. A part of me has been waiting for him to do what I think he’s about to do. Prepare me for his cock.
That he’s going to use our joined juices, signs of our mutual arousal and climax, has me flushing all the more. This time with arousal and desire and not an inch of embarrassment.
A dry finger rolls over the pucker of my butt and used to it as I am, I don’t flinch. Then that finger disappears and returns seconds later drenched in liquid. A small yelp escapes me and my stomach clenches as he starts to prod. I know enough to bear down to let him enter. He moves it back and forth, back and forth. Suddenly, wetness slips down over the crevice of my ass and it eases his path all the more.
“Play with your clit, but don’t cum, Mona.”
His order has tingles coursing the length of my back. Quick to comply, I maneuver my hand underneath my body and between my legs. It’s a tight fit as there’s barely an inch between my upper torso and the mattress. I manage to do it by wiggling and when my fingertips brush my clit, my pussy pulses, already longing for the approaching orgasm.
Then the pulse fades away as a second finger prods my butthole. I bear down, and as slick as I am, it isn’t too hard to have the two digits inside.
Suddenly, the rhythmic pulse in my cunt urging me toward orgasm, returns, and with a bang as Jake scissors his fingers inside me. With the pucker of my butt spread, weird flutters spark along my virgin canal.
A grunt escapes me as he moves his hand further inside and then retreats and simultaneously splits his fingers. Every now and then, I’ll clench down on him as sensation jolts through me, but he spanks my ass until I release him. He does that seven times —I know because I counted— before his third digit presses at my butt.
I want to tell him two feels like I’m on the brink of explosion, but I’ve learnt to listen to my instincts. Just because I don’t like something at the time, doesn’t mean I won’t like it eventually. Zane taught me that. Jake is merely furthering that particular lesson.
I persevere and urge myself to be patient. Slowly sucking in deep breaths and exhaling on faint whimpers as my body reacts to the dual touches of my clit and ass in tangent, I spread my legs wider to ease his access.
Where once he’d spanked me, now he smoothes over the curves of my buttocks in a silent thank-you. I regret it once that third finger starts to enter me. From its slenderness, it’s his little finger. Which means when it’s in, he’ll be able to spread me all the more.
My head feels both light and heavy. Like I’m dizzy but not in a nauseated way, in an almost claustrophobic sense.
I can remember losing my virginity, even though it had been mostly unmemorable just as everything with my ex-husband had been. It felt like this, but nature had made it so that particular channel could stretch.
This one, on the other hand, not so much.
Rubbing my forehead into the pillow, the soggy fabric I’d bitten earlier damp against my skin, I force myself to relax. While I make the attempt, and it’s perverse, I only really do so when that third finger is inside.
The idea of those fingers being replaced by a cock has me shrinking away, but I urge myself to calm down and try to contain my winces as he preps me further. And then comes that faint stretch before he begins to pull out on what I think is a thrust, but is in fact his final departure.
A part of me tenses, hoping to God he isn’t about to stick his dick into me, then, I feel a faint, wet flutter and a long, low moan vibrates through the room in my silent gratitude. His tongue rims the area. The sensitive flesh tautens and releases, relaxes and clenches in response. My legs quiver, and my core judders as tingles pulse through me.
That tongue slides down, prods the tender flesh of my pussy, slips in and licks around the hole before he grabs my inner thighs and pulls my legs wider apart. I hear him move and realize he has rolled over onto his back as I feel his hair brush the wet, gushing mess that is my cunt. And then his lips are there, fighting my fingers for access to my clit.
Not that my ass has been abandoned. In this new position, he enters me with a single digit that he thrusts into me as he would his cock. With his lips tugging at my clit, in an embarrassingly short time, a climax roars through me.
Before I even know where I am or what continent I’m on, my body is being rolled out of the ball and a mouth is pressed to mine. Lips that taste like me and a tongue coated in my arousal. With ecstasy ripping through my system, it’s hard to throw myself into the kiss, when all I want to do is savor. But even now, Jake is making sure I share this moment with him.
From the heavens to earth, he’s there and when I finally remember I’m in Europe and in bed with Zane’s husband, I sigh against Jake’s lips, content with my situation.
Sure, it’s as confusing as hell. As convoluted and as unlikely as anyone could ever guess. But I’m hoping soon, it will be even more of a tangle.
The very idea of Zane being beside us, his hands doing something to me at the same time as Jake, at being at the center of their attention… A slight quiver tumbles down my spine at the thought.
And not just that.
Of Zane and I working on Jake, or Jake and me focusing on Zane.
The possibilities aren’t endless, but they are thrilling.
From staid, prim and prudish Mona, to a creature who can’t wait to engage in a threesome. I’ve turned into a woman I don’t recognize.
But I’m not upset about it.
Vive this new Mona. Screw the old one. She was a boring bitch. She led a boring life.
This one, this Mona has guts.
She has the wherewithal to recognize what she wants and to grab it with both hands.
If you want something bad enough, you’ll do whatever you can to obtain it. That’s where I’m at.
I want Zane. I love Zane. And while I’m not in love with Jake, I want him and deeper feelings could easily develop.
When I first arrived in Paris, I never imagined that was possible. I thought the worst of Jake, a teeny part thought he wanted to seduce me to get back at his husband. And while that could still be the case, while that could be his motivation for fucking me, I want to believe it isn’t.
We need to talk. That much is evident. About what we want from each other, about Zane, about everything.
I guess I’ve spent too much time in wallowing over this new attraction I have and in the possibility of what that attraction could herald for the future. Tomorrow, I’ll raise the subject. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about what we both want.
For the moment, I’m content to revel in the joining of my lips to Jake’s, of the solid weight of his body resting heavily against my own. I relish the contact, the connection, and raise weak-from-too-many-orgasms arms around his shoulders and embrace him.
But there’s a reason my granddaddy used to say, “Never put off tomorrow, what can be done today.”
I just wish Jake’s kiss hadn’t stolen that thought away until it was too late.
Chapter Fifteen
It isn’t often I wake up like Dracula popping out of his coffin as soon as dusk is swallowed up by the night. But today, I do. I shoot up so quickly I wince as my head protests. Around a yawn, I rub my eyes, and then smile when I feel the slight brush of Jake’s fingers against the base of my spine.
The morning light is bright enough to make my eyes smart, so I turn my head, making sure to keep my eye
s slitted, and look at Jake who is flat on his belly, head turned to the side and the hand nearest to me at an odd angle to connect with me.
Warm at the idea that contact is important to him, I stretch. Arms overhead, I raise them to the ceiling, uncaring that the sheet slips to bare my breasts, and I revel in the pull and release of tight muscles and with another yawn, open my eyes properly this time.
My hands fall limply to the mattress as my mouth trembles at the sight before me.
Directly opposite the bed, and I mean directly opposite, so close I can almost touch him, is Zane.
He’s sitting in one of the armchairs that are grouped around a coffee table at the other end of the room. But he’s managed to bring it within a foot of the bed and turned it around to face us and all without us waking up.
There’s a strange glitter in his eyes and for the first time in his company, I’m frightened.
He looks dangerous. Mean. Dressed in black, his skin is white from either tension or lack of sleep, and his very grimness is disconcerting.
As I swallow back my nervousness, I reach for him, but his head jerks to the side. It was stupid to reach out, but the rejection still stings and tears burn my eyes. I press my hand to my heart, clench my fist and whisper, “It’s wonderful to see you.”
My words have Jake jerking upright, he’s as uncoordinated as I am, especially after several nights with little to no sleep. He almost falls off the side of the bed before he rights himself and flings around to face whoever my words were directed at.
The instant he sees Zane, he freezes. Just like I did. And with a slow lick of his lips, he releases a breath and almost as though Zane isn’t there at all, he sits back and relaxes into the pillow.
His eyes are connected to Zane’s. It reminds me of a staring contest between two dogs, each vying for supremacy and each refusing to concede defeat.
Sinfully Theirs: Naughty Nookie Part I Page 23