by Rose, Katia
Only I don’t want to be provided for now. I want to make her forget about everything except the need pulsing between her thighs, and she needs to know it.
I curl my hands around her knees, spreading them even wider. “I’d like to taste you, chérie.” I dig the edges of my nails into her skin until she gasps. “I’d like to kiss you, and lick you, and fuck your cunt with my tongue until you scream my name and I can’t taste anything but you for days. I’d like that more than anything right now. Will you let me?”
She closes her eyes again and draws in a few shuddering breaths. “S-Say it again.”
“I said,” I repeat, breathing the words in between the nips I pepper down her thigh, “I would like to fuck your cunt with my tongue until you scream my name.”
I reach the edge of her underwear and trail my tongue along her slit over top of the fabric, just once, just one slow, hard stroke from top to bottom.
“Mon dieu, you taste so fucking good.”
I find the outline of her clit and press my lips there, increasing the pressure until she cries out and bucks underneath me. I relent, but only hook my finger under her panties and slide it inside her without any warning.
“Ohgodohgodohgod.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I murmur against her skin. “You’re soaked.”
I twist my finger as I thrust in and out of her a few times, feeling the increase in her breathing as she starts to pant. I slide a second finger in and start to tease her clit with my tongue over the panties. She holds herself together for a few seconds before she hisses, “Take them off.”
“What was that?”
“You heard what I said. Take them off. Please.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
I lift my head and tear the underwear off her so fast and hard I hear threads ripping. I get them down one leg and don’t even bother with the second one, leaving the red fabric tangled around her ankle as I get back to business. I don’t go slow this time; I devour her. Her moans get louder and louder until I glance up and see she’s clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself silent.
I wish she’d scream for me like I told her she would, but there’ll be time for that later. I start thrusting hard and fast with my fingers as I harden my tongue to a point and trace circles over her clit, the slow, teasing rhythm an intentional contrast to the rapid force of my hand.
“Fuck. Fuck.” She sits up suddenly, tugging at my hair to raise my head up, but I don’t slow down. “Kiss me. Julien, kiss me.”
“I am kissing you.” I give her clit a moment of respite to get the words out. “This is my preferred location.”
“It’s okay. You can stop.” She keeps tugging on my hair. “It’s so good. It’s too good. I...We...”
I look up at her flushed face. “Do you want me to stop?”
“I...” Her cheeks turn even pinker. “I just take so long, so if you don’t want to—”
“I want to.” I kiss the softness of her stomach. “I wouldn’t mind if you took all night. In fact, as selfish as it is, I almost hope you take all night. Your pussy is...”
A thesaurus’ worth of adjectives come to mind, but none of them measure up to the way she tastes.
She lets out a soft laugh. “What’s ‘pussy’ in French?”
“I suppose it would be ‘la chatte,’” I answer. “‘Le minou,’ if you’re being all cute about it.”
She scoffs. “Please don’t be cute about my pussy.”
“Fine then. La chatte it is. Are you going to let me continue?”
She pretends to sigh. “I suppose.”
“Good girl. Lie down again.”
She does as I say, and despite her worries about how long it apparently takes, it’s only another few minutes before she’s tightening around my fingers and bucking uncontrollably on the table. I want to go faster, fuck her harder, but I find the control to keep doing exactly what I’m doing as she edges closer and closer to release. She forgets all pretense in the seconds before her climax; she gets fucking selfish, and it’s the hottest damn thing. She practically shoves my face between her legs and rides my mouth as she comes, thrusting her pussy onto my tongue over and over again until her legs fall to the side and she dissolves into a shuddering heap.
“Oh my god, I just came on your kitchen counter.”
“Yes,” I pant. “Yes, you did.”
I don’t know if I’ve ever been this turned on before. I straighten up and stand there between her legs, running my hands up her sides as she whimpers at the aftershocks coursing through her body. I have to close my eyes at the sight or I’m going to pull her straight onto my cock.
“My turn.”
“Hmm?”
I open my eyes when I hear her sit up in front of me. She reaches for my sweatpants, and I want to tell her she can take a breather, that we have all night—or morning— for this, but then she yanks the sweats down, and once my cock springs free, the idea of waiting becomes physically painful.
She licks her lips like an absolute sex kitten and shifts closer to the edge of the island, until my cock is pressed against the warm skin of her stomach. I groan. She’s clearly in her element, all her confidence returned now that she’s put the focus on me.
“You’re so hard for me.”
She stares down at my length, and then she’s stroking me with her thumb, just the lightest feather of a touch, but it’s enough to have my eyes rolling back.
“Having fun driving me crazy?” I ask weakly.
Her grin turns wicked. “Yeah.”
Then she’s jerking me off, nothing dainty or delicate about it as she works my dick without mercy. I could come like this. Merde, I could come from a handjob like an overexcited teenager, spilling all over her thighs.
The image of her covered in my cum is too much to handle.
“Monroe.” I cover her hand with mine. “I—”
“What was it you said earlier?” she interrupts. “About the texture? The...weight of it in your mouth?” She traces her thumb over my tip. “I agree. That’s the best part.”
I need her hand off my dick right now or this is going to end in extreme embarrassment. I don’t have to ask for it; she loosens her grip and pushes lightly on my chest to make me back up before sliding her feet to the floor. She’s so short it’s a significant drop off the counter, which is adorable enough to distract me from the imminent blowjob for a fraction of a second.
She lowers herself to her knees in front of me and reaches for the band of my sweatpants, tugging them down my thighs until they drop to the floor. I don’t have time to step out of them before she’s trailing her lips over my hip bones. My cock brushes the skin of her throat, twitching at the contact. She lays a kiss at the very base of my shaft, and I have to grip the counter’s edge for support.
“Chérie.” My voice is cracked as I gather the hair away from her face and keep it clenched in my fist.
“I like it when you call me that,” she murmurs, each word a stroke of heat imprinting itself on my skin. “Chérie.”
Then she licks me all the way from my base to my tip, and restraint is no longer an option.
“God, I want that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.” I tighten my grip on her hair. “Now.”
She takes me in slowly, swirling her tongue around my tip and bobbing her head a few times, going deeper with each thrust. Her throat convulses as she gags and pulls all the way back to gasp out a breath before taking as much of me as she can. I have to rip my eyes away from the sight of her kneeling at my feet and stare up at the ceiling, grappling with the urge to start thrusting into her mouth.
“Monroe.” With all the willpower I possess, I tug on her hair until she pulls back. “Up here. Now.”
“I can keep—”
“But I don’t know if I can. You are...dangerously good at that, and I want to fuck you before I come.”
I hook my finger under her chin and brush my thumb over those gorgeous lips. She stares up at me, lust flaring her pupils, and the
n raises herself to her feet. She lets out a little yelp of surprise as I grip her by the waist and lift her back up onto the island.
“Stay here.”
She kicks her feet playfully in the air. “What if I don’t?”
“Then I will ceaselessly and mercilessly hunt you down and punish you once I find you.”
She rests her hands on the counter behind her, the action thrusting her breasts toward me. This woman is a walking distraction.
“That sounds kind of fun.”
“You say that now...” I threaten before laying a hasty kiss on her forehead and all but sprinting to my bedroom. I’m back in the kitchen nanoseconds later and move to stand between her legs before I slide the condom on. I cup her cheek with one of my hands, tilting her head back to slip my tongue into her mouth as I slide myself between her thighs. She moans and claws at my sides, her legs locking themselves around me, heels digging into my ass.
I break off the kiss, resting my forehead against hers and tilting us both lower to the island to get more leverage. Her eyes lock on mine, and the intimacy of the moment hits us both. We’re so close, as close as we can possibly be, and still I want her closer.
“Harder,” she murmurs, and she doesn’t have to ask twice.
I start pounding into her without any remorse, feeling myself getting closer and closer as she cries out and collapses on her back against the island. I don’t slow down. She brings a hand up to cover her mouth, eyes desperately searching mine. Her other hand starts to knead one of her breasts, almost reflexively, like she can’t help touching herself. I lower my mouth to her other nipple and start to suck, harder than I did before. She hisses from behind her hand.
She might be muffling her shrieks, but her pussy isn’t showing any restraint. She’s got a greedy little cunt, squeezing my cock between thrusts and urging me for more. I love that she can’t be generous, not now. She could tell me to finish wherever I want. She could give me permission to stop altogether, but her pulsing heat isn’t interested in putting anyone else first. It’s that need, that uninhibited desire wracking her body as she clings to mine, that finally pushes me over the edge.
I come with my lips against her chest, the moan that rips itself out of me scattering across her skin. She’s all I taste, all I see and smell. She’s all I want as I heave a shuddering breath and fold her into my arms.
Twelve
Monroe
AGEING: The process of sealing wine in a container for an extended period of time in order to allow its taste to improve
I have beard burn.
I twist in front of Julien’s bathroom mirror, examining the faint red patches on my chest, stomach, and thighs that still haven’t faded in the couple of hours it’s been since Julien and I collapsed onto his bed. There’s a satisfied smirk on my face as I assess the damage. It makes me feel naughty, like the grown up version of hiding a secret hickey as a teenager.
Everything about this feels naughty. My clothes are still strewn across the kitchen floor. There’s a mostly-empty bottle of wine on the counter, and there’s a very sexy Frenchman lying naked in the bed I just crept out of. I know the scene is going to appear less deliciously illicit and more distressingly reprehensible once we open all the curtains to face the light, but for now, I’m half-asleep and willing to duck back under the covers.
“Sstqelurr?” Julien slurs when I slip into bed beside him again.
I chuckle softly. “What?”
He tries again, and I can make out enough to realize he’s trying to ask me what time it is in French.
“Almost nine,” I answer in the same language.
He huffs and shifts closer to me, eyes still closed as he covers me with his arm and tucks me against his chest. My head rests under his chin, and I inhale his scent, the rhythm of his exhales lulling me back to sleep.
When I wake up again, the limbs tangled around mine are blazing with enough heat to turn the space under the covers into an oven. I’m only awake enough to know I have to escape, but when I start wriggling to free myself, the arms just clamp around me even tighter. A man’s voice murmurs in protest, and awareness of my current location slowly dawns.
“Julien,” I grumble in a voice thick with sleep, “you’re a human furnace.”
“Hmmm?”
“Release me.”
“Oh.” He pauses to yawn. “Right. Sorry.”
I realize the sound that must have woken me up is someone’s phone buzzing—possibly two someone’s phones buzzing. I swipe the grit from my eyes and flail my hand around over the edge of the bed near where I know I dumped my purse last night. I catch the strap and pull my phone out as Julien curses while reaching for his own on the nightstand.
I take one bleary-eyed look at the notifications and let the phone drop back to the ground.
“Shiiiit,” I drawl.
“My thoughts exactly.”
I roll over to find Julien swiping at his screen. He looks different without his glasses on, softer—less like he’s sizing everything up. He always looks at things like he’s assessing, analyzing, trying to figure out the way they work and how to make them work better. Now, though, lying in bed like this, he doesn’t look curious. He just looks tired.
“This is not going to be an easy day,” he announces before copying me in tossing his phone back where he found it.
I wonder if this is my cue to leave. Even in the heat of last night, I knew the morning would be awkward. We didn’t take the time to set up terms beforehand, to decide what last night was even meant to be.
“So, um,” I begin, “we had sex.”
He squeezes my thigh under the blankets. “We did.”
“Do you...think we should have?”
He fixes me with an impassive stare. “Do you?”
There’s that professor-esque tone again, like he knows the correct answer even though he’s the one asking the question.
“I...don’t know,” I finally admit. “It seemed more straightforward in the moment, but now it’s all complicated.”
“What’s complicated about it?”
I give him a ‘Seriously?’ raise of my eyebrows.
“For starters, you currently have to decide if you want to press charges against my bar for not having ample security staff, resulting in damages to your bar.”
“Monroe, I’m not going to sue you over a few windows.”
“Why? Because you got some pussy out of it?”
Hurt and indignation immediately flood his features.
“I didn’t mean that,” I rush to explain. “I was just trying to prove my point. This is complicated. I don’t know where we go from here.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“That’s kind of beside the point,” I answer. “Our professional lives are part of this. We’re professionals. We have more to think about than just what we want.”
To my surprise, he starts to chuckle.
“What?” I demand.
“It’s just...you sound like me right now.”
“Well you’re usually very reasonable,” I admit. “Usually.”
His tone darkens. “Maybe I’m too reasonable.”
I watch the lines in his face deepen, and I’m about to ask what he means before he continues in a lighter voice, stroking my leg as he does.
“Maybe there’s more than what we want involved, but it’s a good place to start. So I’ll ask again: what do you want, Monroe? Do you want to see me again?”
The brush of his thumb along my thigh adds extra weight to the word ‘see,’ but I’m still a bit shocked by the question. I was expecting us to navigate our way out of a one night stand, not make plans to do it all over again.
I try to tell him just that, but the words get lodged in my throat.
What do you want?
The answer is impossible to ignore: I want this. I want to chuck both our phones out the window and stay in this bed all day, learning the language of each other’s bodies, drifting in and out of sleep betwee
n lessons. I know I can’t have that today, so I want the next best thing. I want to see him again.
“Yes,” I answer. I don’t see the point in hiding it. I tried to deny how much I wanted him to both of us, and that just ended with me in his bed. Clearly ignoring our attraction isn’t going to make it stop. “Yes, I want that, but I also want to keep Taverne Toulouse, and you’re about to open a bar that will in all likelihood run it out of business, if not completely absorb it. I only have six weeks until the owner decides if he’s going to sell or not, and then what happens?”
He considers me for a moment. “I’m still not sure I understand about you and that bar. I’ve tried to. I really have, but...there’s so much potential there, Monroe. It could—”
“And I’m still not sure I understand about you and your bar,” I interrupt, not willing to get into a business debate right now, “but as it stands, we have opposing goals in life. Even if all we’re doing is fucking—”
“Is that all we’re doing?”
The question catches me off guard. Last night felt like more than just a last minute fuck. I’ve never let myself give in to desire like that before. I’ve never understood the idea of ‘letting go’ during sex. When you lose yourself to the moment, you lose sight of others too, and that’s what I’ve always seen as the most vital part of sex: my focus on my partner. I want to make them feel good. I don’t see it as being subservient or inferior; I always thought it was what made me feel best too.
Then I met Julien Valois’ tongue.
It’s like something bloomed in me last night, like a part of me that’s been curled up tight in the dark finally sprang loose and demanded to be seen.
“I mean, you were there,” I answer. “You...must have felt it.” He had to have felt it, or he wouldn’t be asking if all we did was have sex. “But what I’m trying to say is that we have other things to consider. We want different things—”
“What if we didn’t?”
I scoff. “Well, we do, or are you going to prove me wrong?”
He smirks. “Maybe I am. I did it once. I think I can change your mind on this. I can make you see what I see when I look at Taverne Toulouse. I can make you see everything it could be, and I can make you want it too.”