Page 82 of Sinful Escape

His fingers plunged in and out as he nipped and kissed along the line of my neck, raining shivers across my flesh. He had magical hands and an even more magical tongue.

Oscar knew how to bring out my arousal. It was like we’d been doing this for years. I didn’t know how long he continued to pleasure me—seconds maybe, hours even—but before I knew it, I was as horny as I’d been before I’d shoved back from the window.

Using his foot, he nudged my legs apart and with his hand on my back, he gently bent me forward. I placed my hands on the rear of the Chesterfield sofa.

Oscar eased in behind me again, his bulging cock nudging my butt, begging to be released. Feeling his rock-hard manhood had another layer of exquisite need raging through me.

His hands reached around and found my boobs. A gasp left his throat, and in a throaty whisper, he said, “Ils sont réels.”

My French was a little rusty, but if my translation was correct, he’d just commented that my breasts were real.

Why he’d thought they were fake was a mystery to me.

As I contemplated if he was happy with this discovery, Oscar continued his exploration. Squeezing, caressing, drifting in a dual choreography that I’d never experienced before. A deep moan tumbled from Oscar’s throat, and the unbridled rawness of it confirmed that this smoking-hot man did indeed like my breasts.

I just about melted with relief.

My knees weakened, my clit throbbed, and my mind tried to absorb every single delicious sensation. He pinched my nipples until I winced. He did it again and a shiver of delight shot down in between my legs.

He smelled divine, classy cologne mixed with expensive champagne and hot-blooded man. My pussy pulsed in agreement.

I wiggled my ass, letting him know I wanted more. I’d reached the point of unbearable want.

His right hand released my breast and when it traveled down my belly, I wished like hell I’d removed my fugly knickers.

His fingers slid into my panties again and into my throbbing abyss. The swiftness of his approach had me gasping for breath, and I gripped the plush Chesterfield sofa like it was a safety harness.

At first, he’d used just one finger. But soon, he added another. His fingers smoothly twisted as he pulled them out, dragging them over my clit. This new sensation was like nothing I’d ever experienced, and as if aware he was showing me something new, Oscar leaned into my ear and whispered, “Relax, mon beau. You are nearly there.”

My beautiful.

His sexy voice . . . his perfect words . . . the heat of his body . . . it all had an orgasm building inside me. I was ready to be taken to depths I’d never explored before. I closed my eyes and a million pretty lights danced behind my eyelids.

He alternated his repertoire, one minute driving his fingers inside me fast and hard, the next minute he was teasing my clit. The pressure was perfectly exquisite, and my developing orgasm was as swift as it was mind-blowing. He clutched me to his body, finger-fucking me stupid. My knees weakened. My breasts lowered until they squished into the sofa. He rammed his fingers in and out.

My body tipped over the glorious edge, and I screamed as an orgasm tore through me.

It was fast. It was explosive. It totally blew my fucking mind.

My juices trickled down my legs and onto my new shoes that I couldn’t believe I was still wearing. Scrambling to accept what had just happened, I gasped for breath, trying to ignore my trembling legs.

It was all so quick.

He released me from his clutches, and I pushed up from the sofa, ready to turn to him. But he clasped my hand again and placed it right back on the Chesterfield. Using his foot, he eased my feet farther apart and without warning, tore my panties from my body. His wild passion was no match for the flimsy fabric, and I gasped at the rawness of it.

Oscar pulled the back of my dress aside, exposing my non-existent ass, and although I was still wearing my bra and dress, I suddenly felt very naked. But when he eased up behind me, the warmth of his bare flesh enveloped me in a cloak of loveliness.

Somehow, in my erotic haze, I hadn’t noticed him undress.

He leaned into my ear, and his hot breath made me shiver. “Stay there.”

I did. Crinkling of foil and a ripping sound confirmed he’d grabbed a condom.

Thank God he’d thought of that!

I wanted to slap myself at my stupidity. But my anguish evaporated the instant he tugged my dress aside and glided his warm hands over my bottom. With his other hand on my back, he guided me to bend over the sofa again.

I was rooted in position, my hands on the obscenely expensive Chesterfield, my feet planted hip-distance apart on the plush carpet, him wedged up behind me, and my body unable to move.

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