Page 66 of French Kiss

I wanted to give him some of the ecstasy he was unleashing on me. So I kissed his chest, following every contour with my hands. When I worked my way lower, I felt his abs contract under my touch, urging me lower. As the steam from the shower start to fill the room, I popped the button on his shorts and pulled them to the floor, along with his boxers. No more wasting time with the striptease.

Then I backed into the wet tiled space, pulling him with me and wrapping my hands across his strong back.

The spray from the shower felt like the rain from the night before, except that it was warm, and this time we didn’t want to hide from it. I lathered him up with the lavender soap and carefully tended to each muscle in his body, every inch of his skin. Massaging. Rinsing. I was very thorough. With the water cascading over us, I reached down, so turned on by how hard he felt in my hand. His eyes closed as I wrapped my hand around the shaft and moved it slowly. Then a little faster. I watched the look of pleasure and desire on his face and wanted to push him to the brink of losing control.

The shower wasn’t big, but the French must’ve known our basic minimum requirements because I had just enough room to kneel down so I could use my lips and tongue on him, licking and sucking until I heard him groan, as his hands tangled in my wet hair.

Glancing up at his face, I saw his eyes closed and an expression of total surrender. I loved that I could take him there and I kept going rhythmically, using my hand as well as my tongue. But after a couple more minutes, he coaxed me to my feet and hungrily devoured my mouth with his.

“You make me so crazy,” he breathed into my ear. “I want you to feel it too.”

“Oh, I am,” I said, my insides turning to jelly every time I heard his husky voice and felt his breath on my neck.

He turned off the shower and shook the water out of his hair like an Olympic swimmer leaving the pool. Turning me on with every flex of his chest. He threw a plush towel down onto the floor and a second one on top of it. “Maybe not as comfy as the bed, but that’s too far away,” he said. He reached into his leather dopp kit and grabbed a condom, unwrapping it hastily before leaning back on the towels and pulling me toward him. “C’mere.”

Dripping from the shower, I straddled his legs, edging forward an inch at a time, teasing him some more and torturing us both with the wait. He rolled my nipples in his fingers until I could feel my insides on fire.

“What can I do for you? What do you want?” he asked. I shook my head and silenced him with my lips.

“You,” I said, moving forward another inch, so I could feel his erection pressing against me, willing me to edge up just one more inch so he could slide inside. I took my time, enjoying the anticipation of the amazing rush of pleasure I’d have when I felt his urgent thrust. I’d dreamed about it since the night before. Or maybe longer.

Then the wait was too much to bear. I edged forward, moving against his hard flesh and then slipping forward, inch by glorious inch, to envelop him. Feeling him fully inside me immediately brought me to the cusp of orgasm and I heard a soft cry escape my lips when he started to gently thrust.

We moved as one, no space between our bodies. He rocked gently under me, taking his time and watching my face. Looking into his eyes, I decided this was a guy I could trust. Which allowed me to give up a tiny bit of the control that ruled my world and let the moment take me wherever it wanted to go. That was big for me. And oh my lord, was it worth the ride.

I felt the heat building inside me until I couldn’t hold the feeling back any longer and I gave in, letting my orgasm mesh with his and blurring the boundary between us.

So good and hot and sweet. So everything. So stupid of me for waiting three years.

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