Page 72 of Je T'aime, Actually
She didn’t even glance at the menu. As a waiter approached, Chloé leant slightly towards him and spoke quietly, her French fluid and melodic. The waiter nodded, smiling, and disappeared without a word.
“What did you ask for?” Monroe asked, curious.
Chloé reached out and took Monroe’s hand, her gaze soft but intense. “I asked for Champagne—the best they have. Because you deserve only the best.”
Monroe’s pulse fluttered. She leant closer, voice low and teasing. “You know, I already said you could ravish me later.”
Chloé’s smile turned wicked. “I plan to do far more than ravish. My mouth is already watering at the thought of taking you out of that dress…” She paused, eyes darkening. “But not before I’ve had you in it.”
“I’ve never been so turned on in my life,” Monroe murmured, eyes fluttering closed as Chloé’s palm slid onto her thigh, fingers inching high enough to draw a sharp, whispered gasp. “Don’t be cruel,” she breathed, though she made no move to stop the slow torment.
Chloé’s tone was breezy and utterly casual. “Work was so exciting today. Things are really falling into place.” She spoke as if they were just two women catching up over dinner, nothing more. No one could see her hand beneath the linen-draped table, slipping beneath the edge of Monroe’s dress, pushing lightly against the delicate barrier of her underwear. She teased, nudging—slowly, deliberately—right against the hardening tip of Monroe’s clit.
“Chloé.” Monroe’s voice was a warning, thick with arousal.
“Yes,ma chérie?” Chloé asked sweetly, barely glancing up from the menu she pretended to study. Her fingers moved again, this time just a little firmer, the movement subtle, devastating.
Monroe shifted slightly in her seat, swallowing a moan. “You’re going to kill me.”
Chloé smiled, calm and composed. “Not before dessert.”
fifty-nine
Monroe stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, her breath unsteady and her body flushed. The teasing over dinner had worked her into a state bordering on frustration. She was irritably turned on—still wearing the dress, still aching where Chloé’s fingers had been, still pulsing from the tension of holding it all in.
Behind her, the door clicked shut. Chloé made sure it was locked, then slowly turned to face her, her gaze drinking Monroe in.
She didn’t move right away.
Instead, she let her eyes travel over bare legs, the tight fabric clinging to Monroe’s hips, and the flushed chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. And then, softly, reverently, Chloé spoke.
“Cette robe…c’est trop. Tu es belle. La perfection.”
Her voice dropped, husky and low as she stepped closer.
“Tellement mouillée pour moi, n’est-ce pas?”
Monroe shivered. “I don’t understand a word of what you just said.”
Chloé smirked, taking a step forwards. “Yes, you do.”
Monroe’s stomach clenched. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me tonight.”
“I think I do,” Chloé murmured, her fingers trailing slowly down Monroe’s arm. “I said, you’re beautiful, perfect…and wet for me.”
“You already know I am…you made sure of that.”
Chloé laughed softly. “I did.” Her fingers drifted down Monroe’s throat, following the curve of her collarbone before dipping lower, tracing the neckline where the fabric disappeared in a vee between her breasts. She slipped her palm inside the dress and cupped the warm swell of Monroe’s breast. No bra. The nipple stiffened further beneath her touch, already tight with need.
A quiet moan slipped from Monroe’s lips. “Yes…”
Her breath caught as Chloé’s other hand returned between her thighs. The dress lifted easily as her palm slid higher, fingers moving to slide her underwear aside.
“Please,” Monroe whispered, head falling back, as her clit finally met the rhythm of Chloé’s strokes—gentle, sure, devastating.
Chloé leant in, lips grazing the line of Monroe’s jaw, her breath hot and uneven. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do this again…like this…after watching you all night. That dress…” Her teeth caught Monroe’s earlobe gently. “Torture.”
Monroe’s hands fisted in Chloé’s jacket, pulling her closer, hips already moving in time with the slow press of Chloé’s fingers. “Then stop teasing. I’m yours. Take me.”
