“Have you ever worked all day wearing a dress?” he asked, his mouth moving over her breast while his hand slid under her skirt.
“Y-yes,” she faltered as his finger nudged her panties to the side and slid into her.
God, she was already so hot and wet. She wanted him inside her, making use of the lubricant her body produced in excess when he touched her like that.
Maurice hooked the elastic and dragged the panties down her legs and off, then tucked them into his jeans pocket. Then he dropped to his knees, lifted her skirt, draped her legs over his shoulders and went under.
Resistance was futile when he did the things he did to her down there—licking, sucking and thrusting into her with his tongue. But when he focused on her clit, he slayed her, sending shock waves throughout her body and making her tremble with the force of her release.
She clung to him, too shaken by the intensity of the sensations to form coherent thoughts, much less words.
When he finally surfaced, she slumped against him, murmuring, “I’m buying stock in condoms.”
He laughed and gathered her into his arms. “It’ll be an excellent investment. I can see us needing a warehouse full of supplies at this rate.”
Her arms were still shaking as she struggled to adjust her dress.
Maurice brushed her hands aside, tugged the bodice over her breasts, pausing briefly to tweak her pebbled nipples. He swept the straps up over her shoulders and cupped her face in his palm. “I never knew three-thirty in the morning could be this good.”
“It’s never been this good. You’ve completely moved the bar.” She laid her hands on his shoulders as he helped her off the counter to stand on her feet.
“If you’re done in here, I’ll only be a minute,” he said, holding the door for her to exit.
She held out her hand. “My panties?”
His eyebrows rose then fell. “Consider them payment. Better yet, a reminder of that bar we set.” He patted his pocket. “Plus, it’ll prolong the arousal as you work without them.”
Her eyes widened. “I can’t do that. This dress is too short. What if it rides up? What if someone comes in?”
“You said yourself that the shop is closed on Monday. It’ll be our secret.” He gave her a gentle nudge, sending her over the threshold into the bedroom. “And no cheating.”
Amelie stood in her bedroom, her body still thrumming from her orgasm, cool air flowing over her private parts beneath her skirt.
How was she supposed to get any work done when all she wanted to do was mount Maurice and ride him all day long?
She marched over to her dresser and opened the top drawer where she kept her panties neatly folded. She stared down at the silky scraps that barely covered anything, her girly parts still throbbing from her release.
She pushed the drawer in and left the bedroom. In the kitchenette, she opened the refrigerator, pulled out a small can of apple juice, tucked it beneath her dress and pressed it to her sex, willing the fire to abate to a point at which her brain might engage.
When the door in the other room creaked open, she almost dropped the can. She quickly rinsed it off and put it back in the refrigerator. This was insane. If she were a man, she’d have a continuous hard-on. She couldn’t function like this.
Maurice appeared in the doorway, wearing his boots and carrying his T-shirt. His jeans still hung open, exposing a tempting amount of pubic hair, and was that the velvety tip of his erection?
“Are you going commando?” she asked.
He dragged the shirt over his head and down his torso. “Does that bother you?”
“N-no,” she stuttered.
“That’s a shame.” He tucked his T-shirt into the waistband of his jeans, adjusted his package and secured the buttons, effectively blocking her view. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, eager to leave the intimacy of her apartment. Surely, she’d get her head on straight in the bakery kitchen.
Maurice was first out onto the landing, looking both ways before he allowed her out of the door. He rested a hand against the small of her back as they descended the stairs.
The cool night air wafted up beneath her skirt, reminding her with every step that she was naked down there. He was right. Everything about it felt racy, decadent and dangerous and kept her blood stirring.
Once in the kitchen, she preheated the ovens and pulled the trays she’d prepped the night before from the refrigerator.
