“I want to taste your orgasm,” I say, pulling the chair closer.
I raise her left thigh and position her foot on the chair, before squatting in front of her. She breathes out, “Oh, God,” when I bury my face between her thighs. I kiss and suckle at the soft flesh there with great devotion. Laura’s hands delve into my hair. I part her folds again and lick her glistening clit. While I’m at it, drunk on her smell and taste, I slip a finger into her. Then another. She arches her back. Each new flick and swirl, each jab of my fingers draws out a stronger response from her trembling body. Her groans become guttural cries.
I keep at it, savoring every reaction, every delectable drop of her abundant arousal. Her legs start shaking, and a moment later, her whole body shudders with a swift release, drenching me with her juices.
When I stand up, I’m wild with want. There’s only one thought that fills the entirety of my inflamed brain?—
That’s when I realize I don’t have a condom.
“Do you have protection?” I ask Laura, desperate.
She shakes her head. “You?”
“No.”
Aware how unwise it is, I ask anyway, “Are you on the pill?”
“Nope.”
Well, that was that.
We stare at each other. There’s panic in Laura’s eyes. My own heart sinks at the thought that we might have to limit ourselves to oral sex until we get back to the hotel. Frantic, I rummage through the shelves. Laura shines the phone’s flashlight on them.
Just as I’m about to give up, I find it—a box with condoms. “Ta-da!”
It crosses my mind that this is technically theft. But at this moment, driven by a primal urge, I can’t find it in me to care about morality. And it’s not like I haven’t already flouted the law by breaking in.This is a case of force majeure,I tell myself. Besides, dropping a twenty-euro bill on the counter before we leave will magically turn the theft into a stealth purchase.
These thoughts flash through my brain as I rip open the foil and slide the condom over my straining cock. Laura’s eyes sparkle. As soon as I’m sheathed, I’m back in her space, my cock sandwiched between us. I run my fingertips down her back to her beautiful ass. She puts her arms around me and shifts so that more of her can rub against more of me. I’m acutely aware of every muscle, every curve of her pressed against my body. She tilts her face for a kiss. Instead, I grab her buttocks and hoist her up.
She gasps in surprise.
I take several steps like this, until I can sit her up on the counter. It happens to be at just the right height. I don’t have to squat or tiptoe—the alignment of our sexes is perfect.
Laura’s legs are wrapped loosely around me as she slips a hand between us and guides me in. The relieved look on her face when I penetrate her is priceless. She tightens her thighs aroundme and moves closer to the edge of the counter, inviting me to go deeper.
I keep my initial thrusts calculated so I don’t lose control before she comes. But it’s hard to maintain a steady tempo. As if the feel of her hot, drenched pussy wasn’t enough, her lush breasts bounce every time I plunge into her. Control slips away bit by bit… until it’s gone. The fucking becomes frenzied, almost animalistic. I drive into her relentlessly, inelegantly, slamming down hard, jamming deep. Laura’s gasps and my grunts fill the room, punctuating our lovemaking. Sweat drips down my face as I push faster, harder.
She clings to me. Her body rocks and bucks. Her hands clutch my shoulders, and her fingernails dig into my skin as she spurs me on. I focus on her intensifying moans. All her muscles contract, the inner ones included, and then she cries out in pleasure.
My own orgasm barrels through me with a force I’m not prepared for. I make a harsh, rough sound as I come, buried deep inside her, her entire body clenching around me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LAURA
Ihurry down a hallway of the show’s Parisian studio behind a production assistant. My kitten heels click against the granite floor, making too much noise. Fortunately, it’s drowned in the chaos around us—voices calling out directions, equipment being dragged around, and the faint smell of coffee mixed with hair spray. The assistant moves fast, glancing back only once to make sure I’m keeping up.
She opens a door and motions me in. “They’re filming in the salon.”
The salon is a set that looks like someone’s overpriced living room, complete with fancy cushions and throws. Four couples and all the experts are already here, seated in a semicircle. Each couple occupies their own love seat. Two are huddled together in the middle and the other two are as far apart as they can get. The show’s experts are sprawled out in armchairs.
Isabelle is perched on an armrest and chatting with one of them, her silver laugh a little too rehearsed. The cameras are rolling.
Antoine is here, too, alone on a love seat looking just as composed as ever. Well, with the notable exception of the beach after-party the day before yesterday. That night, somethingsnapped in him. An invisible dam burst, and after three days of barely touching me, he suddenly couldn’t get enough. We fucked in the kiosk. Then we snuck back to our suite—with no cameras tailing us—and got it on again. We made love twice more yesterday morning, once as soon as we woke up and the second time while we were packing to leave the resort.
The sex was mind-blowingly, criminally good.
And yes, I know that lust isn’t the same as love. Still, I didn’t think he was going to ghost me today. But I’m also relieved to see him here.
