Her “fuck” is louder this time, startled and amazed. I apply more suction, then trail my tongue lower to prod at her opening.
Her hands are in my hair now, her hips tilted and legs wide open. Silently asking for more. Begging aloud, too, my name a constant refrain as she comes against my mouth. I kiss my way back down her thigh, smearing her arousal everywhere. It’s all I can smell or taste. I slip her leg off my shoulder and stand, smirking at the expression on her face. Dazed green eyes and parted pink lips.
I kiss her again, the bulge of my erection pressing against her stomach. She shoves against my chest, and I step back, thinking she needs a moment. To use the bathroom or to explore the room. This is one of Paris’s poshest hotels, the Eiffel Tower visible through the windows.
Instead, she’s unbuttoning and unzipping and tugging until my chinos drop and my cock bobs free. Her quick, surprised inhale at first glimpse is almost as good for my ego as how fast she came for me.
I grunt as she grips me, fists clenching as I fight the urge to fuck her hand. Had I known she was going to suggest this detour after our date, I would have jerked off earlier to take the edgeoff. You don’t become a professional athlete by accident though. Discipline is something I have in excess.
Claire’s staring as she slowly strokes my dick, tracing the vein that runs its length and then circling the flared tip with her thumb.
I groan, and her eyes lift to meet mine.
“Kinda thought about this all day,” she tells me.
“Sex?” I rasp.
Her teeth dig into her lower lip, leaving white impressions behind. “Sex with you.”
“If you had mentioned that earlier, we never would have made it to the museum.”
She laughs, then kisses me, the collision of our mouths needy and desperate. I tug the strap of her dress down, low enough to reach the clasp of her bra. It droops enough for me to palm her breast, circling the point of her nipple with my thumb.
Claire sucks on my bottom lip, biting gently as her hips rock against mine. We’re still against the wall, only a few feet inside the massive hotel suite. Both partially undressed.
Her hand finds my dick again, guiding it between her legs.
We’re both breathing heavily, trying to pull in as much air as possible between kisses.
“Claire—”
“Please. I need—I need you to fuck me.”
“There is a bed in here,” I remind her. “We could have done this”—I palm the wall beside her head—“in your tiny, messy room.”
“You’re the one who left.”
I smile. “I was trying to be a gentleman.”
“Well, I don’t want you to be a gentleman. I want you to fuck me against the wall because you want me too much to make it all the way to the bed.”
I groan, then reach for my pants on the carpet. “Turn around. Hold on to something.”
She listens, tugging the other strap of her dress down and tossing her bra away. Her boobs bounce as she bends over the wooden table we almost knocked over when we entered, gripping the ornately carved edge.
I find the condom in my pocket, tearing the wrapper open with my teeth and rolling the latex over my throbbing cock. I push her dress up around her waist and pull her underwear down. My left hand lands on her thigh again, for no reason except I want to touch her, while my right lines my cock up with her cunt, displayed at the perfect height. I feel from the first inch how tight she is. How slippery and slick. I push deeper, feeling her pussy spread to accommodate me. Watching as she takes more and more, moaning the entire time.
I admire how it looks for a few seconds, and then the need to move—to pump—becomes unbearable. I set a brutal pace, deep, steady strokes that she contracts around. My fingers find her swollen clit, tapping in time with my thrusts.
It’s quick and dirty and perfect. She comes once, and my entire body is screaming to do the same. I fuck her through her release, her gasps and sobs transitioning into moans again.
The vase of flowers topples, and I don’t even notice where it lands.
When Claire convulses for a second time, I let go too. Heat flares as my hips jerk, cum pouring into the condom.
She speaks first, the syllables staccato between rapid breaths. “C’est magnifique.”
I laugh, pulling out of her. There’s a box of tissues on the table that didn’t fall with the flowers, and I grab two to wrap around the condom, tossing it in the trash can.
