Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I curl my fingers around her thigh. "Like this?"
"Dare."
"Or here?" With a feather-light touch, I draw a line up her thigh. Higher. Higher. Higher. "Or here?" I press my palm flat against her.
"Yes."
I rub her over her panties. "Take these off."
She shifts her hips. "Help."
I slide the fabric down her ass. Let it fall to her thighs. Keep it there. I draw a line down her thigh.
She wraps her hand around my wrist and guides me to exactly where I need to be.
"You're wet." I run my thumb against her slowly.
"Because of you."
She's too good at torturing me. Way too good. So I take her hand and guide it to where I want it. I go ninety percent of the way. Let her go the last ten.
"Here?" she rubs me over my jeans.
"No." Maybe. "Keep it there."
She nods and brings her lips to mine. She kisses me hard and deep, with every ounce of need in her body.
I toy with her with slow circles until she's groaning against my lips, until she's almost where I need her.
I pull back to whisper in her ear. "I want to taste you."
She lets out a soft sigh. "Do you have room?"
"I'll find room." This is a lot less discrete, and I have just enough blood in my brain to care. I check the bar again. No one watching. No one nearby. Only a guy on a stool, chatting with the bartender.
I shift under the table.
There's not as much space as I'd like, but it's hard to curse the circumstances.
Val shudders as I curl my hands around her ankles.
Slowly, I push her legs apart, slip between them, place a kiss on the inside of her knee.
Then higher.
Higher.
Higher.
She curls her hand into my hair as I dive under her skirt.
The sight of her is perfection. Even with the lack of light, it's obvious this is exactly where I'm supposed to be.
This is heaven.
I press my lips to the inside of her thigh.
Higher.
Higher.
There.
She shudders as I brush my lips against her. I pull her closer, until she's pressed against me, and I lick her up and down.
Every inch of her is sweet and soft. I take my time tasting her, teasing her.
Then I go where she needs me and work her with soft flicks of my tongue.
She digs her nails into my shoulders. "Dare. Fuck."
I toy with her again.
And again.
Until she's there, muffling her groans with her hand, pulsing against my lips.
I work her through her orgasm, then I release her, I check our surroundings, I shift back to the booth.
And once again, I'm exactly where I need to be, with the woman I love, giving her what she needs.
I'm not good at the rest of it.
But I know how to do this. I really know how to do this.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
VAL
We spend our last day like our first, walking through the Gothic Quarter on the way to the beach, diving into the Mediterranean, savoring the sights of the city.
After, we pack, we sleep, we wake early and take the train to Paris—slower than a flight but easier for him. The days blur into a haze of bliss and culture. A perfect montage of the City of Lights and his body against mine.
The walk from the metro, the quaint city street lined with cafes and people sitting at tables on the sidewalk, smoking as they sip wine. The just big enough hotel room. Dare wrapping his arms around me the second we finish unpacking, whispering there's something else on my to-do list.
The stone inside the Louvre. Dare's hand around my waist. The statue of the Goddess of Victory and the ridiculous line for the chance to take a picture in front of the Mona Lisa. The two of us in the shower, after a long day, struggling to fit into the tiny space, laughing as we spray water everywhere.
The palace-like architecture of an estate an hour outside the city. The thrill of sneaking around the gardens, finding hidden spots in the spiral staircases, kissing as the rest of the group tours, trading royal fantasies on the drive back to the city.
The sun shining on the Seine, the history of the Latin Quarter, the feeling of our limbs tangled in the bed.
The tree-lined, world-famous shopping street, the Champs-Élysées, half-naked pictures at Mango, French style absinthe at a specialty bar.
The anise flavored liquor is strong, even mixed with sugar and water. It's not magic, but it does give me the courage I need to storm the sex shops nearby.
After laughing at the Eiffel Tower shaped vibrators in pink and black, perusing the plus-size lingerie, and finding the perfect flavored lube, I face the one bridge we have left to cross, my ability to give up control.
I buy a pair of remote-controlled vibrating panties. For later.
And, as we take the train back to our room for our last night in Paris, I work up the courage. I wait until we're alone, in the safety of our space, and I say it. "I want you to lead this time."