Page 71 of One Week in Paris
I close my eyes for a second, imagining him inside me. “Come and sit.”
He takes a seat right next to me, his long legs stretched out next to mine. There is a few inches between us. “What are you doing here all alone?”
I smile. “Just thinking… You know me… I can’t take too much noise, too much activity.”
He settles his glass of scotch on the coffee table and leans back comfortably. “My little introvert.”
We sit in silence for a long beat, studying each other’s features. I could get lost in those dark chocolate eyes of his for days, and those lips…
“Why isn’t Matt looking for you?” he asks.
“Well, he is quite the social butterfly. Most likely chatting up some old ladies. He probably hasn’t even noticed I was gone.”
His gaze lingers on my mouth. “Well, I noticed…”
I’m not sure what he’s trying to do to me, but it’s working. “How come you’re not with Sophie… she’s quite beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” he says, his gaze darker than ever.
I shift a little, uneasy. “Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Cohen?”
He smiles wide. “That depends… is it working?”
I bite my lip. “A little…”
His gaze travels along the swell of my breasts, to the curve of my hips, over my legs, and finally to my shoes. “You look amazing tonight. I’m dying to pull off those ribbons, fling your legs over my shoulders and lick them.”
Baby Jesus… help me.
He inches nearer, slowly closing the distance between us. He presses his large hand on my knee gently. I close my eyes, reveling in the sensation of his touch. His hand travels leisurely down and around my calf. When he gets to the black silk ribbons of my shoe, he gently unties them, letting them fall to the floor. He peels off the shoe and strokes my achy foot, all the while, his gaze fixes on mine.
I want this. I really want this. I’ve forgotten about everything else.
But I can’t. Not here. Not now. I’ve got a plan to work on. And he’s with Sophie. And I’m with Matt.
Yet, when he stands and walks over to the library door and locks it, I get wet. When he kicks the coffee table out of the way, and gets on his knees, I get wetter. He presses his hands gently on my knees. “Open up,” he says. “I want to see you. I want to see your panties.”
I lean back on the sofa, aroused as fuck. I open my legs for him. I’m wearing pink lace briefs. Funny enough, when I slipped them on, I wasn’t thinking about Matt. I was thinking about Oscar. I’m so turned on, but I feel dirty and naughty, like I’m about to sleep with another woman’s man. “What about Sophie?” I can’t help but ask.
He closes his eyes for a beat, and when he opens them again, they’re filled with a mixture of emotions: lust, passion, and anger. The anger surprises me the most. He wants me, but he hates that he wants me. “It’s only you, Kayla,” he says, and I know he’s not feeding me a line — there is too much emotion in his eyes. “It’ll always be you. You’ve ruined me.”
I slide down onto him and grab his face in both my hands. When his hot mouth presses against mine, I feel it everywhere. My heart beats at a frantic pace, and that familiar heat is all-consuming: I feel it in my chest, my sex, and my limbs. I’m melting, and I don’t want this kiss to ever end.
But eventually, he pulls his mouth from mine. “I need to taste you,” he breathes against my ear, and with those words, he travels down my body, and buries his head under the skirt of my flowy dress. I love the feel of his soft hair on my skin. He licks a slow line up the inside of my thigh, and travels back down again, teasing. He draws hot circles with his tongue as I die of anticipation. I can’t believe we’re doing this. When he gets to my sex, he blows a hot breath, his mouth pressed over the lacy fabric. My legs spread wide, wanting more. “Stop teasing, Oscar,” I beg, the words a pleading moan. “Pleeasse.”
He takes a bite of my flesh, and with a hard grasp, he pulls my panties down over my hips. I hike my rear up to help him out — I want this as much as he does. He pulls them eagerly over my knees and my feet. They fall to the floor. He wastes no time hiking my leg over his shoulder, the shoe-less one.
When his hot mouth hits my sweet spot, I’m sent to heaven. I’m so aroused, I’m throbbing. He swirls his tongue around my clit, and I spread wider for him, desperately wanting to come. I run my hands through his thick locks, and throw my head up against the back of the sofa. I wonder if the lock on the door works. I worry about being caught, but damn, it feels so, so good. I feel myself climb to that glorious peak. “Don’t stop,” I beg.
He pulls me in closer and presses his skilled mouth into me harder. He brings me there faster. I’m so, so close.
And then my phone pings.
