The Frenchman's Slow Seduction (18 page)

Lowering his head, he
shockingly kisses me in my most intimate place, making me cry
out
.
Exploring me with the moist tip of his tongue, he sends
lightning bolts of pleasure soaring through me.
“Jean Paul!”
I cry, frantically grabbing the sheets. As he probes deeper, my
whole body tenses and I arch back, unsure if I can withstand the
sweet torment he’s subjecting me to. I can’t breathe, my skin is
too tight, my chest can’t expand. Holding onto my hips, Jean Paul
slowly tortures me. There’s so much pleasure, so much ecstasy, I
can’t stop myself from writhing. As I feel myself close to
breaking, Jean Paul slows his kisses and pulls away. “Forgive me,
Rachel,” he rasps. “I’m selfish. I don’t want you to fly without
me.”

Lowering his head, he
trails kisses from my abdomen to my breasts. Taking a tender tip
into his mouth, he causes a rush of erotic sensation all through my
body. As his mouth flicks and sucks my taut flesh, I wonder if it’s
possible to die from ecstasy, bliss, divine rapture. When I cry
out, Jean Paul kisses his way to my face.
“Faire l’amour avec
toi, je me perds dans un univers sans limites,”
he breathes
against my cheek. Making love to you, I get lost in an endless
universe.

I stroke his face.
“Well, I think it’s my turn to taste that universe,” I tell him,
and push him onto his back. Jean Paul laughs, and I can feel his
pure joy. But as I straddle him, deeper passions take over. Slowly,
I kiss my way to his abdomen. Slipping my fingers in the waistband
of his briefs, I slide them down his legs, my breath catching when
I see the size of him. As I touch him, he groans and grabs my hand.
“Non, Rachel, c’est trop.”
No, Rachel, it’s too much. Using
my free hand, I loosen his grip.
“Just a little kiss…”
I
whisper. Groaning, he drops his hand. As my head lowers, I feel his
whole body tense. Slowly, I kiss the long hard shaft of him, but
the instant I touch him, overwhelming emotions I’ve never felt
before come roaring to life. Quickly, hungrily, I take him into my
mouth, causing him to let out a cry so primal -- so raw -- so loud
-- that the room resounds with it.

Carried away by desires
I don’t,
can’t
, understand, I taste, suck, and lick his taut
aching flesh, but instead of easing the clawing need inside me, it
makes me more desperate, more needy. With a growl, Jean Paul
threads his fingers through my hair and pushes into my mouth. But
just as I feel him swell inside me, he cries,
“Rachel, il faut
arrêter!”
Rachel, we have to stop!

But I can’t stop. A
wild, crazy, uncontrollable beast has been unleashed, making me
pull, suck, and lick even more wildly.

With a loud roar, Jean
Paul pulls me up and rolls me over onto my back. Kneeling between
my legs, he kisses me fiercely. Then shockingly, startlingly,
breathtakingly
, he thrusts into me with such suddenness,
such force, that my whole body explodes from the most mind-blowing
ecstasy. My body has to expand to fully take him in.

Darting his tongue into
my mouth, Jean Paul possesses me with a fury I hadn’t known
existed. I reach up to the headboard to steady myself, feeling the
whole length of him plunging into me over and over again. With Jean
Paul’s every movement, jolt after jolt of the most exquisite
sensations wrack my body. Overcome by a riot of emotions, I cry
out,
“Jean Paul, je t’aime.”
Jean Paul, I love you.

Groaning, he claims me
with even greater fury, making me cry out even more loudly as he
grows bigger inside me. With his arms under me, he holds me tightly
and pushes into me more furiously -- until finally, explosively,
cataclysmically
, a burst of sensation as fierce as any
natural storm catapults us from our physical bodies into a realm
where there is only pleasure, love, bliss,
and endless joy.
As wave after wave of the divinest ecstasy washes over me, I feel
like everything is a dream -- like it’s all been a dream -- like
the whole world is a dream.

In the morning, I wake
up alone. Looking at a digital clock on the nightstand, I see that
it’s only seven thirty. A wall of windows reveals blue sky, puffy
white clouds, and brilliant sunshine. Hearing a noise, I turn and
see Jean Paul walking into the room. Smiling, he climbs back into
bed.

“
Je t’aime de tout
mon coeur,”
he says, pressing kisses along the side of my face.
I love you with all my heart.

“You’re up early,” I
tell him, caressing his face.

He kisses my palm. “I
did not trust myself to stay in bed with you while you were
sleeping.”

“
Oh?”
I say as
innocently as I can. “Why’s that?”

He gives me a wicked
smile. Taking my hand, he slides it down his abdomen, to someplace
lower.

My eyes widen as I feel
the hard swell of him.

“Golly, you
are
up early!”

He gives a thunderous
laugh. “Always, you surprise me, Rachel.”

With a look of
mischief, he takes my hands, holds them over my head, and kisses me
deeply.
“Je meurs de faim,”
he rasps against my cheek. I’m
dying of hunger.

With my teeth, I clamp
down on his tongue. Then I let him go. “Well, I’m really hungry
too,” I tell him, “and a gentleman always lets a lady go
first.”

Keeping me prisoner, he
shakes his head. “Not this time, Rachel. I’ve been up too long, and
I need you too much.”

His words send a shiver
through my body. As if a switch has been flipped, the energy in the
room instantly changes.

Looking deeply into my eyes, Jean Paul
says,
“I couldn’t see you last night when we made love, but
now I will be able to see how your whole body responds to me, and I
want to see everything, Rachel.”

My mouth opens.

“Have I shocked you?”
he asks, completely unrepentant.

I laugh. “You must be a
lapsed Catholic.”

He throws his head back
and laughs.
“Tu es trop vite pour moi.”
You are too quick
for me.

Still holding my hands
above my head, he pulls them together and uses one hand to hold me.
Then he uses the other hand to pull the sheet down below my
breasts. “Hmmm, I could start there,” he says. Pulling the sheet
even lower, he lets his eyes roam over the tops of my thighs. “Or I
could start there.”

Every inch of my body
is aching for his touch.

With agonizing
slowness, Jean Paul uses his fingers to trace a path down my chest,
to my abdomen, and then lower -- his eyes widening as he discovers
how ready I am for him. As he closes his eyes, I watch the rapid
rise and fall of his chest.
“Tu es mon obsession -- un passion
qui me tourment,”
he rasps huskily. You are my obsession -- a
passion that torments me.

His words make me
tremble.

“
Jean Paul…?”
I
say, suddenly unsure.

His eyes darken, but he
says nothing.

I feel my face flush.
“What do you want?”

His pupils dilate. His
look challenges me.

“
Everything?”
I
ask.

His eyes widen.

Suddenly, there doesn’t
seem to be enough air in the room. Jean Paul makes me feel things,
think things,
I’ve never felt or thought before.

As I lick my lips, his
eyes hone in on my every movement.

Wanting to make myself
more comfortable, I squirm, but he pins me down more firmly.

My lips part…

“I want more of what we
had last night,” he says darkly, “only this time, I don’t want you
to hold back, or to hold me back.”

My mouth is completely
dry.

Jean Paul’s eyes don’t
leave mine. “What? Don’t you trust me, Rachel?”

I don’t answer.

Jean Paul lowers his
head and gently bites my lip, pulling my delicate skin. “Do you
trust me, Rachel?”

When I stay silent, he
sucks the tender flesh behind my ear, and I know he will leave a
mark.
“Do you trust me, Rachel?”

“I don’t want to trust
you,” I tell him.

Jean Paul freezes.
Pulling away, he says, “Are you not afraid?”

“Yes.”

Closing his eyes, he
says,
“Qu’est-ce que c’est cet feu dans mes veines qui me
consomme?”
What is this fire in my veins that consumes me? Then
he kisses me savagely ... until I’m not sure where I am or what’s
happening ... until the only thing I know is that I need him.

Using his free hand
Jean Paul does away with his boxers. Plunging his tongue deeply
into my mouth, he moves over me until he’s between my thighs.
Pressing his hard flesh against my body, he fondles my breasts,
lifting them from underneath, taking their full weight in his hand.
Mindless from the ecstasy of his firm, unrelenting touch, I cry out
loudly.

Without warning, Jean
Paul plunges deep inside me, shocking me, spreading me,
filling
me.
With searing heat, he claims me, causing wave after wave of
the most scintillating pleasure to wash over me. Suddenly, he pulls
away, flips me onto my front, and then lifts me onto all fours.

“
Jean Paul?”
I
squeak in disbelief, but all conscious thought flies out of my head
as he claims me from behind.

The fury of sensation
he sends roaring through my body makes me cry out
.
Holding
me firmly by the hips, Jean Paul claims me without restraint. Never
before have I felt so primal, so feral, so wickedly real. My
feminine flesh is pushed to its fullest capacity,
beyond its
fullest capacity.
Jean Paul lets out groan after groan, holding
me tightly. The room resounds with the noise of the headboard
hitting the wall, the mattress springs creaking, Jean Paul’s deep
guttural moans, my cries.

Suddenly, I feel unable
to contain him as his swollen flesh rubs harshly against my skin --
but I want more ...
beg him for more.
Jean Paul moves his
hands to my breasts, pinning me where he wants me. Every part of my
body cries out for his possession.
“Harder!”
I cry out. Jean
Paul momentarily freezes.
“What did you say?”
he rasps in a
barely controlled voice.
“Harder!”
I cry.

Pressed against him, I
feel him shudder. Gripping me tightly, he slams into me, and I cry
out from shock as the full force of him ripples through my body.
Jean Paul crashes into me repeatedly, pulling out almost completely
and then pushing in as far, as quick, as hard, as he can. There’s
no sanity anymore, something --
someone
-- else has taken
over. Jean Paul moans, groans, and thrusts, making me cry out,
making me beg for completion.

Heeding my pleas, Jean
Paul slides his fingers down my abdomen to my tenderest place and
massages me while possessing me furiously, making me lose all
composure, all sense of time and place.
“Yes, yes!”
I cry
and beg. Jean Paul’s fingers and hips move faster. As the tension
in me coils tighter and tighter, Jean Paul’s movements become even
more frenzied. Feeling myself nearing my climax, I scream loudly --
until suddenly ... frantically ...
furiously
... I explode
into light, and sound, and color. As I tighten around the long hard
shaft of him, Jean Paul becomes wild, frenzied,
savage
--
and I feel him get even bigger. Exploding deep inside me, he cries
out my name. For endless timeless moments we moan uncontrollably as
our bodies spasm -- conjoined by the sensations that are ripping us
apart and melding us together.

When our madness is
over, Jean Paul gently lays me on the bed. Coming down beside me,
he gives me a tender look and says, “I don’t recognize myself when
I’m with you.”

“I love you,” I tell
him.

“
Tu es mon
coeur,”
he whispers. You are my heart.

Pulling me close, he
holds me, and we fall asleep.

Jean Paul is the first
to get up. While I linger in bed, he takes a shower and comes back
wearing a pastel blue T-shirt with white jeans. I have to catch my
breath; he’s that beautiful.

“I’ll make breakfast,”
he says, nuzzling me.

When I get to the
kitchen, Jean Paul’s standing over the kitchen sink eating a mango,
small rivulets of orange flowing down his hands and arms. I can
taste the sweetness on his lips.

Later that morning,
standing on Jean Paul’s balcony and looking out at the world, I
think of the men who have recently passed through my life and the
marks they’ve left. There was Reynaldo, who showed me that my
hormones were working; Mike, who showed me kindness; and Bryan, who
showed me what it was like to be full of love: all of them offering
different things. But it’s Jean Paul I need: I need the way he
talks, the way he looks at me, the way he touches and makes love to
me, and his constant reassurances. And what’s remarkable is that he
seems to need me just as much.

When I walk back into
the apartment, Jean Paul is sitting on the sofa.

“Rachel, will you sit
with me?”

I join him on the
sofa.

“I would like you to
have this ring.” He is holding an antique gold ring with an ornate
latticework band. On the top is a tiny enamel oval with a winged
angel and the words
Mon Amour
delicately painted. He slips
the ring onto my finger. “It was my grandmother’s ring.”

“It’s beautiful,” I
tell him.

In French, he says, “I
adore you, Rachel. More than the stars, the wind and the moon. Will
you marry me?”

Taken aback, I say,
“Jean Paul, I don’t believe in marriage. I love you, and I’ll be
with you, but I can’t marry you.”

Amused, he says, “Why
don’t you believe in marriage?”

“Because I’ve seen what
it does to people. It gives them this false sense of security. They
start taking each other for granted. Before people get married,
they’re in love. They talk, look, and touch a certain way. After
they’re married, they stop doing that.”