Love Me Tonight - Four Erotic Romance Stories for Valentine's Day - Boxed Set (5 page)

He stood, pulled, and a second later had stepped out of his boxers and taken the two strides over to where she posed. His fingers slid between her open legs, dabbling among the slippery folds, and roving purposefully over her clit. She moaned and reached for his shirt buttons, undoing them one by one as they stared into each other’s eyes. After she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, he clasped her to his hard, bare chest. His cock was dangerously close to her pussy and Laine was so aroused she was dangerously close to not caring if she swallowed him up raw.

“You’ll wear a condom?” she whispered, not wanting to break the spell but neither wanting to end up full of questions, or worse.

“Of course,” he said. “But this is okay for a bit?” He was sliding his cock lightly along the length of her slipperiness.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Feels so good skin to skin. But I’m afraid you’ll slip in. I
want
you in.” She kissed him hard on the lips to show the fierceness of her building desire. “I have one,” she said. “In my purse.”

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “A woman who knows what she wants
and
comes prepared? Almost too good to be true. But I have some of my own and I know they work for me.”

He backed away from her, reaching for his slacks, his cock quivering in the candlelight.

He returned to her, sheathed, kneeled down in front of her, and licked as if she were made of
Chantilly
. With one hand he held her buttock firm, so his tongue could lap at her pussy with more force. With his other hand, he held her calf, just above the heel of her shoe, and his fingers caressed gently up to the back of her knee and back down to her ankle.

When she felt her climax roiling deep inside, her moans and cries told him she was close. He stood and took her there, standing, one arm against the wall for support.

The feel of Colin inside her felt both foreign and familiar, both dangerous and safe, both liberating and encompassing. He thrust deeply up and into her, drawing her closer to her own private heaven, and then he picked her up and carried her—her legs wrapped around his waist—across the room and splayed her across the arm of the chair, where he plundered her from behind. She savored the deep spearing and the feel of his hands cupping her breast, his fingers squeezing her nipples. But when she heard his breathing roughen and catch in his throat, when his rhythm sped up, she wriggled out from under him and led him to the bed covered in white linens and laid him down. By now she’d removed her bra and panties and only wore her red shoes.

She straddled Colin, took him deep inside her, and, rocking slowly at first, she worked herself up to a wild bucking, a frenzy of plunging pleasure that made him stare and moan and beg her to come all over him. She gave him what he wanted, after he’d given her what she needed, and watching her coming—her face taut with concentration, wild abandon, and vulnerable receiving—he poured forth his release. She felt his contained pulses deep inside her, the flexing surges of his satisfaction, along with her own tender aftershocks.

Breathing heavily, happily sated, Laine draped her spent body over Colin’s. When she cooled, she curled next to him, drawing the covers up over them both. He spooned her and she fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

When Laine woke the next morning she remembered that she was in Paris and for the first time in months, she hadn’t woken thinking of Richard. She smiled. It was Valentine’s Day morning and she finally had her heart back.

She could sense that she was in the bed alone, that Colin—her green-eyed angel—had left in the night. She rolled over and saw, on the pillow beside her, the red rose he had presented to her yesterday. Tied to the stem was an email address scrawled on a little slip of paper.

Laine wiggled her bare toes; she had managed to kick off her shoes in the night. They were somewhere under the covers. She didn’t need them now, not in this moment, but she knew she would again. Because she was full of desires, and determined to fulfill them. She decided to add a new item to her bucket list, something involving Florence, Italy and red shoes.

Author's Note - Catou Martine

Thank you for reading about Laine and Colin. I wonder if they'll meet up again one day?

If you liked this story, you might also enjoy my series,
London Lace
, a steamy and romantic tale about rags-to-riches London hat designer, Eliza Keating and the unpredictable aristocrat, Sir Todd Montgomery.

You can find me
www.orlypress.com
and
www.facebook.com/catoumartine
.

About the Author

I write about discovering the true power hidden in pleasure and living with an open heart.

My home offers a view of the ocean, even from the soaker tub. I love to travel, spending as much time as I can in Paris, London, New York, and Los Angeles.

Stories have the power to change hearts and lives. Love, eroticism, and sensuality provide the greatest inspiration for the heart. When we claim our pleasure, we activate our power and embolden our hearts to create lasting change in our lives and the world.

Some of the simple pleasures I enjoy:

French
macarons
, Kir Royale (a glass of champagne with 1/2 oz of Cassis, a black currant liqueur from France), hot baths by candle light, walking in the forest, working in the garden, visiting museums, non-sexual massage (the sexual kind is nice too!), laughing with friends, cooking for people I love, painting with oils, but most of all: writing.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE

© 2012 Kandi Kayne, all rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, emailed, or copied without author permission.

The author thanks you for your support of artistic expression and anti-piracy efforts.

It’s so cliché. Paris for Valentine’s Day. Love at first sight. All my friends are either laughing at me or feeling sorry for me, but I don’t care. I have one week of vacation left until August, and I’m going to use it to chase some dreams. I’ll probably trip and fall flat on my face, but at least I’ll be in Paris. The city of love.

I’m on the plane to France, too hyped up to sleep. I was tempted to buy a one-way ticket, but I knew that would be going a little too far. I did go ahead and take an extra day more than I had coming to me, though, hoping my boss wouldn’t be too upset about me calling in sick. I never do that, normally. I’m nothing if not predictably dependable.

My sister’s words echo through my brain.
Why don’t you just settle down with a nice, regular guy? What about that guy you work with. Brian? He seems nice.

I snort, just thinking about it. Brian’s about as sexy as a toad and half as handsome. I’m not a snob or anything; a man doesn’t have to be Adam Levine to rock my world. But he has to have something going for him besides a steady job and a dick. I want passion… chemistry… a man who knows how to
use
his dick. For the first time in my life, I want to have an orgasm that isn’t coming from something running on batteries. Is it too much to ask? My past would suggest that
yes
, this is in fact too much to ask. But that was the past and this is my present. I’m changing the rules of the game, taking a risk. And if none of that works out, well, at least I’ll have seen the Eiffel Tower.

The plane lands thirteen hours later, the last two of which I finally slept through, and I find myself out on the sidewalk haling a taxi. Charles de Gaulle airport is surprisingly easy to navigate. I smile at the French conversations I hear around me.

My heart goes pitter patter when I hear the beautiful language coming from a man in a business suit, an overcoat draped over his arm and a briefcase in his empty hand. He’s on his cell, and he sounds very… passionate, the way he’s doing those fancy French Rs and sliding his consonants all over the place.

I think maybe he’s going to look over, so I quickly smooth down my sometimes frizzy hair, ready to make the best impression possible. Maybe I’ll meet my lover in the airport and get down to having a great vacation right from the get-go.

He glances up and sees me looking at him. A secret smile passes across his lips, and then he acts as if he recognizes me and brightens.

Oh my god! It’s happening! Love at first sight! I knew it was real!
 
I take a step forward, my smile lighting up my face.

And then a woman shoves into me a little in her haste to reach her man. “Pardon!” she says with a perfect French accent, glancing back at me before continuing on her way. She’s running to
my
man. My almost man. The man who was never my man.

The sexy Frenchman with the overcoat shuts his phone off and opens his arms to embrace the sexy French woman wearing red stiletto heels. He buries his face in her neck when they connect, drawing her into a very private cocoon.

I turn away from their passionate kisses and sag like the tired, rumpled, sack of potatoes I feel like after that long flight.
Maybe I’ll meet my Galahad at the hotel.
I turn away from the lovers so I don’t have to feel jealous anymore. I’m not going to let this get me down. I have seven days to meet the man of my dreams and have hot sex in an inappropriate place. And I have hope that it could really happen. I’m seventy percent there already.

My taxi pulls up and a man who looks like he comes from a country far away from here grabs my bag, throws it into the trunk, and waits for me to get in.

“Vous allez où?” he asks me. I have no idea what that means, but I figure it has something to do with him needing directions.

“Can you take me to the Georges Cinq? The hotel?”

He whistles and makes a shaking motion with his hand that I’m pretty sure means he’s impressed. “Ooo, la, laaaa, le Georges Cinq… super.” That last word sounded like he said, “Soup-air,” so it makes me giggle. He pouts his lips out and continues to nod for a long time, as if he can’t get over my destination.

I don’t know anything about this hotel other than it was featured in one of my favorite movies,
French Kiss
, and it costs an arm and a leg to stay there. I’ve been saving for a trip to France since high school, which means I started paying for this more years ago than I care to remember. My one night at the Georges is going to cost me an entire year of babysitting money, plus the interest it earned. It had better be worth it. I’ve allowed myself one night in a room fit for a princess. For the rest of my trip I’ll find something more budget-conscious. I need to save my money for the pastries and museum tours. And possibly the condoms. I’m hoping I’ll need lots of those on this trip. A girl can dream.