More Stories to Make You Blush (7 page)

* * *

When she got back that night Vincent was waiting for her. The hotel bar was closed and he was sitting in one of the armchairs in the lobby. He looked as if he were dozing, but when he saw her come in through the big front door he leapt to his feet and in a single bound was before her, taking her in his arms.

“I … I just had to see you.”

Leaving her no time to answer, he crushed his mouth against hers almost painfully. Taking her by the hand he led her to the elevator. Staring straight ahead as they waited, he seemed to be concentrating very hard on something. When the elevator doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss, he grabbed hold of her again and pushed her inside. She fell back against the wall. Vincent pressed himself against her, took her face and hair in his hands, and kissed her passionately. She felt his insistent body pushing itself against hers, leaving no doubt as to how much he wanted her. He ran his hands over her body, discovering each of her curves with greedy delight, crushing her back and breasts with his powerful arms.

The doors opened at the fourth floor. Without a word he took her to his room and feverishly threw the door open. In an instant they were both naked and breathless, mute with desire. They did not waste a second, but collapsed on the thick plush carpet. Vincent plunged into her with no warning. Pinned beneath him Brigitte could barely breathe, but her desire was so intense that it did not matter. She wrapped her long legs around him, forcing him into her hard, clutching him into the depths of her body. Then she rolled over so she was on top of him, now forcing her desire upon him—her insatiable mouth, her conquering sex that squeezed him tighter and tighter. They kissed as if they had been waiting for years to accomplish this simple gesture, joining their tongues and their saliva, exploring each other's mouths almost desperately. He penetrated her roughly, unrelentingly, and the woman thrust her hips flat against him, pushing him away, then pulling him in deeper. Gasping for breath at the brink of orgasm, they pulled apart for a moment, then plunged back into each other. When neither could hold on any longer, they came at almost the same instant, Vincent flooding into his companion in utter silence.

They remained this way until the brink of sleep, then dragged themselves to bed, sinking happily into the sheets before sleep finally overcame them.

Several hours later Brigitte was awakened by a delectable sensation. What she assumed was a tongue was tracing abstract shapes on her back, trailing down and tenderly tickling her buttocks. Vincent massaged her head, his fingers tangled in her silky hair. Gently, he turned her over on her back so he could lick the front of her body. From her ears he went down her neck, then lingered over each breast before getting to her belly. He kissed her thighs, knees, calves, and feet with light, almost furtive kisses. Brigitte lay still, fully savoring these superb caresses. When Vincent spread her legs and slid his tongue inside her, she gave a nervous little jump before giving into the pleasure.

His patience was the complete opposite of their first lovemaking hours earlier. He nibbled her gently, happy to hear her sighing beneath his mouth. With a tender gesture he spread the engorged lips of her sex so he could get to that most vulnerable place in her body. He darted his pointed tongue inside, teasing Brigitte's slightly bruised and swollen flesh. She swam in a sea of pleasure, body and spirit floating. Her body came alive with what felt like thousands of tiny sparks; she felt herself vibrate. Fingers came to replace the man's tongue, pushing deeply into her, making her moan with pain and pleasure. Then the skillful tongue began its caresses again, while the hand plunged deeply inside her, bruising her flesh even more. The hand felt Brigitte's sex trembling on the verge of violent pleasure. Vincent slid on top of her, then inside her, plunging with ease into her wet pussy, prolonging the precise and regular gliding movement that rubbed at the open lips, bringing forth new moans.

Brigitte felt herself melting like an ice cube in the sun. Her lover filled her. He slid into her slowly and deeply, letting his member slide to the inmost depths of her body. It was if the hard and pulsing organ was truly a part of herself.

Their breathing became more and more uneven, each adapting to the other's rhythm in a dance of lust. Leaning against the head of the bed, Vincent made her sit on him, bringing her breasts to his open lips. She floated on top of him, obeying only the arms of this man beneath her hips who dictated their rhythm with the full length of his member. Looking Brigitte deep in the eyes, Vincent pressed his probing hand between his companion's thighs, seizing the sex that begged to come again. At a single touch from him Brigitte exploded with pleasure, and when Vincent caught his breath sharply a second before he came, she was convinced she was madly in love. She never wanted to leave him. Ever.

* * *

That is how they spent the rest of the week. They made love from morning to evening, stopping only to take advantage of the sun, or take a dip in the warm ocean. After sunset they walked on the shore, looking for the perfect place to give free rein to their desire.

On the last evening Vincent took Brigitte to the top of a cliff overlooking the bay. The air was sweet and fragrant, the grass silky. They both wanted this last evening to remain an unforgettable memory. They got undressed slowly, exposing their naked skin to the moonlight and the delicious breeze. Kneeling before each other, their gestures tender as if in prayer, they brought each other to climax in silence. Lying beneath the starry night sky, they made love for one last time on Mexican soil. They fell asleep wrapped around each other, completely satisfied, and did not waken until dawn.

* * *

Vincent changed his plane ticket; he was absolutely determined to go back on the same flight as Brigitte. Once he had made the change he went by his companion's room and knocked.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course! About anything you want!”

Brigitte playfully tried to lure him to the bed.

“No, this is serious.”

She thought she could see a dark cloud on the horizon and was afraid. She sat down on one of the armchairs and listened attentively.

“Brigitte, this last week has been extraordinary.”

“Yes, but … ?”

“But? There is no but! I just wanted to know if we could keep seeing each other once we're back in Montreal. I mean, just the two of us. I couldn't stand it if another man touched you. So if you have someone else in your life, or if you aren't ready for this, just tell me, please.”

Without hesitating Brigitte got up and slipped into his arms. But she was racked with anxiety. She had thought he wanted to tell her about some other love he had in Montreal, and she would have had to accept it. Not without shedding a few tears, but she would have had no other choice. At least then he would have been the jerk, not she! She had to be honest with herself; she adored this man and sooner or later would have to explain the true nature of her work. But how do you explain to the man you love that you dance for people just for pleasure? She didn't take drugs, she had no financial problems (contrary to all the clichés about exotic dancers); she just danced for her own pleasure, for the sense of power and confidence it gave her. How do you admit to the man of your life that you need to feel devoured by the eyes of others, to feel their desire? She decided to delay this revelation.

She would have to find the right moment.

* * *

Finally, they left their hotel to go to the airport. After the usual formalities they boarded the plane and made themselves comfortable in their seats, side by side. The takeoff was smooth, and because it was a direct flight they would be seeing a film after they ate.

It was just after the meal that Vincent made his first advances.

“I want you so much.”

“I want you too. When we get to Montreal let's go straight to my place. You don't have to go back to work until tomorrow.”

“I mean I want you right now!”

He slipped his hand under her little meal tray, then under her short skirt. Immediately, Brigitte felt her own desire come to life. The hand wriggled into her panties and quickly found what it was looking for. She was already very wet.

He pushed a finger into her; it was almost painful, but she was ready for him. Vincent discreetly seized one of his companion's hands so she could feel his own state.

“Let's go into one of the washrooms!”

“They're way too small! Besides, we'll get caught. It's impossible, and you know it.”

“No, it's not! Come on, I can't wait any more!”

“Just wait until they put on the movie.”

Under the cover of their meal trays they caressed each other with increasing ardor. When the flight attendant came to take the trays away, Vincent had just enough time to cover his swollen member and remove his wandering hand before they were seen.

Right away the lights went down. Vincent got up, kissed Brigitte on the cheek, and asked her to come with him. The couple made their way to the back of the aircraft. Luckily, the washrooms were unoccupied. Brigitte let him go ahead of her into one of the narrow little cabins, then, throwing caution to the winds, followed him in.

* * *

Vincent was leaning against the tiny sink and welcomed her with open arms, locking the door behind her. Their embrace was passionate, reigniting the sensations they had been giving each other for the entire last week. The cabin was quite cramped, but they were not about to complain. They wanted to be as close to each other as possible.

Pulling up her skirt and switching places with her companion, Brigitte managed a bit awkwardly to perch on the little counter. The faucets pressed painfully into her buttocks and released a little stream of warm water, but the discomfort was short-lived. Vincent did not waste any time, but pulled down his pants, seized his companion's thrust-out hips, and plunged between her widely spread thighs.

Just as they had expected, someone knocked at the door.

“Can't they read, it says ‘occupied'!”

“Don't worry, there are other washrooms.”

“But how are we going to leave after? Everyone will know.”

“So? They can't throw us out of the plane, can they?”

Vincent put an end to her objections by crushing his lips against hers. Then, pulling back, he knelt down in front of her and kissed her coppery, wet bush. She immediately stopped protesting and let herself be rocked by the movements of her lover's tongue. Turbulence and the vibrations of the aircraft made his movements a little clumsy, jerking his mouth away from her only to thrust it back upon her. When he felt she was ready to come, he stood and plunged his sex deep inside her. Brigitte's soft cry was muffled by the constant rattling in the washrooms.

Her legs wrapped around him, she pulled him into her with wild impatience, biting his powerful neck. By moving to the far edge of the sink, she could even put her feet up on the wall on the other side of the cabin. With every thrust Brigitte's head bumped against the wall behind her, but she was barely aware of it, absorbed by her pleasure. Vincent was breathing more quickly now, and she came in a torrent only seconds before her lover.

They remained in each other's arms for a moment, then started straightening themselves up. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright; his breath was ragged and his hair dishevelled. They decided the best way was to emerge together and head back to their seats, looking innocent. But when they opened the door an elderly lady stood there waiting, looking them up and down in disdain. However, two young men sitting in the back row next to the wall of the washroom gave them a thumbs-up sign.

Brigitte blushed furiously, while Vincent merely smiled.

* * *

The rest of the flight was without incident. After getting to Montreal they stayed at Brigitte's for a few days, then at Vincent's. It was clear they could not get enough of each other, far from it. But at the end of the week, just before Brigitte had to go back to work, she knew it was time to tell him what she did and why she did it. She spent three days agonizing, wondering how he would react. She was so afraid her confession was going to change their relationship! She hesitated, procrastinated. Finally, she made her decision. She would tell him the following evening, the night before she went back to work.

Vincent was out, and she spent the whole day getting ready. She wanted everything to be perfect: champagne, gourmet meal, soft music. First, she would tell him how important he had become to her. Then she would tell him that she had not been totally honest and it disturbed her. She wanted a stable, monogamous relationship with him, so they had to be as honest as possible.
Voilà!
If she put it that way, how could he hold it against her?

Next, she meant to explain that this work she had been doing for years made her very happy, but that she was ready to give it up if he really could not accept it. This last part was painful, but she had to face it; she would, in fact, give up her work for him. A future with him seemed so full of promise! And if that is what he wanted, he would surely give her time to find something she liked to do just as much—even if she had to go back to school! Besides, his financial situation seemed more than comfortable.

Vincent would no doubt be happy she had trusted him enough to tell him everything. So why was she almost sick with anxiety? Because more than once she had seen disdain in the eyes of people she liked and respected when she told them what she did for a living. And she would not be able to bear that disdain coming from him. Anything but that! She tried to convince herself that he wouldn't react that way; he was open-minded and not so puritanical as to condemn her for such a thing! But she was wringing her hands with worry. For of all possible scenarios, this one was the worst. She could take it if they broke up, or if she had to change professions, but to see the man you love looking down on you …

Anyway, it was too late to change her mind; Vincent would be there any minute. Brigitte paced the apartment obsessively, enough to wear out the rugs!