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  “I’m dying to taste you.” His eyes burned with desire as he removed first his sweatpants then, in a fluid motion, his T-shirt, displaying his well-shaped body.

  I reached out and touched him. His muscles quivered under my hand. His skin was warm and smooth. I lifted a finger to his mouth and brushed it over his shapely lips while my other hand cupped his bearded jaw. His eyes were huge, deep.

  A shiver ran down my back. Moisture pooled between my thighs. His lips opened slightly, and my finger slid in. Shivers of desire raced up my arm and across my breasts to my nipples. My pussy tightened. He sucked and licked my finger. My clit throbbed, and spasms rippled through my hot channel.

  He slid down and positioned himself between my thighs, lowering his head. I dropped back, closing my eyes. His lips touched the inside of my thigh, and I let out a deep sigh. He kissed first one then the other while caressing my trimmed curls and brushing the entrance to my slit. His lips started to work their magic, and suddenly I was on an exotic island with white powdered sand, the shallow waves lulling me to sleep in my lover’s arms.

  But Robert’s kiss brought me back to the here and now. My whole body tensed, waiting for the next move that was going to make me dig my fingers into his shoulders.

  A finger caressed my clit with a featherlight stroke while his tongue licked my bellybutton with slow expertise. My heartbeat thumped in all my pulse points as the pressure of his strokes increased and heat gathered in my pussy.

  His mouth moved south, leaving a trail of wet kisses on my hot skin. His tongue swept over the small strip of curls and circled my clit. I braced myself for his touch with all my focus on that one point of contact. His tongue hardened to a point, circling my clit, and it was so good—but not good enough. I bent my knees, wiggled a little, and then everything happened at once. Two fingers glided inside my pussy, and my clit was swallowed by his mouth. My fingers moved from shoulders to hair and back to his shoulders. His multiple touches had a wondrous effect on me. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Yes! Oh, my God, oh, my God. Please don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…ple-e-ease!” I whimpered, scorching heat building and building to an excruciating peak, cum drenching my channel.

  In one swift motion, Robert pulled his fingers out of me and rammed his hard cock inside, grinding his mouth against mine, silencing me. My legs coiled around his waist, my fingers closed on his back. His cock swelled, his rhythm went erratic, his control slipped. He bared his teeth in a grimace as he fought his own release while thrusting strongly in and out.

  When his hands moved to cup my ass, my clit hit his pelvic bone—hard—and I imploded. I shuddered and shuddered ’til I was completely spent.

  Robert waited for me to surface again while continuing to stroke me with shallow thrusts. I finally fluttered my lids open, and our eyes met. My heart swelled with the naked need in his eyes. Desire rekindled.

  “I love you. I love you,” I said, unable to stop the rush of love that descended on me.

  Braced on his palms, his head down, Robert hammered in and out of me, his momentum building to a maddening crescendo. A hoarse groan rumbled out of him as he jetted and jerked, thrust and shuddered, his body taut above mine with his full weight on his arms before he collapsed onto his elbows, then onto me.

  I held him in my arms for a long, long time before our breaths evened out. When he finally lifted his head, he flashed me a smile and dropped a quick kiss on my lips.

  “Wanna go to Paris with me?” he asked, grinning wide as he winked.

  Oh, I so want to go to Paris with you!

  I beamed with joy. “You betcha!”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Francesca St. Claire

  Francesca St. Claire was born on a ship in the middle of the Indian Ocean, a unique event that set the scene for an exciting life of romance and adventure, basic ingredients for her sexy short stories.

  After having experienced life in six different countries, Francesca currently lives in southern Europe with her incredibly supportive husband, her view of the Atlantic Ocean with its gorgeous sunsets a never-ending source of romantic inspiration for her writing.

  When not writing, Francesca enjoys reading, watching period BBC series, trekking, and baking for her appreciative family and friends.

  As an author with five books published, and two more to be released in the next year, Francesca is grateful to her publishers for having believed in her, and to readers and critics for giving her the incentive to continue to write.

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