His Mistress With Two Secrets

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“Oh,” she breathed, loving the gentle way he massaged, then found her nipple through the fringe, circling and teasing. Her knee came up to his thigh of its own accord, making space for him to settle against her aching mons.

He growled his approval and ran his hand up her thigh, taking the hem of her dress up to her waist, hooking his forearm behind her knee and caressing her bottom as she picked her hips up off the wall and met his suggestive thrust.

He kissed her deeply, tongue delving into her mouth as he fondled her breast and the skin of her bottom exposed by her thong. They rocked in mock lovemaking, their sighs too low to be heard over the noise of the crowd and music drifting in from the open doors of the balcony.

This was so not her. She liked sex, but she had never behaved like this. It had never felt like this. She might actually climax fooling around fully clothed, grinding herself against him if he kept up that perfectly delicious rhythm. The hard length of him was right where it needed to be, rubbing against her most sensitized flesh. She was so turned on and really tempted to let it happen. It was like they were dancing. The song’s beat was picking up, growing more intense. Tension was gathering in her abdomen and lower, in the flesh he was stimulating so erotically.

Dropping her head back against the wall, she bit her bottom lip, one hand bracing on his shoulder. They had to stop. They were practically in public and she was so close!

He whispered something in French that sounded like encouragement and reached one hand to lock the door. “It’s okay. Come.”

“I’m not—”

“Oui, chérie, you are. Very close. I can feel you trembling. It’s exciting. Come.”

She wanted to tell him he didn’t know how she felt, but he kissed her like he had the first time, barely grazing her mouth so she turned her head, seeking further contact and clinging to his lips with her own.

“Let me give you this,” he whispered as he broke away and shifted to bring his hand between them, gently tracing her tender flesh through the damp layer of black silk.

She stopped breathing. Anticipation held her very still as he drew light patterns over the silk of her thong. Her entire being narrowed to the touch of his fingertip, which was so light, yet made her throb with need. She waited in agony for his caress to steal beneath the elastic and...

“Mmm,” she moaned when he finally did it.

“You like?” He stroked her exactly the way she needed, unhurried, kissing and drawing away, stoking her arousal, kissing her more deeply, gently penetrating, then whispering praise, promising to make it so good for her. “Come. I want you to.”

She was going out of her mind, but his control was equally crazy making. She wanted to let go but she couldn’t stand that he was doing this to her.

“Do you have a condom?” she gasped when he let her breathe again.

He stilled, eyes a silvery glimmer in the low light, gaze burning into hers.

“You want to make love?” he asked on a rasp.

Oh, please. His hand was in her knickers. He knew what she wanted. She was dying. But she wanted climaxing to be something they did together.

She slid her hands down to his fly, hands shaking so much with anticipation she was clumsy as she tried to open his pants.

He removed his hand and hooked her thong to peel it down, letting her leg drop so the silk slid to her ankles. Then he shrugged out of his suspenders and finished opening his pants, bringing a condom from his pocket before he hitched his pants low on his hips and revealed himself.

It ought to have been the moment she woke up and realized this was way beyond where it was supposed to go. Across the suite, the doors were open to a crowd of famous faces, hidden just below the rail.

Her world became a narrow, shadowed one where her blood was on fire. Every breath she drew was filled with his spicy, masculine scent. She admired the shape of him in the low light as she watched him roll the condom down his length. She was so filled with anticipation her loins clenched in pangs of yearning.

He nudged his feet between hers, stepping the thong off her ankle as he settled against her again, the heat of his body a type of deliverance. She gathered her skirt and lifted her leg, hooking her calf against his buttocks, offering herself. He bent his knees and glided to caress, teasing her a moment, wetting the tip before he nudged for entry. He pressed, finding no resistance, and thrust smoothly into her slick channel, so she dug her nails into the back of his neck and made a keening noise at the intensity of his thickness filling her.

“Hurt?” he grunted with surprise, pulling back a little.

“Oh, no,” she breathed. “So good.” She tightened her foot into the back of his thigh, urging him deeper.

He growled a noise of agreement and pressed all the way in, giving her a moment to greet his intrusion with little rippling hugs of her inner muscles, joyous at the invasion of that hot, hard length. So rock hard. They kissed like that, joined, barely moving as they stood against the wall, tongues laving against each other, bodies quaking with holding back, hot, so hot.

She had never been so overcome by desire that she stood against a damned wall with a stranger. She had never felt so desperate for more. She nudged to signal him that he was making her wait too long. Her arousal was a screaming pitch of need.

He breathed a soft laugh against her mouth and began to move with heavy purpose, not rough, but thorough, drawing out each movement so the pleasure went to its furthest degree each time, dragging tingles to the tips of her extremities. It was so sweet it made her teeth ache. She kept thinking it couldn’t possibly get better, then he thrust heavily, landing deep, and it was fantastic.

She ceased thinking about where she was or who he was. Their lovemaking became her entire focus. Nothing mattered except that he was moving within her in that exquisitely perfect way. It was earthy and uncivilized, yet so finely tuned it was art. She wanted him with her in this place where he’d propelled her, where nothing existed except this pleasure.

She ran her tongue up his neck and sucked his earlobe and angled to take him as deeply as she could. She kissed him back with abandon and brought his hand up under her dress to her breast, then slid her own under his shirt to caress his tense stomach. She whispered, “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

He said something in French, his whole body shaking, as though he was in the same state of straining to hold back because this was too good to release.

“You’re killing me, chérie. I can’t hold on. Are you ready?”

“I don’t want it to end,” she gasped, turning her open mouth against his neck and gently biting as the crisis threatened.

“Neither do I, but—ah!”

“Yes. Oh, Henri.”

“Oui. Ensemble. Maintenant.” He thrust harder. Faster.

Glory rose up in a gathering wave, locking them together in ecstatic culmination.

CHAPTER THREE (#u9b687bcc-5bdc-564c-8729-b4bf26847bd3)

IT WAS WEEKS after the nightclub before Henri found himself in London again. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Cinnia Whitley and he didn’t know why. Their evening together had followed exactly the pattern he’d assumed it would and it wasn’t a new one.

Well, he usually closed an encounter with more grace, but she was the one who had disappeared when he’d stepped away to take what he thought might be an emergency call from his sister.

Regardless, it wasn’t as if Ramon was giving a second thought to her friend Vera, so he didn’t know why he couldn’t stop thinking about Cinnia. Maybe it was because she hadn’t behaved as predictably as her friend.

Vera had posted the selfie she’d taken with the four of them when they’d first entered the hospitality suite. She was using her rub with a Sauveterre to gain some celebrity status of her own. Absolutely nothing new and he didn’t even bother feeling disgusted by it.

Cinnia hadn’t shared the selfie to her own account, though. The one online quote he’d found attributed to her about him was “I met him briefly. There’s nothing else to say.”

Not one to kiss and tell, obviously.

Neither was he, so he appreciated her discretion.

Of course, what could one say about their lovemaking without sounding like a blatant liar or an overly romantic poet? He liked an involved partner and always did what he could to ensure the woman got as much from their lovemaking as he did. But to say he and Cinnia had had sex, or had given each other an orgasm, was to completely understate the act.

He kept rationalizing what had made it seem so powerful. She’d been resisting their attraction in a slow burn that had made her capitulation all the sweeter. The partially public location had held a titillating appeal. Their chemistry was very compatible.

As he’d leaned against the soft cushion of her body, barely able to keep his knees from buckling, he’d been... He wanted to call it empty, but even though he’d felt drained, he’d also felt utterly satisfied.

At peace.

All the responsibilities that weighed on him were still there. He hadn’t stopped caring about them, but in that moment of euphoria, he’d accepted it all. If that was what had made him into the man who could be there with that woman, forehead tilted against the wall, cheek pressed to hers, inhaling her scent and twitching with reaction long after the pulses of orgasm had faded, feeling the very light stroke of her fingertips at his spine...

So be it.

Then he had heard Trella’s ringtone and his demanding life had rushed back in to consume him. He had stepped away from Cinnia and straightened himself, snatching up the phone and answering it without visuals, stepping outside in case Trella was in crisis and he needed to talk her down.