You could feel the chill of white wine drip down your chest, pooling between your breasts and making a mockery of the silk blouse you'd bought to wear for the occasion. The shrill cry of the coolness against your skin turned heads, and they continued to watch as a flurry of apologies framed the mortified look on your face.
"Oh my god!" He cried, picking up the spilled glass in a vain attempt to rectify what he had done. "I am so sorry! Please, let me help you..."
You couldn't protest. His hands were already dabbing away at your ruined silk, the napkin he was using one that he had picked up off your table without so much as a second glance. It had all happened so quickly. One moment you were enjoying a glass of sauvignon outside a little Parisian café, the next you were wearing it.
"Oh shit, I really am so fucking sorry..." He continued, dropping the napkin once he realised he'd been dabbing away at your cleavage.
You hadn't looked up from the mess. Too engaged in how your top had now become so sheer there was no hiding what lie beneath it. You could feel your cheeks grow crimson, wishing that the ground would swallow you up and deliver you from this moment.
As you began to rise, he pulled out your chair. And you looked at him for the first time.
"Please. How can I make this up to you?" He asked, bearing his soul in the question.
He was waiting for you to say something, to absolve him of this mess which he had accidentally created. He peered at you over the top of his shades, his shirt open to the waist and a chain of doubloons hanging around his bare chest. There was a subtle sweetness to the way he cared so much for your welfare, having quite literally bumped into you only moments ago.
He was still peering at you at you realised you still hadn't responded.
"I'm ok, really..." You said, flustered, trying to pull your wet blouse of your jeans waist band.
"No, I insist." He continued, picking up your purse from the table and handing it to you to hide your dignity. "Where are you staying? Let me get you a cab. Or I could take you to buy something new? I really do feel awful. It's such a...nice...shirt."
The way he wanted to help you was endearing. He pulled off his shades to reveal concerned brown eyes, a furrowed brow that seemed almost pained at the inconvenience he had caused you.
"Honestly, I'm fine." You insisted, "My place is really too far away for a cab. And I can't accept your offer to buy me a new one."
He plunged his hands into his pockets and leaned back, intrigued now.
"Why can't you accept my offer?" He asked, in a tone which implied that he would not take no for an answer.
"Well, because you're a stranger and you really don't owe me that. It was an accident, could've happened to anyone." You reasoned, trying to smile politely as he appraised you.
"But it didn't happen to just anyone, did it?"
He was playing with you now, you could sense his shift from apologetic to interested. There was a devilish smile on his face, long strands of light brown hair sticking to the sweat around his neck in the warm Paris summer sun. You caught yourself staring a little too long.
"No, I don't suppose it did." You agreed, clutching your purse tightly.
You only let go when he extended his hand for you to shake, introducing himself with a mid-western accent that was completely out of place on the bustling street beneath the Eiffel Tower.
"I'm Jake." He said sweetly, the many bracelets clasped around his wrist almost chiming as he took your hand within his. "And you are?"
His smile turned into a smirk as you told him your name, realising you were slightly intimidated by his apparent kindness. Your intentions for the day slipping away from you as the moments went by. He wasn't going to let you walk away until he had rectified the situation.
"Listen, I know this might sound a little forward of me. But I'd never be able to live with myself if I just let you walk away like that." He stepped out and began pointing towards a building, replacing his shades as the sun hit his face. "I'm staying in a little apartment just down there, I've got many clean shirts and I'd be happy to let you wear one, so you don't have to walk around Paris like it's a wet t-shirt competition."
You couldn't help but giggle. And he seemed to like the fact you'd softened to him. The intensity in which he looked at you sent the blood rushing to your head. Nobody had ever looked at you like that before, as if they could ruin you with one glance.
He wasn't cocky, though. Which was all you had ever encountered before. A staunch dislike of dating men who seemed intent on making you theirs with bold proclamations of their strengths. You knew, perhaps, that this man had all the proclivity to get whatever he desired but there was no arrogance attached to it.
Or, perhaps, he simply wanted to give you a clean shirt to wear so that your breasts weren't paraded through the streets unwillingly.
"You won't take no for an answer, will you?" You finally conceded, and he laughed nervously.
"Of course I will take no for an answer. When a woman says no, then who am I to argue? But I would feel a lot better knowing that my clumsiness didn't ruin your day entirely. If you would allow me to remedy that for you, I'd be grateful."
There was an edge to his request. An innocence to his wanting to help you. You turned and looked down the street to where he had pointed to a row of doors with Juliette balconies above them. Some of them were open, curtains fanning out in the breeze. You'd be seen entering. And you'd be seen exiting.
"Alright, then." You said quietly, allowing him to lead the way.
The walk required meandering through people, your purse still attached firmly to your body as you navigated the busy street. Jake kept a pace which meant he was always a step or two ahead, ensuring you had space to move. You noticed how he reached his arm out, leading you in a subtle gentlemanly way. He asked you questions about yourself, distracting you from the eyes which noticed your predicament. He asked you why you were in Paris alone, what had brought you there. He asked you what you did for a living and all the nuances that went into doing your job. You found yourself responding openly, candidly. Afraid that already, he had done too much for you.
"What about you?" You asked, "What brings you to Paris alone?"
He stopped outside a red door with a brass door knocker and pulled out a set of keys from his tailored pockets.
"Uh, well..." He began, searching for the right key on a set that included way too many. "I'm a musician and we're on a break from touring and our last show was in London so I figured I'd come here for a few days. Check out some galleries and museums. Spill wine down beautiful women's shirts..."
His joke had been well intentioned, but you could see the flush to his cheeks as he realised he had called you beautiful. He cursed under his breath as he found the right key and opened the door for you to step inside first.
He followed you up a set of communal stairs, the jingle of his bracelets and keys sounding out as you reached a second red door. This time he had the key already selected and once again opened it for you to step inside before him.
"Excuse the mess." He said, strangely returning to that apologetic man he had initially been. "I don't really unpack, I just take things out of my case and put them back at the end of my trip."
The apartment was like anything you'd imagine so close to the Tower. White walls adorned with paintings and dark wooden tables with vases filled with fresh flowers. You ran to the balcony, peering out at the view which included the arches of the Tower above. You couldn't help it. It was the sort of place you could have only dreamed of staying in. You realised he was watching you, as you looked back and felt yourself drift into a dream.
"This is such an amazing apartment." You beamed, "You have got the most spectacular view."
His eyes didn't move from you. "Yeah, It's a great view."
Nonchalantly, he pulled a shirt out of his unpacked suitcase. A small, linen thing that was clearly a man's shirt. You took it from him gratefully, realising you had dropped your purse at the door and forgotten yourself as you'd headed for the balcony. His eyes moved from your face down to the damp stain that still clung to your skin.
"Where should I change?" You asked, looking around the room for somewhere to dip into.
He pointed to an open door you hadn't noticed which lead into a bathroom. You marvelled at the golden taps and the roll top tub that sat within a bay window. You noted the toothbrush and hair products scattered across the sink unit and smiled at how he had left the tops open.
His shirt was predictably too big for you. You took the unbuttoned sides and tied them together, tucking them under to create a cropped effect, rolling the sleeves up to the elbow and pulling out the collar. You admired yourself for a moment, taking in the scent of him that lingered on the fabric. He smelled so fucking good. Your hand trailed down to the curve of your breasts as you pictured him standing there with his hands in his pockets, shirt open to the waist and a devious smirk on his rosy lips.
Nobody had ever made you consider them in such a way so suddenly. There was a part of you which tried to reason with yourself. Coming to Paris had been on the heels of a need to be independent. It was your defining moment, getting on that plane alone and navigating the city alone and being the person you'd always known you could be.
Jake was not a part of that need. Jake was a seductive distraction, an unfathomable ache that was building in your stomach as you considered it. You'd watched him closely as he guided you to his apartment, like a man should. You'd already allowed him to take care of you. Would you still be able to do what you set out to achieve if you let him fuck you without so much as a backward glance?
A soft knock drew you from your reverie. "I'll be out in a second!"
"I...uh....well, I was just thinking..." He said from behind the closed door. "I didn't just ruin your clothes, I ruined your glass of wine too..."
You couldn't stay in there with your thoughts any longer. As they lead you down a devious path. Opening the door, he stood there with two glasses of sauvignon in his hands.
"I always keep a bottle handy." He said, almost shyly, handing you one with extra care. "And I promise not to make you wear this one."
You took it with a smile, following him to the brown leather couch that faced the window at the foot of his un-made bed. He admired what you'd done with his shirt and remarked on how it looked so much better on you, eliciting an unfamiliar laughter from you as you sipped the cool wine. Jake leaned back into the embroidered cushions, his arm stretched lazily on the back of the couch. You couldn't quite believe what you were doing.
"You said you were a musician." You said, making small talk out of the atmosphere growing between you. "What sort of musician?"
He gestured to a battered old guitar case that was propped up against the wall. "I play guitar in a band with my brothers and a friend of ours."
"Clearly, you're not from around here." You pointed out, "So I'm guessing this band is somewhat successful if your tour brings you half way across the world."
He took a long swig of his wine. "You could say that."
"Would I have heard of you?" You ventured further.
He shuffled where he sat, visibly trying to gauge your reactions. You found it slightly empowering. To wonder if you made him nervous.
"Maybe, I'm not sure how into rock music you are." He shrugged, and you noticed the way he smoothed down the little moustache above his top lip with his fingers.
"So you're a Rockstar, huh?" You asked, trying to see if he would answer you confidently.
He guffawed at the word Rockstar and looked you directly in the eye.
"Yeah, I'm a fucking Rockstar." He replied, without a hint of irony.
Of course he was. With his guitar case leaning against the wall of this incredible apartment, a mere stones throw away from one of the most beautiful spots in all of Paris. He exuded the appeal you could only imagine a Rockstar encapsulated. He didn't care for buttoned shirts or brushed hair.
"And I suppose you brought me here to fuck me, am I right?" You asked, lowering your tone as his eyes crept up your torso.
He was edging closer. "I didn't bring you here, you came of your own free will."
"True." You conceded. "But anyone else would have apologised and moved on. Why didn't you?"
He thought about it for a moment, gazing out of the window as he smoothed down his moustache again and licked his lips.
"I genuinely felt terrible at what I had done. I could lie to you and tell you I hadn't noticed that you were sitting out there alone, but I won't insult your intelligence. I was watching you. But I didn't mean to spill your drink, that's the truth."
You could feel your mouth run dry, your body begin to tremble under his confession. He deftly moved closer, the tips of his fingers that were draped over the back of the couch tentatively reaching for your shoulder. You found the courage to look directly at him, and immediately you knew you weren't leaving without knowing what he felt like inside you.
"Why were you watching me?" You dared to ask, breathless at the tips of his fingers grazing your neck beneath his shirt.
He cocked his head to the side. "I was watching to see if you were waiting for someone to join you."
Your breath caught in your throat. "And when you realised I was alone?"
"I ruined it. Obviously." He replied, boldly running his fingers down the entire curve of your neck.
You swallowed hard. "I'm here aren't I?"
"Yes, I suppose you are." He swallowed hard too, his Adams apple moving as he tried to compose himself. "Although, I have to admit that I don't usually do this."
You flashed him a sardonic grin. "I hope you don't presume to think that I am the sort of person who usually does this."
He was inches away from you now, clearing the space between the two of you in one smooth move. You held his gaze effortlessly, trying to keep the power in your grasp as you felt yourself grow increasingly aroused at his close proximity.
"What exactly is it that you think we're doing here?" He asked, almost as if he was afraid to speak into existence his desire.
You watched his mouth as he spoke, and his eyes moved to yours.
"I think we're just...two people...in Paris..."
He raised an eyebrow. "The city of love..."
You couldn't help but smile. His charm was not lost upon you. A sweet, endearing notion that if you were to be so inclined he would love you so completely it would only serve to compliment your desire to be independent. It didn't matter, regardless, you had already made up your mind that you were going to have this moment with this man sat beside you who was nothing more than a newly acquainted stranger.
Perhaps that was why you could feel yourself growing wet between your thighs. The thrill had already taken you hostage. And he was handsome in a way that felt old-fashioned and debonair. You liked the way he looked at you, more over. As if at any moment he would take back the shirt he had given you and have his fill of what lie beneath.
"Jake." You said through gritted teeth. "I want you to..."
"You want me to, what?" He asked, moving so close you could feel his warm breath on your flushed cheeks. "Tell me and it is yours."
Biting down on your lip, you couldn't stand it any longer. You could have flirted with him, edged with him, even made him believe you were going to fuck him before taking your leave but there was something holding you firmly to him. Something forcing you to skirt around the innuendo and just give in to this passion without considering the absurdity of it.
"I want you to fuck me." You whispered, feeling his hair on your skin as he brought his lips closer.
"Is that so?" He teased, bringing the tip of his tongue to your earlobe.
Your breath was already more of a slow panting. Your eyes closed as you felt your body respond. In the pit of your stomach a boldness began to emerge. From sexual fantasies buried deep within your memory. You had thought about this whilst touching yourself before. You had imagined fucking a stranger and now you were at the mercy of this long haired, brown eyed man who played music and slowly you were starting to realise it was happening in central fucking Paris.
"I will fuck you, I promise." He spoke, his mouth against your ear as he sucked gently on your lobe whilst trailing a hand down your centre. "But first, I want to play with you..."
You turned your head to meet his gaze. He was already taking apart the button at your waist, his face indescribably lost in concentration. The way he looked at you, as if he had known you before this, made the flutter in your stomach calm for a moment before he slipped his hand into your panties.
A desperate moan escaped your lips as his eyes widened at your reaction to his touch. Pressed against the back of the couch, you languished against his body as his finger slid between your pussy lips in search of the sweetest spot to taste you with. He smirked eloquently when he saw your eyes roll back, and your grip on his sleeve tightened.
"Right there..." You heard him say, his voice low and breathy. "That's where you like it, isn't it?"
You nodded, almost pitifully, looking up at him with doe eyes that were silently begging him to take you right then and there. There was something tangible in the way he seemed to take great pleasure in watching you unravel at his command. You tossed your head back and knew you were a passenger in whatever this was. Soaked and whiney at the mercy of his fingers. Precisely how you'd imagined it, how you'd wanted it.
"Take these off." He sighed, growing frustrated at the inconvenience of your clothes.
He released you. Watching him place the warm wetness of his fingertips to his lips ignited a strange sensation in you. He tasted you, savoured you. No man had ever been so forthright with you before. His sexual honesty made it hard to be nervous about taking your clothes off in the cold light of day as he sat there and watched you closely. Eating you with this eyes, taking in every single movement as you tossed your clothes, and his, on the floor.
You could see his erection straining against his pants. He adjusted it with his hand, moving it up so that it sat snugly against his stomach. You wanted him to take it out, the words were on the tip of your tongue until he reminded you who was in the driving seat.
"I need to know, before we go any further, what your prerequisites are." He leaned forward, becoming eye level with your stomach.
The question was fair. He seemed to take delight in sending kisses across your belly as you pondered it. Such an intimate thing to do, you thought, almost tantamount to something somebody who knew your body already would do. Your hands came into his hair and you felt the softness of it, a quiet humming sound escaped his lips as you ran your fingers through, trying not to pull too hard at the knots. Whatever this man had in mind for you, somehow you knew instinctually that he was kind and loving. And for that reason, all limits were explorable.
"You can fuck me however you like." You said, his head immediately snapping up to catch you smiling down at him.
As he stood, you realised he wasn't much taller than you. When he inched his hard cock into you, it rested perfectly against your navel and you wished he, too, was free of his clothes. The fabric between you was more than you could bear. You tugged at his shirt, pulling it out from behind his leather belt. He silently appraised you as you slipped your hands across his shoulders, sliding his shirt off entirely. Your marvelled at him, his smooth chest and the chain which hung there between his pecs. His stomach heaved against heavy breaths as he cupped your chin within the curve of one of the fingers he had previously used on you.
He gauged your reaction for the briefest of moments before nodding his own approval. Kissing you so deeply, you felt the air knocked from your lungs. His soft lips parted, his tongue probed yours deliciously slowly and you moaned against his touch. Only then did he reach for his belt buckle. The familiar sound of it sending you into a dizzying excitement.
"Go over to the balcony." He said, a hint of authority in his voice which hadn't been there previously.
His pants were open, sitting on his hips waiting to be taken off. You could see the tip of his penis peeking out from the waistband of his boxer briefs, begging for you to take it.
"Jake, please..."You began, sliding your hand up his stomach. "I need to feel you inside me..."
Perhaps it was the way you said his name, or the way you sent a shiver down his spine as your hand reached around his chain, pulling him in for another rapturous kiss. But he seemed to want to acquiesce to your request. You could feel it in the way he kissed you, so soft and slow with just the right amount of tongue to make your pussy throb.
"Needy little thing, aren't you?" He said, almost giggling. "I promised you I'd fuck you and I will. But first, go on over to the balcony..."
The doors were wide open from where you'd been eager to catch the view. The lace curtain blowing in the breeze, the only thing which would shroud your naked body from the street below.
"You want me to go over there, like this?" You clarified.
He nodded succinctly. "Hands on the railing. Bent over."
You toyed with the idea of saying no. There was a part of you which was horrified at the thought of being seen through the sheer cover of the curtain, but the pent up excitement was willing you to agree. Your comfort zone was back at that café, in a parallel life that continued to drink wine in the summer sun. Without a drop spilled. You had no choice but to leave your inhibitions with that other version of yourself.
You slinked over to the railing, the sounds of people passing by filling your senses. The lace curtain billowed between your legs, smooth and alluring. You leaned forward, your breasts pressed against the iron. And Jake watched you, his hand wrapped firmly around his cock.
Only then did he free himself of his clothes. Kicking them off with almost child-like indignation. His cock sprang free as he pulled down his boxers, and you almost felt the sting of it just by looking at it alone. He gripped the base tightly, revealing pulsing veins. The head was leaking already, as he pulled slightly with his other hand.
"Fuck, you're big." The words spilled out of your mouth before you knew what you were saying.
He smiled at you, almost as if you were the sweetest creature he had ever seen. You weren't sure what he was going to do as he walked over, keeping a tight grip of himself. A part of you was almost disappointed when he sank to his knees instead of thrusting inside you, giving in to your needy demands.
"Open up for me." He said, tapping the inside of your thigh.
His mouth was at your opening before your legs were parted, his hands pulling at your ass cheeks. His tongue flicked inside you, and he swallowed your juice like he was drinking it. His mouth moved up from your wet, aching pussy and began to lick between your cheeks, forcing you to bend over a little more.
You couldn't stop yourself from biting down on imminent screams. His audacity, his confidence to take that which he wanted made you want him all the more. Was this the prerogative of fucking somebody you didn't truly know? Why care what they thought if you were never going to see them again? You could feel his mouth moving between your pussy and ass, the boundary lines were drawn and they were fickle at best.
"Fuck, you taste good." He muttered from where he sat on his knees between your ankles. "Like a fucking peach..."
You could hear the sounds of the people below, your naked body pressed against the lace as Jake ate between your legs like a man starved. His hands pressed hard into your cheeks, you were lost in the sensation of it when you felt a sudden pressure between them. You gasped, suddenly the blood rushed to your head as he ran his thumb down the centre of your ass, probing inside a little.
Your panting intensified. The fear of being heard over the sounds of the street below shattered into a thousand pieces. You no longer cared if the silhouette of your body could be seen. You no longer cared if the sounds of your desire were heard. All that mattered was the way this man seemed to worship at your core, his mouth and his hands drinking you in as if you were the most perfect piece of art.
"More..." You breathed, "I'm begging you, more..."
Jake plunged his thumb inside you further, an intense groan coming from the deepest part of his throat as he slid up the length of your body from behind. Gathering up the lace curtain in his free hand, you could feel the sheer material rub against your hard nipples.
"I like it when you beg." He confessed, his lips pressed against your ear. "I could tell you were a needy little thing when you were sat outside the café, crossing your legs every thirty seconds."
You leaned your head back against his cheek, the warmth of his breath setting your entire body on fire.
"You really were watching me, weren't you?" You asked, although it wasn't really a question.
The realisation that he had kept his eye on you, taking in your movements and committing them to memory made you throb so hard, your wetness began to drip down your thigh. Jake moved his hand from your ass, eliciting another gasp from you which made him smile. You could feel upon his skin the juices from between your legs, the taste of yourself as he pulled you into another weakening kiss. He pressed a sticky hand to your stomach, his erection pulsating into your back.
"I couldn't help myself." He told you, through his lips moving from yours down to the curve of your neck. "You bewitched me..."
You reached behind, curling your fingers around his shaft. He rutted into your hand, and you marvelled at his size. The way he was perfectly girthy and cut, the length of him already had you imagining how deep he would hit when he was done playing with you.
"Perhaps I did." You played along, moving your hand up and down. "Bewitching you into spilling my wine..."
His hand flew up to your throat, gripping you there just enough to keep the air flow, but completely knock you into his mercy. His teeth grazed along your jawline, his other hand reaching down to find your clit. Your arousal peaked. No man had ever had you in their grip like this. No man had ever made you so wet it made you imagine unspeakable acts you had never desired before.
"God, you're soaked..." He whispered, using that same thumb to run circles around your clit. "My wet little witch..."
His claim to you made your heart beat wildly. You were his. You were his...
"Is it magic you desire?" You asked, turning your body to face him.
He released you. A look of total enchantment on his face as you looked him in the eye for the very first time. Your chest filled with a heat you had no name for. A thrumming beat of a muffled drum in your heart and the feeling that you wished you knew him better began to course through your veins. You wanted to know the depth of his cravings. The way to please him best.
He was looking at you as if at any moment you might disappear. His eyes moving from yours down to the lilt of your mouth. Whatever was on his mind, his secrets revealed themselves in the way he swayed on his feet. Courting with the idea to kiss you or throw you mercilessly onto the bed.
"What have you done to me?" He said, almost in whisper, before throwing caution to the wind.
His hand came up to your jaw, his thumb pulling down on your bottom lip before he took it gently between his teeth. Biting down before pulling you into a kiss that was not like all the others. Your arms found their way around his shoulders, your fingers gingerly curling into his hair. And there you sank into a kiss that reminded you not all women would ever know what it felt to be kissed like this.
Kisses like these only occurred when the ambience of Paris was the backdrop. When the man who held you in his arms knew how to play sweet music. When the way he made you feel was as if you could have cast a spell upon him, forever binding you to him with a solitary chance encounter.
You moaned under his tongue, pushing him back. Away from the balcony and towards the unkempt bed. He wasn't quite certain how the shift in power had happened as you silently bade him sit on the edge. But he did not protest. Leaning back on the palms of his hands to watch your next move.
You took a moment to look at him. His arms flexing as he shifted his weight, his stomach muscles taut as he breathed heavily. A bead of sweat dripped down his centre, as he stared at you intensely.
"I haven't done anything to you, yet." You pointed out, your eyes falling to his throbbing cock.
He smirked deviously. You sank to your knees for him, the way he had done for you. Gripping him at the tip, watching as he leaked onto your fingers. You didn't break eye contact as you slowly licked his head, including the pre-cum. You tasted him gratefully, swallowing it down as he stared into you with half closed eyes.
"You want my cock in your mouth?" He asked, reaching down to pull that thumb down your bottom lip once more.
You nodded seductively, teasing his head with errant licks. You could feel the blood beating a pulse against your hand, he was so hard you could feel yourself fighting with the urge to climb on top of him. You knew, instinctually, that he was not ready to let you have the one thing you had begged the most for. And you smiled because you'd gained that knowledge.
"What you smiling for?" He asked then, rutting his hips up in a desperate attempt to get your mouth to connect. "You carry on smiling like that and I'll fuck you into these sheets so hard until you beg me to stop."
"No." You replied, sucking gently on his head. "I might beg. But never for you to stop."
He shook his head indignantly. "Oh, you filthy little.....fuck!"
Before he could finish his sentence you reared up. Taking his length into your mouth, the flat of your tongue gliding against his shaft. You took him all the way back, the way he took a fist of your hair and hissed profanity telling you that you were doing it right.
"God damn..." He muttered, writhing into your mouth. "That's it, take it all... that's a good girl. So fucking good..."
He gave in to you as much as he could. As much as someone who craved control could. The way he gripped your hair reminded you that he could have you upon your feet at any moment. The way he narrated your every move, under his breath, was a subtle nod to his command. Even as you worked him into your mouth, jerking him slowly with your hand as your mouth sucked down you knew he would never fully give you the reigns.
"So fucking beautiful..." Your heard him say, "My dirty little girl, aren't you?"
You hummed your agreeance and he tensed against the vibrations of it.
"Careful..." He warned, taking more hair into his fist. "I don't want to ruin that pretty mouth before I've fucked you."
The way he had grown so verbal had you dripping. You could feel it spread between your thighs, dripping and throbbing as you sucked harder. A part of you wanted him to cum in your mouth and completely unravel at your touch. You wanted the privilege of that end, but you suspected he would be frustrated by it.
You pulled back, spitting on his tip, watching your saliva drip down as you lapped it round his shaft down to the base where you sank your tongue down into his balls. His soft pubic hair tickled your lips, but did not deter you.
You heard your name escape his lips.
"You like that?" You clarified, holding his cock in a tight grip as you looked up from where you were you were licking.
He nodded, his control almost lost, his face betraying a hint of need. You knew, without him saying it, that he was irrevocably yours.
"You just keep that pretty mouth on me." He said, gently pushing your head back down.
You return your mouth to him. Doing as you are explicitly told. He guides your speed with his fist of your hair as you swirl your tongue around his head, pulling your lips away as you suck hard. Lapping your tongue against his length, against the largest vein that ran up the side. You bore your teeth against his skin, gently pressing them against his tip before sinking him entirely down to the back of your throat once more where you could feel more of his pre-cum leak onto your tongue.
"Fuck, you're so..." He couldn't find the words.
You rendered him speechless. A trail of saliva extended from him as you moved your mouth away, your eyes watering.
"I'm so?" You asked, your mascara running down your cheeks.
He rubbed it with his thumb, like black tears falling down your face he marvelled at your exertion to satisfy him.
"You'd let me do anything, wouldn't you?" The way he said it, as if you were that rarest of desires.
You couldn't deny yourself. The way he made you feel had you equally torn apart in wonder. Every sexual encounter fell by the wayside. Compared to this. Compared to his devastating smile, coupled with the way he made you feel as if you were the only woman in Paris.
"Anything." You echoed.
He lost his mind. You could feel yourself being lifted, your body crushed against his as he pulled you up from the floor. His tongue probing yours, fierce hands gripping your hips as he held your weight effortlessly. Your legs came about his waist, feeling his pubic hair and his hardness against your wet centre. His hair was in disarray, your make-up was ruined. None of it seemed to matter as he clung to you, though. Spinning you around before throwing you down.
You landed on your back, legs parted as he climbed on top of you. His chain dropping into the nape of your neck. His bed sheets were filled with the scent of him, you breathed it in as he sank his mouth into yours.
And then he whispered a question in your ear, his voice so low and commanding. "Do you trust me?"
He kissed you sweetly in the time and space he allowed for you to respond. His face, which was starting to feel familiar now, brushing against yours.
Trust was something only time could create. Your instincts told you that he would not hurt you. You desired only to know him better, to hold his essence in your hand. You asked yourself inwardly if you trusted him. He caught your eye for a split second and there in that gaze you saw his intention. All of it was bound to pleasure.
"I trust you, Jake." You replied, feeling your initial nerves inexplicably return.
He stealthily climbed off of you, unsheathing his belt from his discarded pants that were languishing on the floor. He pulled it from the loops in one, swift movement. You knew immediately what he had planned for you and began to throb at the thought of it. Eagerly you presented him with your wrists and he wickedly took them, wrapping the leather around you and tightening the buckle until you whined.
Your arms were moved above your head, the length of the belt tied around the wrought iron bed rail. You struggled in an attempt to gauge how much movement he had afforded you and realised you were completely at his mercy.
He came to you on his knees, parting your legs so that they sat idly on either side of him. He looked at you, your breasts bouncing as he began to fuck you deliciously slow with his fingers. His arms flexing as he went in and out, his hair stuck to his neck and shoulders as his skin perspired. Flushed pink and covered in a sheen of sweat, he licked his lips as he took in the sight of you.
"Tight little pussy." He remarked, sliding in a third finger. "Look at you, taking it so well."
His praise had you in a spin. You would have let him hurt you, you realised, if only he would talk to you like that...always.
"Tell me, Jake." You urged, "Keep telling me how you like it."
He looked at you as if he was proud of you. His chin tilting upward, lips pouting as she thrust his fingers into and began pounding so hard the bed began to violently shake.
"Oh, you're so fucking filthy and you don't even know it, do you?" He said, with an edge to his voice that was verging on song.
"Tell me." You begged. "I need to know..."
"So fucking good to me, letting me do what I want. Dirty, filthy, tight little pussy. And it's mine now. Do you understand me?" He spoke so eloquently and soft, but his eyes were burning an intensity you couldn't shy away from.
He ceased moving his hand, stopped to a slow pace and began curling his fingers up inside you. Hooking you in place, hitting that deep spot that made you arch your back in ecstasy. Waiting for you to tell him that you understood.
"I understand." You nodded meekly, feeling the fringes of orgasm build in the pit of your centre.
"I don't think you do." He continued, slowly edging you with each beckoning movement. "I knew, as soon as I saw you, that I had to make you mine."
"Fuck, Jake!" You gasped, "It's yours. I promise..."
At your proclamation he allowed the veneer to slip. Releasing his fingers, he caressed you in a way that you had not expected. He ran his fingertips down the curve of your breasts, coming to rest at your stomach. His hair tickleled as he leaned down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and sucking gently.
"I think..."You stuttered, unsure if you should say it out loud. "Oh, fuck!"
He lifted his beautiful head. His lips parted from where your nipple had been. "What do you think? Tell me."
"I think...the rest of me...is yours too."
You were the one who was tied up, unable to escape. But in that moment he became the vulnerable one.
"Don't say it unless you mean it." He said, almost shyly.
There it was. That part of him you had been searching for. The part you had wanted to know the existence of. In the midst of his alluring dominance, which was also a part of what made him so appealing, you'd been waiting for the emergence of the sweetness you'd known was there. You felt accomplished. Exalted, almost.
"I mean it, Jake." You reiterated, "I am yours."
He bit his lip before replying. "Mine..."
The glow of his face covered you as he guided himself within. All the moaning, the begging and the wanting came to this. You felt him enter you slowly, his girth pulling at your pussy lips as you took all of him to the hilt. And it hurt, you could feel the sting of him stretching you precisely as you'd imagined. You welcomed it. Knowing the pain wouldn't last. That it would give way to the most intense pleasure.
"Yours..."You repeated, wincing as he pulled back out.
He noticed your furrowed brow. "Does it hurt?"
"Fuck yeah." You moaned, "Hurts so fucking good..."
His realisation that you liked it spurred him on. "You feel that?"
Moving inside you, the pain began to give way.
"I feel it, baby." You replied breathlessly, trying out the word on him to see if it fit.
"Baby..." He whispered, and you knew he liked the sound of it.
Leaning up, he slipped out of you. His hand deftly untied the belt, pulling it off your wrists. With your arms now free, he thrust back inside you and this time it did not hurt. His cock fit like a glove. Hitting you so deeply, your hands immediately flew to your mouth to muffle inevitable screams.
"Let me hear you, dirty girl." He uttered, prying your hands away.
You sounded so whiney, so needy as he thrust sharply. Making sure his entire cock was taken in by you. High pitched, unfamiliar sounds glided out of your open mouth as he lapped his tongue against yours. You took it between your lips, sucking on it as he groaned breathlessly.
"You feel so fucking good." You told him, watching his eyes widen as you clenched your walls around his shaft. "Your cock is so fucking big..."
You twisted the bed sheets into knots in your fist as he picked up the pace. His hard, deep thrusts ingrained inside you forever. His hot, pulsating cock pulling in and out and made your wet pussy quench it's thirst. The sounds emanating from between your legs driving him insane.
"Look how wet you make me." You said, your voice breaking on the way he violently fucked into you.
Jake pressed his forehead against yours. Bodies writhing together, his arms holding your legs up to reach even deeper. He spread you so wide, you could feel your own juices dripping down the curve of your ass cheeks and on to the ruined sheets.
He rewarded your words with little bites to your bottom lip. "Good girl..." He crooned.
It was a pleasure to burn beneath his heat. The way he moved, the way he looked, the way he smelled. You had told yourself this was a one time thing. An inhibitionless moment never to be repeated. You could still be everything you set out to be, alone in Paris, if you only fucked him once.
But now you were his. And he was intrinsically yours.
Bound to him now, his rhythm had you aching to cum. A traitor to your own intentions. You loved the way he shrouded you, his arms gripping the bed rails as you looked up, his wild hair reaching down to softly caress your breasts as he measured your reactions with his tongue sitting prettily on the edge of his teeth. You'd never had the power, it had always been his.
You could feel your orgasm grip you. Legs wrapped cautiously around Jake's waist, fingers digging into his back. He was panting heavily into your open mouth, sharing breath as you both reached a climax that had been hours in the making. You could feel him spurting inside you. His body shivering against you as your orgasm ran up and down the length of your body. The core of it tingling in your clit and pussy.
Shallow breaths filled the air. The sound of hyperventilating as you both tried to centre yourselves. His cock twitched inside you as his body weight came down, and you closed your eyes and mourned that it was done.
Everything you had said to each other, suddenly you wondered if it were words exchanged in the heat of the moment.
"Jake." You panted, swallowing hard on his name.
"Yeah?" He gulped, his eyes closed and his face rested against your cheek.
You couldn't invite sadness into your life. Paris was full of wonder and excitement, not doubt and a new concern to worry yourself with. You'd made it on your own steam. You didn't need to be loved by him.
"Never mind." You sighed, feeling bereft regardless.
You told yourself it was nothing more than the come down of the orgasm. The sex had brought you to such a heightened state, you weren't quite yourself. You told yourself not to linger. To get dressed and thank him for a wonderful afternoon and slip out of the door, back down into the streets of Paris to continue your solo trip.
Jake moved away, rolling onto the other side of the bed. His soft penis resting against his stomach, covered in his own mess and yours. He ran both hands through his hair, slicking it back. He looked tired. You ached to lay your head upon his chest. And you hated yourself for it.
"Never mind, what?" He probed, his eyes closed and his hands resting casually behind the back of his head.
You sat upright, catching sight of yourself in a mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Black streams of mascara lined your cheeks, your hair knotted and fuck swept. Your breasts were swollen with the beginnings of tiny bruises from where he had pinched them between his fingers. You let out a muffled giggle.
"I'm not a mind reader." He continued, pulling himself up to join you.
He leaned his head on your shoulder, staring at himself and you in the reflection. Your heart began to sing as you realised he had meant every word. And the lies you had told yourself about being able to return to your trip unchanged no longer seemed relevant.
"Yes you are." You said, resting your head against his in return. "You know precisely what I'm thinking."
He looked into the eye of your reflection. "No. You don't need to give me my shirt back."
You pushed him back playfully. He caught you in a kiss that was tentatively more familiar. When you had walked into this room he had been a stranger. How had he endeared himself to you like this? What magic was this?
"Paris." He mumbled, "The city of love..."