Читать книгу Freya North 3-Book Collection: Secrets, Chances, Rumours - Freya North - Страница 19

Nathalie stretched. She didn't really need to, there were no sore muscles or nagging joints to necessitate it. She did so because she was well aware how it presented her figure to its best advantage. So she stood in the front room of her apartment, on a Thursday evening, her hands clasped above her head, a slight hitch to one hip, knowing that her top, skimpy enough, was now stretched over jutting breasts as well as having ridden up to expose her toned stomach. She'd kept her high heels on because they elongated her legs and she'd locked her knees to increase further the sleekness of her limbs. Holding the pose a moment longer, while casting a nonchalant gaze out of the window, she then sighed as if she'd just had a satisfying yawn and she let her body go soft, her hands coming down to rest on her hips, one knee now cocked, breasts still up and out there.

‘So,’ she said, letting it hang, her lips maintaining a perfect ‘o’ of the word. ‘You will miss me, Joe?’ She did the same thing with her lips to the sound of his name. As pouts go, hers was textbook, but she made it look involuntary, as if it had slipped her mind to return her lips to neutral because sex was always on her mind and never far from her mouth.

Joe was sitting on the sofa, watching Nathalie as if she was a performance, a one-woman show, a private viewing exclusively for him. She didn't need an answer – it hadn't really been an enquiry. He went over to her and placed the tip of his finger against the hole her lips still made. Her tongue flicked at his fingertip before her mouth sucked it all in, down to his knuckle. He moved his other hand deftly up under her short skirt, rubbing his thumb along the gusset of her knickers while he closed his eyes. That mouth of hers, from which came her dirty, husky French accent. That mouth of hers, pretending to be a pussy, pretending his finger was his cock. Yes, he'll bloody miss her.

‘You come back to me soon, non?’

And she was pouting again, coyly, as she fingered the mound straining behind his jeans. He plugged her mouth with his tongue and ran his hands over her body; a grab at a breast, a squeeze at a buttock, a grasp for the back of her neck, a pull at her hair to release it from the chignon so that it fell and bounced around her face and caught across her lips. She started to pull her top over her head, stretching her torso into its best aspect again. Joe took charge of her top and worked it up into a blindfold while he stroked her, at first tantalizingly through the transparent lace of her bra before ripping it down to reveal her skin and those eager, nut-brown nipples. With her eyes still masked, he returned his mouth to hers while unbuttoning his jeans, released his cock from his pants and took her hand down to it. Like petals closing around a stamen, her fingers lightly encircled his cock before tightening their grip. He gasped. She flung the blindfold away.

‘You want my mouth or you want my cunt?’ Such a question. And the preview she'd provided of both options rendered Joe speechless. She knelt down, and looked up at him while she sucked him into her mouth. She stood up and grabbed his hand, easing his finger up inside her panties, up inside her. He buckled down to the floor, pushed her prostrate, pulled her knickers to one side and penetrated her for a few forceful thrusts before he came.

She smiled at her chandelier. It was always the same with Joe; he could not contain himself. He loved to fuck her fast and selfishly, to fuck her hard, and she loved it. They'd do it again later, at her instigation and it would be less urgent, lasting longer with him concentrating on her orgasm. For the duration of this trip – as on all his trips here – they'd had sex every day. It was never boring with Joe. Kinky sex, fun shagging, horny sex, oral, aural – but it was the near-aggressive fucks which she enjoyed the most despite being over quickly with no time for her own climax. Just to feel a man so utterly abandoned in his desire for her was turn-on enough. Now he was exhausted and hot, heavy on top of her, spent. She could gyrate against his weight, she could stimulate herself against his semi-stiffness and the ooze of his come to bring herself to orgasm. But she knew he'd take her later that night, tomorrow morning too, no doubt, before he left for England. She traced her nails over his back, right down to the dip at the top of his buttocks.

‘You miss me, Joe?’ she asked, still consciously lascivious. ‘I think you'll miss me big, non?’