“So, tell me about yourself,” he said opening the bottle with a corkscrew on the table and pouring healthy amounts into their glasses.
“We’re talking? Oh,” she said almost disappointedly.
“Taffy,” Jean-Michel said staring at her. “I was serious when I said I wanted to get to know you. Did you think that the only reason I asked you over here was to make love to you?”
Jean-Michel only stared at her. “We have already made love—”
“Sex,” she corrected.
“No. It was not just sex,” he said with a frown. “Maybe it was only sex for you, but I made love to you.”
“Jean-Michel, we didn’t know each other. We don’t know each other. There was no connection between us.”
He seemed to think about what she said, leaning back into the sofa. He shook his head. “No. There was a connection for me. From the moment I saw you come into the club, I was connected to you. Here,” he said pointing to his heart. “What do you think?” he asked gazing at her. “Do you think I would have taken any woman home with me? To my bed? No. It was you and only you that captured me. But I want more than a casual fuck, Taffy. I don’t casually fuck anyone. I’ve been with women, yes. But I made love to each of them because that is all I know how to do. Sex isn’t some meaningless bang that you try to accomplish. I’m not looking for the next notch on my belt. Fucking some woman that I don’t want to see anymore is not satisfying to me. I would rather pleasure myself than have meaningless sex. I want you, but not only to have in my bed. I want to have you here,” he said pointing to his heart again.
Her heart was beating a mile a minute. She had felt a connection and it frightened her. She had never felt something for a man that she didn’t know. She hadn’t felt anything for some of the men that she had known. That included her last boyfriend. She’d stayed with him because his best friend was going out with one of her best friends. It was socially convenient. But the last man she had been even remotely close to loving had been Seth. She didn’t want to go through that pain again. But even as she gazed at Jean-Michel, he held the promise of pleasure not pain.
“So, you’re going to tell me that you’ve had a connection with every woman you’ve slept with?” Taffy asked him disbelievingly.
“Taffy, I know men are supposed to conquer as many women as they can,” he said nonchalantly. “From the time they learn what sex is, they are supposed to get as much as they can. Fuck around, as they say. My parents didn’t teach me to do that. For me, sex wasn’t something so taboo that I had experience it no matter what. My parents were very open about sex. About what it was, and they best way to experience all that it could be. So, by the time I was fourteen, I wasn’t interested in getting my dick wet because I wanted to tell all of my friends that I had. I wanted to experience that passion, that sensuality, that carnal eroticism that my parents told me sex could be by taking your time. By waiting for someone with that connection. That connection can be emotional, spiritual, physical, metaphysical…anything. But it has to be there. And getting your rocks off to feel a release won’t bring the most pleasure.”
“Wow,” she was intrigued.
He picked up his wine glass, holding it out to her. “It’s like this wine.” He gulped down the last of the contents. “I just had the wine. I drank it as many people would do, without thought. But I was only drinking it to…to drink wine.” He poured more into his glass. “Now,” he said taking the glass and holding it to his nose. “I will take the time to enjoy what I have. Take in the color, the scent,” he closed his eyes. “The grapes. The pungent scent of the alcohol and the slight scent of…aged wood, yes?” he said with his eyes still closed. “I can smell the barrel that the wine was aged in. There is also a scent of something else…Elderberry? Or currant, maybe?” He sipped some of the wine delicately, holding it in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing it.
Jean-Michel smiled. “The taste is sweet, but subtle. Tangy, but very smooth. And as it went down my throat, it excited all of my senses. I heard it, as I poured it into my glass. I saw the deep purple color, as I held it before my eyes. I smelled the scents of all that went into making it. Grapes, wood, elderberry, currants, smoke. I felt the liquid in my mouth and on my tongue,” he smiled to her. “Then the warmth from the alcohol, as it hit my stomach. I have experienced the wine. I didn’t just drink it.”
She wanted to experience him. She understood him now, nodding to him in earnest. He wanted to get to know her, and she wanted to be that glass of wine.
“Making love should be like drinking good wine,” said Jean-Michel. “It shouldn’t be rushed and…” he smiled slyly. “Gulped. Making love is something to be savored. Slowly. It should be appreciated. Like a woman should be appreciated and savored. Every, single inch of her,” he said staring at her.
She only sat staring at him, trying to remember to breathe. “I’m an advertisement artist for a firm in California,” she said to him smiling.
“Yes.” He sat back into his seat, nodding, and they talked.
“Then,” she said softly. “Undress me.”
Jean-Michel gazed at her, pulling her lips to his with his hand at the back of her neck, and kissing her passionately, stroking her mouth with is tongue until she gasped in surrender. He stared at the straps of her dress going around her neck. His hand went to the straps, as he slowly untied the back, letting them fall away to the side. She was wearing a halter bra underneath that fastened around her neck. He didn’t unfasten it immediately, but took his time gazing at her breasts beckoning to him from the lace confines of her bra. He took one finger and traced along the edge of her bra where her breasts overflowed. He then traced his finger over the cup, gazing up at her and knowing he had located with precision the taut tip of her nipple, as it hardened in response to his touch.
She watched his expression, intent on his task, as he slowly unfastened the strap around her neck at the same time that his hand unhooked the three hooks at her back. He took her bra, and threw it to the side, his gaze never leaving hers.
When he cupped her full breasts in his hands, she closed her eyes. “No,” he said to her. “I want to see you watching me. Watch me make love to your breasts, coquette.”
She stared down at him, as his mouth took one hardened nipple into his mouth. His eyes closed for only a second, as the pure pleasure of tasting her flesh seemed to envelope him. Then he speared her gaze with his own, continuing to suck and lick her nipples, smiling slightly at hearing the soft purring sounds coming from her mouth.
“Your tits are only for me, coquette. Say it,” he whispered to her, as he kissed and buried his face between them.
“Yes. They’re only for you,” she whispered.
He was so adept at what he was doing. Caressing and massaging, and kissing her breasts, before engulfing her taut nipples into his warm mouth and sucking them to hardened peaks. He watched her reaction to his mouth. She hadn’t known when he had sneaked his hand between the two of their bodies. She had been so entranced at what his lips were doing to her breasts that she hadn’t noticed that his fingers had slipped under the elastic of her thong. When he took one nipple into his mouth again, she gasped at feeling his finger slip inside of her pussy.
“Ah!” Her eyes widened in surprise and in pleasure.
“Shhh,” he said flicking his tongue over her other nipple. “You are so wet, baby. You feel so silky and wet. Tell me what you want.”
She couldn’t think. His fingers were expertly massaging her clit, with one delicious finger deep inside of her, stroking and discovering her pussy. “I…” She closed her eyes, relishing in the sweet sensations he was giving to her. “I want to feel you inside me,” she said breathlessly.
“But I am inside of you,” he said with a seductive grin.
She stared down at him just as he flicked his thumb over her clit. His gaze was smoldering, as she began panting in tempo to what he was doing with his fingers. “You’re hoping I’ll come with only your fingers,” she said tensely.
“I’m positive you will, if I continue. Come here,” he said taking his hand from her breast and pulling her lips down to his.
True to his word, she couldn’t contain herself when he started to thrust his finger deeper. Then he pulled her toward his lips, capturing them feverishly, wantonly, seductively, as the music played only for them.
“Take this off,” he said tugging on her dress.
He didn’t need to say another word. Taffy hurriedly pulled the dress over her head, throwing it somewhere in the room. She didn’t care where it landed. Jean-Michel ran his hands over her body, as if he were studying a priceless piece of art. His eyes traveled up and down her full curves, his lips soon followed taking small, gentle, nips along her body.
Taffy dipped her head, kissing along the muscles on his shoulders. She slowly unbuttoned his shirt, but Jean-Michel was impatient. He ripped his shirt off, and then began to remove his jeans, pulling them down his hips. Taffy stayed straddled across his lap, and then felt the warmth of his skin on her thighs. She also felt the strength of his erection straining against his briefs. She knew that if not for the thin material separating them, his cock would spring forth like a python ready to strike. All of his strength. All of his meat. All for her.
She gave him a wanton smile before she began rubbing her crotch over his hard cock. Jean-Michel was the one to moan then.
“You are teasing me, coquette,” he whispered to her, as their mouths sensually explored one another.
Taffy nodded. “Yes, I am.”
Jean-Michel hooked his fingers into the elastic of her thong, and in one motion ripped them off. He flipped her onto her back on the sofa, piercing her with an intense gaze. “No more teasing,” he said.
Taffy nodded, gasping out as she felt the hard strength of his cock began to push inside of her. In all of her sexual experience, the man she was with slid into her vagina as if she’d been lube up like a prized race car. For some time, she thought her vagina was too big for any man to gain pleasure from her. She had been wrong. She wasn’t too big. The men she’d been with had been boys. Pencil dicks. Gherkin pickles. Because Jean-Michel had to fight for every inch. She didn’t care about having a sore vagina. His cock was the golden prize of Olympus!