Perfect Strangers

21

James strips me with swift,silent efficiency, tossing my clothes onto a nearby armchair. He stops to briefly consider the chair—a big purple velvet number with a high, rolled back and carved wooden legs—then drags it over to where I’m standing naked. It must weigh a hundred pounds, but you’d never know by the easy way he handles the thing. He faces it toward the windows.

Then he whips off the decorative gold silk tassel from the drapery, positions me so my belly rests against the curved upper part of the back of the chair, and pulls my arms behind my back.

He binds my wrists with the cord of silk.

My heartbeat jumps into overdrive. “James—”

“No talking,” he growls in his dominant voice. From the seat of the chair he retrieves my panties, which he balls up and stuffs into my mouth. “I’ll be doing the talking, sweetheart. You just listen and watch.”

My helpless groan is muffled by the panties. It’s warm in the room, but my skin prickles with goosebumps. I’m already shaking with anticipation. My nipples are hard. My breathing is erratic.

And my mind is going a million miles per hour trying to process all the unanswered questions I have about the man who’s now kneeling between my spread legs.

When I feel James’s hot mouth latch onto my clitoris, I suck in a breath. The pleasure is intense. He grabs my ass in both hands and makes a meal out of me, sucking and licking until my thighs shake.

Across the way, Gaspard turns Gigi onto her back. He hooks her ankles over his shoulders and reaches down to caress her firm breasts.

James slides a thick finger inside me. We both groan at the same time.

“This sweet pussy will be the death of me,” he whispers, then goes right back to sucking, sliding his finger in and out as my hips begin to match his rhythm, rocking back and forth against his face.

I stand with my ass canted out, my hands tied behind my back, and my belly resting against the chair as James eats me and Gaspard thrusts hard into Gigi.

My low, helpless moan brings James to his feet. He stands behind me. I hear a rip of foil, his ragged breathing, then he shoves his hard sheathed cock into my aching wetness and wraps a big hand around my throat.

He doesn’t even bother to get undressed.

I feel the rough fabric of his jeans against my bare bottom, the cool metal of the open zipper scraping my skin, the hem of his T-shirt brushing the small of my back, and find it so overwhelmingly erotic that he’s fully dressed and I’m naked—helpless and vulnerable, bound—that I moan again, shuddering.

James’s free hand cups my breast. He pinches my taut nipple between his fingers, does it harder when I arch into his palm.

“You like it a little rough, don’t you, love?” whispers James, thrusting faster into me. “You like me to tie you up and spank your ass and your beautiful pussy. You love it when I fuck you deep and hard.”

Close to orgasm, I whimper. I go up on my toes, tilting my pelvis back so he can find the deepest center of me and take it, own it, make it his.

“Oh yes,” he breathes, tightening his hand around my throat. “You love it. You fucking love it all.”

You, I want to say, I love it all because it’s you who’s giving it to me. But I can’t speak a word around the wad of cotton stuffed into my mouth.

I’m thankful for the enforced silence. I don’t trust myself at the moment. I fear I wouldn’t have control over what dark truths would fly out of my mouth.

Across the courtyard, Gigi screams as she comes, arching up from the mattress as Gaspard bends over her, folding her nearly in half, his ass muscles clenched. He thrusts into her again and again, making a noise like an animal.

When James reaches down and pinches my engorged clit, I come, too. Instantly, violently, my entire body stiffening.

Behind me, he stills, holding me as I convulse.

“Oh fuck, that feels so amazing.” He groans, pulling on my nipple, causing another cascade of contractions to rock me. “Milk that cock, sweetheart. Milk my cock with your gorgeous greedy cunt.”

I sob, not understanding how I can like them so much, all his filthy, beautiful words. How I can adore being manhandled, no matter how carefully. How much I can enjoy abandoning my inhibitions under the spell of his voice and our crazy, carnal desire for each other, the likes of which I’ve never known.

He was right: I love it all. I need it all.

And that scares me straight down to the darkest corners of my soul where my deepest longings lie in secret, hiding.

Panting, I collapse against the chair. James removes his hand from my throat and sinks it into my hair, gently pulling my head back. He leans over me so his broad chest is pressed against my back.

Whispering into my ear, he begins to fuck me with short, perfect strokes, telling me how beautiful I am, how good I make him feel, how much he loves my trust. His words spin a dizzy web around me until I’m spinning, lost in a haze of pleasure, lost under the magic we make together, two perfect strangers who’ve found something rare.

We’ve unearthed a treasure most people dig for their entire lives and never find.

But, like most buried treasure, this one comes with a curse. There’s a price to be paid for discoveries such as these. Nothing this valuable is free.

Please don’t die. I don’t want you to die. Please, James. Please.

I make a noise of desperation. My lover is still whispering into my ear, his voice thick, his breath coming in pants. I turn my head and glance at him. His eyes are closed, and there’s a furrow carved between his dark brows.

He’s not paying any attention to Gaspard and Gigi. All his attention is on me. On us. On this creature of bliss and insanity we create every time we touch.

He shudders, groaning. Standing more upright, he palms both my breasts and increases the speed of his thrusts. He pinches and rolls my nipples between his fingers as his heavy balls slap against my soaked folds, the sound lewd and impossibly hot.

I watch through the windows as Gaspard flips Gigi onto her stomach. He shoves his erection into the tight pink bud of her ass and holds her down as she bucks and wails.

But her wails are those of pleasure, not pain. She’s spreading her legs wider for him, pushing back to take him deeper. He closes his eyes and turns his face to the ceiling, his mouth slack, fucking into her most tender space with an expression that’s one of almost religious fervor.

James says my name. It’s a fractured sound. Desperate. He’s going over the edge and taking me with him.

Gaspard shouts.

Gigi screams.

And the warm Paris night breathes in the sounds of four lovers’ passion.

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