Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)

It was the command to sit on his face. He loved to lick my pussy from behind.

I didn’t need to contact Shalimar for any advice.

Jesus.

Those soft caresses from his fingers and tongue were the best way to start a day.

The brightness of the sun peeked through the slats of the window blinds. Jean-Pierre wrapped his muscular arm around my waist. His hard cock pressed against my ass.

I moved to turn over, but Jean-Pierre kept me close, not allowing an inch of separation between our bodies.

He rubbed his length against my ass as his mouth trailed down the back of my neck. “Assieds-toi sur mon visage.”

He pressed another kiss against my neck. I arched and pushed my ass on him, slipping it along that long cock.

He slid his hands down the inside of my panties and slipped along the lips of my pussy.

“Jean-Pierre,” I moaned.

“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed to do this each morning.” He slipped one finger inside of me. “Now I get to have you right in my bed.”

He rubbed his thumb along my clit.

My body trembled against him. A lusty fog swirled inside my head.

“Now I get to taste you as much as I want.” His breath increased in speed, leaving his body in quick bursts next to my ear and moving with the rhythm of his finger inside my pussy.

I can do this all day. I definitely started the wrong career.

He lowered in the next moment, putting his face on the level of my ass and yanking my panties down with his hands. “Finally, Eden. Finally.”

And then he tongued my pussy from behind, sending me into a hurricane of lust. I gripped the silk sheets and groaned in pleasure.

He hummed along my lips.

My pussy dripped in arousal.

My body drummed along with his.

I came as the sun rose higher in the sky.

This experience proved to be an amazing opportunity. He wouldn’t be all mine, but I could taste him. He wasn’t my boyfriend, but I could pretend for these days.

And so, I slipped into my position just as easily as he slipped inside of my heart.

Granted, I let him walk in. I opened my emotions, unable to close the door on something that felt good.

There was a comfort level to Jean-Pierre. When he was around, we enjoyed ourselves. When he wasn’t, I had free-reign of the penthouse, the ability to instruct his driver to take me anywhere I desired, and a new credit card with my name on it sitting in my purse. I spent my time with Jean-Pierre, and when I was alone, I gave my attention to Eros.

There were many moments when Jean-Pierre rushed away to deal with business.

Most of the time I had all his attention. And it was a beautiful experience to be the center of his view. His gaze never left my face when I spoke. He listened to me as if he’d been waiting for years to hear me speak.

No matter what, we had lunch together at 12pm. He never came late or re-scheduled. And when we ate, it was in different places.

On Monday, we yachted with high tea and lobster-stuffed finger sandwiches on Le Chemin de L’amour river.

Tuesday, we had a picnic on the beach, munching on curry pulled-chicken sandwiches stuffed with mango chutney and curry yogurt sauce on the side. Afterwards, I raced Jean-Pierre to the shoreline, cheated from the start, and barely beat him. He took his revenge in the ocean, splashing me to annihilation.

It stormed on Wednesday. Gray clouds hovered over Belladonna. Violent winds whipped at the penthouse. Water battered the windows. Inside his bedroom, we made love in the center of his massive bed, never leaving or taking a break. Silk sheets slipped along our bodies as we rocked into each other. And I craved it all, loving the taste. The feast. The delicious warmth of us. The room was silent, except for the mattress’s bouncing and our moans. Afterwards, we ate cheesecake, made love again, and then stuffed ourselves with cheeses and fresh breads in the evening.

I wish this would never end.

He told me on Thursday morning that he’d never been to a fair. It gave me an idea to take him to one. When he rushed away on business, I went to the living room.

His guard Louis watched a soccer game.

The big man paused, rose from the couch, and held a neutral expression. “How can I help you, Mrs. Eden?”

“You don’t have to call me Mrs. Eden.” I gave him a nervous smile. “Eden is fine.”

Louis didn’t respond.

I cleared my throat. “So…I was wondering, if I could plan a date for Jean-Pierre.”

He widened his eyes a tiny bit. “What were you thinking?”

“Well, do you think he would mind me planning something?”

“No, I’m just. . .not an expert in planning dates for Jean-Pierre.”

“That’s okay. I just wanted to take him to the fair. There’s a medieval one on the edge of Belladonna.”