Little Slut

 

“Oh, there you are,” François said as soon as he opened his front door the next day.

“I want my bicycle back,” I said.

“Certainly,” he said and moved aside, waving me in with his hand. “Come in?”

“No,” I said. “I just want my bicycle back. That’s all. Get it for me.”

“It’s in the garage,” he said and pointed to an old carriage house that had been converted into a garage probably about fifty years earlier. “Come with me.”

I followed him to the garage and he went in and then came back out with my bicycle. The front tire was flat.

“Sorry about the tire,” he said. “Want me to pump it up for you?”

“No,” I said. “I’ll just push it.”

“You can’t push it,” he said. “Let me take you home.”

“No,” I said. “I just came for my bike.”

He stood back from me, pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lit one. He offered me the pack, I declined, then he slipped them back into the pocket. Finally, he said, “You and I both know that you didn’t come back for the bike, Nina.”

“Sorry, but you’re wrong.”

He shook his head. “Let’s have a coffee.”

“No,” I said. “I just want to leave.”

He stared at me, the wheels in his mind obviously turning. He was onto me. I should leave. I should leave now.

“Come with me,” he said and walked towards the house, flicking his cigarette away.

I watched him, then glanced at the still burning cigarette on the gravel drive. I sighed, walked over and squashed it out with my foot, then followed him into the house, down the hall and into the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, this was the only room that had been renovated. There were new stainless steel appliances, including a six-burner gas stove, very modern and expensive looking cabinets with white marble countertops, all sitting atop an old worn and beautiful red tile floor. The walls were painted in a fresh, bright white. It was a beautiful chef’s kitchen.

“I like to cook,” he said.

He liked to cook? I liked to cook, too. We had a commonality. So what? He was still an asshole.

He went over to the counter and poured coffee into two white cups. “I know it is not in character with the rest of the house, but so what? I like my modern conveniences.”

“I see that,” I said and sat down at the old, rustic French table which was long and rectangular. It shouldn’t go with the modern room, but it did. He had taste. He knew what he liked. The chairs were vintage steel and wood, like they had been used in a factory of some sort and had been repurposed. They looked like they cost a fortune.

He walked over and placed a cup in front of me. I didn’t touch it. I’d already had a coffee that morning and if I had any more, I’d be shaking like a leaf during a storm.

“I know what you want,” he said and sat down. “You don’t even have to ask.”

“And what do I want?”

“Sex,” he said matter-of-factly. “But not only that, you want to be punished.”

Holy shit! He didn’t just come out and say that, did he? Oh, yeah, he had. He was so blunt. So in your face. No beating around the bush for this one. I didn’t know if I could handle such forthrightness. I was more into subtleties than that.

He had told me not only did I want sex, but that I also wanted to be punished. Punished for what? For wanting it? Sex? I shook my head, willing something to make sense but nothing did. And, yet, it was obvious. I did want sex and I wanted it from him. But the punishment thing? What was that about? I didn’t know but I sure wasn’t about to admit to anything.

I leaned back and crossed my arms, staring at him. He was so good looking, so eloquent. He was a dream man, any woman’s dream man. He was perfect, tall, broad-shouldered, strong looking. He had the handsome face of a movie star, the body of a Greek god. He was the sort of man I wanted to have sex with, had always dreamed about having sex with. He would both ravish me and keep me safe. I knew that. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did.

However, I couldn’t tell him these things. He would think I was a fool, some romantic, silly American. I had to be cool and I had to not let on that I wanted what he obviously wanted to give me. So, I said, “I do not want sex from you and certainly not punishment. Whatever that means.”

He nodded. “Of course, you do. You want sex and you want to be punished for wanting it. You want me to fuck you, then spank you afterwards. Or spank you, then fuck you.”

“You are out of your damn mind,” I said.

“Come on,” he said and leaned in towards me. “It’s always sex with you, isn’t it? You’re a little slut. Well, you are at least in your mind. That’s why you never cheated on your husband. You couldn’t give yourself permission to need what is human to want.”

“Fuck you,” I said and stood up. He was going too far. What the hell was this guy’s problem? I didn’t ask, though, because I didn’t want to know. I was afraid there might be something slightly dangerous about him and I didn’t know if I could handle it. I knew I’d picked him to do this but the thought of him not being quite right did cross my mind.

He grabbed my arm and gently forced me back into the seat, then released me. “Just sit and tell me. Isn’t that what you want? You want sex and you want to be punished for wanting it so bad, like I said. Confirm my suspicions.”

I blushed but he was right. Suspicions confirmed! That’s why I was here and I was here because I thought he’d give it to me. I just didn’t want to get hurt in the process.

“Am I right?” he asked.

I bit my bottom lip and nodded. I was so embarrassed, I wished the floor would swallow me up. I knew I could have not come back for the bike. It wasn’t really worth anything and I could easily get another. I didn’t abandon it because I wanted to see where he could take me. I wanted to see if my hunch about him was right. I wanted to know if he was the man who could give me what I wanted the most.

“Little sluts need to be punished,” he said. “You want to be punished?”

Well, if we were going to do this, we might as well get started. I was tired of waiting for something to happen or watching as something passed me by that I could have easily grabbed a hold of. It was time for me to take life by the horns and it was time for me to allow this man to call the shots.

“Nina?” he said softly. “Answer me. You want to be punished?”

I bit my bottom lip and nodded again.

“Come over here then.”

I stood and walked over to him. He looked up at me and began to touch me. I shivered with delight as he ran his hand up my legs and to my breasts.

“Take off your clothes,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“You heard me.”

A bit of hesitation swelled up in my chest, but I pushed it away. Yes, I needed this. I had to see if I could do it. I had to prove to myself that it was what I wanted. I wanted to know if he could give it to me. I looked down at my outfit—an oversized but stylish black cashmere sweater, skinny jeans that were well worn in and fit my petite but trim body like a glove and black leather motorcycle boots that I wore over the jeans. It was the sort of outfit I wore almost every day of the week. It made me look young, hip, stylish and like I didn’t give a shit. And it attracted a certain type of man, a man like François.

“Now,” he said. “I want to see your body.”

I started to say something, to tell him off. Again, getting caught up in the bullshit that always kept me from getting what I wanted. It was the inhibition, the anger that always stepped in and ruined it. But I realized I was doing this just because I thought that’s what I should do. But I didn’t. I couldn’t utter a word. And I couldn’t because I wanted to do what he wanted me to do. I wanted to lose control; I wanted him to have it.

“Would you like me to help?” he asked.

I didn’t know. I just stared at him. It was like I was there, right there, ready to cross the line, ready to get the show on the road but something kept tripping me up and stopping me.

“Nina?” he said softly. “We both know you’re going to do this.”

He was right. I was going to do it. Maybe with just a little more prodding. I stared into his eyes, so dark and gorgeous, his eyelashes so full. The eyes stared at me, through me, into my soul. They were telling me they knew, just knew, what I wanted and what I needed. They told me he was the man to give it to me, down the last detail.

“It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it?” he asked. “A while since you last had sex, oui?”

I nodded but didn’t say a word.

“A woman has needs just like a man,” he said. “I can help you with this, Nina. I want to touch you everywhere and feel your skin. I want to kiss you and show you how it feels to be wanted.”

I closed my eyes and thought about that. To be wanted… Isn’t that what we all wanted? What we all needed? Even though I drove my husband away, I knew he wanted me. He just left because he finally gave up the fight.

“I want to see you naked,” he said softly. “Show me your body. I want to see it. Do you understand?”

Did I? Did I understand? Yes, I did.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I could tell he was. I could see the outline of his hard penis through his pants. He was ready. He was willing. He was able. He wanted me to want him. It was that simple.

“Then do it now.”

Now. Right now. Not later. Just now. It was time. Could I do this? Could I undress and expose myself in front of a man I’d just met yesterday? Yes, I could. Easily. I wanted to. I wanted him to see me, every single square inch of my body. I hadn’t stopped thinking about him since I’d run out of here yesterday. I was ready. I was willing. I was able. It was time.

I nodded and stepped back and pulled my sweater over my head, then pulled off my boots and socks. I glanced down at my toenails, which I’d painted the previous night while sitting on the side of the tub. They were cherry red and, as I’d painted them, I had fantasized about François taking notice of them, commenting on how lovely they looked. Then I caught myself doing this and stopped. What was wrong with me? I chastised myself, told myself I’d never see him again and that he was an asshole.

But I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I’d even gone to sleep thinking about him and about what he could do to me. As I thought about this, I found my hands in my panties, rubbing myself, bringing myself to orgasm. I hadn’t done that in a while. But he brought it out in me. I was suddenly fantasizing about his hands on me, on my naked skin, his lips devouring me, sucking my nipple, his tongue thrusting into my open, wet and willing mouth. I’d thought so much about him, I didn’t fall asleep until late in the night. When I awoke, I was alive with this new feeling, this feeling of lust I’d never quite experienced before.

And now here I was, waiting on him to tell me my next move. And I loved it. I loved it. I was getting so turned on, so worked up, I was almost beside myself. Just touch me, I thought. Just once, just touch me. I needed it so badly I was on the verge of begging for it. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. It was his call to make and we both knew it.

He watched me, then took a good look at my breasts which were now heaving in my bra. He liked what he saw. But I shouldn’t have even been doing this. I should probably just leave. It was going somewhere and if I didn’t pull the plug soon, there would be no stopping it. But that didn’t stop me. I wanted to do it. I wanted to see if I had it in me to do it. I needed it, so badly.

He motioned with one finger for me to take off my jeans. I did so and stood in my panties and bra. Yeah, they matched. They were an expensive tartan plaid set that made my body look so, so good. I had bought them a few weeks earlier at a fancy little Parisian lingerie boutique. I never wore anything like this and, after I purchased them, I wondered what the hell I’d been thinking, preferring comfortable boy shorts and simple underwire bras. I’d put them in a drawer and forgot about them until this morning when I knew I’d see François. Maybe it was kismet or something that I’d had the forethought to buy fancy lingerie and this was the sort of lingerie that would impress anyone. As I pulled the lingerie on, I had imagined him taking it off. Right then, I was waiting for him to do just that.

He couldn’t contain his smile, then muttered, “Oh, lassie,” in a faux Sean Connery Scottish accent.

I almost laughed but blushed instead. I also took note that he liked what he saw. Good. He should have.

His smile disappeared and then he paused for a long moment, his eyes skimming my body, not leaving an inch overlooked. I could tell me liked what he saw. I worked hard to keep my body looking good, toned and tight. My breasts were a firm C-cup and suited the frame of my body well. I had a body men lusted after and I knew it, even though I covered it up with baggy sweaters most of the time. I kept it like this just in case I ever met someone I’d want to show it off to. I was glad I had put forth the effort. I could tell he appreciated it, too.

Without a word, he leaned over and pulled me to him. I stood there and waited breathlessly for what he was about to do. It didn’t take long before the tip of his finger went under my panties then tugged at them. I turned around and both his hands grabbed my ass, then his hands were under the panties, touching my bare ass. He squeezed it hard, then leaned in and kissed the small of my back just once.

A moan escaped my lips. I was getting heated up. I was finally going to get what I wanted, what I had been so horny for.

Then he tugged at my panties until they came off my body. My bare ass was in his face. I felt so vulnerable but I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. I wanted this. His hands played with my buttocks for a moment, then he sensuously but firmly kneaded them with his hands, squeezing so tightly I just knew he’d leave marks. But I didn’t care about that. I just wanted to see what he would do with me offering myself like that.

I was about to find out. Before I could blink, his hand came down hard on my ass, thusly spanking me. He’d told me this was what I wanted. Was it? My ass burned as did my face. It was slightly humiliating, but then it wasn’t. It was…nice. It felt good. I wanted more. Should I ask for another or would he automatically call the shots? I didn’t know and I didn’t have time to ask because he gave me another good smack on my other ass cheek. Then he squeezed both of them with both hands.

Was that all? Was there more where that came from? No. he was moving onto other things. His hand went in sideways between my ass cheeks, then down and down until it was sliding backwards and forwards on my pussy. Ahhh… That felt so damned good! Backwards and forwards… And then he paused on my clit and stopped moving, as if inviting me to pleasure myself with his hand. And I did. I found myself rubbing against his hand, feeling my juices began to flow, wanting to orgasm but waiting, waiting, waiting to do so; making the sensations last, feeling the wet softness of my cunt against his hand.

Before I could really get my groove on, he removed his hand and, out of nowhere, he gave my bare ass another good, hard smack. Back to the spanking. Wow. This almost jolted me back to reality, but something about it made me moan. Wow! What was he doing? Would he do more? In answer to my question, he gave me another good, hard spank, which almost sent me over the edge. I was so hot with lust for him, I could barely breath. Then I realized what this was. It was building anticipation. It was making me want him so badly I couldn’t think straight. And want him I did. I was about to beg him to fuck me when he changed course again.

He started fingering me, touching me, teasing me. Lightly, lightly, lightly. Nothing too harsh or too insensitive. But, still, it was overwhelming. It was almost too much to bear, too much to take. Soon, I felt nothing but a flood of passion and intense heat spread through my body. I wanted to take his hand and bite at it, suck his fingers into my mouth and taste myself on him. But I didn’t move. There was something about not seeing his face and not knowing what he was going to do that made me just want to go along with what was happening.

He slid his hand in sideways again and rested it on my clit. Oh, yes. Now I could get it. And so, I did. I started going for it. Moving my slick, wet pussy against his hand. As I moved against his hand, his other hand grabbed my ass cheek again and squeezed. He leaned down again and kissed the small of my back, taking time to lick it just a little. And that’s all I needed. I came from the visual of his tongue on my naked back and from the pressure of his hand on my clit. I came for a good minute, a soft yet deep moan escaping my lips. I shuddered with the orgasm and once it was over, I wanted to climb on him, stick his cock in my pussy and ride the hell out of it.

When I came back down from the cloud of orgasm, I suddenly realized I was almost naked in front of this man. And he’d just made me come. He’d given me one of the best orgasms of my life and that made me feel just a little peculiar. It made me feel so vulnerable, almost weak. Once it was over, I felt a sudden flash of embarrassment. I didn’t like that feeling. Why was I feeling this after that? I had to get out of there. I was leaving and I wasn’t coming back. Yeah, that was what I was going to do. No more of this, of whatever this was. I was done. Right? I was done.

Before I could change my mind, I grabbed for my jeans, but he was on me in a second flat. He had me bent over the kitchen table and my legs spread wide. He wanted me now. He’d done the work and now it was his turn to play.

“Uh uh uh,” he said. “Not so soon, my love. We have to finish what we started.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I just wanted him. My embarrassment disappeared as my hands clawed the rough wood of the table and my breathing picked up. This was it. I wasn’t leaving, after all. No. He was right. We had to finish what we started. The slight shame and vulnerability I’d felt earlier had disappeared and now I was ready to take what he was going to give. I was glad he had been quick and hadn’t allowed me to flee. Yes, I was skittish, that much was true. What was truer was that I needed him to show me the way.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his breath on my back as he leaned heavily against me.

“Yes,” I replied breathlessly, not wanting to talk, not wanting him to talk, just wanting to get fucked. Show me what you can do, you bastard! Just show me! Stick your hard cock in me, fill me up and fuck me good! I didn’t say these things and I didn’t say these things because I didn’t have to. It was that intense. I knew he would soon be in me, fucking me from behind, with me taking it, wanting it, shouting his name, just like he said.

And I was.

The next thing I knew, his pants were around his ankles and his hard, wide and thick cock was in me, filling up my pussy and taking me over completely. It was almost too much to bear. It was so big, so big that I wondered for a second if it were real. I’d never had a cock this big—ever. He had to be at least eight, if not nine, long inches. Not only that, his cock was wide, which was the best part. It allowed me to really grab hold of it and ride it for all it was worth. It was like I receiving a gift I never knew I wanted but, once I had it, the realization of how much I’d been missing out on saddened me. I knew there was no going back after having this.

He reached around and grabbed my tits. I rose up to allow him more access and his hand went under my bra—the one item of clothing I’d yet to remove. But that didn’t matter. Having that one little item of clothing on added to the sheer intensity of what he was doing to me—fucking me hard—and made it all the more enticing. It made me feel even more naked than I would have had I been completely without clothing. He squeezed my breasts hard and then fingered the nipples which sent me into a passionate tizzy. More, more, more! I wanted to shout this at the top of my lungs. I could not get enough. As we fucked, I wondered what I’d been waiting for. Why I hadn’t done something like this sooner? Then I realized it was because I had been waiting on him, someone that would know perfectly well what I wanted and how to give it to me.

His hand went into my hair and slipped my ponytail holder out. My hair fell against my back. He pushed it to the side and pressed his face in my neck, which he sucked and licked. I shivered with delight at the sensation, loving every second of it. I moaned as he fucked me like this, as he fucked me dirty. I pressed back onto him, grinding it out, getting everything I could out of it and never wanting it to end. But, before I knew it, I was coming again. I came hard and fast and so did he, thrusting with all his might into me as he came inside of me. Then he collapsed on my back, breathing hard. I was breathing hard, too. It was like the wind had been knocked out of me. I was exhausted which meant it had been really, really good.

I didn’t move for a good few minutes. Neither did he. Then he turned me around and pushed me up on the table and kissed me. It was our first kiss and it had come only after we’d fucked. I didn’t pause to take that in. What that meant didn’t matter and it didn’t matter because this was no ordinary kiss. This kiss was deep, lust-driven and real. He licked at my lips before pushing his sweet tongue into my mouth. I sucked at his lips, at his tongue, eating at his mouth as my heart began to pound with lust again. His hands went down to my chest and touched it slightly, then his tongue dragged along my neck until it was near my breasts. Oh, yes. More, please. More of that. Now! His hand slipped under the strap of my bra and pulled it down until my breast was exposed, as my hard and erect nipple pointed at him and demanded attention. He bent down and licked that hard nipple slightly, then sucked it as hard as he could into his mouth.

“Ummm…” I moaned. “Oh, God, yes! Ummm…”

His other hand squeezed my other breast for a minute before slipping down to my legs, which were closed. He slipped his hand between them and I opened them wide for him. Then he began to just finger me, slipping his hand into my vagina while his thumb rested on my clit. I was about to come again. I knew this was possible, having multi-orgasms, but I didn’t know how it would feel if it happened to me. I guess one just needs the right stimulation. And he was giving me that in droves.

François didn’t move until I came again and I came hard. It was like there were fireworks exploding in my body, one right after the other. I shuddered with the orgasm and my head fell on his shoulder. It took me a minute or two to catch my breath.

Wow! Oh, wow! I’d never had anything like that in my life. It was so good and so dirty and just felt so right. Once again, for a moment, I almost felt shame; it was that good. But I wasn’t ashamed. Something changed in me that day. Something shifted. Maybe having sex like that was the ticket out of my repression. Maybe having sex with him did it. I didn’t care which, I just wanted more where that came from.

He turned away from me for a moment and pulled his pants up, zipping them. I stared at him, then down at my body, so naked and so vulnerable. I should probably get dressed, too.

But then I heard something outside, the sound of an approaching storm. This made me start and the sound brought us back to reality. We stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, then I glanced at the window.

“Is that thunder?”

He nodded. “Are you afraid?”

I gave a slight shrug without looking at him then pushed him away and went to the window. The sky was dark. It looked almost foreboding. “Whenever it would storm, my mother would wake us up and take us into the basement,” I said for some reason. “She was terrified of storms; afraid our house would get blown away by a big wind or something. She would shake with terror because my dad would usually be gone on the road. He was a truck driver.”

I heard him coming towards me but I didn’t turn around. I knew he was coming for me, to me. Once more. I didn’t know if I could handle it again so soon. But instead of making a move, he simply put his arms around me and gave me a gentle squeeze, which baffled me. What was up with him?

When he pulled away, I realized this was a bad, bad idea. Having sex like this could only lead to one thing—me getting hurt and ending up with a broken heart. François was the kind of man women only dream about. I would soon find out about him and he’d disappointment me. He’d either cheat or, worse, lose interest and then where would I be? I’d be embarrassed, humiliated. I’d probably start obsessing about him or something. And that would be pathetic. No, I couldn’t let him have my heart, no way. Girls like me don’t end up with men like him. We just don’t. He was a dream and I needed to get back to reality. I told myself that I’d had my fun and that’s all I needed. I didn’t want to get entangled in something I might not be able to get out of.

“Come back tomorrow,” he said, staring at me. “We’ll try something new.”

“I’m not coming back,” I said.

“Why not?”

“This is all I wanted,” I said.

He chuckled and chucked me under the chin. “You know that you want more than that.”

I glared at him.

“When you get home, you’ll want it even more than you did before,” he said, stepping in close to me. “You’ll have to have it.”

He just knew everything, didn’t he? And knowing that pissed me off. Was I that obvious? Did he think that way about me? I was so pissed off at him then but mostly at myself for needing him like I knew I was going to. I was afraid of the need that he had awakened. I had put myself in a cage of self-doubt and was afraid to come out of it. Now he was making me leave it and I didn’t like it one bit.

“I won’t be back,” I said and started to dress.

“Stay.”

I ignored him and got dressed hastily. I had to get out of that place. There was a new side of me emerging and it was scaring me. I needed to be alone for a minute to gather myself, to pick apart my thoughts. I reached for my boots and started out.

“No,” he muttered and his voice changed, just like that. “You won’t go.”

I ignored him and headed to the door but the tone of his voice sent shivers up and down my spine and my feet hesitated. François was a stranger. Sort of. Sure we’d had sex but I didn’t know him and I sure didn’t like the effect he was having on me. I could envision myself weeping over him like a schoolgirl over a picture of her favorite pop star. That didn’t set well with me. I didn’t like to show weakness and if he knew what he was doing to me, he might try to use it to his advantage.

“Stop,” he said as soon as my hand was on the door knob.

“What is it?” I snapped and whirled around. “What do you want? We’re finished here, okay? Done.”

He shook his head. “No, we are not done. Not yet. Not today.”

“Fuck you,” I said and started to turn around.

He took three steps and was on me. I started to scream at him, to tell him to stop, but his hand came up and gave me a slight touch on my lower back.

“I will not lose you today,” he whispered in my ear.

“What does that mean?”

“Stop running from me,” he said softly, pushing my hair back and pressing his face into my neck.

“No. François,” I murmured, though I didn’t want him to stop. “Don’t.”

“Shh,” he said.

“No,” I said and pushed him away.

He stared at me, then stepped in to me and pushed his heavy body onto mine. I started to push back, but found myself pushing into him, moving with him, pressing against him.

He grabbed the back of my head and pulled it back so that my lips were near his. Then he gave me a hard kiss, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. He was going to give it to me again, this time rough. It was like this brutish side of him suddenly appeared out of nowhere and he was going to make sure he had control of not only the situation but of me, as well. Control me? No. No way. That infuriated me. I felt myself wanting to hurt him, wanting to push him away, but then he just held me tightly, not letting me move. I pushed against him but he held his embrace. I stopped moving and felt it, felt him next to me, so close. Then something in me just broke and I felt… I felt… Oh. God. Something just took me over and I felt lust. Again. I just felt it. Maybe I brought that out in him. I don’t think it was there before. Maybe he brought it out in me, but it was a hunger, a need we both shared that came to the surface. It frightened me but at the same time, I couldn’t get enough. His need was to dominate. My need was to submit. It went along together like peanut butter and jelly.

We slid down to the floor, out lips locked. Then he paused and that made me pause. He pressed his forehead to mine, like he was going to make sure I didn’t look away. Then he pushed my sweater up and his hand slipped into my bra. He grabbed the top of it and pulled it down so my breast popped out. I started to moan. It was almost too much. It was almost too soon. But then… Then he tore off my clothes, throwing them over his head and to the side as his hands desperately tried to get to my naked skin. Soon, I was naked. And I wanted him naked, too. I tore at his clothes, literally ripping them off his body until he was as naked as me. I paused for a moment to take in his body. It was beautiful, long, lean and muscular. He was perfect. I wanted him more than ever so I grabbed him and pulled him on top of me, pressing my naked body into his. It felt so good.

And then we were fucking.

Soon, my legs were wrapped round his waist and I was getting the most out of our fuck. It was a long, hot, sweaty one. The rain began to beat down, just right outside where we were. I was so spent I was almost shaking with exhaustion. But I couldn’t stop. I’d never had so much sex in my life. But it felt right, like something you’re supposed to do on a rainy afternoon.

This time, it was all about doing it, fucking. We didn’t kiss and we didn’t grope, we just fucked. He fucked me like that, not blinking. Our eyes connected and locked, unflinching uninhibited. But it didn’t last. We were too wound up for that. We were so wound up, we were about to explode just from the overload of lust in our bodies for each other. It wasn’t long before we both came, almost simultaneously. As we came, he pulled out and came all over my chest and tits. That’s when I grabbed him and pulled his mouth on top of mine and ate at him. We kept kissing until we finally came back down from the fucking.

Once it was over I got up, got dressed and prepared to leave. He didn’t say a word and neither did I. There wasn’t much to talk about, not after you spend time like that with someone. It was a done deal. And it was over.

So, I ran off again. I found myself on the Metro, then walking back to the apartment beneath the Parisian sky, almost crying, wondering what the hell I was doing and where the hell this might lead. I was afraid of losing myself in him and I was afraid because he might end up hurting me, way more than my ex-husband ever thought to. François was a man you didn’t just love, but a man you fell in love with and that love would drive you crazy. It would be a possessive love and I was not a possessive person. This new part of me that he was bringing out scared me. I didn’t like it and I didn’t want to get wrapped up in it.

When I opened the door to my apartment, James looked up at me from the couch. “Where the hell have you been?”

I shrugged. Even though we shared everything, I would never share this with anyone, not even my best friend. Besides, what would I tell him? That I wanted this man to take me over, to take control, to fuck me silly? While I wasn’t a prude, I sure wasn’t an exhibitionist, nor a braggart. I would never flaunt anything, not something so sexual and personal.

He eyed me and said, “And where the hell is your bicycle?”

I groaned.

“Oh, well,” he said then jerked his head towards an enormous bouquet of red roses. “At least tell me who those are from.”

I gasped at the sight of the roses, at the enormity of the bouquet. It was gorgeous. Of course, I knew who they were from. When I read the card, all it said was, “Any time.”

“What does that mean?” James asked.

I shrugged.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not really,” I said, refusing to share. “It’s just some guy I met in a café. We went to…dinner. I mean lunch. We had lunch.”

He nodded. “It must have been one helluva lunch,” he said and picked up a red box and handed it to me. “This came, too.”

I stared at him and opened it up. It was a beautiful stainless steel tank watch from Cartier. From Cartier! It was heavy and looked like it cost a fortune. I glanced at the note again: “Any. Time,” and smiled. I got it. Quite clever, François.

“Try it on,” he said.

I took the watch out of the box and slipped it on, then shook my arm, moving it around before letting it fall to my wrist. “That’s really cool.” I smiled at him. “Like it?”

He nodded. “Obviously someone likes you.”

Yeah, I guess he did.

He grabbed my arm and took a good look at the watch, shaking his head, then whistled under his breath, “Whew! Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell did you do to this guy?”

That was a good question.