Passion in Paris Read Online Free PDF

was too busy chattering among themselves. “Spread your legs.”
    Trembling, she felt her legs separate on command, the moist dampness of lace rubbing against her erect clit. Slipping her hand into her panties, she gasped as cool fingers grazed the throbbing nub between her legs.
    “Would you like anything else sir?”
    His hand seized her wrist from under the table. “Actually, yes. More champagne for the lady.”
    “Coming right up.”
    With the waitress out of ear shot, he turned back to her, lifting her hand and kissing the tips of her fingertips, tasting and savouring her. “Continue,” he whispered.
    Throwing him a glare, her hand slowly travelled back into her panties, pausing before she slipped her fingers between the wet folds. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
    “Pleasure yourself the way I pleasured you earlier. You do remember, don’t you?”
    As if she’d ever forget. Imagining it was his hand that was touching her, she ran a finger down her slit before adding a second to plunge deep inside. Swallowing, she began to slowly thrust in and out of her pussy, a steady rhythm that had her other hand gripping the edge of the table.
    “Damn you…” she murmured, as pleasure began to swell and mount. Her fingers slipped up to her clit, slick and wet with her arousal, and began rubbing deep circles around it with the middle finger.
    “You’re enjoying every minute of it,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t you dare deny it.”
    “Oh, God…” she moaned quietly in turn, the pressure of her finger rubbing harder and faster now.
    “Come for me. Right here, right now,” he whispered, actually more of a soft command that unleashed the floodgates and shattered her body, as her pussy clenched and convulsed. Her hand gripped the table until her knuckles turned white. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from moaning.
    “Very good, my love. Your champagne is here.”
    When the waitress left, he lifted her hand and discreetly, languorously sucked her fingers clean. He then leaned back in his chair, his face dripping with satisfaction. He took a sip of his cognac, lit a cigar with a wafer-thin lighter, as his gaze swept over the crowd. Then it came to rest upon her. He merely observed her, puffed on his cigar, and watched her through the smoke. She loved it and hated when he did that. Dammit, he was studying her, as if she was a specimen, an object under his hot, possessive scrutiny. “Do you realize how hard I am right now?”
    Her throat went dry. Her heart rate spiked. Anticipation unfurled within her like the petals of a rose. She took a sip of her champagne. “I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”
    A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound bringing both tension and pleasure alive inside her. Holding her captive with his eyes, they drew her in and drew her in until every ounce of her resolve vanished. She’d never seen eyes more intense than his, more direct, more…disturbing. It was the sheer force of them that unnerved her. It was frightening. It was…intoxicating.
    “What if I am?” he countered.
    “I’d say you’re crazy,” she shot back.
    He nodded, as if he was contemplating and weighing the validity of her words. He extinguished his cigar in the crystal astray, downed the last drops of his cognac, and stood. “Outside,” he ordered.
    “What?” she exclaimed, a hint of panic in her voice.
    Without an explanation or consent, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let me show you how crazy I can be,” he said, and hauled her toward the exit with her reluctantly trotting behind him. “I think its about time you find out.”
    Once outside, he looked both ways, up and down the quiet side street that was more of an elegant alleyway than anything else. Guiding her away from the entrance to the tail end of it, just off the famous Faubourg Saint-Honoré, he pushed her down to her knees. There was no doubt in her mind what he wanted. His move