29 June 1959
Somehow Jean felt she'd never tire of this, his worn, handsome face so close to hers, his broad palms settling against the tender skin of her thighs, her body burning everywhere she touched him. She shouldn't want him, she knew, shouldn't allow herself to imagine what it might be like if these rendezvous between them were not predicated on payment, but just now, just for this hour, he was here with her, and she was enjoying their every interaction immensely.
At the moment she was perched on his lap, his hands gentle on her skin, sliding up her bare thighs, her short nightdress already bunched around her hips, her hands on his broad shoulders. Their faces were close, so close she could feel the warm wash of his breath against her cheek, could feel his chest brushing hers as it rose and fell in time to those unsteady breaths. In an instant she was transported back to the kitchen, standing between his knees, on the verge of kissing him, and to stop herself from violating her own rules so soon after she had attempted to reinforce them Jean leaned in, and pressed her lips to the thick column of his neck while her fingers fumbled blindly with his tie. Same as last time she wore nothing beneath her thin nightdress, and he discovered this fact at once, his hands cradling her bare bum, rocking her gently against him. He groaned as her lips brushed against his skin, the sound of it reverberating through her chest where she touched him, his head thrown back to allow her access as she continued to explore the warmth of him beneath her mouth.
She liked him like this, beneath her, strong, and hard, his body heavy with muscle, powerful enough to take her over completely and yet delivering control of himself into her hands. Control was everything, in this business; Jean's livelihood, her safety, depended on her maintaining control, setting boundaries and ensuring that they were adhered to, letting the customers take only what they'd paid for, and not a penny more. Sometimes it was a fight, with men who wanted more than their fair share; sometimes it was a balancing act, feigning submission to stroke their egos while at the same time keeping them in line. It wasn't like that with Lucien, though; Lucien gave her the lead, looked to her for reassurance before pressing forward, seemed to delight in making her happy. Somewhere deep in her heart Jean knew what it meant, that he should treat her so differently from all the rest, that she should want him so badly, but she pushed those thoughts away in favor of the delights at hand. There would be time later for reflection and recrimination.
The hard clench of his hands against her bum, rocking her into him, sent shivers down her spine; she could already feel him beginning to press up towards her through his trousers, and she ground down against him, eager for more as she pulled his tie free and threw it over the back of the sofa. There was something exciting about it, sitting on his lap half-naked while he was still fully dressed, but some concession would have to be made in order for them to reach their final goal. Not yet, though, not now; she was enjoying the simple pleasure of this too much, the heat of his body beneath her sparking through her nerves like electricity, a promise of more to come.
With his tie discarded she unbuttoned his collar and made to continue her perusal of his neck, but with a sudden shift Lucien freed his hands, and reached for her wrists.
"My turn," he murmured softly, blue eyes burning into hers. Never blinking, never breaking eye contact with her he lifted her right hand to his lips, and pressed a gentle kiss against to the tender skin of her wrist. Jean shivered, and felt his hardness catch against her through his trousers. Satisfied with that reaction Lucien guided her arms behind her back, caught both her wrists in the firm grip of his left hand and held them there as his right returned to her front and slowly, slowly pulled down the strap of her nightdress. Just like that, the control that had made Jean feel so powerful only moments before was transferred from her to him; it was Lucien who directed them now, Lucien who would take his pleasure from her, and with any other man it might have frightened her, to think how easily he had turned the tables on her. With Lucien, though, she did not feel a moment's hesitation, for she trusted him, and knew already that whatever he had in mind would be as enjoyable for her as it was for him.
Caught, trapped in a delicious sort of way she watched him reach for the other strap, watched him slide it down until it hung loose around her bicep, the soft lace that hugged her breasts falling away from her skin. With her hands caught behind her back her chest was thrust towards him, and though she longed to touch him she could not, could only wait with bated breath, rocking idly against his still-hardening cock, watching as he devoured her body with his hungry gaze.
"Beautiful," he breathed, and then he hooked his fingers beneath the lace and pulled it gently down, until it slid beneath her breasts and revealed them to him. Already he had stoked the fires of want within her, and the chill air of the room ghosting over her skin, the thrill that lanced through her as she was bared to him, left her nipples pebbling and eager for his attention. His broad hand trailed lightly over her left breast, cupped her, kneaded her flesh while she watched him, unable and unwilling to do anything else, mesmerized by the sight of his hand on her body. He moved slowly, deliberately, savoring her or teasing her she wasn't sure which, his hand hot as fire against her skin. Was he waiting for some sign, some sound from her, some indication that she wanted him to continue, some evidence of how deeply he was affecting her? Or was he simply enjoying himself; was touching her alone enough to satisfy him for the moment?
"Lucien," she breathed, grinding down against him, wondering if he could feel the damp heat of her through the fabric that still separated them. When she spoke he grinned, and leaned in slowly, pulling her hands back just a little, encouraging her to arch back, to press herself that much closer to his searching mouth. A sigh - of relief, of pleasure, of longing - escaped her as she felt the warm wet of his mouth against her sensitive skin, the rasp of his beard rough and yet enticing. Slowly, painfully slowly, he feathered kisses across her breast, until at last he wrapped his lips around her nipple, his right hand clutching tighter at her as his mouth sucked hard against her, and a shocked, delighted sort of gasp escaped her, and she trembled on his lap, felt the answering call of her own wetness beginning to flood through her. The hard ridge of his cock beneath her offered her some relief, and she worked herself against him with a sudden fervor, chasing the towering, swirling want his mouth and hands had begun to build within her.
His teeth scraped against her nipple, lightly, a test perhaps, to see how close she wanted to walk to the line between pain and pleasure, and she moaned, tried once - half-heartedly - to remove her hands from his grip, found that she could not, and shivered in anticipation. Pleased with her reaction so far he switched his tactics, his lips finding their home on her other breast, his hand rising up to tease the other still wet from his mouth. Knowing how he took pleasure in pleasing her only made Jean want him more, his tender care, his thoughtful approach to their every interaction serving as a reminder that whatever he wanted from her he would surely bring her bliss, too, would not leave her behind in pursuit of his own satisfaction. The yearning low in her belly began to build into a swirling, tightening, tensing sort of need, and though she was enjoying their current position very much she knew it would not be enough, like this; she needed his skin, his hands, needed his attention in other ways, and they only had an hour. Regretfully, she admitted to herself that it was time to move things along.
With his head still buried in her breast she bowed her own, brushed her nose through the fine hair at his temples until she found the curve of his ear with her lips.
"Lucien," she whispered to him then. "Give me my hands."
He did at once, released her without question and lifted his chin to look at her, their cheeks brushing together as they moved, his eyes on her face as if trying to gauge her mood. And Jean liked that, too, liked that even when he held her captive he listened to her, and did not hesitate to do as she asked. Carefully she shrugged her arms free from the straps of her nightdress, pushed it down to bunch around her hips, and then she reached out, caught hold of his shoulder with one hand to steady herself while she leaned back over his knees, and gathered up her discarded robe from the floor. There was something else in the pocket of that robe, something she needed, and though she did not explain herself Lucien watched her silently, his hands on her thighs a reassurance that he would not let her fall.
"There," she said when her task was done, tossing the nightdress away and settling once more firmly upon his lap. In her hand she held the condom she'd brought out for just this purpose, knowing how impatient he was, knowing that once they sat together on the sofa he might not want to leave it. She had been right on that score, and she was glad of it, for so far she felt they'd had rather a lot of fun in this place, and they did not need to waste time dashing off to the bedroom.
"Here?" Lucien asked her as his eyes followed the progress of her hands, tearing open the packet and pulling the condom free.
"If you want to," she answered. She rather thought he did, but she liked that he'd asked, just the same.
"Christ, yes," he said, and she laughed, and reached for his belt.
He swallowed hard; she watched the rise and fall of his Adam's apple, felt his hands tighten against her thighs. Very carefully she scooted back onto his knees, and pulled his belt free from his trousers, teasing him as he had done to her. It made a soft clink as the buckle of his belt hit the ground, but Jean did not hear it over the pounding of her heart in her chest. Once more he was sitting back, watching her, waiting for her, letting her do as she wished, and she liked the thought of his eyes on her while she touched him.
"Wait," he said when her fingers found the button of his trousers.
Jean stopped at once, curious, but he only grinned and leaned towards her, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it behind the sofa to join his tie. "That's better," he said when it was done, and he looked so sweet, so happy to be there with her, that she very nearly gave in and kissed him right there.
"Good," she told him, reaching once more for his button. There was more she could have said; she could have called a halt right then and stripped him out of all his clothes, but she was restless, and eager for what came next, and worried about the minutes they'd already spent, and how few they had left. Now was not the time for pausing, for breaking their momentum; she wanted him, and she would have him, now.
