Part 2 of 4

Richard Poole now realizes he has a quandary. Somehow, she has managed to capture his crossed arms between them and he is suddenly VERY conscious that her breasts must be pressed most cruelly. I certainly don't want THAT, now do I? No-oh! He bends forward to keep the kiss going as he repositions himself into a more Camille-friendly configuration. Once unfolded, he sweeps her up into a tight embrace and revels in the firm docking of their bodies.

For once, his body speaks up before his stunned mind kicks in to spoils things, Oh, yes! This is more like it! To hell with the fight! She is straining against him like she's trying to burrow beneath his suit. With a flash of heated realization, he intuits this is EXACTLY what she's trying to do! He catches her hands, folds them behind her back then leans onto his desk again, but not in retreat. Not this time. In strategic warfare. Use your attacker's weakness against them to lead them right into a trap!

Camille gasps as she is drawn up off her feet to be held spread full-length along his torso. She fights for a moment before she catches on… then her knees come up and she grips his thighs powerfully, pushing herself up to strengthen their kiss.

He jerks again in surprise. He's never been climbed before! Her thighs are like iron, velvet-coated iron, and he can't escape their grasp. As she surges up his torso, he feels every last vestige of civility leave him. He also realizes that this fight isn't over! It's just changed direction. As he releases her hands and grips her rock-hard bottom, he vows this is a fight he will win! He shifts her a bit higher so she is almost at eye-level with him although neither of them has opened their eyes yet.

She is crazy with lust. He's so firm and solid and he smells so good and he tastes so good and even his sounds are good. Listen to me, she thinks wildly as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and buries her hands in his hair, calling him 'good' when he's so incredibly INCREDIBLE! Who knew he was capable of such moves? He's never given the least clue as to his skills… and now I'm getting a crash course in Richard Poole that I won't EVER forget!

He is thinking (almost thinking) the same thing, plus, I've always accused her of being French without ever really thinking about what that means. Does it mean this? That she's a total fox and a man-eater and voracious and…? Oh, I hope so! I really do! His heart leaps in his chest just thinking (almost thinking) about it. Will he survive her actual feasting upon him? His resolve hardens as he vows to keep up with her no matter WHAT happens. I'm an Englishman. I WILL carry on… or die trying.

She has somehow scrambled up to rest both knees atop his desk and now she is slightly above him, bearing down on him, holding his face in tight capture, tongue plundering his mouth and splintering his control with hot electric jolts that surge out of his oral cavity and into his body. Christ, he groans, I'm overcome and we're still on our first kiss! I'm a goner! There's NO WAY I'll be able to keep this up! Besides, as soon as she lets go of my mouth, I'm going to say something totally stupid to ruin the mood and then she will just kill me and be done with it.

She DOES let go of his mouth but he doesn't say anything stupid. He doesn't say anything at all. He hasn't the breath. They both gasp in life-giving oxygen then lunge back to the attack.

He can't move her. She's wedged tight as a tick and he DOES want to move her. He wants to be pressed firmly into her saddle so he lifts her suddenly and the kiss is broken again. She gives a high squeal of… what? Frustration? Anger? Surprise? He doesn't care. He spins quickly and now SHE is on his desktop.

Her knees come up. She wraps her thighs around his hips. A fragmented thought streaks through his pounding head, there and gone again. She must be double-jointed. Now her arms cross over his back, her hands clamping onto his shoulders like traps. Now he leans down onto her, using his height and weight to his advantage, hands buried in her hair. Later, he thinks, much later, I will comb this beautiful hair until it glistens. I will lose myself in this midnight mass of curls. I want to fall asleep with her hair on my shoulder and spread across my chest and perhaps even…

His normal decency tries very hard to stop his next thought but it's no match for what's roaring through his blood right now and, so, the thought comes anyway. He desperately shakes his head to dispel it and despairs. I'm going to spoil it! Despite everything, I'm going to spoil it!

Ssshhh, the air seems to whisper, you're not going to spoil anything. Keep quiet and follow her lead.

He stills. Who IS that? Not her! Not me! Who? She feels his sudden shift in concentration and stills against him. They still together and pant in concert. They both open their eyes at the same moment and see each other only scant inches away.

His eyes flare in panic and he knows this is the turning point. This is ALWAYS where I go wrong! This is the EXACT moment when the woman realizes what a mistake she has made. I say or do something completely imbecilic and…

Shhh, air gusts in his ear, smile, kiss the tip of her nose. He doesn't know what else to do so he does. Her eyes flare. She takes a deep breath and she opens her mouth to speak. Here it comes, he thinks sadly. Thanks for trying to help, voice, but this is where the shit hits the fan and I'm sent packing and…

His abject defeat is interrupted however, much to his surprise. She ISN'T giving him the old heave-ho. She… she is… she is moving his hands… pulling them down out of her hair and placing them very firmly elsewhere… all the while pulling him tightly into herself.

His body, which had taken the hint of his chagrined thoughts, roars back into life with a burst of testosterone that almost makes him faint.

Her eyes slip shut again and she leans her head way back, showing him her delicate throat where he can see her pulse throbbing away like sixty! She whispers, "Oh, Richard! Is that ALL for me?"

What a question! How to answer without sounding like a total dim? He takes a chance on the little voice being right and just nods. He tries to nod manfully but it just doesn't happen.

Somehow, he doesn't know how or why, his shyness doesn't put her off. If anything, she seems very pleased! She makes a little bleating sound… tender… loving… like the sound someone makes when picking up a little bird. She cups his face and coos, "Oh, chéri! Don't be shy! Not with me." Then she rears back and gives him a long slow look of consideration.

He feels his blush rise like fire but instead of deterring her, she seems to LIKE it! She brushes her fingertips across his flaming cheeks then kisses him softly, so softly, and muses, "But… maybe I LIKE the shy? Yes, I think I do! I think I like it a LOT!" She kisses him again and he feels his hesitation sooth.

He pulls back just enough to let some cool air into the super-heated envelope of oxygen-depleted atmosphere around them and shakes his head. He doesn't WANT to shake his head but he's doing it nonetheless! What is WRONG with me? Voice! Where are you? Help!

Relax, comes the whisper, she knows what's what. He takes a little breath and tries to calm himself.

She hitches in a shuddery breath too, and to his total consternation, releases him, lowers her feet to the floor, and stands under her own power. But she doesn't push him so far off that his excited state isn't still pressed against her. She hums, "Mmmm, I like this. I like it a lot. And you're right, we can't do this here." She kisses him once more then steps away, dropping her hands to stroke him as if making sure she isn't imagining his attributes then removes her hands completely and he is once more all alone by himself in the world.

This sense of loss must have shown in his eyes because she laughs in delight and slips a hand beneath his tie, gives him a little tug, "Oh, you don't have to say it! I know, I know. Will you come to my place? It's closer. Or do you want to go to your place? It's more private." At his quirked eyebrow, she colours a bit, "Personally, I'd prefer YOUR place. This isn't going to be a quiet episode and I'd rather not have noise complaints called in. We'd never hear the end of it from Dwayne."

Now he is frozen in surprise. MY place? Really? Voice, where are you! Don't leave me now!

It doesn't. Not to worry, why don't you drive and let her get frisky beside you? I'm sure she'd like that! You still have that wine chilling at home, right? The same Rioja that's been waiting forever? Tonight's the night to pop that cork. Lock up and take her home. Now.

She rides the whole way with her head on his shoulder and her hands beneath his jacket. As he parks, she murmurs, "I'm a bit surprised by your silence. This isn't like you at all. Normally you're all stuttery and tongue-tied, but not tonight. You're very sure of yourself, aren't you? But not sure enough to stop being shy. What a puzzle you are. And do you know something?" She leans in to give him one last truck kiss, "I've come to love puzzles too and I think I have a BIG ONE to solve tonight." She slips to his door as he gets out, turns him to face her, and wraps herself around him once more.

And that's how he carries her to his house, up the steps, through the doors, and to his bed.

END – part 2