“Ah, Madame Déesse! The woman stepped forward, clasped Deas hand and led her towards the fireplace.
The men waiting stood and bowed, the firelight casting shadows on the ceiling and their faces. The same sweet wood burned in this fireplace, and an ancient oil lamp glowed on the low table.
Dea was doubly, triply, aware of the wet flannel plastered against her breasts and legs and the sodden raincoat flapping round her ankles. They didn’t notice, or rather they saw but regarded her with admiration.
“Déesse, the oldest man began. As if unsure of her response, he spoke slowly. She followed each word, understanding without needing to translate. He was asking her to choose. One of them.
Her body rippled in reply.
The dim light flattered them all but the flickering illumination showed beyond their exteriors. In the old man, Dea saw wisdom, a mind shaped by long years fighting the elements but never conceding failure. The youth possessed a vigour and an energy Dea envied, but he lacked the substance and depth of the older man. It was the third she looked at longest, the one nearest her own age. He stood tall and broad-shouldered. His dark eyes glimmered in the firelight, and in their depths burned a raging desire – for her.
Without a word, Dea smiled and held out her hand.
The other two stepped back, as if ceding the field to the victor, as he took her hand and knelt at her feet. His dark hair fell forward, exposing the tanned nape of his neck.
“Madame, la Déesse, he said, his voice thick with promise, Lucien Valpert, à votre service.
Was it the close warmth of the room, or the heat from his bowed body that spiked her own need? “OK, Lucien,” Dea said, squeezing his hand and raising him to standing. He was so close, a half-step would bring their bodies into close contact. “Let’s go.”
Dea turned and climbed the candlelit staircase, Lucien’s footsteps heavy on the broad steps behind her. Her bedroom door stood open. Someone had built the fire up to a roaring blaze. A row of candles burned on the mantelpiece and four more flickered, one on each post of the bed. And Lucien waited just inside her open doorway.
“Come in, shut the door.” Had she spoken English? French? It hardly mattered as he closed the door with a soft thud and crossed the floor and prepared to kneel. “No.” She stopped him with her hand. His eyes met hers, questioning. “I want you upright for now. You can get on your knees later.” She rested the flat of her hand on his chest. Feeling warm muscle under the soft-washed shirt, Dea looked him in the eye and parted her lips.
He lowered his mouth.
Slowly.
His lips were warm and male and opened hers with a promise of sweet fire. Wet heat roared between her legs as his tongue swept hers. His arms closed round her shoulders in a fierce grasp. Her breasts flattened against his chest, his thigh eased between hers, his erection pressing against her belly. He was more than ready. She wasn’t. Not yet.
“Wait,” she said, pulling back. He obeyed. The twitch in his jaw showed his effort to serve no matter how she willed. “Soon,” Dea promised, relishing the wild light in his eyes as she slowly opened his shirt. Each button gave at her touch until she parted the faded cotton and ran her hands over warm flesh and soft hair, his heart racing under her hand. His breath caught as her fingers rubbed his nipples to stiff points. She ran her tongue over his left nipple, sensing his need and relishing her power. She moved back as he gave a little gasp.
He was watching her with glinting eyes, his broad chest rising and falling with each slow breath. “Strip,” Dea said. He stared, not understanding. She brushed his shirt off his shoulders and watched it settle on the floor by his feet. “You take off the rest.”
Lucien got her meaning. With controlled but efficient movements, he unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his pants and underwear. Dea walked behind him as he bent to undo his shoes. Nice butt. Nice back. Splendid body. Firm muscles shaped by years of physical labour, not workouts on chrome-plated gym machines. She walked back in front as he stood up, and she smiled. Lucien might have been surprised at being chosen, but he was more than ready for the office. His cock was magnificent, jutting at her from its nest of dark hair and hers for the having.
She skimmed her fingertips over the erect flesh and circled him with her hand. He gasped as she moved it up and down, easing back his foreskin to reveal the dark head of his cock. She squeezed.
“Madame!” Lucien gasped. A glistening bead of moisture gathered on his cock. He’d have stepped back, she was certain, but she had him hard in her hand. She stroked the head of his cock with her thumb, spreading his moisture, fascinated by the tender end of his erect cock and how his foreskin moved at her touch.
“OK,” she said, letting go of him. “Now you undress me.”
He stepped behind her and removed her raincoat, crossing the room to hang it on the wall. Her pyjama top he unbuttoned and tossed on the chair. His eyes widened with admiration at her breasts. He reached out but paused, looking at her for consent. Unable to hold back a smile, Dea nodded. “You may.”
His fingers were rough but gentle and certainly not untutored. He caressed the full undersides of her breasts with cupped hands, slowly eased his thumbs over the swell of her breasts until he caught her nipples between thumbs and index fingers and tugged. He rubbed her areolae until little nubs around them stiffened and she shuddered with desire.
His hands eased down her belly and he paused, waiting for her approval. She smiled. Heck, she grinned, and with a nod of understanding Lucien eased his hands into the elastic at her waist and lowered the last of her clothes. He knelt at her feet as she stepped away from the damp cotton. Dea looked down at his dark head and tanned shoulders and the hand around her ankle, his eyes gazing at her pussy as if she were the wonder of creation. He looked up, his eyes dark with need. “Madame, vous permettez?”
Aware of her awesome power, Dea watched him for a few seconds. “Oh, yes.”
Warm air brushed across her pussy, ruffling her curls like a quickening breeze. His fingers opened her. Wide. His breath came closer as the flat of his tongue lapped her. She whimpered as his arms closed around her thighs and a gust of rain hit the windowpanes. If the glass had caved in, she’d never have noticed. Lucien was devouring her with slow perfection. He covered her with his lips as his tongue narrowed and played her clit, flicking and teasing until she moaned with need. He paused and she grabbed his head to hold it to her. He could not stop. Not now. She would not permit it.
But he’d paused only to slide one hand from her thigh. The other held her as firmly as ever. His mouth continued its slow caress as he pressed one finger, then two, inside her cunt. He played her, his fingers pulsing a beat that matched the thrust of his tongue.
She was lost. She was found. She was all and everything she’d ever longed for as a lover knelt in homage at her pussy. His fingers, slick with her arousal, smoothed her ass as his tongue drew her towards climax. Need blazed deep in her belly. She cried aloud as his fingers curved deep and his mouth worked her faster. He was merciless. He was magnificent. He was all. She clutched his head, thrusting her hips into his face, reaching for her coming climax. Her shouts increased as her need climbed. Until she came in a wild crescendo of joy and release that had her screaming aloud as her legs buckled.
Lucien held her firm. Steadying her as his mouth fluttered little kisses up her belly. It was almost too much. She would never have enough.
He gathered her up in his arms as easily as if she were a lightweight. His mouth, wet and warm with her juices, met hers. A slow kiss, gentle as a whisper, that sent her body wild. Nothing could satisfy her but his magnificent cock deep inside.