Meanwhile, my blog tour continues next week. Monday's post will be at Ashley Ladd's blog. Here's the link (but of course it won't be live until tomorrow).
For a full schedule, and all the details about prizes and such, see my post from last Friday:
“You don’t have to be ashamed or embarrassed,” Harry added. “All we want—both of us—is to satisfy you. To please you and make you happy. Can’t you just accept that?”
Harry hooked an arm
around my neck and pulled me down into lush kiss. His tongue was
assertive as ever, yet I caught a hint of uncertainty in his manner.
Under his brashness, he worried that I’d reject the solution he and
Etienne had worked out. If I did, would I choose him, or the suave,
glamorous chef?
I relaxed and let
him plunder my mouth, offering reassurance via my physical surrender.
His hands roamed over my body, visiting all the sensitive spots he’d
discovered in our months together. There was no pain now, only bliss,
pouring from him into me.
Warmth pressed
against my back. I smelled vanilla and thyme. Etienne’s fingers
joined Harry’s, tracing along the top of my corset. He stroked the
tender flesh under my arm, making me shiver, then let his palm wander
down my side to the curve of my hip. His uncharacteristic boldness
increased the thrill of his touch. You’ll
be sorry, I thought, giddy with desire,
as Harry continued his hungry kisses. I’ll
trash your butt until you can’t sit down.
Etienne
knew he’d be punished. We both knew that was part of his
motivation.
Only part, though. I
felt the hair lifted off my neck, the moist, gentle pressure of
Etienne’s lips between my shoulder blades. The eloquence of that
simple gesture almost brought tears to my eyes. I eased my lips away
from Harry’s, beaming him a look I hoped was full of love. Then I
swiveled to offer my mouth to Etienne.
The chef accepted my
kiss with the eagerness of a starving man. He opened to the probing
of my tongue, letting me drink my fill of him. I tasted the walnut
mousse he’d sampled earlier at L’Auberge de Francois-Martine and
the Courvoisier he’d used to wash it down. Under it all, I caught a
hint of some half-bitter flavor that reminded me of rainy autumn
afternoons in Jardin les Tuileries. As I kissed him, I realized I’d
been craving this since the first day he’d graced me with that
haughty smile.
While his mouth was
subservient, his hands became increasingly more brazen, palming my
breasts and thumbing my nipples, then sneaking down to tease my lower
lips. Meanwhile, Harry was busy unlacing my corset. I hadn’t
appreciated how much the garment had constrained me until he managed
to slip it off, somehow without breaking the lip-to-lip connection
between Etienne and me.
I paused to draw in
a lungful of the sex-scented air and looked from one man to the
other. Had Harry minded my kissing Etienne? Did Etienne think I was
rejecting him for Harry?
Both of my lovers wore broad smiles.
Relief washed over me. The last vestiges of guilt evaporated. And I
was too horny to be embarrassed.
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