Françoise was a beautiful and seductive
woman, but Derian was having a hard time losing herself in the taste of her
mouth and the press of her breasts against her chest. She could see herself as
if she stood a few paces away, watching the familiar scene play out, the
familiar ending unreel. The challenge, the victory, the cries of passion, and,
inevitably, the parting played through her mind as predictably as the endless
cycle of parties, races, and risk that defined her life. The long, empty hours
until the scene played out again stared back her, as accusing as her own eyes
in the mirror. What was she doing, where was she going, and when would she stop
running?
Questions she did not want to ask, or answer.
Derian kissed her way down Françoise’s
throat, slowly cupping her breast and squeezing gently. Françoise arched
against her, a small sob escaping as her fingers tightened in Derian’s hair.
“Yes,” Françoise murmured. “So very good.”
“Come, let me show you how much better,”
Derian said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the bed. Once beside it,
she unbuttoned Françoise’s shirt and slipped her hand inside to rub her thumb
over the peak of the nipple pressing upward through the thin silk of
Françoise’s bra.
“Your hands are wonderful.” Françoise tilted
her head back, eyes closed, lips parted on a long shuddering sigh. Her fingers
raked through Derian’s hair and tightened on her neck. “Please, I want them
everywhere.”
Obediently, Derian opened the remaining
buttons and gentled the silk off Françoise’s shoulders, pushed the sleeves down
her arms, and let it fall away. This was a dance she knew, choreographed for
pleasure and predictably assured. At last the heat of Françoise’s skin, the
smooth satiny sensation of flesh yielding to her touch, consumed her. Immersed
in the command of Françoise’s quivering body, still fully clothed, Derian eased
Françoise down onto the creamy sheets, opened her silk pants, and bent over her
to kiss the center of her abdomen. When she rubbed her cheek against the downy
skin and licked lightly at the juncture of Françoise’s thighs, Francoise cried
out and arched upward, presenting herself to be taken.
“Soon,” Derian whispered.
“I cannot wait.” Françoise’s voice broke on a
husky sigh. “I am too ready.”
“You are too beautiful to hurry.” Derian
kissed once between her thighs and Françoise sobbed. “And I want to savor you.”
Derian undressed her completely and, when she
was naked, straddled her with her legs framing Françoise’s hips. She braced her
body on an arm and stroked Françoise’s throat, trailing her fingers down to her
breast. “Look at me.”