The Right Fit

Chapter 32

Maxine felt precious, like she was the last ripe peach on the last tree in the world. She had visions of pushing him back on that gorgeous king-size bed and straddling him. The unquenchable desire to feel him inside her had become essential as breathing. If he waited any longer, Maxine was certain she’d drown from yearning.

Her reflection in the glass blinked back at her, the glass was clear—she’d been holding her breath. And then she replied, “Oui. Very much.”

At once Antony hooked his fingers into the sides of her underwear and quickly, somewhat roughly, dragged them down past her knees. Jarred off balance, Maxine pressed her palms against the cold glass of the window. Far below, red and white lights of six lanes of traffic started and stopped.

He stayed behind her, going through the motions, the silence was almost dignified as if this grand moment required a hushed commitment from both of them to go forward. There was a soft grunt coupled with the sound of his zipper. A condom wrapper dropped to the carpet. Cool air breezed across her bare buttocks as Antony gathered up the back of her dress once more.

Then his knees were behind her knees, his hands gripping her hips, and then the unmistakable tip of his erection, poised at her entrance.

Despite his earlier warning, Antony pushed into her slowly, only halfway the first few strokes. Maxine’s muscles clenched around his length. She tilted up her chin taking in deep breaths through her nose. The

pulsating ache between her legs started to grow stronger, more concentrated.

He let out a constrained grunt and thrust into her all the way. Gasping, Maxine’s palms slid on the glass as she rolled up on her tiptoes. Antony kept her there, at the hilt of his erection, then slowly pulled back, bringing her down again. There was a suspension in movement lasting a few heartbeats. She felt his fingers dig into her hips, securing her, then he plunged all the way inside her again.

Her hands slid over the glass searching for something to hold on to. She felt unhinged, like she was about to slip through the glass with nothing between her and the night sky.

Antony caught her wandering hand and lifted it up, bringing it around to the back of his neck. “Don’t let go,” he panted, heavy and laborious in her ear. These were the only words he’d spoken.

Curling her fingers around his hair, Maxine held on as he pulled her back, taking her weight into his lap, sliding deeper into her. He started thrusting again, and this time the rhythm took hold, his pace measured.

Maxine took the fullness of him, her body stretching as he moved in and out of her. The sliding wetness of the friction drummed through her like an unending pulse. She moaned and gripped his hair tighter.

He swore in French, rocking his hips faster.

Uttering sighs with every exhale, she didn’t want him to stop. More.

Antony’s grip on her hips intensified, she felt his whole body stiffen, then he shuddered letting out a long ragged breath.

It wasn’t until he’d slipped out and stepped away that Maxine realized all the muscles in her legs had gone flaccid. Her knees almost buckled as she took her own weight again.

As her pulse returned to its normal rate she heard him move about the room behind her. A moment later, there was a click and a vertical blind moved in front of the window automatically. Maxine made a sound of surprise and stepped back, practically stumbling since her underwear were still halfway down her legs.

The room glowed as track lighting around the molding of the ceiling came on. She took notice of the mirrored closet doors, the long dresser mostly tidy except the pile of paper receipts, a dish of loose change, and a few framed photographs.

Antony stood at the doorway of the bedroom, staring at her, his expression unfathomably penetrating. He touched the switch and the room brightened another level. His shirt was untucked and hanging over the front of his pants, now pulled back up to his waist. It seemed almost ridiculous that he was still in his suit jacket.

Maxine was frozen to the spot, wondering if she’d imagined the sex. He made his way across the room, then he knelt before her and gently pulled her underwear back in place.

“And now,” he said, looking up at her, his voice dripping with French sexiness. “The real love making.”

“But you just put my panties back on?” Maxine said.

Antony smiled and rose up, kissing Maxine through her dress all the way from her abdomen, between her breasts, then the end of her nose. “I love every inch of you tonight,” he said. “More than one place I want to taste.”

She stared at his mouth, he still hadn’t kissed her yet. The near orgasm had left her dangling on the edge, almost impatient with desire. Maxine wondered if he’d planned it that way.

“I love this dress.” His finger traced the neckline of her dress all the way down to where her breasts met. “Déshabille-toi,” he said. “Take it off.”

“Now?” An unexpected jolt of terror made her voice quiver. She was used to the dark. She was comfortable with Antony because so far he hadn’t seen her completely naked. Going without her spandex girdle was one thing, but striping in front of him without the cover of shadows was almost cripplingly horrifying.

He leaned back, studying her face. “Tu es belle.

Laisse moi te voir.”

Maxine could only stare back. Was that dirty talk? Everything Antony said in French sounded erotic to her.

His expression relaxed. “You are beautiful,” he repeated. “Let me see you.”

Maxine put her hand on the tie of the wrap around dress, but her hands were shaking too badly.

Antony covered her hands with his. “Peut-être moi d’abord…maybe me first?” He slipped off his suit jacket then tossed it on the chair in the corner. Next, he unknotted his tie, and began to unbutton his shirt.

When he was standing in front of Maxine, bare chested, she couldn’t help but notice the warm pooling in her lower abdomen. Her eyes took in his broad shoulders, tight six-pack, and the thin line of hair starting at his naval and disappearing below his waistband.

Her muscles started to clench on their own, creating the pulse between her legs. The desire to have her skin pressed up against his chipped away enough fear that she allowed him to untie the bow at the side of her dress.

She watched as he unwound the fabric of her dress, letting it fall from her shoulders exposing her black lace bra and matching panties. He neatly added her dress to the collection of clothes on the chair.

He knelt in front of her again and peeled her black stay-up stockings down one at a time. Then he started kissing her legs, moving up both thighs, then the front of her panties, and then up her abdomen. “Tu es belle,” he kept repeating.

Maxine’s face burnt with excited embarrassment as he touched and kissed every part she always thought was ugly, but through the doubt, another sensation was taking over. A mad rush of anticipation coursed through her veins. She wanted to be naked with Antony, to feel her skin against his. All along, she’d been unwilling to let go of her inhibitions, fighting her desire to be with him this way.

Ready to brush aside the last lingering hesitation, Maxine unclasped her bra, letting it drop to the floor. A stream of French whispers escaped from Antony as if he was in awe. He cupped both her ample breasts, his tongue tracing one nipple while his hand massaged the other. She thought the shivers trembling down her body would never end.

“Antony,” she whispered. “How do you say, kiss me, in French?”

He raised himself to his full height. “Embrasse moi.”

Maxine stood on tiptoe, pressing her breasts against his muscled chest. “Embrasse moi,” she repeated.