I tap my fingers against her ribcage.
“—is chocolate.”
I kiss her sternum.
“And cherries.”
I lick her collarbone.
“Mocha.”
I brush my lips over her breasts.
“Candy, even.”
She smacks her hand down on the top of the island when I flick my tongue against her nipple again.
“God dammit, Julien Valois. I can’t even think. What the hell are you doing to me?”
I smile against her skin. “I’m teaching you to appreciate wine.”
I shift back enough to splash the Merlot onto her stomach this time.
“Now let’s talk about the texture.”
“Oh, g-g-god,” she stutters when I start to lick her again, as low down her torso as her jeans will allow.
“I’ve always been partial to Merlot,” I continue, doing my best to sound unfazed. In reality, it’s taking an almost supernatural amount of self-control not to strip her naked as fast as I can. “The flavour is bountiful—generous even, in all that it offers, but the texture...It’s what makes Merlot truly...sumptuous.” I pop the button of her jeans and slide them half an inch down her hips. “You tasted it, didn’t you? How smooth it is? Like velvet. Like silk...”
The hint of bright red fabric under her jeans flashes like a danger sign. If I get any closer, I’m not going to be able to slow down. From the way she’s got her eyes screwed shut and one hand braced on my shoulder, I can tell Monroe probably wouldn’t object to that, but I want to make her wait just a little longer.
“That’s why you have to take your time with wine like this,” I explain. I straighten up so I can begin shifting her jeans down her legs. Every second reveals another inch of perfect pale skin, another sweep of her curves. “So much of what makes it enjoyable is in its presence, its shape, the weight of it in your mouth. It’s a very physical wine.”
“Physical, huh?” Monroe squeaks as I let her jeans fall in a heap on the floor.
I can’t even find the words to answer. The only thing keeping her from being fully naked in my kitchen is a red scrap of fabric that I’m going to have her begging me to rip off.
“Spread your legs,chérie.” My voice has gone hoarse. “Feet on the marble. I want to see you open for me.”
She hesitates. “Is that part of the wine lesson?”
I catch the nervousness she’s trying to hide under her joke. I’ve never seen her unsure of herself before tonight. Even when she has a choice to make, she always seems so in control, poised to weigh the options. She’s a leader, but lying here, exposed to me like this, that all seems to fall away. She’s caught between what she wants—what her body is begging me for—and whatever shackles are holding her back in her mind.
She doesn’t like to put herself first.
The realization hits me as I watch her struggle with the urge to snap her legs shut. She’s used to looking out for other people, to fighting their battles and championing their causes. I saw the way her staff looked at her tonight, like she was the voice of reassurance rising above all the chaos. Monroe is a provider, and so of course that would translate into how she feels about sex.
Only I don’t want to be provided for now. I want to make her forget about everything except the need pulsing between her thighs, and she needs to know it.
I curl my hands around her knees, spreading them even wider. “I’d like to taste you,chérie.” I dig the edges of my nails into her skin until she gasps. “I’d like to kiss you, and lick you, and fuck your cunt with my tongue until you scream my name and I can’t taste anything but you for days. I’d like that more than anything right now. Will you let me?”
She closes her eyes again and draws in a few shuddering breaths. “S-Say it again.”
“I said,” I repeat, breathing the words in between the nips I pepper down her thigh, “I would like to fuck your cunt with my tongue until you scream my name.”
I reach the edge of her underwear and trail my tongue along her slit over top of the fabric, just once, just one slow, hard stroke from top to bottom.
“Mon dieu, you taste so fucking good.”
