Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [87]
“Did I tell you,” he whispered, “that you taste wonderful?”
He leaned forward and spilled a little more of the champagne over the dark triangle of hair, smoothing it in with his fingers as Paris sighed with pleasure.
Hugo took a sip of his champagne, still caressing her. “Smooth,” he said, “you’re so smooth, and slippery and tempting….”
Paris didn’t want the champagne, she wanted Hugo, now, inside her, just the way he’d done it before. He’d found her rhythm perfectly; they could have made love together a hundred times before, that’s how well they’d known each other instinctively.
It was a pretty scene, thought Olympe, standing in the doorway. The soft lights, her big bed with its massive headboard, painted with cherubs and garlands, the soft, urgent music, and the two beautiful people, naked, soft skinned, peach colored under the lamps. She drifted over to the bed and bent to kiss Hugo. Paris lay as if turned to stone, Hugo’s fingers still caressing her as Olympe kissed him.
“Beautiful,” murmured Olympe, “you both look so beautiful. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just felt lonely … a glass of champagne sounded tempting.”
She slipped off her shoes and curled up on the bed at Paris’s feet.
“May I?” she asked, taking the glass from her hand. Her eyes met Paris’s in a secret smile. “Isn’t Hugo the most romantic man you ever met?” she whispered. “He knows just how you feel, just what you want him to do without even telling … he’s such a good lover. And it always feels so good to be well loved.”
Putting down her glass Olympe moved to kiss Hugo on the mouth, lingeringly. Her hands fluttered tentatively across his belly and Paris felt his hand tighten—he was kissing Olympe and caressing her! She watched in fascination as Olympe bent her head over Hugo; she could see her pink tongue busily tasting him. Hugo turned his head and smiled into Paris’s eyes.
“I think Olympe should stay, don’t you?” he said softly.
Excitement blasted through Paris—the wine, the grass, the adrenaline, the erotic scene, gave her a charge she’d never felt before. She wanted Hugo to do things to her and to Olympe, she wanted to share him with her, to watch what she did, what he did….
Olympe wriggled out of the white shift and lay down next to Paris, running her hand along the length of her body. Paris shuddered and moaned as Olympe’s soft fingers circled her nipples and then traveled the length of her body to join with Hugo’s, tangling in that triangle of soft, springy black hair. Her eyes were closed in ecstasy and she opened them to look at her new lover. Hugo was on one side of her, Olympe on the other, and she wrapped an arm around each of them as Olympe’s mouth closed on hers in a kiss. A kiss she didn’t want to end.
Olympe cruised the streets of the Marais quartier in her tiny Citroen, searching for the Rue de l’Abbaye, thanking God she’d never succumbed to the temptations of the big car. She was the world’s worst driver—a fact acknowledged by the frantic honking of horns as she cut across two lanes of traffic, swooped back around a rotary and then drove maddeningly slowly along the street she’d just traversed. It was three-thirty and she’d been searching for the Hôtel de l’Abbaye for almost an hour—Paris had been right when she had said it was “tucked away behind Les Halles”; it was tucked so far you couldn’t find the damn place.
Olympe tapped an impatient, well-gloved finger on the steering wheel, waiting for the traffic lights to change. A clock in the jeweler’s window on her right showed three-forty and Paris’s show had started at three. If she didn’t find the place soon she’d be too late. Damn, and she’d missed the Mitsoko showing for this. Still, she’d promised and Paris was such a darling. A smile flickered across her face as she remembered the previous night. It had been wonderful, Hugo had brought out the best in them. Oh, God, those idiots were honking at her again. Sliding the car into first, Olympe maneuvered cautiously through the lights. This damned hotel