“Oh,” she smiled, “Thank you.” She loved it when Henri spoke his own language but wished that she could understand him better. A GCSE in French hadn’t equipped her for communicating with a French lover.
She relaxed and closed her eyes again as he ran his hands over her thighs.
“And this is what I love about you!”
Her eyes shot open.
Love?
He pushed her skirt right up to her hips then fingered the tops of her hold-ups and she realised what he meant. This Frenchman loved a woman’s body with all the trimmings, which was lucky as she liked pretty underwear. It was just more fun to have someone to appreciate it.
Mere moments ago she’d been spooning two sugars into her coffee cup, desperately in need of a caffeine fix after yet another long night of French loving with the handsome rugby player.
She was exhausted. Exhilarated. Still horny.
It was hard to believe that it was only two nights ago, on a rather cold, drizzly July evening that she’d accompanied her boss – the renowned celebrity agent Liam H. Clarkson – to an annual dinner. It had been the sixth anniversary of the establishment of Clarkson and Gwillam Celebrity Agency. It now had five branches across Europe, with the possibility of further growth, so spirits were at an all-time high.
And it had been there, deep in the cavernous candlelit corridors and ante-chambers of Cardiff Castle, polished, manicured and poured into her best lbd, that Catrin had met Henri.
And since then, her feet hadn’t touched the ground!
Now exposed from the waist down, except for her stockings and flimsy white lace panties, she surrendered to his caresses. He stroked an experienced finger over the small triangle of material then slipped it beneath the sheer fabric. Her legs shook even harder as he pushed the finger through her silken folds and rubbed her clitoris. She gripped the counter to keep herself upright. Her legs trembled as if an earthquake had just hit the building, its core right beneath her feet.
“Oh, Henri!” She bit her lip as he pushed one, then two fingers inside her whilst using the pad of his thumb to play with her swelling bud.
“You are so beautiful, Catrin,” he whispered as he pressed his mouth over hers.
“But not here,” she struggled to say, enjoying the invasion of his tongue as it tangled with hers. They could be seen. They should stop. But she was desperate for him to continue.
“Yes, here!” he insisted, speeding up his touch.
Although she knew that they were taking a risk, her body responded wantonly to his caress. Her inner muscles, honed by thousands of clenches, began to ripple and she raised herself to her tiptoes to prepare for the thundering climax that would follow. But he suddenly pulled his hand away.
“Oh!” escaped before she could stop it.
“Oh?” He smiled, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. Though only twenty-five, he bore physical evidence of a life lived for pleasure and sport. His full sensual lips, the thickened bridge of his nose and the scar that crossed his left eyebrow all suggested that this man was born to be both lover and sportsman. Catrin thought that his little flaws made him even more handsome in a rugged kind of way. And she liked rugged.
“I uh…” She struggled to find the words. “You…uh…”
“You want more, my lady?” He gripped the bulge at his crotch. “”You want more of this, perhaps?” His accented English made the words sound so sexy.
She stared at the large penis which strained against the expensive grey trousers and nodded. Why fight it? She wanted him inside her so bad that her core now ached and he knew it. Though they’d only been intimate, what, six times (not bad for forty-eight hours) he knew her body like a seasoned lover and she knew that he was insatiable. He could make her come again and again and still be ready for more just moments later. His masculine energy was impressive and she’d never met his equal.
Not that she’d had that much experience.
“Yes but…”
“Not here?” he teased. “Come with me then!”
“But…” She glanced at the steaming kettle and the cup with its offering of bitter coffee. There was a strict code of conduct in the office kitchenette: you cleaned up after yourself. Catrin strove to stick to the rules, to be a good girl. She always had. It had been drummed into her as a child. But here she had a chance to let go for a while, to enjoy being reckless. “Sod it!” she muttered, as Henri straightened his jacket over his bulging groin and took her hand.
At the doorway to the office floor, he whispered, “I’ll go over to the lift. Follow me in a bit.”
She nodded then watched him stroll across the open space. He smiled politely at her co-workers as he went and the tapping of keys slowed as he turned the head of every woman in the room. Catrin hugged herself, battling the insecurity that washed over her. She couldn’t believe that someone so gorgeous, so successful and yet still so young had chosen to be with her. Even if it was just a fling. With his athletic frame reaching almost six foot, his dark brown hair, soft chocolate eyes and honeyed skin, he reminded her of a Greek god. When he walked into a room, he seemed to fill it with his masculine presence and easy confidence. She wished that she had that same self-assurance. Hers was forced, a front she put on to mask her own vulnerability. Like her make-up and business suits.
At the lift doors, he turned and flashed her a dazzling smile. He could sell toothpaste with those pearly whites! But then, if he followed in the footsteps of many other famous sports personalities and had a good agent, he probably would.
She smoothed down her skirt, took a deep breath. She shouldn’t follow him. It was madness. She’d sold her soul to get a foot in the door of this agency and here she was acting like an irrational idiot at the first flash of a tight athletic ass. (Not to mention the rest of him!) Lord knew, she was going to see plenty of those in her time. She should just invest in a good vibrator and some quality erotic romance like other women clawing their way up the career ladder. Nothing like a good erotic novel and a buzzing bunny to sort a girl out!
Yet here was the opportunity to enjoy explosive sex with a real man. A real, hot, delicious-smelling hunk of a man. It wouldn’t amount to anything. It was just a fling. So she should just enjoy it. Right?
Shrugging off her doubts, she walked across the room, trying to appear casual but she felt like everyone could hear her thundering heart. They must know or at least have some suspicions. Could they sense or maybe even smell her desire for the man she followed?
She shook her head. Silly, irrational thoughts. She was taking a risk, dallying with one of the agency’s newest clients. It was against all the rules…but he was irresistible and he made her want to break the rules. And didn’t she deserve a break, a taste of happiness, even though she knew it couldn’t last? It would be fine as long as no one found out.
The lift doors pinged open and Henri stood aside and waved her in.
“Your carriage awaits, mademoiselle.”
“Why thank you, monsieur.” She inclined her head. “You are most kind.” She spoke loudly to allay any suspicions about their intentions.
They stood formally side by side, the air in the space between them crackling with tension, until the automatic doors closed and a robotic voice entered the confined space: “Going down.”
Henri turned to her. “Yes, indeed. Going down!”
He swept Catrin up in a crushing hug and smothered her face with kisses.
“No, Henri! We can’t! Not here.” Laughter bubbled in her chest.
“We won’t be long!” He reached down and cupped her bottom,