The Erotic Secrets Of A French Maid

He came groggily awake. 'Oh, sorry.' He pulled the pillow out from under her and then turned onto his back. She moved to get up, but he caught her arm. 'No, come lie with me.'

'I have to get the towel,' she said, not wanting to give in to the sleepy comfort of a postcoital snuggle. It wasn't postanything for her.

His lips tightened, and the sleepiness began to clear from his eyes. 'I should go clean up.'

Her annoyance warred with her liking of him, and liking won out. She pushed against his chest, making him lie back again. 'Don't be silly. I'll be just a moment. Stay here.'

She cleaned herself up and removed her veil, then warmed a washcloth in hot water and carried it back to him, cleaning him of the vestiges of their lovemaking. She set the cloth aside and climbed up onto the bed with him, letting him settle her against his side. She pulled lengths of silk up over them and then rested her palm and cheek against his chest.

He reached over and stroked his hand down her side. 'You need to have your turn.'

She closed her eyes and shook her head. 'That's not what this is about.'

His hand moved over her hip and down to the edge of her sex. 'I'll enjoy it more if I know that you enjoy it.'

It was what she'd wanted five minutes ago, not now. Her mood was gone and some perverse part of her wanted to wallow in the injustice of the orgasm score. 'I do enjoy it. Very much,' she said, with a hair less conviction than might have been believable.

'Don't do that.'

She tucked her face against him, knowing what he meant but asking anyway. 'Don't do what?'

'Say things you plainly don't mean. Be honest with me, Emma. You've nothing to lose by telling me the truth.'

She opened her eyes, staring at the hairs on his chest, and gathered the courage for honesty. 'I do enjoy it. But I was very close to enjoying it a lot more-if you know what I mean.'

He squeezed her arm. 'Tell me when it's like that, so I can do something about it. Will you tell me?'

She nodded, but it was so much easier to try to please someone else, rather than ask another to please you.

'Promise?' he asked.

'Promise.'

It was a promise she didn't know if she could keep.

Chapter Nine

Russ's world narrowed to the scraping of his skates on the ice and the rasp of his breathing inside his helmet. Skate full-bore to the blue line, stop on the outside edge of his skate, cross his other leg over, skate back to the goal line, stop on outside edge of skate, cross over, skate to red line, stop, cross over, skate, stop. He was doing line drills while his fellow players showered and dressed after the final game. Skate, stop, cross over, skate. Stopping on the outside edge of his skate strained the inner muscles of his thighs and the crossover demanded concentration and agility. The sprints from line to line sucked every last dreg of energy from his muscles. It was all he could think to do, to force thoughts of Emma from his mind. Thoughts of her, thoughts of the things they'd done together, thoughts of how he had forgotten who he was as he chased her through the apartment, his only goal to capture her nearly nude body, toss it down, and plunge himself inside it until the steel-hard ache in his loins was eased.

He'd turned into an animal!

Skate, stop, cross over, skate. It had been a favorite drill of his coach when he'd first learned to play, and had also been his coach's favorite punishment when he thought his team needed to get their act together.

He needed to get his act together. That sexually aggressive side of himself had frightened him afterward, realizing how slim his control was over his baser nature; how thin the wall was between civilized behavior and barbaric.

Worse yet was knowing that last night's escapade was just a mild version of what he would be capable of, given the proper circumstance. If he'd been born a thousand years ago and given a sword and a village to plunder…

Skate, stop, cross over, skate. And what about Emma? Had she gotten off on that power play? Well, technically she hadn't, though she'd complained that she'd gotten close.

He didn't know if he could handle many more nights like that. The role-playing, the freaky ideas, never knowing what to expect, never certain if he'd be able to perform-and aware that he'd left her unsatisified twice now.

He coasted to a stop, winded, feeling the nausea of overexertion. Crap. He used to be able to go twice as long. He was getting old.

The pop of a beer can being opened echoed across the ice, and he turned and saw Greg standing in the box with a beer in his hand, another sitting on top of the boards.

'Want a beer?' Greg called across the ice.

Russ skated over to him and climbed over the boards, propping his stick in a corner. He pulled off his gloves and helmet and took the can, popping the top and taking a gulp.

'Whatcha doing? Training for the senior Olympics?' Greg asked, taking a seat on the bench.

Russ joined him, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his wrist. 'I've been eating too well lately. Got to fight off the belly.' The Zamboni driver started up the machine and moved it onto the ice.

'Business dinners?'

Russ shook his head, watching the Zamboni begin its pattern of ice-cleaning and repair. 'No.'

'A shopping trip to Costco? Those giant muffins, man, they'll kill you.'

Russ chuckled. 'No, I've gone out a couple times.'

'You mean out out? Like with a member of the opposite sex?'

Russ nodded.

Greg slapped him on the back. 'Finally! Russell has a girlfriend! Congratulations!' He lifted his beer can and clunked it against Russ's.

'Don't register me for wedding gifts yet. I doubt things will last the week.'

'Hey, stop with the half-empty view. You've got a living female willing to go out with you more than once! You should be offering prayers of thanks.'

They were silent for a moment while the Zamboni roared by in front of them.

'So who is she? That younger woman you talked about? The one who was cleaning your house?'

Russ nodded.

'And she actually likes you?'

He shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'Are you going to see her again?'

'Tomorrow night.'

'What date number is it?'

'Three.'

'You're golden, man! If she hasn't done it already, she's probably planning to jump you.'

Russ laughed. 'Maybe.'

'Women usually wait till the third date. They don't want you to think they're cheap.'

'Where did you pick up this bit of wisdom?'

'Mens Health magazine. But everyone knows about the third-date thing.'

'I can't believe you read that crap. It's Cosmo for guys.'

'Hey, I'm a well-informed, balanced male,' Greg said, buffing his nails on his chest. 'A veritable Renaissance man.'

Russ choked and Greg pounded his back, making him slosh beer onto the back of his hand.