The Erotic Secrets Of A French Maid

She felt herself rising on the tide, felt the tension in her body as she strained toward the crest of the wave.

Yes, yes, it's coming, it's coming…

Her body tensed, her lower legs clamping against his thighs, a high-pitched keen vibrating in her throat. She held for a moment at the crest of the wave, balanced there, precarious, and then with one more stroke of his cock she felt herself tumble down the slope. Her inner muscles clenched around him, squeezing and releasing rapidly.

'Oh God, Emma,' Russ groaned, and thrust once more deep inside her, where she felt the pulses of his own release blend with hers.

Emma closed her eyes in the afterglow. She felt Russ rest lightly upon her with his cock still deep inside, breathing heavily.

She carefully lay flat and then he rolled them both to their sides, spooned together. She felt him nuzzle his face into her hair.

A smile curled on her lips and she fell into slumber, their bodies still one.

In the bathroom a half hour later, washing up together, Russ glanced at Emma. She caught his look and smiled, a sleepy cat-contented smile. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

'Thank you,' she whispered.

'What wouldn't I do to please you?' he asked softly, the words a question for himself as much as her.

'I wouldn't mind finding out,' she said, and laughed.

Russ smiled, and felt his own cowardice. He had asked her what she wanted him to do to her body, but he hadn't had the nerve to ask her the more important question: What did she want from him when it came to her heart?

It was a question he likely would never have the chance to ask. It wouldn't be fair, when he was paying her; he wouldn't put her in the position of having to pretend to be in love with him in order to keep her 'job.'

'Don't take too long,' she said, patting his buttocks as she left the bathroom.

He watched her go, then looked at himself in the mirror. What had he become?

He was a permanent John, buying sex in lieu of the love that every man craved, whether he admitted it or not, whether he realized it or not.

He had become a man falling in love with the woman he had turned into a mistress. The woman he had, through his own actions, put beyond his reach for anything more than what was physical.

'Russ?' Emma called softly. 'Are you coming back to bed?'

He turned away from the mirror and shut off the light, and returned to the soft comfort of Emma's body.

Chapter Fourteen

Emma cruised down the freeway, the stiff shocks of her Honda jouncing her with each rut and ripple in the road. She didn't care. Nor did she care about the red Porsche that seemed to find her car a direct challenge to its manhood, passing her with deliberate, finger-flipping speed.

She was lost in the memories of the night with Russ. Again she felt his hands on her inner thighs from behind, parting her, his fingertips reaching to her center to stroke her gently and then delicately parting her inner opening and laying the head of his rod against her. She felt him easing himself into her in slow, shallow thrusts, angled to hit her G-spot. She felt again his fingertip going where she'd least expected.

Her inner muscles clenched in memory of the orgasm that followed.

Even better had been the wash of relief that had flooded through her, as if she had set down an immense burden. No more holding back, no more putting her own desires secondary, no more keeping her wishes secret from him, as if asking him to touch her here or there was too big a demand. She had opened herself completely to him. She had surrendered to her own desires, confessing wishes she hadn't even known she had.

And it was glorious.

Euphoria shimmered through her body, the whole world golden and filled with possibility this morning. Her mind floated free, random images of Russ and the landscape around her filling her head.

As if from a source beyond herself, an image began to form in her mind, composed of the streaming sunlight and tall dark firs around her. Planes and angles appeared, mimicking where sky met water and water met the upward thrust of a rocky, fir-covered island. Graceful curves swirled through it, like the cupped sail of a boat, the beat of a bird's wing. They became ramps easy to drive upon, easy to walk upon. And at the bottom edge of this growing vision were the multiple hatched lines of sandpiper tracks on the sand, becoming train tracks cutting through the station.

Excitement coursed through her and she traced over the building that was forming shape in her mind, solidifying it in her memory, adding details to cement it into place. She captured it wall by ramp by window, ensuring that it would still be with her later.

This was it! This was finally it! A vision of pure imagination that would be the train station she would want to visit, that she would want to welcome people to her city, that would be her vision of Seattle and the region.

It would unquestionably be too expensive to build; probably impossible from a structural standpoint. It was completely impractical.

And she didn't care. It was what she wanted. She, Emma Mayson.

Ahead, the Porsche had zipped into the right-hand lane and been trapped behind a semitruck, a poky RV on its left locking it in fume-sucking position. Coming up behind the RV, Emma moved into the passing lane to get by. As she moved past the RV, a space opened up between the RV and the semi and the Porsche shot in front of the RV with barely a foot to spare, causing the RV to rock on its shocks as the driver overreacted in surprise.

What type of asshole was driving that penis car?

The red Porsche gave a single flash of the turn signal and pulled forward, barely enough to get ahead of Emma. The jerkwad was going to cut her off!

Before she knew it, Emma's hand found the red button to the nitrous system of the street-racing Honda and her rebellious thumb hit the button. A moment later she was on the space shuttle, rocketing forward in a roaring burst of speed that knocked her head back against the headrest. Her wild scream of glee echoed in her head, drowning out the motor.

The Porsche disappeared in her rearview mirror, and she screamed all the way to her exit, a mile later. She drifted up the exit ramp to the light, the car now surprisingly docile in her control, as if it finally understood who was boss. A cool flush of receding adrenaline loosened her muscles.

She was still sitting in dreamy contentment at the light when something red moved up beside her. She turned her head and saw the Porsche in the lane on her left, waiting to go the opposite direction. Still buoyed by confidence, Emma rolled down her tinted window, letting the bastard who was driving see the girl who'd just whupped his ass.

As her window lowered, the driver of the penis car lowered his. With a smirk of satisfaction, Emma looked into the Porsche.

And saw a ponytailed blonde, not much older than her, who was looking at Emma with the same surprised embarrassment that Emma felt. They were women, behaving like asshole guys. In unison they turned away from each other, windows going back up to hide their shame.

Emma looked up at the light and willed it to turn green, fingers clenched on the steering wheel. When it finally did, the Honda and Porsche made their turns with ladylike decorum and headed off in opposite directions, well under the speed limit.

Chapter Fifteen

How many cloves of garlic?' Russ asked. 'Three.'