Humbled by Renee Rose Page A

stopped and rubbed her bottom. “Good girl.” He slid his finger down the cleft of her buttocks until he reached her back hole.
    Horrified, she tightened her cheeks around his finger.
    He delivered several sharp slaps. “No hiding from me. If you were my wife, it would all be mine. Even this little rosebud here.”
    “Jean-Claude,” she whimpered, more embarrassed than she had ever been with him, even as a drop of her arousal trickled down her thigh.
    He pushed the fingertip against her entryway. “Let me in, Corinne, or I will fetch a rope, and I assure you, it is far worse than a strap.”
    She gave another whimper but did not fight him when he breached her hole. Bracing her hands on the floor, her legs fell open on his lap. As he eased his finger in and out, winding her up, she both wanted him to go on and stop at the same time. “Please?” she heard herself mewling.
    He rubbed her dripping sex with the fingers of one hand, while continuing to press his finger deeply into her bottom. “Please, what, darling?”
    “Please, monsieur!”
    He laughed, a warm, rich sound that entered her body, melting her resistance to his ministrations. She followed the overwhelming sensations, her keening cries growing louder until she gave a sob and climaxed under his hands.
     
    * * *
     
    His cock strained against his trousers, but he ignored his own need, wanting to give Corinne every pleasure he knew. Lifting her from his lap, he stood and washed his hands in the basin, then returned to her, sliding her peasant gown off her. He sat down and stood her between his knees. Gripping her thighs to steady the trembling he sensed, he let his eyes roam up the gentle slope of her belly to her peach-nippled breasts. They stood wide, falling open as if in invitation, the nipples pebbled up for his suckling. She shrank under his scrutiny, slouching her shoulders as if they might hide her. He landed a slap to the back of her thigh. “What did I tell you about hiding from me?”
    “But I am not your wife yet, am I?” she retorted.
    “Fresh, mademoiselle. Too fresh. I should fetch that rope…” he said, stroking circles with his hands over her round buttocks, squeezing them. He stood, keeping her in place so her naked body pressed against his. Turning, he laid her back on the bed, trailing his flicking tongue down the flat of her belly, parting her legs to taste her honeyed sex.
    She wrestled with him, her thighs trying to clamp closed, as if overcome by shame at having her treasures exposed to his view.
    “Open for me, Corinne. This part is only pleasure. No pain—I promise.”
    “I am not afraid—I’m just—” She looked uncertain. “Overwhelmed?” Her eyes swam with tears and he sat up, startled. “No—” she shook her head. “Please do not stop. Please. I want you.”
    He pushed her thighs open, holding her gaze and slowing his movements so she understood what he intended. He ran his thumb over her slick minou . She jerked in a spasm of pleasure, her nerves sensitized to touch. He continued stroking, making his movements slow and predictable until her panting breath slowed and her knees fell open.
    “That is it, love,” he encouraged. “You do not want to arrive too quickly. Relax and enjoy the ride.”
    She licked her lips, and the sight of her little tongue made him groan. He slid one finger inside her, holding her pelvis down with the other hand as she wriggled and cried out at the sensation. In and out he worked his finger, nearly reaching his own premature climax at the sound of her cries. Stretching her opening further, he pressed two fingers inside and worked her into a frenzy of need. Withdrawing his fingers, he used his thumb on her swollen bud of pleasure as he tasted the sweet nectar of her juices.
    “Jean-Claude!” she cried with alarm.
    He pressed two fingers inside her again, working them at a faster pace. He repeated the pattern—using his tongue and thumb on the sensitive pearl at the fore of her