James Cymone, a beacon of femininity in the realm of fashion, finds herself ensnared in the pulsating embrace of family ties. Bound closely to her cousin, the illustrious Andre Cymone, James comes to see fate orchestrate a charged encounter between...
Tsk, tsk, what a pity. Sometimes life can be so shitty.
Chapter Fourteen
Paris, France
March 10th, 1986
Princ
"You need another lover like you need a hole in your head. Baby, baby."
Knock! Knock!
Seriously, who is it now? If it's Kris with more questions, I might just lose it. I appreciate her for the part, but a man needs some peace now and then, right? Maybe I'm just getting too old to tolerate these young girls... Let me watch my mouth.
"Who is it?" I call out, feeling aggravated.
"Farrah Faucet!" comes a fake, feminine voice through the door.
Finally! "Tricky, get your ass in here and stop playing around."
He enters with a smirk plastered on his face. "Special delivery." He announces, slapping a piece of paper on my vanity.
"You found her?" I ask, scanning the address.
Turns out, she's not even an hour away from where we are. "Okay, let's go." I decide.
"Let's go? Man, I'm trying to enjoy my few days off with some honeys, not help you chase after James." Tricky protests, crossing his arms defiantly.
I give him my best puppy dog eyes and drop to my knees. "Please, oh please, Tricky, won't you help me get the woman of my dreams?"
Just looking at him, I know his resistance is futile.
"Come on, P, she flat-out rejected you on Christmas. What makes you think she won't do it again?" He counters, his resolve wavering.
Smirking because I know I'm about to get my way, I reply, "I see your big-headed ass has some jokes. Let's go, I'll drive."
<>
James
"Please, faster!" I grip the French satin sheets tightly as I'm swept into the depths of ecstasy.
"Dis-moi comment ça se passe?" (Tell me, how does this feel?) The gorgeous model between my legs murmurs as she caresses my slit very slowly.
I arch into her touch, unable to form coherent words, completely focused on the sensations this French model is evoking.
Monique latches onto my sensitive spot and sucks deliciously. Then I'm overwhelmed by the most intense orgasm I've ever experienced.
"Yes!" My legs tremble as she increases her speed, prolonging my pleasure.
As I come down from cloud nine, Monique climbs up my body. "Mon tour." (My turn.)
Just then, the phone rings. I take a deep breath and pick up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Come down to the front desk. There's a surprise for you."
Click.
Sighing, I glance back at Monique. "Looks like I'm needed at the front desk."
The look in the beautiful woman's eyes almost makes me laugh. "But Jamsie..." She protests in her lovely accent.
"Come on, the sooner I go see what's going on, the sooner we can get back here," I say with a smirk.
That gets her moving.
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