Genevieve makes a surprise encounter after-hours as she wraps-up her new exhibition opening as French photographer turns up unexpected. In this short erotic tale, she discovers the most pleasurable ways to enjoy the delights of a French kiss…
Genevieve was alone in the museum now that the exhibition was over. She was satisfied that the turnout had been impressive. Movie stars and other famous people had attended the exhibition, and she was proud that they came to see her. Earlier, she had spotted Francois Viera the French photographer. It was difficult to remain cool when he slipped her a note, his fingers brushing against hers and sending a tingle up her spine. The note read: see you later?
She moved from painting to painting to kill time. She wasn’t sure what she’d say to him when he appeared, but she wanted to see him. Suddenly, she started to feel like she was no longer alone, and turned around to see Francois Viera watching her from across the room. His dark eyes bored into hers and made her want to drop her gaze. She swallowed the urge to go to him and unbutton his crisp white shirt and run her hands on his hard chest.
“Madame,” Francois Viera said, “Your work is phenomenal.” His English was colored by a French accent. “I thought you should hear this in person.”
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Genevieve replied, her voice was much steadier than she felt inside. She had sent him the invitation to her exhibition not knowing what to expect.
“I wouldn’t miss the opportunity for anything,” Francois replied. “I’m a long-time fan of yours.”
It was the way he raked his fingers through his lush dark curls and cocked his head to the side, that caused Genevieve’s heart to flutter. He was a beautiful man.
“As I am yours,” she replied.
She led him to a painting that had enjoyed a competitive bid before being sold for a sum that still shocked Genevieve. They sat down on the bench in front of the painting and stared at it.
“The abstract lines in this work, they remind me of passionate nights in the arms of a beautiful lover,” he said, taking Genevieve’s hand in his.
“Really?” she asked. “I’d say it shows a different kind of passion – a heartfelt prayer, maybe.”
“Madame,” he said, kissing her fingers, “sometimes passionate entanglements and prayers are one and the same.”
Then he leaned down and kissed her neck. She moaned and melted in his arms.
“And,” he continued, “I am willing to show you how being touched right can cause your body to break into a soul-shaking prayer.”
She smiled when Francois lifted her and placed her on his strong thighs. She let him unbutton her shirt and slide down her skirt. Then his mouth was hot and wet on her nipple as he sucked it through her lacy bra.
She moaned in sweet agony when his mouth traveled up to ravage her mouth. His kiss was firm, expert, and torturous. Genevieve groaned into his mouth as she moistened.
He kissed her neck again and sent a shiver down her spine. He reached up and freed her hair from her ponytail, then sank his fingers into her mane to massage her scalp.
Francois broke the kiss and moved to kneel before her. He slid her panties to the side and stared at her hot center as though it were the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Emboldened by the blatant worship in his eyes, she spread her legs even further and gave him unrestricted access. He bent his head and sucked on her glistening heat, lapping up the moisture flowing from her. His hands kneaded her breasts as his fingers and tongue set fire to her soul. Goosebumps broke out over her skin, and she cried out.
His tongue picked up a faster tempo, stroking and massaging her clitoris in a circular motion. She ground her hips into his face and matched his rhythm as he sucked her, their breaths soaring.
Then she came apart in a climax that left her shaking and crying.
He kissed her again, and she tasted herself on his lips. This time the kiss was slow because they took the time to explore each other’s mouths. He positioned himself above her on the bench. She gasped when his mouth found her hot center again. His tongue stroked her little nub of pleasure until her legs began to wobble. He raised his head to her maintain eye contact with her while wrecking her senses. She moved her waist to rock his face and his charged, darting tongue. He alternated between sucking on her clit and flicking his tongue over the engorged bud. And he watched the reactions on her face. This time her orgasm took her by surprise. She let out a startled cry and collapsed on his shoulder, breathless. He patted her back as her body cooled in the aftermath.
“Now you see that there’s no line separating passion and prayer,” he said.
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