I almost take my hands off him, but then he steps even closer.
"Should I take care of your stomach now, ma belle?"
I nod. "Mmhmm."
He slides his hand down my right arm, and tingles ignite under his fingers. He reaches into his pocket, gets more cream, then, like the previous night, works it into the sides of my waist, slowly sliding his hands to the front of my body.
Please go lower.
I would freak if he ever touched me there.
No, I wouldn't.
"Are you doing okay?" he asks, his hot breath hitting my neck.
What would it be like to have his mouth all over me?
His thumbs circle near my belly button. "Tell me when you're ready."
Calm down. Nothing terrible is going to happen.
I can do this.
I stick my chin out. "I'm... I'm ready."
His hands move up. In a low voice, he talks in French near my ear. I only know bits and pieces of French, but I know he says the words beautiful and sexy, several times.
My chest rises and falls quickly. His warm hands caress the bottom then the top of my breasts.
I concentrate on the delicious way every word rolls off his tongue while digging my fingers into his thigh muscles. My lower body becomes a throbbing pool of desire.
I moan when his hands glide over my areolas. It's not loud, but it vibrates in the air and combines with his voice, as if in a song. I shiver when his fingers trace my already pebbled nipples, and his erection presses against my spine.
"Oh God," I whisper, stretching my neck against his chest and arching my back.
His fingers outline my nipples, and he says something else in French.
I whimper, my eyes still closed, my breath ragged, my skin scorching hot.
Please move one of your hands lower.
He slides his hands up to my shoulders. His lips brush against my cheek, and he says in English, "All done, ma belle."
It snaps me back to reality. Disappointment from the loss of his touch fills me. I slightly turn my head, staring into his gray eyes that are now almost blue.
I did it!
"Thank you," I tell him.
He says something in French, and my sex pulses again.
I don't ask him what he said. Something about the mystery of it is super sexy to me.
I stare at his lips. Please kiss me.
I wouldn't know what to do.
Maybe he can teach me?
That's the last thing a man like him wants is a na茂ve woman. He surely wants a woman who is experienced.
My self-confidence reminds me of who I am and what I don't know. I release his thighs and step forward. I pick up my bra, put it on, then my T-shirt. The entire time, he stares at me. I'm not facing him, but I can feel it.
I spin. "You know French."
His eyes twinkle. In French, he says several sentences while checking every part of my body and lingering on my breasts and sex.
My face burns. I recognize beautiful, sexy, and dirty old man but nothing else.
The zipper opening on the tent door hits my ears. We both turn. "Knock, knock," Zoe's voice calls out.
"Come in," I say.
She steps in. Her eyes are wet. "Sorry. Am I interrupting?"
"No. Are you all right?" Malin asks.
She smiles. "Yeah. Emilia, did you still want to do yoga?"
I nod. "Sure."
"Okay. Should I ask the other girls if they want to join us?"
"Please."
She leaves, and Malin picks up his backpack. He digs in it and removes a pair of shorts.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
The danger I saw last night returns to his eyes. He reaches behind his head and pulls off his shirt.
Holy shit.
"I'm getting ready for yoga. Since I've seen you topless, figure it's not fair for me to hide." He unties his boots, kicks them off, then unbelts his pants and drops them.
I gape at every part of his body. His chest has light hair I want to run my fingers through. A six-pack, perfect V, and hard pecs could be out of a magazine. The bulge at his crotch makes my mouth go dry.
He steps into his shorts, and an amused grin fills his face. "Show me what you got, ma belle."
6
Malin
Every hour Gustave doesn't call me or send a message, my worries intensify. Andre said Interpol plans to send the women