Vive La Corse

Look at me, she thought. Look at me so I can tell what you're thinking, so I know what you're doing.

His eyes moved to meet hers as if he'd read her mind. Instead of holding an answer, though, they reflected her confusion.

"Jules?" His voice was barely a whisper.

He dropped his eyes to her body. She held her breath; she didn't want him to see how rapid her breathing had become or how much his touch had affected her.

"You have . . . did you do that on purpose, Jules?" His words were rushed, as if he'd voiced his inner thoughts without realizing it.

Juliette glanced down, confused. She blushed at what she saw; there was a dollop of custard on her breast, just above her nipple. She must've been so busy concentrating on keeping their conversation flowing that she hadn't noticed.

It was decision time.

"I didn't." He wrenched his hand from her hair and reached for a napkin on the table. "But that would've been a good idea, I think."

His hand stopped in mid-air as he swung his eyes up to meet hers. Eagerness, desire, apprehension, disbelief . . . her stomach lurched as she saw her feelings reflected in his eyes.

Ephraim shifted sideways in the seat, wrapped his hands around her hips, and licked the custard off her breast with one long, wet stroke.

"All gone?" She struggled for breath as the shock of what he'd done sunk in.

His head was still down, giving her a view of the curls on his head. She gripped the cushions on either side of her body, fighting the temptation to reach out and pull him to her breast; she feared that, like a dream, this would all dissolve into the darkness if she moved.

"I think so." His quick breaths were hot against her flesh. "Would you like me to make sure?"

"Yes."

Juliette gasped as his thumbs dug into her waist, pushing her against the seat, holding her in place. He pulled her breast into his mouth, making long, slow, circular movements with his tongue where the custard had been.

His tempo and intensity soon increased, forcing moans from her body in time with his tugs, bites, and licks. She wasn't sure how much longer she could endure the sensation of having one breast tortured while the other was left untouched, impatient and wanting.

"Please Eph, the other."

She felt his lips curve into a smile even as his rough tongue continued to abrade her skin. She whimpered as he took his time releasing her, letting the skin of her nipple linger between his teeth as she stared up at the weathered underside of the roof's overhang.

She tensed, waiting for him to relieve the throbbing of her other breast, and was surprised to feel nothing but the night air on her body. She lowered her head and looked at him with glazed eyes.

A taunting smile played at his lips. "But it's clean," he whispered.

Her lips curved into a slow smile as his words clicked. "Then make it dirty."

Moments later Ephraim held a spoonful of custard above her breast. They both watched as, in painstakingly slow movements, he tipped it sideways, forcing the creaminess to cling to the metal for as long as possible.

She sucked in a sharp breath as the cool custard made contact with her breast. She heard the spoon hit the floor just before his hand returned to her body, pinning her to the back of the seat once more as he feasted long after the custard was gone.

"Ephraim."

She tasted sweet custard as he kissed her, and knew he'd found the bitter, lingering flavors of chocolate in her mouth. They kissed long after the flavors had melded, their tongues making sure no area was left unexplored.

Ephraim broke away, leaving them both panting. "Not enough?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Nowhere near enough."

Juliette moved to stand as she spoke, but he shook his head and pressed her further into the loveseat. She tensed as he moved his hands from her waist down to her inner thighs and nudged them further open.

"Rest your legs on the arms." Ephraim's gaze didn't waver as she considered his words and request. "Please, Juliette."

His quiet, comforting tone pushed the flickers of doubt from her mind, and she scooted to the edge of the seat. The raised ridges of the wicker dug into the backs of her knees, and his stubble scraped at the soft flesh of her thighs as he smiled up at her. She squeezed the edge of the cushions, waiting for his mouth to make contact.

Ephraim gave her a single lick along her folds, the same lick she'd felt earlier on her breast. There was no need to hold her legs open—the loveseat handled that—so his hands swept up and down her inner thighs, massaging as he used his mouth to tease her. She sucked in a breath as he continued to mirror their earlier experience, using his hands, tongue, and lips on her while studiously avoiding her clit; as he had with her breasts, he was giving her too much attention in some areas and nothing in another, purposely leaving her wanting.

"Please," she begged.

That’s all it took. She whimpered as he turned his mouth’s attention to her nub, and groaned when she felt a lone finger find that squishy, spongy place just inside of her, the one right at her entrance that always made her come. She waited for her release as his mouth and finger worked, but he held her on edge, licking just too slowly, pressing and sucking just too lightly. He drew her pleasure out, making her savor the blissful floating feeling of being on the edge of orgasm.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take his denial anymore, she came with a shuddering cry, finding her plane of ecstasy as she thrust herself up against his mouth.

"Sorry." She snatched her hand back. At some point, she'd twined her fingers through his hair. How long had she reclined like that afterwards, holding him between her legs?

"S'OK," he ground out.

Ephraim pulled her up to stand before him, turned them around, and sat on the loveseat. Juliette tried to break free of his hold, to kneel before him and bring him the same pleasure he’d brought her, but he wouldn’t let go of her body. Instead, her knees sank into the faded red and white stripes of the cushion as he pulled her down on top of him.

She batted his hands away from her hips and let her lips wander his chest, shoulders, and neck as he sat on the loveseat. Her exploring efforts were rewarded with moans and gasps, and she felt his nails scratch up and down the length of her back as his arms tensed around her.

Juliette glanced up, expecting to see his eyes closed, but noticed him glance instead towards the bowls of custard and chocolate behind her on the table. She pulled away with a grin, and skimmed her index finger through one bowl and her middle finger through the other.

His eyes widened as she painted lines of black and beige across the olive skin of her breasts.

"I'm dirty again." She moved her fingers to the hard tips of her breasts, massaging the sweet cream and bitter syrup into her skin.

He licked his lips as she played with the taut tips of her breasts.

"What makes you so sure I'll clean you up? Maybe I want to leave you dirty." He snaked a hand down between her thighs, dragging his finger through her wetness. "Maybe you should do the cleaning for a change."

He trailed his finger up her body, swirling the tip around her nipples before pressing it against her mouth. She parted her lips to let his finger slip in and stroked the salty-sweet mixture off his skin, watching his pupils dilate from her efforts.

"Oh, hell," he rasped.

There was no gentle nibbling and suckling when his mouth returned to her breasts, just aggression. She arched her back, pressing herself further into his hands and mouth. Just as his attention was approaching the line that separated pleasure from true pain he pulled his head back from her, panting for breath.

"Clean enough, if you'd like something more?"

"Mmmm. Yes, please."

Her wet, aching breasts brushed against his chest as they rearranged to find a workable position on the loveseat. His sticky hands were on her back, holding her in place as she drew herself up above him.

Juliette reached her hand down between them to touch herself, and then reached down to find his spongy head and coat him in her wetness. She repeated the action a few times, and then stroked his length, enjoying watching him battle for control.

"Juliette," he gasped. "I swear, if you don't hurry up, you're going to feel my hand coming down hard on your backside."

She cocked an eyebrow in defiance. "Oh?" She shrieked as the promised smack hit her ass, and then let out a throaty laugh. "Mmmm. That isn't exactly motivation, you know. I might just have to keep doing this," she said as she touched herself again before returning her attention to his shaft.

"Well then, no more spanks, ever, unless you climb on, right now."

"Spoilsport," Juliette said as she lowered herself onto him. She opened her mouth to say something else, only to groan aloud as his length filled her.

Her knuckles matched the white wicker back of the seat as she rode him, tightening around him to give them both as much pleasure as possible. He ran his hands through her hair and pulled her down to kiss him. He felt spectacular, filling her over and over again as their mouths mingled, their tongues matching the pace she set.

Ephraim broke away and moved his hands down to grip her waist, quickening her pace. Her body was primed from her earlier orgasm, and tremors of pleasure rushed through her until she was shaking with need. She pulled a hand from the wicker, but stopped, suddenly unsure of what to do.

"Go ahead and touch yourself," he ground out. "But keep your eyes open. I didn't get to watch last time."

Between his words and a few strokes of her finger, it didn't take her long to find her release again, and she cried out as she came around him.

"Juliette." His eyes slid out of focus for the briefest of moments as she pulled him along with her.

She collapsed on top of him, resting her face against his chest. She lay like that for what felt like ages, enjoying the feeling of his breath slowing beneath her.

"Did you know?" she whispered as she traced her fingers across his chest.

"Know what?" His voice was clear as he drew circles on her back.

"That you and I . . . that we'd . . . you know."

"That we'd be good? No. But when I hugged you earlier, you hugged me back. It was in your own way," he said with a laugh, "but you'd never done that in all the time I'd known you. It made me wonder."

She considered his words in silence, and glanced up to find him smiling down at her.

"And then you blushed when I touched your arm. And I could feel you checking me out when we were sitting next to each other, before you took off your clothes." He smirked. "And I could tell by the way you were shifting in your seat that you weren't unaffected by being naked with me."

"Oh." She felt embarrassed that he'd noticed those things, which was odd, given what they'd just done. "Had you thought about this before tonight?"

"Thought about what?" He laughed. "Stripping on the balcony, smearing you with cream and chocolate, and licking it off?"

"No." She chuckled. "Well, maybe. But you know what I mean."

"I was eighteen when we met, Jules. What do you think?" He sounded incredulous. "You're smart, you've always been fun to tease, you have a killer body, and you have that exotic, mysterious southern Mediterranean look going for you. And your voice has that sexy, smoky, throaty French accent. Of course I've thought about sleeping with you, more times than I can count. "

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Especially that first year in college when I had no idea what you were saying. Back then I figured if I couldn't talk to you, I might as well . . . well, you know."

"Wait, is that why you've always hugged me? Were you . . . Ephraim Cohen, have you been feeling me up?"

Juliette punched him on the arm when he shrugged his shoulders and grinned in response, only to shriek with laughter as he tickled her sides. She sat up to get away from his teasing fingers, but then settled herself across his lap when he held his hands up in a truce.

"God, I missed you when I was in India, Jules. I mean, I've always missed you when I travel—you're one of my closest friends—but it was different this time. I had a lot of time to think, and believe me when I say I had some crazy-ass dreams when I had that fever. I dreamt about you, about being with you. But my fantasies, they became . . . different somehow."

"Oh." Her stomach churned.

"Different in a good way. I still wanted to get in your pants, but that wasn't the only goal anymore." He looked wary as he spoke, almost unsure of himself. "That's why I came here, you know? It's why I chose to spend my first visit alone with you in an insanely hot kitchen instead of enjoying a gigantic, air-conditioned party on the second floor."

"Then I think I'm glad you had that fever." She smiled as she leaned over and gave him a long, lingering kiss.

"You know, the colleges around here are about to start up again. You'll have no problem finding someone to take your room."

"Right." Her stomach plummeted. Why had he reminded her that she had to leave, that what they'd just enjoyed was only temporary?

"I know they're not mountains sticking out of the ocean, but my cousin has a cabin up in New Hampshire's White Mountains. His wife's having a baby, and he offered it to me through October, free of charge, so I could have a place away from my parents to write that co-authored paper, find a new dissertation topic, and write some grant applications. There are no gorgeous beaches, but it's near an abandoned quarry that's nice to swim in. We'd only have to pay for food. I'm no chef, but I added a few things to my repertoire in India, and we both know you could keep us fat and happy with pastries. So if you want a little vacation before you go home . . . ."

She blinked. What, exactly, was he offering?

"There are two bedrooms," he rushed on, "so you don't have to, I don't know, share a bedroom with me or anything, I mean, if you want to just be friends or whatever . . . ."

"I don't think I'd mind sharing a bedroom, if I get to share a bed." She wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

"Yeah? You going to hug me like this, too?" He tapped her arm and grinned at her.

"Maybe. Depends on if you admit that I'm Corsican and not French." She smiled as he rolled his eyes. "And you know, if you need another society movement to study . . . what?"

"Social." He laughed and kissed her on the forehead. "They're still social movements."

"Right. Well, if you need one to study, there's an independence movement in Corsica—"

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow to match his sarcastic drawl. "From being around you for the last decade, I'd never have guessed."

"Very funny. If you're interested . . . well, my family knows a lot of people who've been involved for decades."

Ephraim jaw dropped. "So, you're saying I could write my dissertation while living on an island surrounded by crystal-clear waters, while sharing a bed with a gorgeous woman?"

"It sounds so terrible when you put it that way."

"I know." He grinned. "Want to get a head start on that terribleness? We can pack up your stuff this weekend, go and see . . . whoever it is you need to see to switch you to a tourist visa or whatever on Monday morning, and then leave bright and early on Tuesday for the White Mountains."

"Maybe not too bright and early? I think I might like to celebrate my unemployment by sleeping in a bit."

"Fine by me." His hand ran up her side and began to play with her breast. "Is that the only way you want to celebrate?"

"Mmmm. You're right." She closed her eyes and settled her head against his chest. "I think tomorrow I'll have to make some napoleons."

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In case you didn't catch on in the story, this is my entry into the Nude Day contest, so please vote. I always appreciate feedback, too, either in the comment section or via email.