Taxi to Paris Read Online Free Page A

from under me. Still breathing heavily, she lay next to me.
    "That was ... not ... necessary," she managed raggedly. I propped myself up on my elbow and smiled at her. "Yes, it was. And actually, I believe you need some more yet."
    She pressed her lips together and shook her head. It had been a long time since she'd been so free of resistance. I slid on top of her quickly. She protested weakly. She tried to hold her legs together, but she hadn't yet regained her strength. With both hands, I pushed them apart and laid myself between them.
    She was as beautiful down there as she was as a whole. I said so loudly enough that she could hear me. "Get back up here right now!" she hissed in answer.
    "Not a chance!" I laughed at her irritation. Slowly, I began to sweep a wide circle with my tongue. She sighed, and I noticed her thighs tightening. I twirled the circle smaller and tighter. She chased my tongue with her hips. "You're driving me crazy," she whispered, so softly that I could barely understand her. I continued. She dug her hands into my hair and held on. "I can't take any more ... please."  I didn't let her out of my mouth. "I can't stand it anymore! Please . . . let me..." Her voice was hoarse and demanding as it reached down to me. I took all of her into me and let her find her own rhythm. This time, she came with a long, steady scream and innumerable twitches. When her orgasm had ebbed, she lay as if dead. I slid on top of her and kissed her. She was covered in sweat.
    When she could speak again, she smiled easily. "Whatever did you do?"
    "I? Do? Not a thing." The innocence of a country girl was nothing compared to me.
    She laughed, amused. "That's not at all what it felt like."
    She groped at the nightstand and pulled a long, narrow cigarette from its long, narrow package. She lit it with a beautifully decorated silver lighter and took a deep drag. Cliché at its purest.
    She looked at me. "Oh, pardon me, would you like one also?" Her hand wandered back to the nightstand.
    "No, thank you," I pouted. "I hate to get lost in a cloud of smoke right afterwards."
    "I usually don't either, right afterwards. But today ... it's your own fault. If you hadn't worn me out like that..." She reached one hand tenderly under one of my breasts, leaned over, and kissed it. "Mmm," she hummed appreciatively. "Sweet as champagne." She looked at me again, closely. "Like the rest of you," she said then. She leaned back onto her pillow and smoked.
    So she had decided, at least for the moment, to like me - or perhaps just to tolerate me? I observed her from the side. She sat there, relaxed, an incredibly beautiful woman, holding her cigarette with an elegance I'd never imagined possible. The smoke circled up just as elegantly - as if it felt obligated by her manner to do so - toward the ceiling.
    She ignored me. At least, she acted as if I weren't there. What did she expect from me now? Our business relationship was clearly over. I scolded myself silently. I didn't want to think about it, but I had to. What should I do in this situation? Should I just leave? But that was exactly what I didn't want to do. I wanted to stay with her, I wanted to get to know her. She had touched me deeply. Her vulnerability, which she tried to hide behind miles of protective walls. Her fear, and that she had chosen this in particular as a career...
    I looked at her, searching. She crushed out her cigarette and looked over at me. When she noticed my expression, she twisted her mouth a bit.
    "Don't bother holding back."
    "From what?" I asked, somewhat irritated.
    She pulled the blanket up over herself and covered her breasts. "You want to know how and why I got here, what I am, right?" In another situation, those cold, flashing eyes would've driven me right out of the room. As she'd inflected it, it was really an obscene question that I'd never dare ask. I kept silent.
    She raised her eyebrows. If she did that one more time, I'd have to kiss her, even if I had to pay