Flames of Flamenco by Jennifer Ivy Walker

Author:Jennifer Ivy Walker [Walker, Jennifer Ivy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC027010 FICTION / Romance / Erotic
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Published: 2023-12-26T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 6

Enflammée

Early summer sunlight filtered through the arched window as Ella’s eyelids fluttered awake. The enticing aroma of fresh coffee filled the air as she stretched her long limbs across the bed, purring like a contented cat. In the kitchen, she glimpsed Jean-Luc’s naked torso, the scorpion tattoo with enormous pincers twirling up his broad back like the curved arms of a flamboyant flamenco dancer.

He'd set the countertop for breakfast, with fresh squeezed orange juice, two bols de café, and four pastries on a pretty platter nestled between two small plates in the same turquoise hue. “Pain au chocolat,” he grinned, gesturing to the flaky rolls. “My favorite.”

Ella stood up, stretched her arms overhead, and flashed Jean-Luc an appreciative smile. “It looks wonderful. I’ll be right back.” She quickly made the bed and slipped into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she emerged with a freshly scrubbed face, clean teeth, and brushed hair. After a quick deliberation, she decided to remain nude and slipped onto the barstool beside Jean-Luc.

Appreciation and desire dancing in his dark eyes, he swiveled her chair to face him, parting her knees with his own. Leaning forward to claim her lips, he growled in a ragged, husky voice. “You look good enough to eat.” He slid off his chair, moving it back a bit as he dropped to his knees between her open thighs. Pulling her to the edge of the seat, he feasted on her delicate folds. And— as she clutched the counter for balance, succumbing to his skilled lips and tongue—made Ella come in her chair.

“Best breakfast I’ve ever had,” he smirked, licking his lips for exaggerated effect. As he unzipped and removed his jeans, his erect cook sprang to life. Sitting onto the barstool, using the countertop for support against his back, he lifted Ella onto his lap. Straddled her over his muscular thighs. And, lifting her up and down as he plunged in deep, made her ride him like a galloping stallion.

When they’d recovered, he helped her to the floor as she regained her footing on unsteady, wobbly legs.

With a grin, he handed her a paper napkin as he wiped himself with another before pulling on his jeans. “I can’t get enough of you, Ella. I want you all the time.”

She tossed her used napkin into the trash, then wrapped her arms around his waist. Burying her nose into the dark hair on his chest, she inhaled his tangy, distinctly male scent deep into her lungs. “Me, too. I feel the same.”

He raised her chin with a curved finger and kissed her softly. “Let’s eat. I want to show you more of the hidden secrets of Paris.”

****

Rows of vines bursting with grapes lined the steep slopes of la butte—the hill of Montmartre—as Jean-Luc led Ella to the summit. “This is Le Clos Montmartre,” he explained with a smile. “The vineyard of Montmartre. It dates back to the Middle Ages, but these vines were replanted in 1933, just before the French government imposed all the rules and regulations for wine production.

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