And she did not care.
Where was the shyness that had always been the bane of Sylvie’s life? Why was she not mortified to be naked and exposed to a man’s thorough scrutiny? Who was this alien, uninhibited woman who had taken over Sylvie’s body?
When he took her in his arms to dance now, she relished the rasp of his chest hairs against her breasts, the whisk of his thigh hairs against her smooth legs, the press of her own hair against his raging erection. It was a dance like none she’d ever experienced before, or ever conceived possible.
It was sinful and soulful.
It was tender and raw.
It was lust and something she refused to name.
It was Luc as she, in her secret self, had always imagined he would be.
When he groaned and whispered her name in a pleading way, Sylvie arched her back and smiled. She was woman, and Luc was man, and, oh, what
a wonderful, wonderful combination that was.
Somehow she found herself danced against the table, then pressed backward till she lay flat on her back with her legs dangling over the side. Wasting no time, Luc grabbed her knees, adjusting them so that her bottom was at the edge of the table and her legs flung wide. Holding her eyes, Luc pressed his palm against her and rotated. “So wet,” he murmured with appreciation. “Thank you, Sylv.”
“For what?” she choked out.
“For wanting me this much.” His voice was hoarse with emotion and barely audible. He separated her folds with two fingers, stroked her once, twice, three times, then brought his fingers out and up to show her the moistness.
She turned her face away in embarrassment.
He forced her face back to look at him, then put the two fingertips to his lips and made long, erotic laps with his tongue over the wetness.
Sylvie’s eyes went wide with surprise and a little bit of fear. Luc LeDeux was not going to be a genteel lover. He was going to be primitive and crude and rough, as he was in regular life, and he was going to demand the same of her.
But she had no time to dwell on that. Luc had dropped to his knees between her legs and was doing things with his expert tongue that would make a saint cry. She tried to rise up off the table, but he would not allow that. Instead, he plied her with fingertips, and tongue, and teeth till she was thrashing from side to side. While he worked that most sensitive part of her with his firm tongue, he moaned a continuous “Uhmmmmmmmmm, uhmmmmmmmmm, uhmmmmmmmmm….” which caused his tongue to vibrate against her and
ripple inside her body up to her aching breasts.
Sylvie couldn’t see her toes, but she was fairly certain they were curled. And her hands were clenching the sides of the table with white-knuckled intensity.
Enough!
she finally thought.
I can’t take much more of this
. Drawing on unknown reserves of strength, she reared up, shimmied her tush toward the middle of the table, and grabbed his hair in both hands, pulling him up toward her. If he wouldn’t let her down, then he was coming up.
Without protest, he settled himself atop her on the hard table and kissed her greedily. She tasted herself on Luc’s tongue, and should have been repulsed, but was not. This was sex at its rawest best. She’d never experienced it before, but she damn well intended to now.
Luc was out of control, as he’d never been in his entire life. He couldn’t believe he was making love with Sylvie Fontaine. Talk about getting lucky!
She was lying on the table, arms and legs outspread, hair wild, eyes luminous with passion, lips swollen and moist from his kisses. And she was staring at him as if he was the sexiest stud to come down the bayou since Dennis Quaid. A heady aphrodisiac, that. Not that he needed any more aphrodisiacs in his life.
With a low masculine growl, he took her hand and guided it to his erection, which pressed against her pubic hair like a steel rod. “God, I want you so much,” he said huskily.
She put her free hand to his face, cupped his cheek gently, then ran the fingertips over his parted lips. “I want you, too,” she confessed.
Sweeter words were never spoken.
With the other hand, Sylvie circled him and ran
the circle up and down his shaft gently, which caused tiny explosions of red stars to burst behind his eyeballs. Then, without any prompting, she raised her knees so her feet were braced flat on the table, spread her legs wide, and guided him inside her.
He gritted his teeth, his neck reared back, and he groaned loud and long, “Oh…my…God!”
“Oh, my God!” she echoed. “You…you fill me.”
That about said it all. “Ah,
chère
, you are so hot…and tight…and wet.”
Her inner folds were welcoming him with little spasms that caused him to grow even more. This was heaven on earth, being inside Sylvie.
Her eyes kept going wider and wider, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening down below. He chose to take that as a good sign.
Sylvie’s body held him in such a snug sheath that he wasn’t sure he would be able to move. But he needed to move with an urge that was primordial and overwhelming. Bracing himself on straightened arms…with the greatest, most infinite care, he began to pull himself out, almost all the way…an excruciatingly pleasurable exercise, considering the way her muscles dragged on him to stay.
She moaned.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, stopping and gazing down at her.
She shook her head. “Am I hurting you?”
He laughed joyfully at the naivete of her question. “Yes, but only in the nicest way.”
There was no more talking after that as he began the serious business of making love with Sylvie. Lord, that had a good sound to it.
Making love with Sylvie
.
At first, his thrusts were long and deliberately slow. Sylvie caught his rhythm and met him stroke for stroke. Luther Vandross was still belting out his gooey love lyrics, but Luc much preferred the wet sounds of their lovemaking as they slid and smacked against each other. They could not keep this slow pace for long, though, and soon he was pounding against her, hard and fast. Sylvie held tightly to the sides of the table; otherwise, he might ride her right off the surface and onto the floor. At the very least, if they were not careful, there were going to be scrapes on his kneecaps and splinters in Sylvie’s butt from the hard table. But who the hell cared now!
Sylvie was moaning almost continuously now, “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh…” When he felt her entire body go stiff, and her hips arch up off the table, he threw his head back, let loose with a guttural, masculine growl of supreme satisfaction, and thrust into her one last time. Sylvie convulsed around him, violently at first as he shot his very essence into her, then with progressively smaller spasms till he felt as if he’d been milked dry.
Luc let his weight come down on top of Sylvie, who looked like a rag doll spread-eagled on the table. A very satisfied doll with a Cheshire cat grin on her face. He kissed her tenderly.
Then, as his eyes drifted shut in utter depletion, he thought he heard someone say, “I love you.”
The alarming thing was, he didn’t know if the words were spoken by him, or her, or if he’d imagined them.
“Hey, Luc, I just got a great idea for promoting JBX. A surefire side effect that will blast this product off the shelves.”
Luc, who was still plastered heavily atop her body, murmured into her neck, “Uh-oh. Beware of women with great ideas immediately following sex.”
She pounded him lightly on the back with a closed fist.
But whoa! Now that she’d “awakened” the sleeping beast, he was nibbling at the smooth skin of her shoulder, and squirming. The squirming was the worst part, or the best part, depending on one’s position, she supposed. For sure, there were some specific erotic zones on her body that were being given a “Howdy” wake-up call.
“Well, what’s the great idea for promoting JBX?” Luc inquired, then began doing the most astonish
ing things with his tongue in her ear. It involved a fluttering tongue tip, wetness, and blowing.
So distracted was she that, at first, his question didn’t penetrate her brain. Oh, that’s right, she’d told him she had a great idea for promoting JBX. He’d just sucked her earlobe into his mouth, so her answer came out with a little squeal. “Super sex.”
“Well, thanks a bunch, babe. You were pretty spectacular yourself. But you still haven’t told me about this great side effect of JBX.”
“Super sex,” she repeated.
A gurgling sound came from his mouth, which she took for strangled laughter. Then he raised his head enough to look at her through those dancing Cajun eyes of his. “Are you saying I give super sex?”
“Super-duper.”
His dancing eyes danced some more, this time with mischief. “What makes you think the love potion is responsible? Maybe I give super sex all the time.”
“Do you?”
“
Mais oui
.”
She thought a moment and was slightly disappointed. She tried to tell herself it was because JBX didn’t play a part in his performance, but she knew it was more than that. She wanted the sex between them to have been special because she’d been special…to him.
“Just kidding, darlin’,” he said, taking a tiny nip at her chin. “I’ve never been this super in all my life. Honest.”
Pleasure soared through Sylvie at those words, even though he was probably lying through his teeth.
With an expertise she was coming to expect from Luc, he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. In fact, his semi-limp member was still imbedded in her. Anyone else would have landed them smack-dab on the floor with such a maneuver. Now
she
was splatted all over the top of
him
.
She had to admit, splatting had its good points.
“Hey, Sylv,” he said with sudden, and suspicious, brightness, “you’re not the only one with good ideas tonight.”
“Oh, my,” she said as he sat up abruptly. She wasn’t sure if she’d said, “Oh, my,” because of what his sitting-up did to her insides, or because he’d had an idea. Probably both.
“‘Oh, my’ just about says it all,” he choked out. That part of him that was still inside her had sprung to full life with his movement. With Sylvie on her knees now, perched on his lap, he wriggled his behind toward the edge of the table, taking her with him. Then he stood in one fluid move—a testament to his excellent physical condition—causing her to clutch his shoulders tightly and wrap her legs around his waist.
With a smile of self-satisfaction, Luc looked down at her breasts, which were nestled against his chest. Sylvie felt her face go hot with belated embarrassment, and she tried to press her upper body closer to hide her nakedness.
“Don’t you dare go shy on me now, Sylv. The things I have in mind for you require more than a little…boldness,” Luc warned.
“Boldness? Me?”
“In spades,” Luc emphasized with a swat on her tush as he walked them toward the screen door at the front of the cabin and out onto the porch.
Without any forewarning, he sank down onto one of the low rocking chairs and settled her legs, outrageously, over the arms. “Idea number one,” he pronounced.
Then he began to rock.
And rock.
And rock.
Luther was still belting out his songs, which could be heard on the porch. Right now, he was into “Endless Love.” Again. Yep,
endless
love just about said it all when it came to Luc LeDeux. He was proving to have an endless amount of stamina in lovemaking. Heck,
she
was proving to have an endless amount of stamina in lovemaking…much to her surprise.
The rocking was very slow at first, with Luc setting the pace of her rhythm with guiding hands on her hips and buttocks. Later, when the rocking grew faster and more frenzied, Sylvie didn’t need his help in undulating her hips. And Luc was holding onto the top of the back spindles of the chair with white-knuckled tension.
Somehow, they ended up in the shower after that, and although their intention had been to wash away the perspiration and effects of their lovemaking, they naturally ended up creating even more. They ran out of hot water before they ever got around to shampooing their hair. Who knew a loofah and pine soap could be deemed sex toys?
Good thing their next step was to the bed, because they both fell into an exhausted slumber in each other’s arms. Of course, she shouldn’t have been surprised that she was awakened an hour later by a rascal who had another “idea,” this one involving something called “The Perfect Fit.”
She got back at him later by showing him that men did, indeed, have G-spots, just like women. Luc had been unable to speak for a good while after that. When he recovered, he spent a really long time exploring her G-spot as well, not to mention a few other letters of the alphabet…even the M-spot, which he claimed to have invented. It was pronounced as the “Mmmmmmm” spot.
Personally, Sylvie thought Luc was trying to live up to that fictitious six he’d given her earlier as the number of times he climaxed during a typical sexual encounter. Frankly, she didn’t give two hoots why he was trying so hard. She was having the time of her life.
Toward dawn, she came to an important discovery. If she hadn’t realized it before, she did now: Sylvie Fontaine had fallen in love with the “bad boy of the bayou.”
Instead of being alarmed, as she most certainly should have been, the only thing that Sylvie could think was,
Does that make me the “bad girl of the bayou”?
Sylvie awakened soon after dawn the next morning to the scent of roses.
She knew it was daylight, not because she’d opened her eyes yet, but because the sun tended to come up quickly on the bayou, like a light switch, and she could feel the bright rays on her face already.
She also felt the imprint of the hammock on her backside, through a scandalously thin, red nightie. Then, too, she felt the heat of a warm Cajun in Valentine boxers at her side. And, yes, they did glow in the dark, she recalled with a smile.
How they came to be wearing Tante Lulu’s gifts, and how Luc had seduced her into trying something “really neat” in the hammock, would bring a blush to her face for eternity. Suffice it to say that she would probably have the diamond pattern of the hammock webbing imbedded in her rump for the rest of her life.
They should probably get up now and prepare for their pirogue trip to Bayou Black, but how did one get out of a hammock gracefully, without breaking a leg? Sylvie cracked open her eyelids, looked to the side, and screamed. “
Aaaccckkk!
”
“Wh-what?” Luc jackknifed to a sitting position, which caused the hammock to sway precariously, then flip them both over and onto the ground.
“Oh, my God!” Sylvie muttered under her breath as she got up on all fours, then struggled to stand and straighten out the nightie, which barely covered her essential body parts. Talk about feeling foolish the day after!
“Sylvie! Are you all right? Is there a snake?” Luc was scrambling to his feet, as well.
She shook her head.
“A gator?”
She shook her head.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, then?” Luc asked, brushing off his boxers and giving undue attention to a scrape on his elbow. “I might have bruised some important body parts,” he added, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Sylvie motioned with a jerk of her head toward the porch. A young boy, about ten years old, stood leaning against a support post, chomping on an apple. A small pirogue was tied up in the stream next to Luc’s larger one.
“Tee-John! What are you doing here?” Luc stomped barefooted over the hard-packed dirt toward the cabin, then stood at the bottom of the steps, hands on hips, and glared at the kid.
It must be Luc’s runaway brother, Sylvie realized, the one Remy had mentioned. Even with his rumpled hair and filthy jeans and a New Orleans Saints T-shirt, he resembled a miniature version of Luc.
“Hey, Luc,” the boy said casually, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary for him to show up in the middle of nowhere, uninvited.
“How did you get here?” Luc asked through gritted teeth.
“I flew my jet. Howdja think I got here?” he answered flippantly as he tossed the apple core in a perfect line toward the cypress tree at the edge of the stream. It hit dead center.
“You’ve got a smart tongue on you,” Luc snarled. “You’d better use it damn quick to explain yourself, or you’re gonna find yourself upside down in the stream gettin’ your mouth washed out with bayou slime.”
“I came in a pirogue,” he offered quickly. “Camped out yesterday and paddled all by myself. I remembered the way from that time you brought me las’ summer. I got here a couple of hours ago, but you two were makin’ kissy-face in the hammock; so, I jus’ went inside and slept on the bed.”
Kissy-face?
If only the earth would open up and swallow her whole! She could only imagine what else the youngster had witnessed.
“You…you came here hours ago and didn’t inform me?” Luc sputtered with outrage.
Not to be put on the defensive, the kid threat
ened, “Wait till I tell Tante Lulu you were putting your hand in a girl’s naughty place. Whooee!”
With a gasp at the kid’s nerve, Luc sprinted up the steps and lunged forward. But the little brat was faster. He swerved to the side and ducked under the porch rail. The last thing Sylvie saw was his oversized T-shirt flapping behind him as he dashed into the trees.
Luc noticed Sylvie cowering with humiliation, and motioned for her to come up to the cabin. She complied because she had no choice, but her entire body—and there was a lot of it exposed—blushed with the indignity of her appearance. And Luc noticed, too.
The lout!
Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he kissed the top of her head, and commented, “You look great in red,
chère
. When we get out of here, I’m gonna take you to New Orleans and buy you a whole closetful of sexy, hooker red nothings.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said, but her heart was warmed at Luc’s breezy reference to a future time when they would be together. Entering the cabin, she grabbed her silk blouse off the floor near the table that had been the scene of her downfall last night and slipped it on over the nightie. “Aren’t you worried about your brother? Shouldn’t you go after him?”
“Hah! The stinker managed to paddle his way here. He’ll be back.”
Sure enough, the boy was already back, pounding up the porch steps in his pricey athletic shoes. “Now, Luc, I didn’t mean nothin’. No need for fightin’ with your own flesh and blood.” The whole time the rascal was standing outside the screen door, brandishing an oar as a defensive weapon.
Luc laughed at the picture of the filthy imp who was no threat at all to his far superior size. “Put that paddle down before I break it over your behind. And apologize to Ms. Fontaine. Now.”
Tee-John dropped the oar and ducked his head. He shuffled his shoes a few times, as if contemplating whether he really wanted to lose his pride and obey his brother’s orders. Then he mumbled, “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Come in here and tell me what happened,” Luc said then, in a decidedly gruff voice. “Why did you run away? Dad didn’t hit you, did he?”
“Hell, no. I’d hit ’im back if he did,” the boy boasted, strolling toward the kitchen area.
“I told you before, Tee-John, to come to me if Dad ever beat up on you. And you came, so…” Luc, who was picking up all their pieces of clothing from the floor and stacking them neatly on a chair, apparently still worried about his father’s mean temper, despite the boy’s words. He spoke to the boy as if only remotely interested, but Sylvie could tell that he was more than interested…he was worried, and simmering with anger.
“Nah, I’ve learned how to hide when he’s on the booze,” Tee-John boasted, “just like you showed me. Do you have anything to eat for breakfast?”
Luc gave him a look of exasperation as he opened the cupboard door and pulled out a box of Froot Loops. From the fridge, he took a container of reconstituted dry milk. He put them both, along with a bowl and spoon, on the counter where the kid was already straddling a high stool. When the boy reached for them greedily, Luc held them away and glared meaningfully at him.
“Oh, okay, I ran away ’cause Mom wants to send me to a boarding school up north.”
“Why?” Luc asked, releasing the food.
“She says I’m outta hand, but I think it’s ’cause I interfere with her plans.”
“What plans?”
“Mom always has plans. For shoppin’, and decoratin’ the house, and plottin’ to get Dad to marry up with her. You know, plans.”
Luc, still wearing only boxers, raked the fingers of one hand through his hair and sat down on another stool. “Running away is no answer.”
The boy raked the fingers of one hand through his hair, just like Luc. “You did it all the time. Tante Lulu says so.”
Luc muttered something about his aunt having a big mouth. Out loud, he said, “I was in physical danger. You’re not. You could have been hurt, Tee-John, being in the bayou alone.”
“I was careful, Luc,” the boy said in a shaky voice, “just like you showed me. And I ain’t goin’ to any fancy-pantsy school for rich boys.”
“What’s wrong with Our Lady of the Bayou School?”
“Aaaah, Sister Colette is always complainin’ ’bout me…for the least little things.”
“Sister Colette is still there? She was
my
fifth-grade teacher.”