ATasteofParis Read online

  A Taste of Paris

  Lucy Felthouse

  Ryan Stonebridge and his friend Kristian Hurst are traveling on their year off before going to university.

  Unfortunately Kristian has been called back home due to a family emergency. Ryan continues on to Paris alone, hoping his friend will join him again soon.

  In the meantime, Ryan’s lucky streak with women continues, and by the time Kristian makes it to Paris, Ryan’s bumper box of condoms is depleting rapidly. However, there are more than enough women to go around, and Kristian intends to have some sexy fun of his own, and when the boys get a chance to play with two sexy ladies at once, they certainly aren’t going to turn it down.

  An EC for Men contemporary erotica story from Ellora’s Cave

  A Taste of Paris

  Lucy Felthouse

  Chapter One

  Ryan could hardly believe his luck. After a sex-packed day and a bit in London, he was now being propositioned by a sexy older woman on the Eurostar. The Paris-bound train had just started moving and it seemed the woman wanted to spend at least some of the two-and-a quarter-hour journey to the French capital fucking him in the toilet.

  He shook his head disbelievingly. Then, after making sure no one had witnessed their exchange—when she’d given him the come-on—he slipped from his seat and made his way as nonchalantly as possible in the direction the woman had gone. He quickly found her, standing in the area between carriages that also housed the public conveniences.

  She looked around, ensuring no one could see through the glass doors at the ends of the carriages to either side of them, pulled open the toilet door and dragged him inside.

  Ryan barely had time to catch a breath before she’d locked the door, slammed him against it and molded her lips to his. She tasted of expensive champagne—she’d probably been indulging in St. Pancras Station’s champagne bar—and it suddenly made him very aware that, although she’d started their sexy rendezvous, he was most likely taking advantage of an inebriated woman. He twisted his head away.

  “Hey,” he said, grasping her arms and pushing her gently away from him. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re gorgeous and very, very sexy, but you’ve been drinking. I don’t want you to do something you might regret later.”

  The woman laughed, long and loud, and Ryan worried that someone might have heard her and wonder why on earth there was a woman laughing to herself in the train toilets. The last thing he wanted was to open the door and find a pissed-off member of staff waiting there. There was no excuse for two adults being in a locked cubicle together that anyone would believe.

  Clapping her hand over her mouth, the woman suppressed her mirth then finally spoke. “Yes, gorgeous blond one.” Her French accent surprised him—he’d thought she was a tourist heading to Paris. “I have been drinking champagne. But only a glass. I’m certainly not drunk.”

  With that, she pounced on him once more, and Ryan decided not to resist any longer. They were both consenting adults and he had protection in his pocket—so where was the harm in indulging their baser instincts? His cock definitely didn’t see any further reason for delay as it filled with blood and pressed against the crotch of his jeans.

  He pushed his fingers into her thick black hair and pulled her more tightly to him, deepening their kiss. She was eager and, judging by the way she was rocking her hips against him, incredibly horny. He held out for as long as he could, exploring her mouth with his tongue, nibbling at her plump lower lip and pulling her hair to expose her white throat. Before long, though, the pants and tiny mewls coming from the woman’s mouth pushed him to the point of no return. His cock was all but bursting from his jeans and he really needed to be inside this woman’s pussy.

  Disentangling from her, he silenced her protests with a finger to her lips. Her frown quickly turned to a smile as she watched him retrieve the condom from his wallet. A wicked smile that made her eyes glint and glimmer with intent, and a fresh rush of blood pump into his cock.

  Carefully holding the corner of the condom packet between his teeth, Ryan undid his belt and the button and fly of his jeans and freed his prick. The woman gasped, clearly pleased with what she saw, and Ryan grinned proudly. He knew his cock was bigger than average, and he’d worked damn hard to ensure he knew what to do with it.

  Quickly and efficiently, he opened the condom wrapper, discarded it in the bin and rolled the rubber down his shaft. He made sure it was securely seated before looking back up at his soon-to-be conquest. Or, since she’d come on to him, was he her conquest? It didn’t matter—by now he was just desperate to fuck her.

  Glancing around the small space, he tried to figure out the best position for their tryst. Nodding to himself, he turned his gaze back to the woman. “Pull your skirt up and your knickers down then turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

  He mentally crossed his fingers that her grasp of English was good enough for her to know what he was talking about. Thankfully she seemed to understand perfectly and did what he said. His mouth went dry at the sight of her pale bottom, framed by a stocking-and-suspender set, which explained why she’d only been able to pull her knickers down so far. She could have undone the suspenders, he supposed, but she was clearly as eager to fuck as he was. Which was hardly surprising, as she’d started this whole thing.

  Moving behind her, he slipped his hand between her quivering thighs and found her pussy. It was hot, wet and swollen. Exploring farther, he noted how tight she was too. He’d have to take it slowly to begin with, as he didn’t want to hurt her.

  Putting his lips close to her ear, he murmured, “Hey, what’s your name?”

  “Blanche. Yours?”

  He smiled—yes, she was white, all right. So pale she looked as if she’d never seen the sun. And yet he knew that Paris, at times, could have some glorious weather. Maybe she was a posh bird and wandered around with a parasol.

  “Ryan.”

  There was no need to say anything else. It was clear she was ready, and if he hadn’t already figured that out, Blanche shoved her bottom backward into his crotch, urging him on, encouraging him to fuck her.

  He needed no further persuasion and they didn’t have time to waste or they’d likely be caught.

  Holding the base of his erection, he guided it into position. Once the tip was nudging against the slick entrance of Blanche’s pussy, he gripped her hips and slowly pushed himself inside her. She was seriously tight and hot and the sensation made them both gasp.

  “Fuck,” he muttered into Blanche’s ear. “I’m not going to last long at this rate. Would you like me to, er…you know.”

  Ryan had no idea why he was being so bashful about discussing stroking her clit, but he suspected the potential language barrier had something to do with it. He realized he was being stupid by asking her anyway. Why didn’t he just do it? At this point she couldn’t exactly claim sexual harassment. Shifting one hand around to the front of her body, he sought the distended nub that nestled between her labia and began to manipulate it. He listened carefully to the sounds Blanche made and the way she moved as he touched her, eager to get it right. He was surprised that he felt so close to the edge—especially given the amount of sex he’d had in the last twenty-four hours. Since they were in such a risky position anyway, it didn’t matter too much, but it did matter that she got satisfaction too.

  Quickly figuring out how much pressure Blanche liked and precisely where, Ryan began to pleasure her in earnest as he increased the pace at which he thrust into her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, pressing his lips to her skin to stifle his moans. She moved one hand from the wall and stuffed her fingers into her mouth, clearly to prevent her own ecstatic moans from slipping out. Wanting to push her higher still, he strummed her clit fast
er and fucked her harder and deeper. Despite her attempt to muffle any sound, a strangled yelp was still audible in the tiny room—though thankfully the noise the train was making meant nobody else would have heard, even if they were right outside the door.

  Seconds later, Ryan lost his battle with preventing the onset of his orgasm. His balls drew up to his body and the base of his spine tingled. He pushed his face harder into Blanche’s shoulder, resisting the temptation to sink his teeth in. The tingle became an explosion and he growled as his cock twitched, spurting load after load of spunk into the rubber. He dug his fingers so tightly into Blanche’s hip that they would probably leave marks. He retained just enough presence of mind that he continued to stroke her clit. Thankfully it soon did the trick, because unless she was the queen of faking it, Blanche came. Her cunt gripped and released his cock in a series of waves as she arched her back and gurgled and groaned into her fingers.

  Soon the waves receded and she slumped forward, resting her head on the wall. Ryan leaned on her for a beat as he recovered from his own climax then, aware he was probably squashing her, he disentangled slowly, reaching down to secure the condom before he pulled out.

  He quickly disposed of the rubber and tidied himself up, tucking his cock away and doing up his jeans. A splash of cold water on his face and a scrape of damp fingers through his hair later and he was presentable again. He turned to see how Blanche was getting on and saw that she was looking at him expectantly.

  “What?” he said, confused. Did she want another kiss or something? He’d happily oblige—her lips were plump and sinful and she was very skilled when it came to using them.

  “I need to go,” she said with a pointed nod toward the toilet. Then, before he had a chance to excuse himself, she’d plonked herself down on the seat and was emitting a distinctive tinkling sound.

  He averted his gaze, at the same time wondering why he was bothering. He’d just fucked the woman, for God’s sake, so why was he getting so uptight about her peeing in front of him?

  She finished, wiped herself delicately with some toilet paper then put her knickers and skirt back to rights before flushing the loo and moving to the sink. Washing her hands thoroughly, she, like him, then ran damp fingers through her tousled hair. Once she was satisfied, she walked toward the door. Deciding to get his own back, Ryan flipped up the toilet seat. Before he could get his cock out, though, Blanche had unlocked the door, peered out to see whether the coast was clear and exited the cubicle.

  Quickly Ryan dashed over to re-lock the door before someone came in and caught him short. Then he went back to his business, flushed the toilet, washed and dried his hands and left the room. Making his way into the relevant train carriage, he adopted a casual expression as he swept his gaze towards Blanche’s seat.

  She wasn’t there. He looked up the length of the carriage to see if she was anywhere else, but couldn’t see her. Remaining cool, he slid back into his own seat, checking everything was present and correct in his bag before looking back toward where she’d been sitting. There was nothing. No bag, no drink on the table in front of it. She was gone. Not far, obviously, unless she’d jumped off a moving train, but she certainly wasn’t where she’d been to start with. He wondered if anyone had noticed what was going on around them and thought it odd that the woman had returned to her seat then moved not only seats but carriages. He doubted anyone would have been so observant—people often didn’t notice what was going on right in front of them.

  Ryan shrugged. It had been a fuck, nothing more. Probably she’d been scratching an itch. But it didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, it had hardly been the start of a lasting relationship, so Ryan wasn’t about to scour the train looking for her. They’d fucked, it had been amazing, end of story.

  Picking up his book, he flipped to where he’d left off and prepared to read for the rest of the journey to Paris.

  Chapter Two

  Arriving at the hostel after his Metro journey from the Gare du Nord station, Ryan checked in, took his paperwork and stashed his bag in a locker. He’d already transferred the things he needed into a smaller bag that he could easily carry around with him. That way he knew his guide book, passport, Metro ticket, wallet, phone and drink were all in one place, and he could keep a hand on the bag, protecting his valuables. The only thing a pickpocket would get a hold of if they raided his jeans was fluff.

  He made his way back to the nearest Metro station, Riquet, which as luck would have it had a line that would take him to Palais Royal—Musée du Louvre without him having to change trains.

  As always, the journey was crowded, stuffy and uncomfortable, but when he emerged from the station and caught sight of The Louvre, he couldn’t help but smile. The building itself was a work of art—a truly beautiful piece of architecture. He admired it for some minutes before heading for the nearest entrance, which took him down through the Carrousel du Louvre, an underground shopping center that seemed so out of place with the historic museum that sat on top of it that it never failed to amuse him. However, it came in handy, because it meant he was able to pop into the Starbucks and grab a drink then lean on the laminated glass windows of the Apple Store and use their free WiFi for a few minutes. He’d had a long journey—with a little extra exercise he hadn’t been expecting in the Eurostar toilets—and the caffeine was essential to give him an energy boost before he spent a few hours wandering the many floors of the museum.

  Once he’d finished his coffee, he dumped the empty cup in the nearest bin and took a look at the inverted glass pyramid, made popular by Dan Brown’s book The Da Vinci Code.He’d seen it several times before, but it was so famous—infamous, even—that it seemed rude to pass it without admiring it for a second or two. Moving on, he passed the Starbucks once more and made his way into the main atrium of the museum. He went straight to one of the reception desks and showed them his identification. All European Union citizens under twenty-six years old could get into The Louvre, and many other European museums, for free. He’d have happily paid the ten euro entry fee, though, as The Louvre was his favorite museum. He suspected that by the end of his gap year he might have seen something to rival or even surpass it, but it would have to be something pretty damn special.

  Ryan made sure his phone was on silent before heading into the museum proper. It was, and he realized that while he’d been sorting his ticket out he’d received a text message from Kristian. His friend was letting him know he’d be arriving in Paris later that evening. Ryan tapped out a reply saying he’d meet him at 8:00 p.m. at the hostel. He was looking forward to it, actually. A gap year wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without Kristian. Though he was glad he wasn’t arriving just yet, because it gave him a good few hours to look around. It wasn’t long, really, when it came to The Louvre. Even someone only mildly interested in the paintings and artifacts could spend almost an entire day exploring the great building. Especially since the layout made a map absolutely essential and even then it was easy to get lost. Not for the first time Ryan thought that they should install arrows on the floor, like they had in IKEA, to make sure everyone saw everything and that they were all walking in the same direction.

  As he’d visited on several occasions, though, Ryan knew exactly what he wanted to see again—he had his favorites and he would never grow tired of looking at them. He took the long route to reach the ground floor, preferring to avoid the crowds wherever possible. After spending so much time amongst people in the past couple of days, even a few minutes of peace and solitude were a blessing. He knew the biggest crowds would be on the floor above him, though, looking at the Mona Lisa or wandering around as they followed in the footsteps of Robert Langdon.

  Unless another book featuring the museum had suddenly hit the popular culture stratosphere, focusing on sculptures from Egypt, Greece, Italy and many other countries, he suspected he’d be able to look at the things he wanted to see without too much pushing and shoving. His six-foot-one frame meant that he towered over many people, mos
t especially the tiny Japanese, with their enormous cameras, who clamored to take photographs of every inch of every tourist attraction they visited. So his views would be reasonable even if there were a few people around.

  He passed through the French sculptures at a leisurely pace and eventually reached the Mesopotamian pieces. His next stop was Iran then Greece and the infamous Aphrodite—or Venus de Milo as it was also known—then on to Egypt. He’d have to come back past Aphrodite to get to the rest of the wing, so it didn’t matter too much if he didn’t see her properly the first time around. As he wandered the gallery, his gaze was drawn to the window, which overlooked a garden. He walked closer to have a good look and a break from the overwhelming yet fascinating history that surrounded him. It was then that he spotted the bench in front of it. When he’d gotten his fill of peering outside, he sat down.

  Checking he was alone, he reached into his bag and grabbed his drink. He was never sure whether he was allowed to drink inside the museum, even though he was nowhere near any artifacts. If he spilled anything now, the only thing that would suffer would be the bench and the floor and they could be cleaned. Despite that, he gulped down a few mouthfuls as quickly as possible.

  Unfortunately he wasn’t quick enough. He was literally lowering the bottle from his lips when he heard the click of heels on marble, then a disapproving voice cut through the silence. “No drinks in here. It’s not allowed.”

  Almost spilling some of the liquid, Ryan quickly lowered the bottle all the way and turned to see where the voice had come from. His jaw almost hit the floor. It was Blanche. She’d changed clothes—he found himself hoping she’d put on clean underwear too—but there was no mistaking her. After a beat, she clearly recognized him, as her irritated expression morphed into one of confusion then pure anger. Her heels tapped furiously on the floor as she crossed the room toward him.