Page 52 of Je T'aime, Actually

“Do tell.”

Monroe nodded, her voice low and teasing. “I keep picturing us in a kitchen. I’m perched on the counter, and you’re standing between my legs… wearing your strap.”

Chloé’s eyes lit up, voice husky with intrigue. “You know…I do have a kitchen.”

“And,” Monroe said with a smirk, “we do have the place to ourselves.”

They both moved with equal speed. Monroe got a head start when Chloé paused to retrieve the harness from where it had landed the night before. She grabbed the lube and followed Monroe down the stairs and into the small kitchen before disappearing back into the hall.

“What took you so long?” Monroe teased, but then she noticed as Chloé stepped up to where Monroe was perched upon the countertop, now a clear two or three inches taller.

“I need my heels if I am to do this any justice at all.” Chloé chuckled, stepping into the harness and adjusting the base of the dildo until it sat just right against her clit.

Monroe reached for the lube, squeezed some into her palm, then took hold of the phallus, working her hand around it until it was coated. With her eyes still on Chloé, she used the rest to slick herself up.

“You look hot wearing that.”

Chloé smiled. “And you look hot when you touch yourself.”

Monroe felt a surge of confidence unlike anything she’d experienced before. Her fingers moved to lightly stroke her clit—performing, putting on a show solely for her lover’s enjoyment.

“Like that?” she asked.

Chloé nodded, transfixed.

“You do this to me.” Monroe moaned as she slid two fingers inside herself. “You get me so turned on…so…wet…”

Chloé stepped forwards, gently pulled Monroe’s hand away, and guided the dildo to her entrance.

“Then let me give you everything.”

Her hips pressed forward, the space between them vanishing. Monroe gasped, soft at first, then deepening into a guttural moan as her lover filled her.

Slow thrusts.

Fingers pressed into skin.

Soft moans.

In the quiet of the kitchen, it was utterly erotic.

Monroe’s arms wrapped around Chloé’s shoulders, hands tangled in her hair, her face pressed against her cheek.

“You like that, baby?” Chloé whispered, more of a statement than a question.

But Monroe nodded.

“Yes, harder. I need more.”

Chloé responded, hips pistoning—faster, harder, breathlessly. Her hands slipped beneath Monroe’s thighs, holding her open, keeping her in place.

Monroe clung tighter, her breath catching with every thrust. Her legs trembled in Chloé’s grip, muscles taut and desperate.

“Fuck, yes…” she gasped, voice raw with need. “Just like that.”

Chloé groaned softly, low and possessive.

“I love watching you come apart for me.”