I didn’t often have the upper hand in our relationship. Or perhaps that was simply my own perception.
Maybe it was because Geneviève always seemed self confident about everything.
Whatever it was, I didn’t give one fuck. Having the advantage right now—no matter how small—made my confidence soar.
And I could do amazing things when I was sure of myself.
Our drinks arrived and I took a heathy sip of my whiskey, allowing the burn to travel through me. She just played with her tiny glass, not even picking it up.
So, I did it for her.
“Drink, Martin,” I said, placing her glass to her plump, pink lips.
She let out a low laugh and reached up to hold the stem. “What are you doing?” She giggled, her fingers grazing mine.
I let go once I was certain she had it. “Drink,” I said, taking another swig of my whiskey.
Instead, she tipped the glass slightly, watching the amber liquid swirl around. “Why don’t you drink it if you like it so much?”
“Because I like tasting it on your tongue after you’ve been drinking it,” I said, her blazing stare looking right back at me. I felt that directly in my cock.
“Beau,” she said in a barely audible, breathy tone. Our eyes didn’t leave each other’s for a long moment. Even when she set the edge of the glass back to her lips, her eyes never left mine.
Just like when she gave me head.
My pants got even tighter as I imagined Geneviève on her knees in front of me, unzipping my pants. Her dark, brown eyes would gaze up at me in the most seductive manner while she fit her mouth around my already hard cock.
“Taste good?” I asked, watching as she licked those delicious lips of hers.
“Too good,” she said with a small smile.
Christ, what I wouldn’t give to see her smile at me like that every day. “Let me see,” I said, leaning over closer to her. My thumb and index finger clasped onto her chin, holding her face still for me.
“Beau,” she said in the sexiest sigh I’d ever heard. Her warm, Bénédictine scented breath washed over me as I lowered my lips to hers.
No hesitation.
None.
When I touched my tongue to her lips, requesting entry, she opened up. “Mm, you’re right,” I said before kissing her deeper, “It does taste too good, Geneviève.”
Her hand touched my cheek as our tongues got reacquainted again.
I broke the kiss and said, “Delicious,” then I gave her one more light kiss, “as always.”
My hand lowered and I sat back in my seat and cleared my throat. “Tell me what’s been going on with your team,” I said, grabbing a piece of bread and buttering it.
She talked about what her team was struggling with.
She talked about a few struggles with her coach.
But mostly, she just talked.
And it was such an incredible relief to hear her voice, it wasn’t even funny.
I wason my third whiskey.
G was almost finished her second Bénédictine.