Smex Scene Sunday



HEROINE: Mia. A compulsive list maker and life planner. Dumped one week before her wedding. Travels to Paris to recover.

HERO: Lucas. A native Parisian and NYC professor. He helps Mia “recover” and discover some things about love.

“You’re all wet. I like you that way,” he said, his mouth searing a path down my throat.

We were both panting, hands groping, our sodden clothing too heavy on our bodies. “I’m wet everywhere,” I whispered.

With a groan he tore his mouth from me and pulled me up the final flight of stairs so fast my feet barely found purchase on the cement. The ten seconds it took him to unlock and throw open his apartment door felt like an eternity, and the moment we were inside, I dropped my bag, he slammed the door, and we went at each other like feral wolves.

Tongues and teeth gnashing, we tore off every shred of each other’s clothing, a cyclone of four hands, frantic breaths, and hammering hearts that mocked the storm raging outside. Rain pounded against the windowpanes as Lucas shoved me back against the door. Dropping to his knees, he forced my heels apart and plunged his tongue between my legs, hooking his arms under my thighs. Gasping, I put my hands in his hair as he tongued me relentlessly, swirling hard circles over my clit before closing his mouth over it, sucking greedily. Then he brought one hand to my belly, flattening his palm over my abdomen and rubbing me with his thumb while his tongue drove inside me again and again.

Oh God oh God oh God, it’s happening too fast. I moaned and cursed and clenched my fists in his wet hair, feeling the vortex build low in my stomach and my legs weaken. “Fuck, Lucas, I can’t stand, I can’t stand.”

His mouth traveled up my body, warm and wet on my stomach, my ribs, my chest. He took one nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, while filling his hand with the other breast. I writhed against the door, flattening my palms back against it as I arched into him. It was too much and not enough. My body yearned for everything he could give me with an urgency I’d never felt before. I felt almost violent in my need to have him.

I reached low between us, taking his solid cock in my grasp, sheathing it with both hands. He gasped, growing harder and thicker and driving me mad with the need to feel my lips on him, to lick him up and down, to taste him. By no means was I an experienced giver of fellatio, but I’d done enough research in the attempt to liven things up with Tucker that I had a few ideas.

Yes, this means I googled blow job advice from guys.

Several times.


Frenched is a frothy confection of lust, laughter, love and some serious smexy times. An adorable hero and heroine to boot made this a delicious treat to read.

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