Page 43 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

I stroke her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “I think you are stalling, ma belle.”

She stuns me, just a little, by grabbing me by the hair again. Fusing our mouths together again. Her tongue finds mine and starts a hot, frenzied dance. For a few moments, I let her take that control. It is good to just succumb to the passionate wonder of her. My maddening minx. My magnificent miracle. The woman who, from the moment we crashed together last night, has always seen the man in me. Not the nobleman. Not the heir of De Leon. Not the secret dauphin of France. No one but her “Hotness.” The lover who can give her anything, everything, she has always dreamed and fantasized about.

She has only misjudged one aspect of me so far. An error I plan on correcting right now.

Until there is no doubt left in her mind.

“Oh, my God.” She gasps the exclamation as I bend down, yanking her breeches as I go. Their curious fabric allows her legs to stay parted. Perfect. I step back over and stand in the opening. Better than perfect. She is bared for me now, and my mouth all but waters with the anticipation of seeing her sex in the full light of day.

“Max. Holy shit. What—”

“Lift this.” I flick at the hem of her long, knitted shroud. “Lift it and show yourself to me, Alessandra.”

She sighs. “Do you know what you do to me when you say my name like—”

“Do it.” I enforce it by digging a hand against her waist. “Bare your sweet center to me.”

She pouts—but then slowly, sweetly obeys my command.

Completely perfect.

The trimmed hair on her mound takes on a burgundy tint in the sunlight, reminding me of rich dinner wine. I lower my hand from her waist to brush at the dots of liquid already collecting below.

“Lift your hips. I need to see more.”

She complies with barely a sound, though whimpers as soon as I spread her. With excruciating care, I explore her soft, wet layers. Mon Dieu. She is texture and color and cushion and heat, opening for me like the heart of a flower.

And at last, I arrive at the pulsing pistol at her center.

It stiffens as soon as I spread back its hood. Beckons me to stroke its quivering length…

“Max!”

I stretch a finger down, plunging inside her perfect, tight tunnel. She moans. I cut off the sound by kissing her deeply. When I am finished ravaging her mouth, I slide a second finger into the depths of her sublime, silken pussy.

“Ohhhh!” She trembles, grabbing me around both shoulders. I stab in my fingers with more brutal force. “It…it aches. Please, Max!”

“Please what, chérie?” I close my teeth around her upper lip. She is ambrosia, tasting like desire and wind and woman. She gasps, pushing her body up at mine.

“You…you seriously want me to beg?”

“Hmmm.” I kiss my way across her face but use the tip of my tongue to tease at the shell of her ear. “Perhaps I do. Yes, I believe I do.”

Her feminine growl is beyond alluring. “Most men wouldn’t dare this shit with me, mister.”

“Well, I am not like most men, am I?”

“Bite me, Hotness.”

“Beg me, Alessandra.”

As soon as I add a third finger to my erotic thrusts, her magical litany hits the air. “Please, Max!” she cries. “P-P-Please…get inside me. We—we don’t even need a raincoat, okay? Tell me you’re clean, and I’ll believe it. Holy shit. I shouldn’t believe it, but…”

“I am clean.” I am sincere, though newly perplexed. “But why is it important that I bathed this morning?”

She bursts with a throaty giggle. “Why, indeed.” As she nuzzles the front of my neck, she adds in a whisper, “Me too. I’ve been working seventy-hour weeks since last summer and haven’t had time to even look sideways at any guys—unless you count gangly boy toys passing me on the way to a catwalk. But I take the pill for cramps, so we’re good to launch rockets.” She moans as I remove my fingers—in order to line up my cock with her weeping entrance. “And dear God, how I need rockets right now.”

Bewilderment jumps in with my perplexity. Boys as toys? Cats walking? And why must she propel rockets and take medicines to do so?