What woman wouldn't crave an annual erotic, exotic rendezvous? With a demanding lover who's proven he's as scintillating and devoted in bed as out?Corin Campbell tears open the instructions for her yearly tryst with her insatiable Mr. Jones, eager to experience what heart-pounding excitements he's created for them this year in Paris.
Corin knows the Chinese love balls, her leather outfit, the masseur, the caviar and the five exhibitionists are only the prelude to hours of intoxicating delight in Jones' arms.
What can he teach her this year about the enduring charm of his loving and the delights only he can summon?
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An Excerpt From: ME AND MR. JONES
Copyright © CERISE DELAND, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Chapter One
Corin stood in the stalled Immigration line at Charles DeGaulle Airport with an impatience that bubbled like champagne in her stomach. Sure, she had jet lag. Who wouldn’t after six hours on a plane from New York? In a cramped seat in the back hugging the stewardesses’s food stations, she’d barely slept. Couldn’t eat. Plus, she was certain she looked like hell.
Bleary-eyed. Little makeup. Jeans. Black turtleneck. How much worse could she look as she entered the City of Light and Love for her annual rendezvous with her longtime lover?
Okay! Enough. She pressed a hand to her thumping heart. Calm down. You know he has a stunning new erotic surprise in the works. He always does. Every year. For six years running. Though this year their weekend was oddly early and she had no idea why.
She shifted from one foot to the other, telling herself to cast off her worries about the change in date. But as she did, she felt the weight of the first surprise Mr. Jones had sent her for this year’s erotic weekend. And she grinned to herself.
Wear these, he had written in his blunt script on the thick vellum note delivered two days ago to her office by special courier. Push them up inside your pussy before you leave for the plane. Seat them fully in your juicy cunt and imagine how I will dream of you dreaming of me as they roll inside you for hours of anticipation.
“And they certainly do their job,” she said to herself, giving a little shudder of delight as the Chinese love balls massaged the inside of her aroused channel. Her eyes drifted closed, a picture of the man she was soon to meet filling her mind. His ash-blond hair curling around his nape. His mouth, a hard slash of expression except when he took her in his arms. His body, toned and tan at forty, despite the way he worked too much and traveled too often. But when they met on these rendezvous, he was all hers. For hours. Days, if he could steal them from his grueling schedule. And she had never had a lover like him. Not as devoted. Not as inventive. Never so totally hers. Her Mr. Jones.
“Passport!” the immigration clerk barked and motioned her forward.
Corin stepped to the counter and plunked down the document.
“Intention of your visit?” the clerk demanded in English deliciously tinged with her native French.
Seduction. “Tourist,” she told the woman, though she had lived in Paris as a teenager for two years with her mother and knew the city very well.
“Length of stay?”
“Just the weekend.” It’s all I can afford. There are so many responsibilities to go home to. Plus, it’s a miracle I even caught the plane in that snowstorm!
“Oui.” The official stamped her passport and waved her onward.
Taking the hall at a brisk pace, Corin moaned at the friction of the Ben Wa balls as she hastened into the terminal.
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