Unmasqued

That was when Christine realized that the comtesse had somehow moved from her own hassock and her hands were busy in her husband's lap.

Christine started to pull away in surprise after she glanced down and saw a flash of dark red flesh in Delia's slender white hands… but Philippe caught her wrist before she could move away and pulled her face to his.

His mouth, tasting of fig and wine, closed over hers. She was trapped by his warm, slick lips as they ground onto hers, held in place by strong fingers jammed into the back of her hair. Her mouth opened and she was invaded by the full sensuality of the moment: the taste of sweet fruit, the erotic scent on the air, and, suddenly, hands on her breast, lifting it free from its bodice.

One of them had grasped her other hand, and she had no way to prop herself up; she half fell against Philippe, who held one wrist, and felt her other hand being directed down, down between them… until her fingers brushed against something turgid and warm. The fingers that held her were small, but strong, and through the haze of sensation-at her mouth, at her nipple, now, suddenly, tingling between her legs, deep beneath her skirts-she realized Delia was forcing her fingers around the hot swelling length of the comte's erection.

Christine couldn't pull away; she wrapped her grip around him, her fingers beneath Delias, and together they stroked up and down, using the gentle drip from the head of his cock and from the comtesses mouth to lubricate their way. Philippe had released Christine's lips and in a sort of dizzying shift, she found herself half-fallen between the comte and comtesse while he had turned his attention to his wife's breasts.

There in front of her tilted world, as her fingers rose up and down the length of his erection, Christine saw those same lips that moments before had devoured her own, open and close around the entire tip of Delia's breast. She could not look away as he sucked and licked and bit, drawing her thick red nipple long and straight into his mouth. He pulled and tugged until it must hurt… but her own breasts were tight, and her own nipples throbbed as though they too were being teased. Her sex pounded and she felt the moisture between her legs as Philippe breathed faster, and she and Delia stroked harder and longer, and the little juices from his head leaked wetter.

Faster, faster they stroked, and through the rhythm she heard ruptured breathing, slippery suction, quiet moans, and felt the jolt as someone pulled at her own nipple… the room shrunk to those sounds and sensations. Suddenly Philippe jerked his face away with a groan and Christine felt the warm, wet spill pour over her fingers.

Delia released her and Christine fell back onto her cushion, wiping her hand on a piece of cloth from the table, her heart pounding, her forehead moist, the room spinning, her arm aching from the unrelenting back-and-forth motions.

When she pulled herself back to a sitting position, hefting awkwardly up on an elbow, Christine was confronted by Philippe's complacent expression.

"A most delightful repast," he commented, his dark eyes scanning lasciviously over her. He reached suddenly toward her, and before she could react, he'd plucked at her breast, where it sat, exposed, from her drooping bodice.

She jerked away, but her movements were sluggish, and did not save her from the practiced tweak of his fingers… which sent a chitter of pleasure-pain into the pit of her stomach. Christine quickly tucked her breast back into her bodice as well as she could, but somehow it would hardly stay put. Her gown, corset, and chemise had been loosened during the fray, and they all gapped in the front, leaving her nearly as exposed as the comtesse.

"Delightful, out, and her reluctance is just enough to be endearing. But it won't be long before she is begging for you, my lord," added Delia. The nipple on one of her breasts was bright red, and swollen, and thrust up at an angle, hard and sharp, from where it had been fed upon.

"Or you, my dear. Do not underestimate your own appeal."

Christine's throat dried as she found her gaze caught in Delia's snapping blue one. A sly smile on her face, the other woman slid her attention back to the table before them. "I look forward to that opportunity. But for now… I find that I am hungry again." She reached for a small block of cheese as if their dinner had not just been interrupted by sex play.

Just then, the door opened.

"Raoul!" Christine couldn't hold back her relieved greeting. She would have struggled to her feet, regardless of her confining, twisting skirts and the quicksandlike cushion, but Raoul came to her side immediately.