The French au pair came back to my office

The winter sun set early and tinted the living room orange through the curtains. It smelled like the lasagna Claudia had left ready before heading out to the studio. “I’ll be back around nine, love. Mateo has training until eight,” she’d told me at the door, with that quick kiss from someone already thinking of something else. I nodded. I was already thinking of something else too.

I was alone at home. Or so my wife thought. Mateo had gone off with the team and Élodie had received a message from me that same morning, one I deleted from my phone as soon as I sent it: “Come at five. We need to talk about Saturday. Alone.”

I’d locked myself in the basement office, my territory: dark wood desk, shelves of finance books nobody else ever opened, a standing lamp that left half the room in shadow. I’d spent half an hour pretending to review some contracts. I didn’t read a single line. I could only think about how the shy au pair from three months ago had become, on Saturday, something entirely different. About the way she’d looked at me in the kitchen. About what we’d done when Claudia went upstairs to sleep.

At exactly five I heard footsteps on the stairs. Light, unhurried.

Élodie came in without knocking and closed the door with a barely audible click. She was wearing running clothes: a tight black sports top, shorts that left her legs bare, and sneakers. Her dark hair was tied back in a high ponytail. Her skin was still pink from the cold outside, because she’d pretended to go training to have her alibi. No makeup, but with something in her green eyes that hadn’t existed before Saturday.

—I’ve thought about you all weekend —she said softly, coming closer without hesitation.

Her French accent dragged the r’s, but now it sounded rough, different. She sat on my lap, astride the office chair, and I felt the heat of her thighs through the fabric. She looked at me from very close.

—I haven’t stopped thinking about it for a second. I want more. A lot more than Saturday.

I swallowed. My hands slid up her legs almost on their own, brushing the warm skin.

—Élodie… we shouldn’t do this… Claudia could come back earlier…

She shut me up with a deep kiss, her tongue searching for mine with an urgency that asked permission from nothing. Her fingers were already at the buttons of my shirt, undoing them one by one.

—Don’t talk about her —she murmured against my mouth—. I’m in charge today. I’m going to do everything we did on Saturday. And more. Because I know damn well you’re dying for it.

She was right, and we both knew it. She stood up, pushed me back against the chair so I stayed seated, and knelt between my legs on the rug. She yanked down my pants and underwear without ceremony. I was already completely hard.

—Do you remember how I sucked you off? —she asked, looking me in the eyes while she wrapped her hand around me and started moving it slowly, twisting her wrist on every stroke—. Today I’m going to be worse.

And she was. She opened her mouth and took me all the way down, to the hilt, sucking with a strength that tore a hoarse groan out of me. Saliva ran down her chin. I grabbed her ponytail and guided her, and she let me, looking up at me with glassy eyes.

—Fuck… like that… —I panted—. Claudia never takes it that deep…

My wife’s name in that office was gasoline. Élodie pulled back, licked my cock from base to tip with deliberate slowness, went down to my balls, circled them with her tongue while her hand kept working. Then she lifted my legs onto the chair’s armrests and looked at me with a smile that had nothing shy about it.

—Now something new.

She moistened a finger with saliva and, while she took me back into her mouth, pushed it in slowly, searching for a spot I hadn’t known would fold me in half. I arched in the chair. The sound that came out of my chest didn’t feel like mine.

—Ah… wait… —I could barely speak—. Sophie, like that I’m going to come already…

I’d said the wrong name. Élodie stopped dead, pulled her mouth away, and arched an amused eyebrow.

—Sophie? —she repeated, without stopping the finger—. How many are there like me, Andrés?

—None —I corrected at once, red-faced—. None like you.

—Good answer.

***

She sped up: tongue and finger going in and out at the same rhythm, the other hand squeezing me firmly. I was shaking, pleasure gathering somewhere new, and the smell of sweat and sex filled the closed office.

—Stop —I managed to say—. I want to fuck you before I come.

She got up and took off her top and shorts in one movement. She stood naked in the middle of the half-light, her skin marked by the lamp’s glow. She sat astride me again, guided herself, and lowered down slowly, centimeter by centimeter, letting out the air through her teeth.

—Oh, oui… —she murmured, her forehead resting against mine—. Like that… fuck me, Andrés.

She started riding me hard, bouncing on my lap, her hands dug into my shoulders to hold herself up. The chair creaked with every thrust and threatened to tip over. I grabbed her ass, spread her cheeks, and kept one finger pressing right where she’d shown me to do it minutes earlier. Élodie moaned louder and sped up.

—Now ask me —she whispered, never stopping—. Tell me what you want me to do to you. Out loud.

I was panting, my head thrown back and my mind clouded.

—I want… you to tie my hands —I said, and hearing myself say it made me dizzy—. And keep going with your finger while you ride me. And then let me come in your mouth.

She smiled. She stood up for a second, picked up the scarf she’d dropped on the floor when she came in, and tied my wrists behind the back of the chair with a knot that was firm but would give if I pulled hard. She sat back on top of me, riding me now more wildly, and put two fingers in my mouth so I’d suck them before she took them back down to where they belonged.

—Like this —she said, watching me with her head tilted—. Tied up and at my mercy. Do you like it?

I could only answer with sounds. My hips rose on their own, searching, and that inner spot sent waves to every inch of my body. She came first: her whole body went rigid, she threw her head back and said something in broken French that I didn’t understand and didn’t need to understand.

—Maintenant… —she panted, standing up—. Now you.

***

She untied me quickly, shoved me out of the chair, and left me kneeling on the rug. Then she got on all fours in front of me, ass high and face turned back over her shoulder.

—Fuck me —she ordered—. But first with your mouth.

I knelt behind her, spread her cheeks, and breathed in her scent before lowering my tongue. I worked her slowly, patiently, while I slid my fingers into her from the front and felt her push back, demanding more. Her knees were marked by the rug and I didn’t care at all.

—Now inside —she said, her voice broken—. Without anything. I want to feel you.

I got up, guided myself carefully, and entered slowly, waiting for the ring to give before sinking all the way in. Élodie let out a scream that I had to muffle by covering her mouth with my hand, because upstairs the house was silent and any noise traveled through the stairwell. I fucked her hard, holding her by the hips, leaving the mark of my palm on one cheek.

—Ask me again —she growled, pushing back against me—. What do you want now?

—To come inside you —I said without thinking—. And for you to clean me up with your mouth afterward.

She laughed softly, almost out of breath, and deliberately tightened around me. That was enough. I drove in to the hilt and emptied myself in a series of spasms that left me without legs, clinging to her hips like a life raft. I withdrew slowly, still trembling, and Élodie turned on the rug, knelt down, and kept her word: she cleaned me with her mouth, unhurried, looking me in the eyes the whole time.

We collapsed together on the floor, sweaty, breathless. She kissed me and shared the taste of her mouth with me, and I didn’t turn my face away.

—That was better than Saturday —she said, her head on my chest.

—We shouldn’t repeat it —I murmured, not even believing myself.

—We’re going to repeat it —she corrected, drawing circles on my chest with her finger—. Many times. And it’s going to be our secret.

I held her and let the basement silence cover us. For a moment there was no Claudia, no Mateo, no lasagna cooling in the kitchen.

—Come tomorrow —I said.

She stood up, gathered her clothes from the floor, and dressed in a hurry, tying her ponytail up again as if she’d just come back from a run.

—Tomorrow, after I drop Mateo at class —she answered from the doorway—. Get ready.

And then I heard it: Claudia’s car engine pulling into the garage. Élodie didn’t even flinch. She went up the stairs with her breathing already normal, the perfect alibi, and locked herself in her room. I stayed sitting in the chair, tugging my shirt back into place with clumsy fingers, my heart still pounding in my chest and tomorrow’s promise buzzing in my head like a fly that wouldn’t leave.

Upstairs, the garage door shut. I heard my wife’s footsteps crossing the kitchen.

—Andrés? —she called—. Are you downstairs?

—Coming down now —I answered, and my voice came out firmer than I expected.

I switched off the lamp. In the darkness of the office, it still smelled like her.