Julien leaned in closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Amélie's cheek. The silken strands whispered against his fingertips, a fleeting caress that sent a shiver down his spine. As he tucked the wayward curl behind her ear, his knuckles grazed the delicate skin of her cheek, a feather-light touch that made Amélie's breath hitch in her throat.
The air between them crackled with a palpable tension, an unresolved desire that hung heavy and thick, a tangible force that seemed to steal the very breath from their lungs. Julien's heart pounded in his chest, a rapid, staccato rhythm that echoed the hammering of Amélie's own pulse.
Amélie, as if seeking to break the charged atmosphere, leaned back in her chair, the plush velvet cushion molding to the curves of her body. She took a hurried sip of her wine, the rich burgundy liquid slipping past her lips only to dribble down her chin and drip, in a slow, tantalizing trickle, between the valley of her breasts.
Julien's eyes followed the crimson trail, his gaze riveted to the way the wine soaked into the creamy fabric of her dress, darkening the delicate silk to a deeper, more provocative shade. He watched, his heart hammering against his ribs, as a single, scarlet droplet clung to the swell of her breast, a glistening gem that begged to be flicked away with the tip of his tongue.
"Putain, elle est exquise," Julien thought to himself, his mind a whirl with the desperate need to taste her, to feel the slick, silken heat of her skin against his lips. "The way the wine stains her dress, the way it clings to her perfect tits... it's enough to drive a man to his knees, to beg for the chance to worship her like the goddess she is." His cock throbbed in his trousers, a rigid, aching length that strained against the confines of his zipper, a silent testament to his all-consuming desire.
Amélie set her glass down, the delicate stem clinking softly against the white tablecloth. She brought her fingers to her lips, dabbing at the crimson droplet that clung to the corner of her mouth, her thumb brushed along the line of her jaw, clearing away the scarlet trail that had trickled down her chin. As she did, she caught Julien's heated gaze, his eyes dark and intense as they lingered on the swell of her breasts.
Glancing down, Amélie followed his line of sight, her own gaze landing on the tiny, glistening speck of wine that adorned the creamy skin of her cleavage. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips as realization dawned, and she pressed a slender finger against the scarlet droplet, her nail sinking into the yielding softness of her breast.
Julien's breath caught in his throat, his heart slamming against his ribs as he watched Amélie bring that wine-stained finger to her mouth. His eyes widened, his pupils dilating with unchecked desire as he saw her small, pink tongue emerge from between her lips, a wet, glistening slide of flesh that made his cock jerk and twitch in the confines of his trousers.
"Merde," Julien thought, his mind a haze of pure, animalistic hunger as he watched Amélie's tongue lave the wine from her finger, a slow, sensual lick that seemed to linger and savor the taste. "The way she licks her finger, the way her tongue wraps around it... it's like she's licking something else, something harder and thicker and so much more satisfying." His cock throbbed, a rigid, aching length that strained against the zipper of his pants, a silent plea for the hot, wet heat of her mouth.
Amélie's smile widened, a look of pure, feminine satisfaction playing across her face as she saw the effect her actions had on Julien. She held his gaze, her emerald eyes glinting with a wicked, knowing light as she slowly, deliberately, sucked the last of the wine from her finger, a show of pure, unadulterated seduction.
Amélie smirked, a wicked glint in her emerald eyes as she teased Julien mercilessly. "My, my, Julien," she purred, her voice a low, sultry murmur. "You look a bit... flustered. And here I thought you were made of sterner stuff." She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, her chin propped in her palms as she studied him with a look of mock concern. "Could it be that the great Julien Deneuve is not as immune to a woman's charms as he would have everyone believe?"
Julien brought a hand to his mouth, rubbing the back of his neck as he averted his gaze, a deep blush staining his cheeks a pretty pink. "You're drunk, Amélie," he said, a note of mild exasperation in his voice. "You wouldn't be saying or doing such things if you were sober." Despite his words, there was a hint of uncertainty in his tone, a touch of doubt that belied his true thoughts.
Amélie smirked, her eyes dancing with mischievous amusement as she watched Julien squirm under her teasing gaze. She could see the flush creeping up his neck, the way he averted his eyes, his hand coming up to cover his mouth in a gesture of flustered discomfort. It was a side of the usually composed man she'd rarely seen, and it only spurred her on to tease him further.
"Oh, Julien," Amélie purred, a wicked lilt to her voice as she brought the empty wine glass back to her hand, scraping her nail along the rim in a slow, deliberate motion. "You can't possibly think I'm drunk. I'm perfectly... compos mentis." Despite her words, there was a slight slur to her speech, a telltale sign of the wine she'd consumed. "Besides, I haven't had nearly enough to quench my... thirst." With that, she glanced meaningfully at the half-empty bottle of wine sitting on the table between them, a silent plea for more.
Julien sighed, a sound of long-suffering patience mixed with a hint of exasperation. "Amélie," he began, his voice a low, warning rumble. "You've had more than enough to drink. Look at you, you're barely able to sit still in your seat." His gaze flicked down to her breasts, where the wine stain had spread, the damp fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. "And you're acting in a way that's... uncharacteristic of you. Normally so prim and proper." He paused, swallowing hard as a particularly vivid image flashed through his mind - Amélie, naked and spread out beneath him, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat, her hair a wild, tousled halo around her head as she writhed in ecstasy beneath his touch.
"Yeah, she's definitely had enough," Julien thought to himself, his mind a haze of reluctant concern and unwilling arousal. "But god help me, the things she's doing, the way she's acting... it's enough to make a man forget all sense of propriety and take her right here on this table, consequences be damned." Julien shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his trousers growing tighter by the second as his imagination ran wild with the carnal possibilities.
"She's playing a dangerous game, and god help me, but I want nothing more than to call her bluff and show her just how far I'm willing to take this." His cock throbbed, a rigid length of steel encased in velvet, a silent testament to his all-consuming desire. "But I can't. I won't. Not yet, at least." Julien took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some semblance of control over his wayward thoughts and traitorous body.
"She may be drunk, but she's not ready for what I want to do to her. And I refuse to take advantage of that." Despite his noble intentions, Julien couldn't shake the feeling that Amélie was leading them down a path from which there would be no turning back, a path that would end with them both burning in the flames of their own desire.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, Amélie brought the empty wine glass to her chest, the cool crystal pressing against the warm, supple flesh of her breast. Her tongue, a glistening pink and wet, emerged from between her lips, a deliberate swipe that left them glistening and inviting. Julien's breath hitched, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he watched, transfixed, the erotic display unfolding before him.
"Dieu," Julien thought, his mind a haze of lust and desperation as he watched Amélie's tongue glisten obscenely in the candlelight. "She's playing with fire, and she doesn't even realize it. The way she's pressing that glass against her tits, the way her tongue... fuck, it's like she's beckoning me to lean in and lick every last drop of wine from her skin." His cock throbbed, a rigid, aching length that strained against the confines of his trousers, the fabric growing taut and uncomfortable as his arousal mounted.
Julien's gaze was glued to the tantalizing sight of Amélie's tongue and the wine glass, his eyes dark and intense as he drank in every sinful detail. "She's a temptress, a siren calling me to my doom, and god help me, but I'm powerless to resist." He imagined leaning down, his tongue replacing the cool glass, lapping at the wine-slicked flesh, tasting the intoxicating blend of Cabernet and Amélie's natural, heady essence. "I bet she tastes divine, sweet and heady and utterly addictive. I want to drink my fill of her, to feast on her until I'm drunk on the taste of her skin."
Julien shifted in his seat, his hand coming down to palm the rigid length of his cock through his trousers. He couldn't help himself, couldn't stop the desperate need to touch himself as he watched Amélie's brazen display. "Putain de dieu , I'm so fucking hard it hurts," he thought, his hips rocking almost unconsciously into his own touch.