by Noelle Adams
I squeal, just like I did before.
He smiles almost ferally before he does it again.
I squeal again. I really can’t help it. It’s like he’s pulling a lever every time he does it, and the sound just comes out whether I want it to or not.
“There it is,” he murmurs. “Just like I remembered.” He’s laughing as he kisses my mouth, softer than before. “Maybe even better than before,” he murmurs when he pulls away to trail kisses down my neck.
I’m not sure how a girl can hear that from a man like Richard and not melt into a puddle of goo. I do. I pull him back up to my mouth, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him with open passion. I don’t care if he thinks I’m too easy. Too eager. I don’t know how to hold myself back in this.
We rock together as we kiss. I can feel his erection beneath the thin fabric of his pants as he pushes down into me.
He finally manages to pull out of the kiss so he can give attention to the rest of my body. He teases my breasts until I’m whimpering, and then he nuzzles my belly, occasionally teasing that particular spot on my side. I’m starting to get tense and urgent as arousal throbs hard inside me when he turns me over onto my stomach, moves aside my hair, and kisses his way down my back.
It’s strange. I’m not used to being in this position. I fist my fingers in the bedding and pant against the clean white fabric as his mouth moves toward my bottom.
He mouths the small of my back. I toss my head restlessly. I’m hot and aching and can’t possibly lie still.
I know he’s gazing at me, enjoying the sight of my helpless desire and naked body. He strokes the soft flesh of my ass and gently parts my thighs.
I make a choking sound when he finds my hot, wet entrance and slides two fingers inside. “Oh God,” I gasp, lifting my bottom instinctively. “Richard.”
“You like that?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Oh please. Richard. I need to come.”
“I know you do. I can feel how much you do. You have no idea how it makes me feel that you want me so much.”
I’m about to say something, but whatever it was is lost as he thrusts his fingers. I make a grunting sound that’s raw. Primitive. I can’t believe it came from me.
He lifts my hips higher so my butt is in the air. It would be embarrassing if it weren’t so incredibly hot. He fucks me with his fingers, and every time he pushes in, I make another one of those animalistic sounds.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, squeezing the flesh of my bottom with his free hand. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You’re so wet. So tight. You’re going to come so hard.”
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” That’s me. Brilliant conversationalist in the midst of sex. I’m clutching at the bedding and pushing my butt up toward his hand.
“Just let go, Gillian. Don’t hold back on me.” He’s fucking me with his hand so hard I can hear the sloppy sound of it beneath his voice and my grunting. “I want all of it. Give me all of it.”
The exquisite pleasure of it is almost torture now, trapped just on the edge of release. I’m almost crying with my need for it. I just can’t seem to get there.
Richard suddenly moves the hand he was stroking my bottom with and brings it down in a light little swat. The sharp sound and the rush of tingling sensation from the impact push me all the way into orgasm.
My body erupts with the release, shaking helplessly. I’m crying out so loud at the intensity of pleasure that I have to bury my face into the bedding to muffle the sound.
I whimper and gasp as he strokes me through the lingering spasms. I’m boneless and hot as fire when I feel the last little aftershocks shudder through me. I turn my head to the side again, smiling in a rather silly way. “Wow.”
He chuckles as he rubs my back and butt with both hands. “Pretty good, was it?”
“Pretty good? If I didn’t think you needed to avoid ego stroking, I’d tell you I’ve never come so hard in my life.”
He leans down to kiss the back of my neck. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s always good to hear. And hopefully it’s not over yet.”
“Definitely not over. I’m pretty exhausted after all that, so you’re going to have to do most of the work. But I’m definitely up for more.”
He’s standing up and stripping off his sleep pants. I’m still lying on my stomach, but I look over my shoulder to see that he’s rolling on a condom before he climbs onto the bed above me again.
He lifts my hips higher than they were before and adjusts my knees so they’re far enough apart to give him access. Then he positions himself behind me and eases himself inside me.
I gasp at the penetration. I’m tight again. Just as tight as before. For a moment it’s uncomfortable, but he pulls out and readjusts, rubbing my ass until I’m fully relaxed and panting against the coverlet.
“How’s this?” he asks, sounding slightly breathless.
I look over my shoulder, surprised at the look of hot, primal possessiveness on his face as his eyes crawl up and down my body and linger on the spot where he’s penetrating me. When he realizes I’m looking, he controls the expression and cocks one eyebrow at me.
I giggle and shift my hips. “Really good. I don’t know if I can come again after all that, but I’m willing to try.”
“That’s all a man can ask for.”
He starts to thrust then, holding on to my hips and pumping fast and steady.
The friction makes me whimper. I tighten my fingers into the bedding again to hold on.
I’ve never had sex in this position before, since we didn’t use it on our previous weekend together, and it doesn’t take long to realize that it’s easier for me to come like this than in missionary. I feel a familiar coil of tension, and it builds as Richard pushes into me and makes soft, sexy grunting sounds with each thrust.
He fucks me like that until I come. I have to hide my face in the covers again so I’m not too loud. Then he leans over farther, bracing himself on the bed. He’s about to lose control. I can feel it. Hear it in the way the sounds he makes get louder. I find the energy to turn my head so I can watch him.
I see that hot, possessive look again, and he doesn’t have the control right now to mask it.
He needs this. Needs me. I might not know why, but I can see it clearly. He’s letting go of something right now—the way I did earlier when he brought me to orgasm.
“Oh fuck,” he rasps. He always gets softer right before he comes. “Gillian. Baby. Oh fuck.” His face contorts as he freezes for just a moment before he lets out a long, husky moan as his body jerks with the spasms of his release.
And I love it.
I love all of it.
I honestly wondered if I’d live my whole life and never get to experience something like this.
After he takes care of the condom, we collapse together on the bed. When we’ve caught our breath and recovered, we talk about what we want to do for the weekend.
We’ve got the rest of today, all of tomorrow, and Sunday morning. We’re in Paris, and I’ve never been here before.
What just happened might have been mind-blowing, but it was also just the prologue.
The weekend is just beginning.
Four
AFTER WE RECOVER FROM our efforts in bed on Friday afternoon, Richard and I walk around, wandering through nearby streets and then having dinner at an amazing little restaurant that Richard says is one of his favorites in Paris.
On Saturday morning, we sleep in and enjoy yummy pastries and coffee in the room before we go out to explore the city. We visit out-of-the-way bookshops, art galleries, and food stores—all kinds of places Richard knows about that aren’t mobbed with tourists. I spend way too much money, and what I won’t buy for myself, he buys for me.
I end up with far too many bags of purchases to haul back to the room. I’m going to have to buy a new suitcase in order to get them home on the plane. I never indulge myself that way, buying pretty trinkets I rea
lly don’t need. But every time I hesitate, Richard convinces me to go for it anyway. He has a way of making even the most extravagant purchase seem like a perfectly reasonable thing to consider.
It’s a little worrisome sometimes. That he’s so persuasive. That it’s so hard to say no to him. That he can bend people to his will by nothing more than his smile and a clever turn of phrase. He could be dangerous if he wanted.
He’s not dangerous to me, however, as long as I don’t start to dream of impossible things with him.
We nap on Saturday afternoon and then have sex before we go out again for the evening. Since I’ve never been to Paris before, I want to visit the Louvre. Richard has a friend who works there who can get us in before it opens on Sunday morning—of course he does—so I can see the best pieces without being shuffled through the crowds. Since we have to get up early the next morning, we make it an early night on Saturday. After we go out for dinner, Richard has them bring champagne up to the room, and we drink it on the balcony, listening to the sounds of the street and talking about our travels, about Paris, about life.
We finish the bottle, and I wonder if I’ve ever talked so much in my entire life.
We’re done with the Louvre early the next morning, so we have brunch and then stroll leisurely through some parks and gardens before I leave to catch my flight. It’s a cool morning, but the sun is shining and it’s not uncomfortable.
It’s Paris, and it’s everything I imagined it would be.
“I’ve had an amazing time this weekend,” I say after glancing at my watch and seeing we don’t have much time left before I need to get to the airport. Richard is staying in the city on business for a couple more days.
“Me too.” He’s got one arm around me, curled loosely around my lower back.
I hesitate, wondering if I should mention that I’d be open to doing this again. If we both have a good time, and we both have the money for weekend trips like this, there’s no good reason not to have more of them.
I don’t say it, however. It feels unsafe. Like expecting more days like this with Richard might cast a damper on the rest of my life, making it feel bleaker. Less good.
And my life is good. I don’t want to become dissatisfied with it just because of a fantasy weekend (or two) with Richard.
I decide not to say anything about it. He hasn’t given me any clue about what he’s thinking regarding us getting together again. In fact, it seems like he’s purposefully avoiding the topic altogether—which gives me a clue I need. Instead, I decide I’m going to ask an entirely different question. One that’s not nearly so dangerous.
“Let me ask you one thing,” I say as I’m mentally working out how to word it.
Richard grows still. Very still. And I suddenly realize the way I transitioned has given him the wrong idea. He thinks I’m suddenly going to pry into his privacy even though I’ve never really done it before. He thinks I’m about to start crossing lines. There have always been boundaries on our relationship. I know them, and I’ve always made a point of staying far away from them. But he thinks I’m about to force an issue that hasn’t yet come up between us.
I’m not. True, I did consider it, but I made the decision not to.
Richard is a guarded man. I’ll lose the little I have of him if I push too far.
So my voice is even lighter than usual as I ask my question. “Is Steele your real last name?”
He lets out a huff of amusement. I can tell he’s relieved by the question. It is a somewhat personal question, but it’s not what he was afraid it was. I’m not asking him anything I shouldn’t. I’m not demanding more than he’s willing to give. “Why do you ask that?”
“Because I looked you up online.”
“Of course you did.”
“Don’t use that smug tone with me. You must have looked me up too since you figured out my business address to send that package to.”
“I did look you up. And naturally you’d look me up too. Anyone would. What did you find?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a website for your business. There are a lot of Richard Steeles in the US, but I could tell that they weren’t you. I did find one listing of a Richard Steele who lives in New York that I’m guessing might be you. New York was the return address on the package, and there’s nothing else at all on that particular Richard Steele—not even his age. Surely if Steele was your real last name, there would be something else to find about you online. But there’s nothing. So that’s why I asked.”
He’s smiling as he smooths down my hair and then takes a handful of it with both hands, holding it gently for a moment before he lets it slip through his fingers. “It’s not my original last name. That was one of the things I left behind when I decided to leave my hometown and my old life behind. It is my real name now though. The Richard Steele you found in New York is me. I don’t have a website for my business. I work exclusively through referrals.”
I nod, more curious about him than ever but hesitant about asking more. Not just because I don’t want to push him away. But also because I’m afraid that the more I know about him, the more I’ll care about him.
And I’ve got to be careful not to do that.
“I guess it would be silly to ask you to tell me your original last name,” I say at last, slanting him a smile so he’ll know I’m teasing.
“It might not be silly, but it would be futile.” He takes a weird little breath. “I’m not that man anymore.”
“Okay. I know how that feels. Not exactly, of course. It would never occur to me to change my name. But I know how it feels to want to start again. Remake yourself. Give yourself a second chance.”
He leans down to kiss me, murmuring just before he does. “Or even a third chance.”
Even a third chance.
A third life.
Maybe I’m not the only one who’s been trying to get there.
We start walking again, doing so in silence. Without realizing it, my eyes linger on a couple across the park from us. They’re obviously American tourists. The young woman has dressed up in what I’m sure she considers Paris style, complete with a scarf around her neck and a twirly skirt.
She’s adorable. Probably at least five years younger than me. She and her boyfriend or husband are holding hands. They pause to take a selfie together. Then they kiss.
They’re together. For real. They look like they’re deeply in love. And they’re having the time of their lives here in Paris.
Maybe they’re on their honeymoon.
I glance over at Richard to see his eyes have been on my face, but they slide away when I turn my focus back on him.
It occurs to me then. Anyone who sees Richard and I together here might think the same thing.
And they’d be wrong. We’re not together in that particular way.
I might be wrong about that young couple too.
Going through the motions of a romance—in bed or in the world—doesn’t make it real.
“What’s the matter, Gillian?” Richard asks softly, drawing to a stop again.
I shake my head and wrench my eyes away from the couple. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About that couple?”
“Yeah.” I give a little shrug, trying to think of a way to articulate the revelation I just had without it sounding like I’m hinting something I’m not. “They’re cute.”
“Then why did they make you sad just now?”
He’s so, so observant. It’s unnerving. “They didn’t. Not really. I was just thinking you can’t really tell what’s going on with people merely by looking at them. That couple looks like they’re in love, but who knows if they really are. People go through motions all the time.”
“Yes. They do.”
I’m feeling jittery now. For no good reason. I swallow hard and avoid his eyes. “I used to watch couples like that all the time, wishing I were them, wanting what they had, believing I was missing out on life because I’d never found anyone to love that
way.”
“And you don’t feel that way anymore?”
“I don’t know. Do I want to fall in love? Of course. Do I want to find someone who feels like he’s the one the way Matt did to me? Yes, I do. But I’m not sure what we see of people is really what’s happening with them, so wishing you were in someone else’s place is a pretty silly thing to do. I used to think I’d get to the point of feeling...” I trail off, realizing how personal this is. How intimate. How much it reveals of my soul.
Richard is silent for a moment. Then he puts a hand on my back and keeps it there as we start to walk again. It’s more than a minute before he murmurs, “You used to think you’d get to the point of feeling...?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Feeling like others appeared to me. Like something other than me. Like I’d eventually get there if certain things happened to me?”
“Get where?”
“That’s the point. I don’t even know. It just felt like there was something missing in my life and that there was something that could happen to me that would eventually fill it. Change me.” I sigh, glad we’re walking so I don’t have to meet his too-perceptive gaze. I have no idea why I’m rambling on like this. Maybe just because Richard seems to really hear me. See me. “But I guess no matter what happens to us in our lives, we’re still always just... us.”
I used to think the thing that would finally change me would be having sex at last, but I was wrong about that. I’m glad I’ve had these weekends with Richard and that I did something I wanted to do, but I’m not any different now. Not really. Not in a way that really counts.
I’m still me. Gillian. Just a Gillian who has had sex.
“Yes,” Richard responds in no more than a murmur. “No matter how we try to be someone else, we’ll always be who we are.”
I look up at him quickly, realizing he’s talking about himself now. He’s changed his name. He’s changed his whole life. He’s lived as someone completely different for who knows how long.
And evidently he still feels like the man he used to be.