Yet I really wanted her to say yes. What the fuck, man.
Giselle looked past me. "Whatever is easiest for you is perfect for me."
My decision was big, significant—and yet I made it in a split-second, sensing that if I pondered for a second longer then I wouldn't firm up the offer. I didn't invite women to my house to stay the night. Ever. Not even pre-Cassidy.
"Then you can stay. But I only have one bedroom furnished at the moment, so I'll sleep on the couch."
At this, Giselle firmly shook her head no. "It would be impossible for me to stay if you did that. Please, let me have the couch. These past few months I have slept on the odd couch for a night or two when necessary, and in horribly crummy hostile beds that are like glorified sacks of potatoes."
I tried to bite back my grin…and failed.
"What is so amusing to you, Gage?"
You. Everything you say. The way you are.
"Just, the beds. Did you mean hostel beds, or were the beds themselves actually hostile to you?"
Hearing her mistake, Giselle giggled while I scanned the bottles in the wine case carefully. "How does Château Margaux 2010 sound?"
Giselle clapped a hand to her lips. "Oh no, I could never. That wine is…rare and very expensive."
She was right…and knowledgeable about wine. Cassidy's parents had gifted us the bottle. A thousand-dollar bottle of cabernet to enjoy on our honeymoon. In the madness of the wedding cancellation and shipping out Cassidy's things, I'd forgotten about it. And nobody had asked for it back, so they’d probably thought it was tainted from its original purpose. Good thing I didn't share their sentiments.
I set it on the marble countertop and popped the cork, pouring two glasses and then handing her one. "I think you can, Giselle. Enjoy it while I set up the rest of our night-time feast."
Smiling slightly, she accepted her glass without a word.
When I returned with the cheese and crackers, I didn't miss her wince of pain as she got up and tried to follow me. I glanced to the adjoined living room. "Here, let's get you on the couch now."
She made no protest as I swept her up again and carried her over, although she did let out a small exhale of surprise. "You made that look very simple."
That's because it is. I set her down on the suede cushions, grinning like an idiot. "I'm sure if you went to the gym as much as I do…plus, you are easy to carry." I’ve never carried a woman like this. For some insane reason, it felt right. She felt right in my arms.
"Ha." Giselle threw up a hand. "Do not lie."
"I'm not lying," I said, passing her glass to her and depositing myself on the opposite end of the couch.
I was far enough away that when she lifted her glass to make a toast, I had to really reach in order to clink my glass to hers. "To a failed drawing, but a successful evening nonetheless, yes?" she said.
I nodded slowly and tasted my wine. We stared at each other, shared shy smiles, and mostly said nothing. Right now, in the warm, dim lights of my living room, she was all I could see. In her blue dress, with her golden skin and long silky hair—a contrast to the soft tone of my sofa—she looked…beautiful. Perfect. Like there was nothing else in the room to look at but her. It took all of my self-control not to kiss her.
So, we sipped and ate in a comfortable silence instead. As the clock ticked out the minutes, I pushed away a hundred different comments and excuses to talk to her, because sitting beside her like this was amazing. Not in any way awkward. Giselle was simply easy to be with, and I didn't want the moment to end.
"Gage?"
"Yes?"
Seeing her glass was empty, I reached for the bottle to refill her glass, but she declined with a sad smile.
"This has been more than enough. It has been months, to tell you the truth. I-I…" She shook her head, and another sad smile appeared on her lovely face. "No matter. The point is"—she met my eyes and bit on her luscious bottom lip again—"I really just want to thank you…for your incredible kindness today."
I tried to keep my focus on her eyes and not the distracting lip-biting thing she did so well. "Of course." Right this second, every part of me was screaming to move closer to her, to meet those lips of hers that looked so delicious.
Instead, I got up from the sofa and made my way to the kitchen with the cheese plate and the half-empty bottle. "Tomorrow, I've got an early morning. Should probably be getting to bed." It was a lie, though. You're a pussy.
But what the hell was I supposed to do? Giselle was essentially a stranger. She probably didn’t want some horny American guy leering at her. Let along touching her. Kissing her. Tasting her.
Oh fuck. Yeah, you’re still a pussy.
"Oh. Of course," she said, her tone quiet, unassuming…possibly disappointed even. I refused to look her way. The next words she spoke to me were dismissive, coming from a stranger's voice. "You may turn off the light on your way up."
No.
Frustration rattled through me as I snapped off the light switch. I was halfway to the staircase when she said, "And Gage?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you come back for a moment? There is just one more thing I want to say to you."
Caution had every hair on my body standing on end, but now that my feet had been given permission to do what they'd been itching to for hours, they strode back to her obediently.
As I stood behind the couch and she peered up at me, I came to another realization. In the moonlight, her features had assumed an almost mystical clarity, as if this were her intended state all along. Like she was always meant to be here in my house, on my sofa, staring up at me, wanting me to be with her. There couldn't be any other reason.
"Closer," her whisper commanded. So, I dipped my head down slightly, allowing the last of my good sense to give the fuck up in defeat.
She beckoned me again, and again I leaned in closer.
And even closer still, until any kind of retreat had become a ridiculous impossibility.
As her luscious lips swept up to mine, in the instant before they met, she murmured, "I want to kiss you good night."
4
Her lips against mine were the absolute end of it. The end of my self-control. The end of dancing around the intense attraction we both felt. One movement followed another, all joined in a matrix of predictability.
The initial soft crush of her lips to mine doomed me. Without a trace of uncertainty, Giselle knew what she was doing, and what she wanted. She wanted me. I wanted her too, but it was more a realization on my part that our first kiss changed something inside me. I couldn't explain it, but I certainly felt whatever it was, wrapping around me, growing and building as our lips moved together. Her tongue dove in to tease with mine, darting in and out of my mouth, leading me on a wild chase that only ramped me up more.
By the time I'd clambered onto the couch with her, our hands were all over each other as if we both already knew the landscape. Although her crochet dress seemed impossibly hole-filled, and my fingertips kept getting snagged in the threads as I stroked over her beautiful body. If it bothered Giselle, she didn't let on. Her own hands were dipping underneath my shirt to sear into my skin. We both pushed, sought to be closer. Needed our skin to be touching.
I whipped my shirt over my head and tossed it. With that useless obstruction gone, her palms pressed along the contours of my chest as if she were a sculptor hand-fashioning her creation—molding the clay to her will—and I was her clay. Willingly.
I let her touch me. I would have done anything she wanted from me in this moment. In the pale darkness, my hands spanned her breasts over the dress. God, I wanted it all off so I could see her in the moonlight. I didn't ask. I sat her up and swept the dress over her head without a word.
Silent, sexy Giselle was apparently in agreement with me, because as soon as the dress was off her body she brought her hands to the back of her neck…and pulled on the tie that held the top of her bathing suit up. The two yellow halves separated as gravity took over and re
vealed the most magnificent tits I'd ever seen…or imagined. Fucking gorgeous.
Two gloriously full mounds with dark pink nipples tightened into buds. When I cupped them, she shivered…or maybe that was me. They felt exquisitely soft, and in desperate need of being kissed and sucked and licked.
As my lips dipped to those awaiting nipples, I heard the words that made my already rock-hard dick gunning to escape from my jeans. "Oh, oui."
I almost came.
Those two words from her did something to me.
With my lips sucking on her nipples, her fingertips found their way through my hair as we battled it out. She arched her back and moaned in French. Yes, she fucking did. Giselle's lovely moans and sighs and whimpers were clearly voiced to me in French…rather than English. This was something I understood as clearly as my name.
The pebbled bud of her nipple and the softness below felt so good in my mouth as I sucked on it, I didn't think I could pull away. I forced myself to move to the other side with a groan of my own. Closing my palm around the first breast, I tugged on the nipple while I sucked on her new one. I might be at this for hours. How would it be possible to get enough of her perfect, gorgeous tits?
As another shiver ripped through her—along with more whines in French—I knew I was doing what she liked. Her reactions to my kisses and touches did wonderful things for my ego. Seeing her in such a state of abandonment pushed me to ask for more.
My hands went to her sides and then down her long, lovely legs before pausing.
Her eyes fluttered open only for an instant, one brow cocked, as if asking me, "What are you waiting for?"
I didn't need to voice my answer, because my hands were already stroking the inside of her thighs and up and up…until they stopped at her bikini bottoms—a yellow frill of fabric that was wonderfully wet right where it should be.
Christ. She’s not faking this. She’s turned on. Fuck, yes. As we continued eye-fucking, my fingers explored. First, rubbing over the outside of the wet fabric covering her pussy, and enjoying the shudder that swept through her whole body. The eager part of me wanted to yank those yellow bottoms down her legs to see the full glory of her. But the other hungry part didn't want to pause for a second, didn't want any chance of slowing down, ruining this. No. It was too perfect right now. She's too perfect to be real.
As our lips twisted and my tongue claimed her mouth with a foreshadowing of what I'd be doing later with my cock below, I dared to dip my hand under the fabric to bury my fingers in her wet heat.
Giselle moaned decadently into my mouth.
I barely noticed my jeans being tugged, because my fingers were busy sliding into her incredibly tight, warm pussy. As she clenched around my two fingers, I felt my jeans pushed down. Clearly Giselle's clever work if the woozy smile on her lips was any indication.
I countered that by wrenching her bikini bottoms down to her feet. With one sweep of her foot, she propelled them through the air.
We followed the path with our eyes and saw where they landed with a soft swish onto my coffee table. Then we looked back at each other, and burst into laughter. For a fleeting second, it was almost as though things were innocent like before. Like this was our secret dream or fantasy nobody would ever know except for the two of us.
But then I looked at her—completely naked, spectacular, and ready to be fucked by me—and I was lost again. Her clever hands gripped the waistband of my briefs and dragged those fuckers down my legs. As my cock dipped up and Giselle's mouth formed an O, I knew something was different. I couldn’t explain what I felt, but I recognized this experience as something new.
When the final barrier between was gone, our bodies collided into each other. Breasts to chest, lips to neck, hip to hip. Hands went everywhere. Long, golden hair became tangled in my fingers as I held her down and sucked on her tits again.
When my hard cock kissed in between her legs, my eyes snapped open at the same time hers did. One look at those parted lips and heaving chest, and I knew it was time. "I have to get a condom. Don't move, gorgeous." I kissed her quickly on the lips and hauled myself off her. Fucking worst torture ever. Stumbling around in the dark for a condom took too long, but I finally managed to find one and roll it onto my aching cock.
She held both arms out to me in the sweetest welcome. As I eased myself on top of her, she adjusted for me, opening her legs to allow for the perfect fit of our bodies. I fell into another deeper kiss, but I couldn't quite shut my eyes. No, I needed to see the expression on her face when I first slid inside her.
I watched the head of my cock sink into her pretty pussy and kept going. As I penetrated her more deeply, her whole face slackened in pleasure. Her half-lidded eyes looked at me in urgent need.
Because it felt So. Fucking. Good. with her.
And with every one of my strokes, her whole body responded, thrumming with the same frenetic energy consuming me—almost as if her body couldn't bear a feeling this good or might burst from the impossible joy of it.
With every one of my thrusts she lifted and twisted to meet it. Every single slide into her depths was a new surge of ecstasy. My actions were less than conscious, urges acting out of their own accord, using our bodies for their purposes. And still, I couldn't close my eyes.
With hers still half open and her parted lips moaning sighs and gasping in French, she was as into watching us fuck as I was.
Was out of my hands anyway. I couldn't take my eyes off her.
Normally, I'm seized with urgency while fucking. Throwing myself into one position after the next, trying to fulfill every desire as much as physically possible. But this time, with Giselle, this was enough. In and out. Farther and deeper and hotter. It felt like we were perfecting the act together. Like anything more, any subtle change would've taken away from the perfection. As if this intense physical connection was all we needed…or would ever need..
Already, I felt like I was going to lose it. Clenching my teeth together, I focused control on holding off as long as possible; but when my thrusts became sharper and hungrier, when my pace rocketed to top level and the cries falling from her lips joined mine into one breathless call, I knew it was time to make her come.
My hands found her tits and squeezed as I drilled into her, urging her on and on and on…until she broke apart for me. She was beautiful as she came. Beautiful to feel, too. I felt her pussy begin to spasm and clutch at my cock so tightly it almost couldn't be real. Her whole body went rigid and then started to shake as her climax took her over. Magical words fell from her lips, "Oh, oui…oui…oui!"
Words, which became a perfect trigger for me, sent my own orgasm crashing down with exquisite brutal intensity right behind hers. As I emptied into her, she thrashed and arched against me—the beautiful wildness of her body in the throes of passion something I never wanted to forget. I wouldn't ever forget this moment with her.
And then, all there was left to do was hold and kiss her until the aftershocks faded and we could breathe again. I managed to ditch the condom and settle us under the afghan I pulled from the back of the couch. I drew her close and breathed in the sweetness of her perfume mixed with the unmistakable scent of amazing and superb fucking. Intense, exceptional, unsurpassed fucking.
Our arms and legs were tangled together peacefully when the warm blanket of sleep finally settled over me.
5
I woke up alone in my quiet house.
Sitting straight up, I rubbed my eyes and studied my surroundings. The fact I'd slept naked on the couch confirmed that the wild romp with Giselle last night actually had happened.
I called her name.
Silence.
I didn't see her yellow bikini or her blue dress anywhere either. Would she have gone without saying something? I didn't think so, but then I didn't really know anything about the woman I'd spent my night with, other than how amazing she’d felt in my arms while I was inside her. I didn't even know her last fucking name let alone her number.
I gr
abbed my jeans from the floor, pulled them on…and went searching, chastising myself the whole way.
You met a pretty French artist and lost your shit completely.
Yep. Pretty much that.
I'd only known her one meager day. My anticipation of seeing her again was probably just the aftereffect of how great the sex had been.
I told myself that as I stormed through my house searching for her. The only visible trace that she'd been here was the bag of marshmallows on the table and the two empty wineglasses by the sink.
Heading outside, I scanned up and down the beach, hoping she might be sketching another picture there.
She wasn't.
Giselle was gone, and she'd left me with absolutely no way to reach her.
Fuck.
* * *
I retraced my steps with her from yesterday in an attempt to dislodge the growing certainty that Giselle really had just up and left after our amazing night together.
I spent the next hours in a determined blur trying to find her. That my French friend had really left without saying goodbye didn't seem possible. I felt sort of locked in motion; threading my way from one unlikely spot to another, figuring eventually that I'd find her at one of them.
I stopped by the nearby BLU restaurant, the Surf Bar, then back to the house, then drove into town to do the rounds. I hit up the usual public places. The Main County Public Library. The City Market. Even freaking D'Alessandro's Pizza. And at every single one of them, it was the same story.
"Long dark blonde hair and wearing a blue crochet dress? Nope, haven't seeing her. Why do you ask?"
Each time the question was asked by well-meaning but nosy friends of friends, it took all of my tact to sidestep their question with a polite waved "thanks", and leave it at that. No way was I in the mood to come up with some clever lie.
By lunchtime, though, I was defeated. And hungry as hell.
At Bohemian Bull, while devouring a charbroiled chicken burger, I answered my phone.
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