She still periodically pinched herself to make sure she was not dreaming.
During her last day in Paris the two of them had awoken late from their third passionate night together and walked hand-in-hand around the city. When the time to leave had gotten close, they’d waited for Peter at the bar of the hotel. George ordered a soda for her and a beer for him, and then they sat together in silence. Mary was trying to come to terms with the fact that she was going to fly away and would probably never see him again when George said, studying the foam of his beer, “I don’t want kids. I’ve never wanted any, and I never will.”
“I can understand that. I’ve never felt the need to reproduce either.”
He had remained silent for a minute and then, looking at her, had said, “Good. Then I can be packed and moved to New York in two weeks.”
The statement had taken Mary by surprise. She’d smiled as she processed it. Had there ever been a man of so few words? Expecting her heart to burst from joy any second, she asked, “Will you move in with me?”
“Sure. Where else would I go?”
“Right.”
Riding in the taxi to the airport with her brother, Mary remembered this exchange vividly. It was probably the least romantic proposal ever, but it had worked for her. The two weeks had passed more quickly than she would have expected. They had video chatted online every single day, and as of that night, they would be living together. How incredible was that?
Somehow, Mary was very optimistic about their future. They were both old enough to know that there were no perfect relationships. There would probably be some days when she would come home moody after a hard shift or upset about some new health regulation or absurd hospital policy. She would know better than to take it out on him. There would also be nights when he would be frustrated by a lack of inspiration or upset by a negative review from someone whose opinion he respected. Since he never said anything, she would probably never know unless he felt like talking about it weeks later. Mary felt confident. It could work.
She wasn’t really sure the same would hold true for Peter and Ariane. She feared Peter’s expectations were unrealistic. Ariane had spent a decade creating her school from scratch. Mary very much doubted Ariane would be ready to close shop, tear up roots, and follow Peter to New York after a couple of months, no matter how heated their sex life would be. Because, really, aside from sex, she didn’t think they had anything in common.
She also believed their affair was doomed if Ariane decided to follow him back to the U.S. Mary knew her brother well enough to guess that the day they reached New York, Peter would go back to his old life, invest himself totally in his teaching, and leave Ariane to fend for herself. He was so self-centered that it wouldn’t even occur to him that she could possibly need help adjusting.
Kristina hadn’t trained him well in that respect. She had always catered to his every whim. Kristina thought her only mission in life was to make Peter happy. At times, Mary had found Kristina’s way of deferring to Peter’s every whim unnerving. It was sad really that cigarettes, the only things for which Kristina had ever stood her ground against Peter, turned out to be what killed her.
The only way Peter and Ariane would have a chance was if Peter took a position in Paris. Mary wondered if that was possible.
But in any case, even if it didn’t turn out the way Peter was planning, all would still be for the best. He had shaken away the ghost of Kristina, and for that, Mary would forever be thankful to Ariane.
Realizing it would be futile to voice her concerns to Peter since he always knew better, she just listened to him explain how he was going to use his time in Paris. He was going to revise one of his books, catch up on some administrative tasks that he could do online, and get to know Ariane better… “not necessarily in that order.”
She walked her brother to the check-in counter, hugged him before the Customs checkpoint, and ran to the Arrivals area to greet George, who walked out of Customs a few minutes later.
Mary identified his tall figure in the crowd and watched him scan the crowd for her. The change on his face when his eyes met hers melted her heart. He walked to her, dropped his carry-on luggage, wrapped his arms around her, and lifted her up from the floor. For the first time in her life, Mary had the incredible feeling of being a tiny little thing. She was unable to say how long he held her like that, but she savored it. This was what happiness felt like.
They rode to the city and reached Mary’s place on the Eastside, a second floor walk-up in a brownstone within walking distance of the hospital where she worked. George walked though her place with her. He inspected the living room with its open kitchen, the den, and then finally the bedroom.
“You’ve made room for me,” he said, acknowledging the empty spaces she had created for him in her place. She had cleared half of the den so he would have an office and had managed to empty a respectable amount of space in her walk-in closet.
“I figured if I want you to stay a while, I’d better give you some space to settle in,” she said, coming close to him as they finished the grand tour in her bedroom.
He sat on the large bed and caught her by the belt of her jeans to pull her close to him. “The California king size?”
“That’s new too. My double bed needed to retire anyway.” She leaned on him and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“Good, what else?”
“That’s it. Oh, no.” She gave him a seductive smile. “I also stocked the fridge and traded shifts with a friend. Now I’ve only got one thing to focus on until Monday.”
“And what would that be?”
“Making sure you feel welcome.” She bent over to brush her lips against his while peeling his shirt away.
In a matter of minutes, they had flung their clothes across the room and were working on inaugurating their new bed. George scooted on his back to the center of the bed and Mary joined him. He pulled her over him, and she laughed lightly as she realized she didn’t have to be careful. No matter what position she took, he was strong enough to support her entire weight and then some. She settled onto him, letting him slide inside her one inch at a time until she was gloriously full.
Mary sighed and leaned over to take support on her arms. She felt so good that if she were going to die suddenly of a heart attack, she would want to go right then as she felt her orgasm building.
But then he stopped the slow rolls of his hips to hold in place for a minute. Panting, he asked, “What about protection?”
“I’m clear. I got tested when I got back. I’m on the pill, and there hadn’t been anyone for a long time before you. So if you’re good, I’m good.” She looked into his eyes.
His answered by kissing her and arching his hips, sending jolts of sensation through her.
Mary moaned and resumed the gentle roll of her hips and quickly shattered against him. Her head fell against his shoulder as she caught her breath. When she did, he held her tight, giving her a moment to get ready for him again. Just as she was starting to breathe normally, he placed his hands on her waist and rocked her gently to suggest the rhythm he wanted her to match against the movement of his hips.
Her breathing turned into panting gasps. She felt he was getting close, and she looked into his eyes as her inner core burst into a thousand stars. His attentive and loving gaze upon her added some magic to the feeling. He closed his eyes, shuddered after a final bucking movement, and screamed with ragged breath, “Oh, Mary.”
Mary rolled onto her side and rested her head on his shoulder. She whispered in his ear, “Welcome home, honey.”
Chapter 8
Ariane
THERE WAS NO STAYING IN bed late that Saturday morning. Peter’s plane would land at the crack of dawn, and since there was almost no traffic coming into the city from the airport on weekends, he would arrive quite early.
Even though she knew she should get out of bed right away, Ariane did not resist the temptation to roll over onto the cool side of the bed for a littl
e while. As her hair scattered on the fresh pillow, she wondered what it would be like to wake up to someone every morning.
Ariane was trying to ascertain how she felt. She had been doing that more times than she could possibly count lately, and the truthful answer was that she didn’t really know. A few nights in a row, she had dreamed that she was knee-deep in fog. She could see infinite blue sky above her but had no clue what she was standing on. Under her bare feet she could feel the edges of a narrow wall or maybe a ledge. In her dream she had not been scared, just unsettled by the fact that she had no idea how long her fall would be if she missed a step and what she would land on. So, yes, she was a bit anxious about this new turn her life was taking, but she also was willing to give it a chance.
She tried very hard not to think about the fact that Patrick had never meant to let her go. To do so, she had kept herself very busy. But that wasn’t working. Every single time she stopped to breathe, a little voice in her head asked her the same questions. What had she done? What had possessed her to invite Peter to come spend the summer term with her in Paris?
Before Peter, her life had been just the way she wanted it to be. She had filled her life with her school, her students, and her friends and had been content. Her school was busy enough to allow her to live nicely and set aside some time to experiment. She was working on her own recipes, exploring new flavors. She was secretly preparing a new recipe book. Well, maybe not that secretly since Madame Caroline knew of her dream. One day, when she had been very happy with one of her creations, she had let Madame Caroline taste it and talked about her dream of putting together something worth publishing.
Ariane also wondered how Madame Caroline would get along with Peter. One thing was certain: Madame Caroline’s curiosity had been piqued enough for her to invite him to their next Sunday lunch. Come to think of it, it was a strange kind of invitation since Ariane would be providing the meal. The reality was that Ariane had been ordered to introduce Peter to the Queen Dowager of the rue Saint Dominique.
Ariane jumped out of bed. She put on a light terry robe and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She was just finishing when she heard a knock downstairs. She looked out her bedroom window. Peter had arrived. He was standing in the courtyard with a suitcase and a bag. He looked up and smiled at her. So this was really happening.
“The plane landed early,” he said.
“I’ll be right down.”
Okay, this was it. Ariane slowly went down the little staircase. She had planned to get all dolled up to look her best, but there was no time. Maybe this was for the best. He was getting a chance to run before settling in. This was the “What You See Is What You Get” version of Ariane. The WYSIWYG version included wild hair, a so-so terry robe, and a face devoid of any makeup. At least she had brushed her teeth. Her breath would be fresh.
She opened the door and let him in. He looked a little frumpy as well. What could you expect after seven hours on a plane? Frumpy, but yummy too. A little stubble shaded the lower half of his handsome face, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. He didn’t seem put out by her disheveled look.
“Did you just wake up?”
“I didn’t expect you for another half an hour. I was going to get dressed and prepare breakfast for you.”
“Then I’m happy the plane landed early. Breakfast is not what I had in mind as a treat for my arrival.”
He turned around to close the door behind him, dropped his luggage, and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Come on. Show me the way.”
She turned around and led him through the dining room and up the stairs to her bedroom. She closed the window and drew the curtains—not enough to make the room dark, but enough to block the view into it. No need to give a morning show to Madame Caroline—or anyone else, for that matter!
Ariane picked up the sweater and T-shirt that Peter had dropped on the floor on his way to the bathroom. She set them aside on a chair by the door. She’d made room for him in one closet, but it was not the time to talk about that.
“So here we are,” he said, coming out of the bathroom and surveying the small bedroom. Ariane looked at him and held her breath. He was a sight to see. The waist button of his jeans was open and the pants hung loosely on his hips, revealing the torso of a man who took really good care of himself. More brown hair formed a “T” on his chest.
“Will you come to me now?” he asked. “I’ve made the first few thousand miles. You can do the final three steps.”
Ariane moved in his direction, almost feeling shy. She was fascinated by the hunger she could read in his eyes, a hunger that was the mirror image of the one that was overtaking her. When she was within his reach, he pulled at the belt of her robe, and with a slight shrug, she made it slide from her shoulder to the floor.
She took another step towards him and ran her hands down his chest, following the pattern of hair until she reached the obstacle of his jeans. With a hand on each hip, she pushed his pants and underwear down his legs so they would be equally naked. God, he was big! She needed to touch him. She reached out and wrapped her hand around his shaft. It felt soft and warm. He was longer than Patrick but not as thick. Oh, shit, she shouldn’t go there. She chased Patrick out of her mind and closed her eyes as Peter pushed her onto the unmade bed. He leaned over her and brought a hand between her legs. Tugging gently on her curls he said, “This has to go.”
“You’re sure?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure.” He chuckled.
Ariane looked at him through half closed lids as he slipped a finger between her folds and then another inside of her. He brought his hand back to his face and breathed in. “I love your smell. When the hair is gone, I will go drink at the source. For now, this will have to do.” He licked his finger.
Ariane’s eyes were transfixed on his mouth. A ball of fire was growing between her legs, and she arched up as his fingers found their way into her again. She forgot to breathe for a moment. Her lungs reminded her of their need painfully, and she was catching up with panting gasps. Never had she been so close so fast. It was like his presence turned on a switch, and there was nothing left but a mess of sensations running though her. His fingers left her entrance for her breasts. He wiped the moisture from his hand onto a nipple and then sucked on it while sliding his hand back down again. More fingers found their way in while his thumb stroked her most sensitive spot. A bite on her nipple sent electric shocks to her core, and her hips bucked against his hand. She forgot to breathe again. Her heart was a loud drum in her chest beating so hard it felt as if it wanted to get out.
“Please, Peter.”
“What do you want?”
She gasped. “You. In me. Now.”
“Oh, no. You’ll have to wait a little longer. I’m not done surveying my playground.”
He flipped her over onto her stomach and slid two pillows under her hips. Then he spread her legs and knelt between her thighs.
“I like that large mirror on the wall,” he said, pointing to the wall-to-wall closet sliding doors. “Ariane, please lift your head. Don’t bury it in the quilt between your arms. I want to be able to watch your face as I make you come.”
Ariane blushed, thought about it for an instant, and complied. She folded her arms and fisted one hand to rest her chin on. She looked at their reflection in the mirror. It was too much to take. He could watch her if he wanted, but she couldn’t. At least not yet. She closed her eyes when he stopped caressing her back and put himself in position, a hand on each hip.
“Are you ready for me, Ariane?” he asked in a husky tone.
She answered by raising her hips further to align herself with him. She could feel the tip of his shaft near her entrance.
He held back. “Talk to me. Are you ready?”
“Oui, yes. Oh, you have no idea how ready.” Her breath was ragged.
He plunged into her hard, pulled out gently, and stopped.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
She did and looked at his re
flection in the mirror. He smiled and started moving again. He was filling her so completely she could not catch her breath.
“Too much?”
“No, don’t stop.”
He obliged with a smirk, and within an instant, she was a shivering mess, exploding in small pieces under him. One or two thrusts later he crumpled onto her back then rolled over to his side.
They lay side-by-side for a few minutes, Peter caressing her hair and placing small kisses on her shoulder.
“I’m not usually a hit-and-roll-over type of guy, but I didn’t sleep a wink on the plane,” he said, sliding under the quilt. “Do you mind if I try to catch up a little?”
“No, not at all.” Ariane gave him the pillows. “I’ll leave you alone for a little while? I have a couple of errands to run.”
“Sure. Just wake me up before noon so I can try to adjust to Paris time quickly.”
Ariane slid open one of the mirrored doors, took out some clothes and a pair of shoes, and went downstairs. Her handbag was on the dining room table. She fished out her cell phone, and after sliding into her clothes, she called Véronique, her best friend and marketing mentor. Surely, one of Véronique’s three beautician salons would be able to fit her in for a quick total wax.
Chapter 9
Peter
AROUND NOON, PETER WAS IN the bathroom brushing his teeth when Ariane came to check on him. He had brought his suitcase into the bedroom and opened it against a wall. Through the bathroom door he’d left ajar, he called her in. He was feeling human again. Nothing like a good shower and a clean shave to turn him into a new man.
When he walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, Ariane was sitting on the bed, taking her shoes off.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
“Yes and no. This place is incredibly quiet. It was really weird not to wake up to the sound of Manhattan traffic. I went looking for you when I got up. I found the chaussons aux pommes on the table. I ate them. I assumed those were for me.”
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