Falling in Paris (Encounters #3)

by Fifi Flowers

  Faraway from the farmhouse, Émile snatched a handful of grapes off one of the vines. Feeding them to me, I sucked the juice from his fingers, causing him to groan in a sexy manner. “Take your dress off, Avril.” I was game for a little outdoor fun. Pulling the string that secured my wrap around dress to my body, I let it fall to the gravel between the vines, and stood waiting for his next move.

  I didn’t have to wait long before Émile took a bunch of grapes, crushed them and dripped them on my breasts. I drew a deep breath as he sucked a nipple into his mouth while kneading my other breast with his strong hand, keeping it from feeling neglected. I moaned as I felt my own wetness roll down my thighs.

  Releasing my breasts, I saw Émile reaching down beneath a vine toward a piece of burlap sack. Tossing it down in front of me, he commanded, “Get on your knees, pet. I want you to take me out of my pants. Put me into your mouth. Wrap your lips around my cock. Suck me!” Before doing as I was told, I lifted up on my toes, toying with the idea of biting Émile’s bottom lip and running my tongue along it, but instead sunk to my knees.

  Unzipping his pants, I took him out. So pretty! I had never been face to face with his cock. “Mmm…” I licked the length of him—up and down, I moved—covering every millimeter. Then sucked him deep into the back of my throat after toying with the sensitive tip of his big, beautiful erection. With his hands in my hair, he guided me, fucking my mouth. He felt so good on my tongue. I was ready for him to explode in my mouth; I wanted to taste his essence, but he had other plans.

  Pulling me from my knees, he turned my back into his chest, exposing me to the vineyard. “You’re so beautiful, Avril. Let everyone see you, my dirty little pet…” His filthy words in French and English had me panting as he cupped my breasts, pinched them, pulled them, elongating them—he was driving me wild. “Yes, that’s right… moan, my pet. Scream! Let everyone hear you. You want them to see me fuck you, don’t you?”

  “Yess…” I panted.

  Pushing me forward toward a crate, he told me to hold on tight. “Spread your legs. Oh, look at you, you’re glistening. Fuck! So wet…” Sliding two fingers inside of me, he took them out and coated my rosette. “Have you ever been taken here?”

  Trying to relax, I answered, “Only with fingers.”

  His fingers stroked and teased and played. “Did you like it… Don’t answer that. Do you like what I’m doing to you?” I nodded, it felt good. “One finger like this, does it feel good?” I nodded.

  Continuing to toy with me, I felt his cock slide across my slick folds. Then he hammered into me, adding another finger to my backside. “Oh God, yes,” I panted wildly as the fullness encompassed me.

  I pressed back into him making him go deeper inside of me. “Touch yourself, pet.” Reaching between my legs, I pushed and rubbed vigorously on my swollen bud as he instructed me. “Come, Avril. That’s it, pet. I can feel you pulling me in. Squeezing me. Come with me.” It was surprising that workers weren’t running in our direction at the sound of the cries escaping my lips. Never had I ever made such loud noises. Never had I ever climaxed that hard.

  Coming down from a major high, leaning back against his bare chest, he gently wiped me clean with his monogramed linen handkerchief, and asked, “Do you still think we need a bed, Avril?”

  I could barely speak, at first; I could only shake my head no. Pulling my dress back onto my sticky body, my words finally formed, “We do need a shower.”

  He laughed at my declaration as he escorted me back up to a waiting shower stall. Not together… We did not shower together.

  Cleaned up and clothed in a new dress, the rest of the day was just like any other day we had spent together. Walking around a nearby village, looking at bookstores, of course. When did my daily life or Émile’s not include books?

  “Are you hungry?” Émile asked, realizing we hadn’t eaten anything since our late breakfast. “Do you want to sit down to a meal here or do you want to see what we can dig up in the kitchen? There could be something left over from last night’s dinner?”

  “Your father mentioned earlier that there is no staff on duty tonight. Let’s cook something for him since Caron is gone.”

  “Sounds good,” he said with a bit of apprehension in his voice. You would think I had asked him to be the father of my first born. “Okay. We can shop the open-air market and local village shops.”

  “Oh yes, fresh produce! I’ve never cooked sauce from scratch. No cans to open, just whole tomatoes. Herbs and seasoning; garlic, basil, oregano, parsley… Oh, some berries too! Strawberries, raspberries…” I was so excited at the prospect, I rattled on. “Can we get ground meat, maybe veal?” My question seemed to lighten his mood.

  He smiled, “Yes, from the boucherie.”

  “What about pasta?” I really didn’t mean it the way he, obviously, took it.

  “Yes, Avril, we have pasta in France.” His voice had a playful hint of indignation to it. I loved stirring up his dander a bit.

  “Perfect! You can help me make spaghetti with meatballs.” Putting together a mental note, I pushed my forefinger into my chin. “We need a baguette, butter, and heavy cream for the berries… Wine?

  “Ha! I think we have that covered. He leaned in close to my face with his last words, I swear he was going to kiss me, then he was pulling me off to shop. Damn! I wanted to feel those lips on mine. It seemed that may never happen.

  I loved walking around the village with its colorful buildings painted pink, salmon, and mustard, all with turquoise shutters. Shopping the vendors was a joy, a playground for my senses. Beautiful fresh produce and flowers under red canvas tarps dazzled my eyes. My nose enjoyed all the smells and my tongue salivated, tasting various samples. A delightful feeling washed over me, watching people carrying armfuls of baguettes and baskets filled with their purchases. Such a charming way to do marketing!

  With our own shopping bags loaded up, we headed back to the vineyard to find Pinard’s car gone, and a note on the entry table, “Be back late,” accompanied by an unlabeled bottle of wine.

  Lifting the green glass bottle with white ink scribbled on it, Émile brought it with us into the kitchen. “Looks like my father wants us to try a new wine he’s thinking about marketing. Must be what he and that Dash guy were talking about at dinner.”

  “A red—just what we needed,” I said, looking momentarily at the bottle in his hand before I began to empty our bags and organize our cooking space. “Ready to get dirty?”

  He gave my question a wicked grin. “What did you have in mind? I could spread you wide on this butcher block island. You could serve as a delectable appetizer.”

  I giggled. “I meant, are you ready to help me prep, cook, cut up produce, mix up meat to roll into balls?”

  “You want to do what with my balls?” he asked. I snapped a dishcloth at him, laughing. “Okay,” he said more seriously, between biting his lip. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Pour us a glass of wine and provide me with your company, for now. You can watch me.”

  “Yeah? Are you going to be cooking naked?”

  “No,” I laughed. Then started moving around the kitchen, familiarizing myself with where everything was while he pulled up a stool, and opened the bottle of wine his father left for us. It was delicious; it would be getting our seal of approval, when he asked.

  As I moved on to making meatballs, Émile washed his hands only to get them goopy with veal, eggs, and breadcrumbs from an extra baguette I cut up and toasted in the oven, along with fresh seasonings. Showing him how to combine the mixture, kneading everything together, our hands met in the bowl until he took over. Once again, our hands touched as I directed him in the right amount to be formed into balls. The closeness gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling. It was any wonder that I was able to pull the whole meal together.

  Once the sauce was done, pasta boiled, meatballs baked, salad tossed, and a baguette warmed to a perfect crunchiness, we took our dinner out to the patio. I could ne
ver tire of that view of the vineyard. And, since adding to its appeal—christening it—I found it all the more picturesque. The scenery sitting across from me wasn’t too bad to look at either.

  Enjoying our meal and another bottle of wine, we chatted about the day. The book part, of course. We had found some great leather bound books that he promised to ship to the states for my clients from his store, when we got back to Paris. I filled him in on my latest discovery while exploring the public areas of the farmhouse.

  “Did you know that your father has a rather impressive library? Filled with books—both classics and modern—some first editions, as well.”

  “Probably Caron’s doing, she’s always got her nose stuck in a book. Usually a steamy romance novel. You sure the bookcases aren’t full of love stories?”

  “No, they’re all hardbound. I’m not going to lie; there are some romance books on the shelves.” Some I’d read recently, some classic romance and poetry books were mixed in, too: Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Reclining Nude in Chicago, Portuguese Sonnets, Wild, Wanton & Wicked—I had a good idea which ones belonged to Caron.

  “Where did you find this library?” He seemed more interested as I described it.

  “In the guest wing, lower level, facing out to the pool.”

  “Probably for their guests.” He tried to act nonchalant, but he wasn’t fooling me.

  “How have you never seen it?”

  “I’ve never stayed in the guest wing before, this is the first time.” I could see the wheels turning in that gorgeous head of his. “Besides, my father hates books. I was completely shocked earlier that he was interested in the cobblestone book. I can’t say that I’ve ever seen him read a book, other than my forcing him to read to me as a child.”

  “Let me show you,” I said, standing up. “I think your father is a closet reader.”

  Stubborn, he remained seated. “Let’s go for a swim instead.”

  I refused to give up. “Okay, the library is on the way. I’ll go slip into my bathing suit and meet you.” I was already heading inside with our dirty dishes. “I’m going to put these in the sink. See you there.” Stopping, I mentioned the library again, “Bottom floor, end of the hall, last double doors on the right side,” then, I was on the move.

  “No need for a suit,” he called after me.

  I shouted back, “I’m not skinny dipping with you, we have no idea when your father or Caron will return.”

  Following after me, he tried to entice me. “Come on! The thrill of being caught!”

  “Not by your family! See you in the library.” I turned around and headed up the stairs to my room to change quickly.

  With a short, pink-leopard print robe tied around me, concealing a black bikini, sure to garner some attention, I went to meet Émile. Stepping through the open doors of the library, he was already skimming his hands along various spines. He seemed to be deep in thought. I imagined he knew from looking at the books, that several were old and perhaps familiar to him. Listening to him mumbling, I had figured out that some of them had belonged to his grandfather. He believed they had been packed up and put away in storage.

  There was another side to his father. Earlier, I detected his father might be more into books by the way he was fascinated with the cobblestone book and the journal. I couldn’t imagine anyone that intrigued by those, if they weren’t a reader. No, I was pretty sure, and willing to wager money on it—Pinard did, in fact, love books, but he didn’t love the thought of selling them day in and day out. He may not have wanted to own a bookshop, but he wanted to read books, and did so where no one could watch or catch him. My guess, he found happiness sitting quietly, escaping into a book in the library of his prized vineyard.

  “These are my grandfather’s books. These are men’s—my father’s—extra pair of reading glasses he had behind the counter at the store. My father reads,” his voice was quiet like he was keeping his secret. “I think you’re right, he likes to read. How could I not know that? I always felt a pain inside of my chest at the thought of him not loving something as much as I did.”

  If Émile and I had a different type of relationship, I would’ve rushed to his side, taken him into my arms—comforted him. But instead, I stood back and let him take it all in, let it sink in. “I think he always loved books. Kept it a secret so he didn’t have to run the shop. If your grandfather knew, he may have never agreed to let him find his niche, his own dream.” He was still, looking forlorn, so I suggested a swim. Nodding his head, he agreed, and we left his father’s library. “Maybe you should talk to him before you leave.” He nodded again as we closed the doors.

  Walking to the swimming pool was a little quiet, but once I dropped my robe he came back to life. “First you shock the hell out of me, revealing my father’s secret love of books, now you’re trying to kill me wearing that string?” he groaned. I laughed and dove in.

  Though our recreational swim was a bit tainted with the recent discovery, it was relaxing. A delicate wind was perfuming the air with nature’s fragrance; a mix of Juniper, rosemary, thyme, and sweet flowers on the evergreen trees. Surely, wild lavender had to be part of the mix, too. Divine! Quiet! Besides the sound of a master chorale of crickets, performing their own symphony added to the ambiance of the night’s sky. The occasional splash of water, as we swam a few laps, brought about another dynamic to our peaceful frolic. Resting, we floated on rafts and looked at the stars—so many to see out in the country. It was like being at a city planetarium or looking at a book of constellations.

  “I prefer the lights out here in the country,” he broke the silence that surrounded us. “So much better than the artificial light of Paris that everyone boasts about. No comparison to celestial stars.”

  “They are so bright out here. Amazing. Like twinkling diamonds.”

  “Balls of fire. Gas. Hydrogen. Helium”

  “Okay, Ptolemy, Copernicus… Galileo?”

  “Ha! Someone has read up on astronomy.”

  “Science class text book, but I’m not sure which one of those brilliant minds concluded that stars were made up of gases a long time ago.”

  “Speaking of long time, my skin is shriveled up like a raisin.”

  “Prune.”

  “Whatever, wrinkly fruit,” he laughed. “Time to get out.”

  “Agreed,” I said, flipping off of my raft and pulling it out of the water. On dry land, he put the floating devices away in a storage cabinet, then joined me in drying off. For a moment, I thought there might be a little spark about to develop and be sated, but those thoughts were dashed.

  “I’m going to go make sure the house is secure. See you in the morning.”

  “Night,” I replied as I wrapped a towel around me and picked up my robe from one of the deckchairs. In opposite directions, we departed the pool area.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Émile

  Last night was such a domestic scene between us. I had never cooked a meal with a woman before. Although, she did do most of the work, I helped and enjoyed every minute. The food was amazing, the company was even better. I wanted to continue our night in the bedroom after our swim. It took every bit of willpower not to pull her into my room. Especially after the revelation about my father and his library. I had no idea; it really hit me hard. I could’ve used a pair of warm arms… Avril’s arms around me. That wasn’t going to happen—that would’ve been too intimate. That was not us, not ever. Alone in my bed was my destiny. I was happy that sleep came quickly instead of vivid images of my nose buried in her jet black hair and my body wrapped around hers.

  As the sun peeked through my open window, I got out of bed and went in the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. Finished, I quietly opened the connecting door to her room. Her beautiful face rest on a pillow. Her haunting lavender eyes were shut, her breathing was heavy. Deciding to let her sleep, I went back to my room to dress for a run, something I hadn’t done in a long time, probably the last time I visited the vineyard. Pul
ling on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, I slid my feet into a pair of running shoes, tied them, and zipped up a hooded sweat jacket.

  Downstairs, walking past a set of open French doors, I saw my father sitting outside on the patio reading the local paper—reading and drinking coffee. Looking up, he greeted me, “Morning, son, there’s coffee. Grab a cup; come sit down.”

  “I was going to go take a run,” I informed him while still standing in place, ready to get a move on.

  “She really is a keeper. I wasn’t just saying that because she’s so beautiful and smart. You should tell her.” Bending the edge of his paper down, he nodded his chin in the direction of an empty chair. Figuring I wasn’t getting away, I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of orange juice, and returned to the table, slipping into a chair across from him.

  “Don’t read too much into this visit. She’s fun. Enchanting, I agree, but she… all women are nothing more than fun—just playmates.”

  “I don’t believe that. She’s not someone to toy with. How can you say that? She has the book, the journal, and the letters—that didn’t just happen for no reason?”

  I was confused by his obsession over that book and its additional components. “I don’t see what those have to do with her. I’m not even sure what everyone finds so fascinating about that book. It’s your basic non-fictional history book with some personal comments and stories added to the book.”

  “You told me Francesca said the package just appeared in her shop. That she was compelled to give them to Avril. Why Émile?”

  “You know Francesca, she’s like you—doesn’t really like books.” I watched his face as I made my last statement. “However, I’m not so sure that’s true. Seems to me you might be a closet reader, as Avril pointed out to me last night in your library.”

  “I told you she is a smart girl.” He sat silent for a few minutes looking at me. I thought he was figuring out what to confess about his book collection. I was wrong. He was still intent on talking to me about Avril. “So, you haven’t bedded her yet?”