by C. J. Duggan
‘We are going to do this properly,’ he said; he slowly ran his hands along the outside of my thighs, hooking his fingers into the loosened waistband of my skirt.
I swallowed. ‘Louis,’ I breathed, half panicked, thinking about what he was about to do.
‘The one thing you will learn about me, Claire,’ he said quietly, as he took hold of the elastic of my skirt and panties and began to lower them down my thighs, exposing me fully to him in the most intimate of ways as he spread my legs apart, ‘is that …’
He leant down and kissed my mouth.
He kissed my neck.
My breast.
My belly button.
My hip bone.
And then he paused, his breath heated against my thigh as he looked up me.
‘I love a challenge too.’ And with that he placed his mouth on me.
‘Oh God.’ My hands gripped the edge of the desk. I was wrong, so incredibly wrong, this was by far the most erotic thing I had ever experienced, watching the top of his head move as he pinned my thighs down so I was open to the slow, sensual working of his tongue gliding over me, sucking and circling with an intense pressure. I couldn’t hold it in any more, and worse still, he didn’t want me to. He pushed his finger inside me, sucking so hard I cried out, panting, and twisted and arched against the unbearable pleasure he was inflicting on me.
My hands lowered to grasp his hair, but he only held my thighs harder as he plunged his tongue deeper, tasting me, ensuring I was absolutely spent, and he must have known, felt it in the quiver of my thighs, the way my body had become languid and limp, and how my chest heaved as my mind struggled to catch up to my body, rippling in the aftershocks of my orgasm.
Louis crawled up my body, his arms resting on either side of my head, caging me in as he gazed down at me, his face flushed. There was an air of smugness in his crooked smile as he took in my flushed cheeks and completely sated, limp state.
He kissed me, soft but fleeting, as his hands skimmed the curves of my hips, down along my outer thighs and up again in a slow caress.
I looked down at him. ‘This hardly seems fair.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Well, you’ve seen all of me, touched, tasted – that hardly seems fair.’
Louis smiled. ‘What can I say? I am a very giving person.’
I twisted my fingers in the curl of his hair, looking into the depths of his blue eyes, getting lost in them. To hell with living safely, one night of passion with a man like Louis Delarue would be something I would be reminiscing for the rest of my days. It would be like that wrinkled old lady in Titanic banging on about the Heart of the Ocean while Celine Dion played in the background. So this might not be an epic love story, but there was no denying the way he made me feel, the way he touched me, whispered to me, urged me on into the most mind-altering pleasure I had ever experienced. Sure, he was an arrogant, bossy bastard most of the time, but in those fleeting moments where it was just us, succumbing to our needs, well, that was better than anything I could have ever hoped to find in Paris. I smiled up at him, propping myself up on my elbows, my long dark hair falling over my breasts.
‘Well, maybe I should give something to you.’
A darkened fire flashed across Louis’s face, which saw him pulling me up to sit on the desk. I suddenly felt exposed to him, wrapping my arms across my body to shield myself.
‘What would you give to me?’ he asked, his voice low, gravelly, his accent so thick and sexy I would almost agree to give him anything … almost.
I looked deep into his eyes, my hands moving to the buckle of his belt, flicking it undone and pulling it from its loops. My quick hands went to his fly, as I moved in to kiss his neck and whisper into his ear, ‘I want to taste you.’
Louis swallowed hard and it made me smile against the curve of his neck, where I nipped at him gently, before kissing him in the same spot. I could feel the long line of him pressed against his pants as I ran my hand over the fabric.
‘Claire.’ He said my name as more of a warning, which was not the greatest idea, as it only encouraged me.
‘Mmm,’ I hummed into his neck, placing light, feathery kisses along his skin.
I had opened myself up to Louis, felt him, sampled him, but it wasn’t enough, I wanted more, and the grinding against my thigh told me he wanted more too.
‘Claire,’ he said, his hands moving over mine, stopping them from breaching the line of his briefs.
‘It’s okay, I want to,’ I said against his mouth before claiming it, leaving him with no doubt about what I wanted. And he almost let himself go with it, releasing my hand so I could reach down for him, caressing the long, hard length of him in long, slow strokes, again and again, revelling in the way his body reacted to my touch. The guttural French words that sounded so sexy as they came out of his mouth only encouraged me to move faster. I had never felt more powerful, taking control and pushing Louis to the brink of madness.
Until madness transcended into something else entirely, as Louis swore, pushed my hand away and took me in his arms to carry me to the bed.
When you imagine something often enough, there is always the fear of living the reality, of it not living up to what you’ve imagined, but sex with Louis? It was turning out exactly like I imagined: hot, heavy, hard. I pushed myself into him, like I pushed myself into his tongue. Meeting his thrusts, my hands splayed on the headboard, seeing his eyes fix on the place where we were joined, sliding in and out slowly, tauntingly at first, until it became too much for both of us. Louis shifted onto his knees, his hands gripping my hips as he drove into me with such force I felt a delicious kind of pain, the kind I revelled in knowing would be a dull ache between my thighs tomorrow, knowing who had made me feel it.
I lost myself so completely in him, my bones felt heavier, my feet dug into the mattress, and when my body began to tense he understood, pulling out of me and making me gasp in protest because I was empty of him. But not for long as he rolled on his back and guided me to straddle him. I positioned myself and sank slowly down on him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as I took control, loving the feeling of taking something from him, riding him in languid, deliberate circles to begin with, seeing him wince between agony and ecstasy as I rode him, faster and faster, his eyes still fixed on me. Sitting up, he brought his lips to mine, catching my sighs and moans and urging me on, faster, harder, in between delirious French words that only made me more wet, as he spoke the foreign sounds against my skin.
‘Open your mouth,’ he groaned and I did. He slid his tongue into my mouth to tangle with mine as he pushed up into me, building on a feeling that grew into something unbearable. My arms wrapped around his shoulders, my breasts pressed against his chest, my hot breaths blew into his face as I watched him watch me fall apart, moaning his name and begging for it to not stop, never to stop, until I couldn’t take it any more and buried my face into the alcove of his neck, muffling my screams, coming so hard Louis had to hold me in place, allowing me to ride through the shockwaves. But only for a moment before he pulled out of me and manoeuvred me onto my knees and took me from behind, slamming into me, thoroughly fucking me until he came hard, shouting my name. It felt like a triumph, that I had made him come undone.
He slumped over me, pressing gentle kisses onto my shoulder as we both caught our breath. It was like we had been in battle; I could already feel the dull aches, and Louis bore half-moon indentations in his shoulders from my nails. I had hated him, hurt him because I was torn between the pleasure he was giving me and the fact I was getting something I wanted so badly, something I would never have again after tonight.
Louis pulled the cover over us and wrapped his arm around my waist like a lover and the mind-blowing pleasure that I had just experienced only filled me with sadness.
As if he sensed the shift in me, Louis cupped my chin and moved my face to his, his questioning quicksilver eyes looking down at me. He didn’t ask me what was wrong or press for an a
nswer, he simply kissed me, tenderly. I turned into him and let the warmth of his arms engulf me; he kissed my temple, whispering into my ear, ‘Restez avec moi.’
I pulled my head back, looking at him with a knowing smirk. ‘More dirty talk?’
Louis shook his head, his eyes set hard, his expression serious. ‘It means “stay with me”.’
And just when I thought I couldn’t take any more from this man, he went and blew my mind all over again.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
In the light of day, I didn’t have the urge to run. I lay on my side, staring at Louis’s profile. I had tried to sleep, but didn’t really sleep so much as close my eyes, ever aware that he was next to me, breathing in that deep, rhythmic way people do when they are sleeping. I was far too wired for that, far too in shock that we had done what we had done, on the desk, in the bed, in the shower, against the wall.
Oh God. I slunk down into my blankets; there was something painfully different about the light of day all right. I sat up, squinting against the sun that peeked through the crack of the blinds in front of the bed. I grimaced, moving out from underneath the sheet ever so carefully to go to the bathroom, when Louis’s hand snaked out, snaring my wrist and making me jump and squeal in fright.
‘Ah ha!’ he said, pulling me back into bed and using his brute force to tickle me into hysterics. ‘You cannot leave until you pay the toll,’ he said, pinning me to the mattress, his mischievous eyes flooded with a lightness I had never seen before. His stubble was thick, his hair in disarray; he looked seriously gorgeous. But he looked gorgeous whether he was well groomed, dressed smart casual or in work clothes – he was all man, and I could feel it with the hardened length of him digging into my belly.
The humour was not lost on him when my eyes dipped down and then up again with great interest. ‘What’s the toll then?’ I teased, really hoping he was thinking what I was thinking.
Louis laughed. ‘Such a one-track mind.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I lied, squirming a little, my hands still trapped under his strong hold.
‘Do you want to know what the toll is?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know, do you think you can handle it?’
‘Try me.’
‘Okay,’ he said, looking slightly worried for me, and I had almost bought into his ruse until he affectionately kissed me on the lips, lingering for a while before drawing away and taking great delight in watching me swoon.
‘That’s for trying to leave the bed; you won’t believe what the toll is for leaving the room,’ he mused.
‘And what if I left the country?’
Something shuttered in Louis’s eyes, but he didn’t respond. If he wanted something serious he would have said so there and then. It wasn’t like Louis was incapable of speaking his mind.
‘You hungry?’ he said, changing the subject, before letting me go and rolling off me, reaching for his pants.
I tried not to overthink his reaction, which was easy enough with my growling stomach as a distraction.
‘Starving.’
‘Leave it with me, I know a few people,’ he said, pulling on his T-shirt and giving me a wink. He grabbed his jumper and shoes. ‘Brunch on the balcony?’
‘Oui!’ I said with much enthusiasm. When Louis smiled it was the tooth-exposing kind; I had only ever seen it a few times, which really was a shame, it was certainly a rare and beautiful sight.
Hearing the door slam, I took a moment to roll over and squeal into my pillow, laughing and sitting myself up in bed, brushing my hair out of my eyes and shaking my head.
This cannot be happening.
I wasn’t a chef, but I was pretty sure it didn’t take an hour to boil an egg, or do whatever Louis had planned. I had showered, blowdried my hair, got dressed, unpacked, and now sat on the balcony, waiting.
An hour and forty-five minutes later, my leg jiggling kicked into gear. I had a million scenarios playing in my head. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation to this. Maybe he went to Noire for brunch; maybe he needed specific ingredients. I was foolish to think he could whip up just anything in this kitchen – it was closed, so surely he wouldn’t be able to use it. Maybe he wasn’t cooking, maybe he was just putting in an order somewhere.
Then where is he? It does not take two hours to get brunch.
Had he freaked out? Changed his mind?
Oh God, he’s not coming. He’s not coming.
And just as a ball of anxiety lodged in my throat, there was a knock on the door.
‘Oh, thank God,’ I sighed, clutching my heart and feeling instantly relieved. Louis was many things, but rejection such as that would be a very epic level of cruelty.
I went to the door, my heart racing, my stomach grumbling. ‘About time, I’m bloody star—’ I whipped open the door, my last word cutting off when my eyes landed on Cecile, standing there like she had the night before, only this time her demeanour was grim.
‘Cecile?’
‘Claire, you’d better come downstairs.’
I sat behind the desk in the tidy yet overcrowded office, my eyes ticking across the screen in disbelief. Watching the short clip run on a constant loop. I shook my head, spinning in my chair to where Louis stood in the corner, his brow furrowed, arms crossed, looking like he was a million miles away. Jean-Pierre was attentive though, waiting for me to say something.
‘How?’ I asked, turning back to the screen to see me, standing in front of Louis, before walking away and doubling back, shouting at him, him standing, us facing off before he starts yelling. My eyes dipped to see the video was muted, thank God. I really didn’t need to hear it as well, especially seeing as Cecile and Gaston were standing by with matching grim expressions. And then of course it got worse, there was the money shot of me slapping Louis across the face. It looked bad; I didn’t recognise that person, it made me feel ill to think I had behaved like that, and that people were witness to it.
‘Somebody must have recognised Louis at the café, then of course add a bit of drama and a smart phone and the content can be uploaded in a matter of minutes,’ said Jean-Pierre.
‘Hence the thirty thousand views already,’ added Gaston.
‘Yeah, Louis Delarue is trending, and not in a good way.’ Jean-Pierre rubbed at his face.
‘What?’ I said, a bit too loudly, blinking at the screen. I hadn’t even thought about the views. ‘Well, what are people saying?’ I said, mainly to myself, as I started to scroll down, but Jean-Pierre stilled my hand over the mouse.
‘Ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ He winced, which naturally only made me want to look all the more.
This could not be happening. To think of how hard I had tried to avoid the cameras altogether and there I was, larger than life, exposing myself in the worst possible light.
‘So,’ said Jean-Pierre, ‘I would probably lay low for a while if I were you. We can’t afford to have any negative press while we are trying to launch Hotel Trocadéro; in fact, I would probably put it off altogether until this all dies down.’
‘That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?’ said Gaston.
Cecile shook her head. ‘There’s press out the front, and the phone hasn’t stopped ringing.’
It broke my heart to see her so defeated, to go from renovation highs to total lockdown was too much. I sat up straight, ready to take on anyone. What did I have to lose?
‘I’ll front them. I don’t care who they are.’
‘Claire, I don’t know what the press are like in Australia but they are pretty brutal here; if they take a dislike to what you are trying to achieve, they could destroy your career.’
I glanced at Louis, who still stared aimlessly off into space. I read the heartache on Cecile’s face, the confusion on Gaston’s and the understanding on Jean-Pierre’s. Little did it matter whether they blamed me, because I blamed myself. I could have listened to Louis and his objection to joining any social media, instead of arguing the point w
ith him like a spoilt child. I turned the screen away, not wanting to see any more.
‘I am so sorry, everyone,’ I said, my voice emotional as I tried to comprehend the ways in which this video going viral could impact Louis and the hotel.
I looked up at Cecile wanting her to know how sincere I was when I said what I had to. ‘You just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.’ If I had to face the media, conduct interviews, offer a public apology, I would do it without hesitation.
Cecile looked away. ‘I think that you going back to London is probably for the best,’ she said, her voice small and sad.
The words were like a physical blow, knocking all the wind from me. I lifted my chin, trying to think of all the things I would do in order to make it up to them. I just hadn’t thought of Cecile asking me to leave.
I turned my gaze to Louis, and instead of demanding I stay, he was silent and thoughtful. I stood, walking past Jean-Pierre, caring little of the audience we had. I paused before Louis for a long moment.
‘If you want me to go, I’ll go,’ I answered Cecile, but my focus remained on Louis, so when his eyes lifted to mine, and I saw that all the warmth and humour from the Louis I had known on the sixth floor was gone, replaced only by the cool, calm exterior of a businessman, my heart faltered. I held my breath as the silence lingered between us.
‘Perhaps it would be for the best,’ he said finally, without an ounce of emotion, like he was some kind of robot.
And instead of agreeing, I simply walked away from him, heading toward the office door, out into the hall and to the safety of the waiting lift.
I pressed the button to the sixth floor for what would be the very last time.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I stood on the doorstep of an elegant, stark white terraced house in a quiet enclave just south of Kensington Gardens, my worldly belongings shoved into two garbage bags, one slung over my shoulder and the other on the ground by my side. I was told not to knock, not to ring the bell, just to stand there until the stroke of one o’clock and I would be allowed access. Contrary to how the cryptic text message sounded, I wasn’t venturing into the witness program; instead, I was about to enter Kate Brown’s home. Nobody visited Kate, ever. And now I was going to stay with her until I packed up my old life and returned to Australia.