She remained calm as his hand slowly crawled back up. When he almost reached the apex of her legs, she shook her knees to make her panties fall to her ankles and gain some freedom of movement. That left him enough room to move farther up to the moist curls between her thighs. A gentle stroke, and he noticed an increase in the speed of her breathing. A soft pressure of a finger into the sensitive crease, and she held her breath. He explored further, and she let out a little moan.
The driver didn’t notice. He was rambling about what he considered to be the wrongful interference of the Buddhist Monks. His mind was back home, thousands of miles away from the foreplay in his backseat. George realized his building was right around the corner. His experiment had to stop. He withdrew his hand from under her skirt.
Noticing the disappointed look on Mary’s face, he said, “We’re almost home.” He picked up her underwear from the taxi floor, rolled the beige lace in a small ball, and put it in his pocket. He paid the taxi and helped her get out.
Giving her his keys, he said, “I have an errand to run. Would you please wait for me upstairs?”
Mary raised her eyebrows and asked, “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“Nope, can’t wait. We’re out. We need a fresh box,” he said with a chuckle.
“Oh, right. A fresh box it is.” She held her skirt down as the breeze got a little stronger. Turning around to enter the building, she added for his ears only, “Though I enjoyed how creative you became last night after we ran out.”
❦
Walking back from the corner pharmacy that closed at ten p.m., an amazing exception to the customary six or seven p.m. closing time of all shops in Paris, George tried to analyze how he felt about Mary. Obviously, he was attracted to her. His immediate physical reaction to her first touch had made that clear. What he found fascinating was that, in about twenty-four hours, his brain had caught up with his body.
He really liked her. He liked the way she made everything seem uncomplicated. He liked the way she communicated with him. Whether it was with words, sounds, or movements, she made him understand what she wanted and how she felt. Somehow, that gave him confidence that their few days together could be the beginning of something serious. He had little time to test his theory, so few days for her to be his only work-in-progress, until Monday morning.
Reaching his landing, he realized she had left the door slightly ajar. He walked in, slammed the door shut, and found her naked, lying on her stomach on his bed, reading one of his earlier books—the one on the life of Mary Stuart.
“So I’m not the first Mary in your life,” she said without turning her head away from the book. “I’ve always liked her. Such a tragic life. I like your style.”
“I certainly hope so.” He chuckled as he removed his clothes.
“I was talking about your writing style,” she answered, laughing. “I thought you’d appreciate knowing that I consider you more than a warm body.”
“Warm body?” He drew each syllable out in mock anger. “Just a warm body!”
She turned around and watched him, naked and fighting with the box of condoms. The plastic wrapper put up a valiant resistance, but it wouldn’t last long. “Okay, let’s say a very hot body.”
“Uh uh, that’s better, but not even close to what I want you to think.” He smirked as the box blew open and condoms flew out in every direction.
Mary caught one, tore open the foil, and with a poker face, she asked, “What adjective would fit your gigantic ego? Sizzling? Amazing?”
“That’s starting to sound a bit better.” George lay down beside her.
Mary bent over to roll the latex down on his manhood. It had stood erect since the second he walked in and saw her naked on his bed. She looked at his face. “I could be talked into using more laudative adjectives if you convince me that last night was not an unusual performance. You know, the thrill of the first time and all.”
With a deep rumble, he said, “I think that can be arranged.” He pushed her onto her back and found his way between her legs. Resisting the urge to dive in right away, he took things slow. He nibbled each breast until they pebbled and turned a gentle pink and then a redder hue. With a trail of kisses, he went down to her belly button.
Making soothing sounds, he pushed down on her hips when she raised her lower body to meet him. He kissed and licked the inside of her thighs, getting closer to her folds every time but never reaching them. Only when moans of frustration escaped her lips did he taste her. Her moans turned to whimpers and then to sobs. The sounds she made made him feel powerful, almost invincible, as if he could achieve anything he set his mind to.
What he wanted was for her to create new words to describe how he made her feel. He wanted to inspire her. He let her desire build. Resisting the urge to plunge into her was getting harder by the minute. He gave in when she pulled his face up to hers, almost tearing two fistfuls of hair from his skull.
She only stopped chanting “Please, please, please” when he plunged into her. He rested the weight of his upper body on his arms for fear of crushing her. He felt her inner walls clutching him. He lost all pretense of control when she pulled his shoulders down against her, saying with ragged breath, “Hold me tight. I’m not fragile. You won’t hurt me.”
With each thrust of his hips, she took in more of him, and it was pure heaven. She shuddered and called out his name while she wrapped her legs around him in a final spasm. He roared, again, before collapsing onto her. So much for being the silent type, he thought, amused by the change she wrought in him without making any demands. He rolled to his side, taking her with him. She rested her head on his shoulder.
When her breathing returned to normal, she said, “What about ‘fantabulous’?”
“That sounds about right. Making love to you does make me feel fantabulous.”
❦
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ariane
ARIANE OPENED THE CURTAINS OF her workshop very early on Sunday morning. She opened the door to let in some fresh air. The workshop smelled like an over-chlorinated indoor pool thanks to Inès. She had come late on Saturday night when Ariane was already fast asleep.
Ines was a chemistry student with a germ phobia so bad that Ariane believed Inès was the only pretty twenty-four-year-old in Paris who had never been kissed. Kissing meant swapping germs. Ariane guessed there was no denying that fact. Ariane felt sorry for Inès, but it wasn’t her place to force her to seek therapy. Especially since it made her a fabulous cleaning lady.
Inès’s only drawback was that she probably held the world record for the most consumption of chlorine and white vinegar. Anything that could not be disinfected with chlorine was soaked in white vinegar. Fortunately, Ines understood that she couldn’t, under any circumstance, mix chlorine and vinegar… unless she wanted to commit suicide by burning her lungs.
On one side of the spotless counters, Ariane set out the leftover meats from Saturday’s pot au feu. On the other side, she set out all the vegetables they would work with. She had several varieties of potatoes and carrots she wanted to show them. She wasn’t sure they had the same species in the U.S. Nevertheless, she hoped her students would change their way of eating as soon as they knew there was such diversity. Curiosity was a good tool to use to get people to look for different types of the same vegetables.
Feeling someone behind her, Ariane turned around. Peter stood by the door looking at her. What was he doing here so early? A quick glance at the clock reassured her. She was on her schedule. Good. It was only eight thirty.
Fishing in her apron pocket for her elastic band, she pulled her hair back to tie it into a ponytail and said, “Good morning, Peter. You’re an hour early today.” Locks escaped her hands as she fumbled with her hair. It had a life of its own that morning. Probably because she hadn’t even attempted to tame it with a brush before walking down from her bedroom.
In two steps, he stood right in front of her. The elastic band was pulled from her hand and
put back in her pocket. “I got here early because I wanted to be alone with you for a while.”
Bringing her hair back to frame her face, he caressed her jaw with the back of his hand. Ariane tried to back away. He was way too close for comfort. She smelled coffee and peppermint on his breath. With a firm hand on her arm, he held her, and her train of thought derailed. She looked under the debris—not a single coherent survivor. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember why she had pushed him away Friday night. Instead of thoughts, she felt an aching need. A need as primal as hunger or thirst. A need that ran so deep it couldn’t be ignored. A need that pushed her to lean into him.
“I’ve been thinking—” he said.
She interrupted him by brushing his lips with hers. Oh, it felt so right she had to do it again. Just one more time. That was just what she needed. Tiny bites of heaven. More addictive than peanuts. Once she started, there was no stopping her.
He gently caught her lower lip between his teeth and took over, not giving her a chance to pull away. She wouldn’t have tried anyway. The desire in his eyes was intoxicating. She was undone.
He kissed her and wrapped his arms around her, pressing on her buttocks as if she could possibly curve further into him. Heat pooled at the core of her body. Her nerve endings were twisted so tight, she felt like a ticking time bomb. She could no longer breathe.
Just once, she would let herself go. Just once.
Her brain came back from its morning stroll around the block when she realized that the bottom of her dress had risen to her hips. His hands slid underneath the lace of her panties.
She said, “Curtains. Door.”
“Don’t care,” he said.
“Neighbors—”
“Shouldn’t look.” He pushed her against the wall in the corner of the room that was less visible from the outside. He slid one hand between her legs.
Her body caught fire, and her brain vanished in a puff of smoke. The entire world could be watching; she no longer cared. She could only concentrate on the gentle stroking that was catapulting the pulsing between her legs to new heights. He kissed her again, and she moaned in his mouth. In an instant, her legs would no longer be able to hold her. She was about to combust …
“Oh merde! Pardon, Ariane. Désolée, j’ai rien vu. J’laisse le pain à coté de la porte.”
Peter froze, and Ariane crash-landed back to reality.
“Merde, merde, merde,” Ariane swore, teeth clenched, and pushed her skirt down. By the time she dared look over Peter’s shoulder, the teenager had fled.
“What was that?” asked Peter, not releasing her from his embrace.
“Martine. Bread delivery.”
“How old is she?”
“Seventeen.”
A look of relief washed over Peter’s face, and his laughter came out on a big rumble. “Seventeen! For a second, I thought we had caused a major trauma. Come on, at seventeen, I’d be surprised if she hasn’t done more than what she’s just seen. Seriously.”
“You’re probably right.”
“What did she say?”
“Oh, crap. Sorry, Ariane. I did not see anything. I’m leaving the bread by the door.”
“See, no trauma.”
Ariane relaxed a bit, rested her head against Peter’s shoulder, and joined his laughter. “This is the story of my life. If I’m proper and reasonable all the time, it’s not that I don’t want to act crazy. I swear, inside of me is a naughty girl who dreams of doing wild things. I just can’t let her free because every single time I step out of line, something bad happens.”
“Don’t worry about it. Now I know that when I wanna see the wild girl in you, I need to make sure we’re in a more private setting.” He caressed her hair. “I want next time to be perfect, so it can’t be tonight.”
She looked at him, puzzled. What did he mean?
“You see, I’m a great believer in delayed gratification. Just this instant, I decided that next time will be when I return.”
The last part of his sentence was all she heard. “You’re coming back? To Paris?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To be with you.”
“When?” Ariane asked.
“In a few weeks. At the end of the spring term at the end of May.”
“For how long?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“How?”
Peter said, “Would you stop asking questions for a minute? I want you. You say you won’t have me if we have no time, so I’m making time. Isn’t that enough?” Not giving her a chance to answer, he kissed her again.
Then the part about deferred gratification registered. She had to ask. Every time she tried to do so, he shut her mouth with another kiss. She wanted to hug him and strangle him simultaneously. Finally he relented and let her speak.
“I have one question before the others arrive.”
“Okay, you’re allowed one more question.”
She said, “I’m not sure what you mean by delayed gratification. For me, delayed gratification is… self-inflicted frustration? Like you have to diet first to lose some weight later. You have to learn your keys before you can play an instrument.”
“That’s basically the idea,” he said with a smirk.
Ariane was aghast. She needed to make sure she understood him properly. “Are you telling me that if now I say yes, you’re going to say no?”
“I’m not saying no, honey. I’m saying later… and that should make things quite interesting.”
❦
About the Author
Born in Manhattan, Olivia Rigal spent her youth going back and forth between her French mother in France and her American father in the United States.
She lived and studied in both countries before settling in France to raise her family.
A writer and singer at night, she practices law in the daytime.
Olivia has travelled throughout South East Asia and has a special fondness for Laos and Thailand. She loves nothing more than swimming in white waters or through the waves of the Atlantic Ocean in MacArthur Beach State Park close to her Florida home.
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Please, review it,
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If you do write a review, please send me an email at
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Learning Curves will comprise 3 books:
- French Cooking 101,
- Advanced French Kissing,
- Detention.
Special bonus
SOUFFLÉ AU FROMAGE — CHEESE SOUFFLÉ
Serves 4 as a main dish — 6 as a starter.
Prepare in separate small bowls.
* Butter4 oz (120g)
* Flour4 oz (120g)
* Whole milk 4 oz (120g)
* Grated Swiss cheese 8.5 oz (240g)
* Butter4 oz (120g)
* Flour4 oz (120g)
- Eggs yolks 8
- A little extra butter and extra flour for the cooking dish
- Nutmeg, salt, and pepper
Butter the inside of a large round cooking dish.
Dust dish with flour.
Warm up the oven to 350° F (180° C).
Beat the 8 whites of the eggs till they are very firm.
25 minutes before serving :
1) Melt the butter in a large saucepan at the lowest possible heat.
2) Slowly add the flour and then the milk while constantly stirring. Do not wait until the butter/flour mix turns into a paste to add more milk but don’t pour all the milk in at once. You want to reach a creamy texture.
3) Remove saucepan from heat and add the egg yolks one by one.
4) When t
he mix is one unified color again, add the cheese, salt, and pepper to taste, and grate a quarter of a nutmeg.
Now this is the only touchy part. Fold your mixture with the beaten egg whites and pour the mixture in your cooking dish. Place the dish in the center of the cooking rack in the middle of the oven. Close the door and go away for twenty minutes.
You do not want to open the oven door to check on it before the twenty minutes have passed.
Serve at once in cooking dish.
See, what did I tell you? It’s simpler than pie.
CRÈME BRÛLÉE
Serves 6 to 8.
- Liquid cream 254 fl oz (750 cl)
- Whole milk 84 fl oz (250 cl)
- Sugar 0.33 pounds (150 g)
- 6 large eggs
- 2 large vanilla beans or 3 small ones (or artificial flavoring)
Pour cream and milk in a saucepan and bring to a boil.
Remove from heat and throw in the vanilla beans, opened in two, length-wise.
Let it cool to room temperature.
Mix the eggs and the sugar and gently pour in the cooled mixture.
Pour mixture in small individual cooking dishes or one large shallow dish.
Place on middle rack of the oven at 150°F (about 70°C) for twenty to thirty minutes.
You’ll know it’s ready to come out of the oven when the cream jiggles a little when you shake the cooking dish.
Let it cool until it’s time to serve.
Dust with brown sugar and caramelize the sugar with a kitchen blowtorch or under the oven grill.
Serve when sugar is bubbly.
OLIVIA’S VINAIGRETTES
For a very large salad bowl
Learning Curves 1 - French Cooking 101 Page 6