by Ava Miles
“It’s not that crazy actually,” he said. “They have a special deal due to the exterior refurbishment they’re doing, and when they didn’t have one of their regular rooms, they upgraded us.” The first was true. But the second…
When they reached their discreet door, he opened it with a flourish and nudged her inside.
He’d chosen the Belle Époque junior suite over the hotel’s apartment because such a significant upgrade wouldn't have been believable. The interior was done in golds and maroons—the style he favored in his apartment—and boasted a massive sitting room with double doors leading to the bedroom.
“No freaking way,” she said, setting her purse and her bread bag down along with a small overnight bag he’d failed to notice earlier in their mingled excitement. “Evan—”
“I don’t want to hear anything else,” he said, putting his hands on her hips. “We’re here. We deserve to be here. Tonight is…too special to be anywhere else.”
A line appeared between her brows. “Evan, I want you to swear to me right now the cost of this room isn’t hurting you financially.”
He made an X over his heart, the one knocking in hard beats against his chest. “I swear. Now, let me call for some champagne to celebrate.” Better to change the subject as she wandered around their rooms with her mouth gaping. “Would you like some foie gras or pate to go with the baguette?”
She was standing at the white French doors, staring into the bedroom. The bed had already been turned down, and the white pillows were freshly fluffed. The navy cloth behind the headboard contrasted elegantly with the white and gold linens.
He made himself turn away as razor-sharp lust poured through his system. Seeing her so close to the bed where he hoped to make love to her was too much of a temptation. He picked up the phone and ordered room service as best he could since she hadn’t responded to his question about what she wanted. Later, when she was over her shock, he could order anything else she wanted.
When he was finished, he looked over to see she was gone. Instead of following her, he decided to give her a minute and went to the window in the sitting room. He looked onto Rue de Beaux Arts, watching the scene unfold on the street. There was a woman in a purple dress below holding the hand of a girl wearing hot pink, and they almost looked like two moving flowers on the sidewalk.
He felt something on his back and turned.
Margie’s eyes were now intensely green and dark. “This is more than I ever imagined.”
“I told you I wanted our first time to be special,” he said hoarsely. “I…please just let me do this. No more questions tonight.”
His gut burned as she gazed at him for a long moment, her eyes intense, but a knock sounded and he strode off quickly to answer the door. When room service entered, he instructed them on where to set everything up. Since it was early, only shy of six o’clock, he hadn’t ordered anything heavy. Only some duck foie gras with a blackberry sauce and an assortment of charcuterie, berries, and cheese. They could have dinner later. He tipped the staff after everything was prepared to his satisfaction. Alone with Margie again, he turned to see her tracing an undecipherable pattern on the sofa.
“Bring your baguette over here,” he said, gesturing to their spread. “I can’t wait to try it. I know it’s going to be as good as your cinnamon rolls, even though that’s hard to imagine.”
She took her baguette out of the white bread bag, gave him a long look he couldn’t decipher, and then walked toward the bedroom. At the door, she turned to face him.
“I want to eat my bread here,” she said in a velvety tone and disappeared.
He followed her, telling himself to cool down. Perhaps she thought the view from the bedroom was nicer. Or the bed was more comfortable than the chairs.
When he entered, her yellow dress was pooled at her feet. She faced him in a lacy soft pink teddy that touched the tops of her thighs. The baguette was resting in the center of the bed.
His mouth went dry as he gazed at her. Her toes were painted red, and her legs were slender and sun-kissed. The flare of her waist seemed to be waiting for the imprint of his hands, and her breasts hung like ripe apples waiting for him to savor them. Her pulse beat rapidly in her neck, and he watched as her chest rose when she released a heavy breath.
“We don’t have to rush,” he made himself say.
Her lips curved, and suddenly he was seeing the full power of Venus herself. “I’m not rushing. You’re slow.”
The flirtation was welcome. While he’d fantasized about making love to her, he hadn’t known exactly how it would be between them. “Slow, huh? Is that going to be a problem?”
She walked over to the bed and lay down in the center, holding the baguette in front of her. A painter from old would have begged to capture her like she was: a goddess with a loaf of bread.
“It only is when you have more clothes on than I do.” She inclined her head. “Like now.”
He unbuttoned his jacket and slid it off, hanging it on a nearby chair. “Better?”
Her brow rose. “Still too many clothes.”
Even though his body was growing more and more impatient, something made him slow down even more. They were dancing to a different tune now, and he planned to make all the right steps. He slowly raised his T-shirt over his head and took it off, leaving it in his right hand. Her gaze locked onto his chest.
“Keep going.”
Heaven help him, he was going to come before he even touched her if she kept talking to him like that. He dropped the shirt to the ground and undid his jeans, sliding them down his legs after kicking off his loafers. Her eyes traveled up and down his body before resting on his black briefs.
“Good,” she said, rising into a half-lounging, half-sitting position. “Now, come here.”
As he approached the bed, a strange feeling overcame him, both exciting and scary. He knew neither of them were going to be the same after this.
***
Evan’s body was all muscular ridges and bulging lines—a masterpiece of strength. Margie was beyond restless. Being here with him was about living in the moment and enjoying every second. He’d asked her to accept the situation, so she’d decided to do just that. After her initial shock over the suite, she’d studied the bed and seen a flash of her and Evan in it. He was poised over her, about to take her, and her head was thrown back in bliss.
This wasn’t the time for drawing things out or demanding more explanations.
She wanted to feed him her baguette.
And she wanted them to feed each other with their bodies.
He stretched out in front of her, the baguette resting between them. In his lakewater blue eyes, she could see him trying to figure out what she wanted, what she was thinking. She reached for the baguette and gently tore off the end.
“Lay back against the pillows,” she instructed him. “I want you to taste what I made with my hands.”
He settled onto his back with one knee raised. She wondered if it was to relieve the pressure of his desire. The long line of him made her mouth water. Edging closer until they were mere inches apart, she pressed the bread to his mouth.
“Take a bite,” she whispered.
He did, his eyes never leaving hers, and when he was finished, she took one too, from the place he had. Somehow that made it more tantalizing. Chewing slowly, he groaned, and his eyes closed for a moment.
“It’s incredible, Margie. A masterpiece.”
She knew what he was feeling, for her own eyes had fluttered shut for a moment. The baguette was crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, but it was more than that. She was transported to the field that had made the wheat in the French countryside. The grain had grown from seeds and risen to meet the sky and sun like hands raised in celebration. The velvety texture of the loaf filled her mouth, and the sensation of eating her own bread and sharing it with Evan broke open her heart even more. Tears filled her eyes.
“I’m so glad I can share this with you,” sh
e whispered.
He’d finished chewing and was gazing at her with lust and sweetness, all wrapped into one. “Your bread is…unforgettable—like you. I’ve never tasted any like it, and I know I never will.”
She’d left her mark. On the bread. On him. And they were about to leave an even greater imprint on each other by making love.
He took the hand that held the bread and brought it to his lips. Her heart squeezed as she fed him again—by his request. She took another bite too, savoring the lush feel and taste of the baguette. But soon, she had to share herself with him. She laid the baguette on his chest and leaned down to kiss him.
His mouth opened, and their tongues dueled and danced. She could taste the water and the yeast that had made all the ingredients rise together. The sensation of his hot mouth, of his slick tongue called to something wild in her. Pressing back, she tore off another hunk of the baguette and ran it across his muscular shoulders. He grabbed the baguette on his chest, broke off a piece, and set aside the remainder of the loaf. He slid the bread between her breasts. The touch was raw and edgy and made every nerve in her body tingle.
Then, he pressed her onto her back and rolled onto her until he was poised between her open legs. He traced the lacy edges of her teddy with the crust and then used it to raise the lingerie up her thighs, exposing more skin. Angling forward, he kissed the tops of her thighs, the swell of her belly, and the rise of her breasts.
Then he pressed the bread to her mouth. She opened for him and took another bite, humming at the taste as much as from the pleasure of his caress. Then he bit into the bread from the spot she’d touched and chewed, watching her with an intensity that made her legs shift under him.
She traced the edges of his muscles with the remaining bread in her hand, delighting in his groans. He in turn drew lines across her almost like he was mapping the secret places that gave her pleasure. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She rose to a siting position and tugged off her teddy.
Lying back, she took his hands, which were empty now, and drew them to her breasts. “Evan, I need your hands and mouth on me.”
His eyes sparkled with intensity—a lake under the hot afternoon sun—and his hands settled on her breasts. He drew circles around her nipples, and soon she was straining into his touch. She rose up to kiss him, and they fell into a deep, urgent embrace before he rolled onto her again. Her hands settled on his back, stroking the strong muscles there. The kisses made her achy with need, and she gripped his waist when he broke away and set his mouth to her breasts. He licked and sucked and tugged and pulled until she was crying out.
“I need—”
“I know you do,” he whispered back as his hand moved between her legs and gave her what she craved.
She came in a long series of cries and arches, and through it all, his touch only took her higher and higher. When she finally became aware of him again, she was flushed and exhausted and blissful and never wanted the feelings to end.
Then he kissed his way back up her body until he reached her lips. He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth, and while she knew he was corded with desire, she couldn’t make herself reach for him yet.
“Give me a moment to come back,” she whispered.
“There’s no rush,” he said, but even through the glowing, pulsing haze they’d created, she could hear the edge of raw need in his voice.
She struggled to resurface, to give him something of what he’d given her. After pushing him onto his back, she rose over him. She shook her hair back from her face, the sensation of the strands brushing her neck unbearably arousing.
“We didn’t talk about birth control,” she said, tracing the top of his briefs, which were strained with need.
“I have condoms,” he said, his mouth a tight line.
“I’m on the Pill, but I’d still like—”
“No problem,” he said as she tugged down the last barrier between them.
He was massive and perfect and so beautiful she couldn’t help but place a kiss on the hard line of him.
“Oh, God,” he breathed out.
She pulled his briefs down his legs. He was so far gone, he could barely help her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t usually tremble like this…before.”
Her mouth curved. So he was feeling it too, this incredible power between them.
“Tremble all you want,” she said and made him tremble even more as her mouth lowered to learn the taste of his skin.
He groaned and shifted and jerked under her hands, from her touch, and when he couldn’t take anymore, she slid the condom on him and lowered herself over him.
His head arched back against the pillows. “Oh, God.”
She understood what he meant and let her body bow to take him even deeper inside her. “Oh, Evan.”
His hands gripped her waist as she started to rise and lower over him. “Margie.”
The urgency fanned out in her belly, and she rocked over him, her moans mixed with his groans. When he pressed his fingers to the center of her back and pulled her hard onto him, she came again in a rush. Her hands pushed against his chest as sensation thundered through her.
She felt him shift her to her side, and then he rolled over on top of her and thrust into her body in deep, hard strokes that had her pleasure peaking again.
“Oh, God,” he called out again as he came, bearing down on her with all his force.
She took him further into her, pulsing in glorious waves. He lowered onto his elbows, his sweaty body melding with hers. His mouth found the side of her neck, and his rapid breath tickled her ears. She let out puffs of air, her eyes closed. Everything was golden sensation, as if she were one of her own baguettes baking in a warm oven.
Finally he turned them onto their sides, his hand curved around her waist. She dozed off somewhere between sleep and dreams, her body still caught in an ecstasy more powerful than any she’d previously known.
And when she finally opened her eyes, he was gazing at her with so much emotion her heart expanded like bread dough rising in a kitchen window.
Making love with him had forever changed her.
She loved him.
***
Evan was still trembling from the most emotional, erotic experience of his life. Since Margie’s eyes had been closed for so long, he knew she was feeling it too. He’d tucked her close to his body and watched her sleep.
When she finally opened them to gaze back at him, he couldn’t smile. His heart pulsed in deep beats of pleasure, but it felt larger than any other organ in his body, as if it had undergone some remarkable transformation.
And it had.
He still didn’t want to put a name to it. He might as well have discovered a new element on the Periodic Table.
All he could do was lean forward to sup at her lips, explore their texture until she let out a quiet sigh. Snuggling closer, she put her hand on his chest, and they just lay that way.
Neither of them said a word. It was like both of them understood no words were needed after what had happened between them. That there were no words for what had happened.
Soon, she kissed him on the mouth and left the bed. He watched her pad naked across the bedroom to the French doors. Ballerinas would have envied the pure perfection of the muscles in her back from all her baking. He knew she wasn’t going far, so he didn’t call her back. He only ran a hand through his messy hair. She came back into the room with the plates of food he’d ordered earlier.
He settled back against the headboard, tucking a sheet around his waist. She sat beside him and grabbed the rest of the sheet, which she fitted around herself like Venus might have after an amorous rendezvous. He scooted closer until their bodies touched. She reached for the remaining part of the baguette he’d placed on the bedside stand.
Once again, she tore off a hunk of the bread she’d made and fed it to him. His chest grew tight again, tasting all the love, intention, and dreams she’d kneaded int
o the dough. Tasting it was no different than tasting Margie’s skin, he realized, and he leaned over to kiss the top of her shoulder.
They ate in bed after he fetched the champagne, and then they made love again. This time, he slid over her, slid into her, and didn’t stop until she cried out his name. Only then did he let his release pour forth.
He watched the alarm clock march on, ticking off the minutes until their time together ended, until she had to go to the bakery to make more bread. She would draw him back with kisses or a gentle caress, and he would fall back into the space where time didn’t seem to exist.
Even when they weren’t making love to each other, everything they did was a prelude to it. He learned every rise and curve of her body, the sweetness of the sweat on her skin, and the unbearably erotic scent of cinnamon between her legs. She, in turn, laid him bare with her slow, gentle caresses and her soft, slumberous green eyes as she traced the planes of his chest and thighs and the desire he felt for her.
When they could ignore the time no longer, he stood beside the bed and reached for her hand. She rose with a soft smile and then gasped as he swept her into his arms and carried her into the shower. As the water rained down on them, he slid down her body like the drops, inviting her to take more pleasure, as much as she was willing to receive. Then she slid herself around him, and together, they discovered even more ecstasy.
She dressed in the bakery-appropriate clothes she’d brought in her overnight bag: white cotton pants, a white shirt, and some black Crocs. Even now, she didn’t speak, only raised her hands and shoulders in an adorable shrug as if to say, do you like my outfit?
He pulled on his earlier clothes, holding her gaze.
“You don’t have to walk me to the bakery,” she finally said.
“Try and stop me,” he only responded.
Fortunately, she didn’t fight him, only took his hand as he led her out of the quiet hotel and into the soft glow of St. Germain’s streets. Due to the lateness of the hour, they encountered only two other people on their walk.