by Claire Adams
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“You mentioned earlier that you wished you had parents you could call whenever you missed them…”
“Yes?” Chance nodded, looking up at me.
“I know your dad has passed, but… What about your mother? She’s still alive, isn’t she?”
He smiled sadly and nodded. “She is, but… I don’t know that I miss her anymore.”
“No?”
He looked off into the Parisian skyline. “Sophie was the one who took after Dad, I was the one who took after Mom,” he said softly, like he was remembering a long-forgotten memory. “It was always Dad and Sophie against me and Mom. So, when she left us… I suppose I felt betrayed and angry and hurt. I made excuses for her for a long time, I even visited her a couple of times – which is incidentally how I caught the travel bug – but I think I realized something along the way.”
“Which was what?”
“She didn’t really want to be a mother,” he said softly. “She didn’t really want to be a wife. In her mind, relationships were commitments that held you back and tied you down.”
I watched his face carefully. He looked sad for a moment, but there was also a stoic acceptance there. He wasn’t angry with his mother anymore. I realized that he actually understood her.
And in the same breath, I understood something, too. Perhaps this was the real reason he had shied away from relationships his whole life. It was because he didn’t want to get hurt like his father had. He didn’t want to love a woman, only to have her leave him.
I turned his face to mine and kissed him tenderly. It was a kiss to comfort, to heal, to mend, but as we became entwined, it became something deeper and more passionate. I felt his body respond to mine, and when I reached down to wrap my hand around his penis, I realized he was already hard.
This was what made everything so much more potent when I was with Chance. It wasn’t just that we had good sex. We had a connection. We could have a conversation without ever actually speaking. We could make eye contact and understand what the other one wanted. We could give each other comfort without kisses and caresses, never having to make a sound.
As we fell back onto the bed, I knew that this wasn’t just sex. It was a means of communication and connection. We were helping each other with our wounds, our worries, and our insecurities. We were telling one another that it was okay to be vulnerable.
Chance unwrapped the sheet from around my chest and threw it off the bed. My naked body fell across his, and he pulled me closer towards him. I could feel his hands sliding down my hips, squeezing my ass, feeling me up, and exploring my body. His cock was hard against my thigh, and I started to moisten at the thought of having him inside me once more.
But before that, I wanted to suck his cock. Missy was right. It was actually a very arousing experience with the right guy. I slid downwards and licked the tip of his penis. I teased him for a minute before I slipped his cock into my mouth. He groaned as I took him deep into my throat without easing him into it.
His body shuddered violently, and I knew he was trying to stop himself from cumming. I slowed my pace a little, making sure to suck him slowly so that I could savor the taste of him.
When I finally lifted my head up, his eyes were closed in concentration. He reached for me, and I slipped upwards and straddled him, taking his cock into my hand and guiding him inside me.
It was strange to think that just a few months ago, I had no experience with sex; now, it was hard to imagine my life without it. Or maybe it was just hard to imagine my life without him.
I moaned as I rode him. This had quickly become one of my favorite positions. At first, I had felt self-conscious and shy about taking control, but now I loved it. I could move as fast as I wanted; I could change the tempo of his thrusts with my hips. I could lean in so that my breasts were at his chest or I could sit straight so that he could watch me fuck him.
I rode him slowly at first, with my hands on his chest, while he held me at the waist. Then his hands started to wander. He grabbed my ass before moving up to my breasts. He cupped them with each hand and then started teasing the nipples, adding new rippling sensations that traveled down to my groin.
After I grew comfortable, I increased the tempo of my movement until I was riding him fast and hard. He pulled me down so that our faces were only inches apart, and with his hands wrapped around my torso, he pushed deeper into me in hard, violent thrusts that made me feel as though he were trying to split me open.
My moans turned into gasps, and my gasps turned into screams as he slammed into me with passionate force. We were both inspired and intoxicated by our surroundings, but we were also fused together by the comfort we felt in each other’s company. We came together, our moans creating an almost musical melody. Then I collapsed on top of him and lay there for a long time before I rolled off him and onto my side.
I supported myself on my elbow and stared down at his face. His eyes were closed, there was a faint sheen of moisture on his brow, and his chest rose and fell deeply. I placed my hand across his heart and waited till his breathing slowed.
“How can you be so tired, when I did all the work?” I teased.
He laughed breathlessly and reached for me. “You are amazing,” he whispered into my ear. “If you hadn’t told me, I would never have thought you were a virgin.”
I smiled. “I never expected to enjoy sex so much.”
“Me, neither.”
I raised my eyebrows and looked down at him. Chance smiled. “It’s different with you,” he admitted. “I’ve slept with other women before, but it’s never been like this.”
“How is it different with me?” I asked curiously.
Chance thought about that for a moment. “It’s hard to explain,” he said, at last. “But I suppose it’s more… It’s just more. And, I can never get enough. No matter how many times we fuck, I just want you more and more each time.”
“Really? I thought that was just me,” I said, delighted.
“It’s definitely not just you,” he assured me.
I leaned down and kissed his chest. “After that workout, we should probably replenish our energy stores and get some breakfast.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” he agreed. “But how about we order in and have breakfast in bed? Then we can have a shower and start exploring Paris?”
“We can have a shower?” I repeated, catching the word.
Chance smiled. “Of course; it’s a romantic getaway, so shower sex is mandatory.”
I laughed. “Then who am I to resist?"
He grabbed me and started kissing me on my nose, my eyes, my cheeks, and my face. We wrestled together on the bed for a few minutes, being silly and happy and carefree. No one knew us here; we didn’t have to sneak around or hide our relationship. We could walk down the street holding hands, and no one would care.
I was so caught up in the moment, that I couldn’t keep my feelings to myself. “I love you, Chance,” I whispered to him, while he was kissing my neck.
He raised his head, and his hazel eyes met mine. He smiled at me for a long moment, and then he kissed me hard on the lips. It wasn’t an answer, and I knew it would bother me later that he hadn’t replied. But for that one moment…it was enough.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chance
The city looked spectacular from the Seine. Millions of lights sparkled on every building from leagues around, and it looked as though the city had been plucked from some fantastical world of wonder. The contrast of the lights against the white canopies of snow only served to make the scene that much more beautiful.
Natalie was entranced. We were sitting in a private room on one of the Seine’s most reputed water cruises. The boat was relatively small, compared with some of the others we had seen, but it was unique in that it held private cabins for romantic dinners. Our room was small and somewhat circular. Our table had been placed beside the large clear w
indows, from which we could see all of Paris as we floated by. There was soft music playing in the background, and candles had been placed around the little cabin in little star-carved candleholders that cast shadow stars onto the walls around us.
Natalie sat opposite me, looking spectacular in a red, floor-length slip dress. She looked like she belonged on the set of an Audrey Hepburn movie. Her dark hair had been combed into shiny waves that cascaded over one shoulder, and her eyes were ringed with charcoal liner that brought out the blue of her eyes. I could barely look away from her. She, however, could barely take her eyes off of Paris.
“There it is,” Natalie said, pointing in one direction. “Notre Dame!”
I smiled. “We saw it this morning remember?” I reminded her. “We walked inside, looked around, took some pictures.”
She laughed. “I know. It’s just that seeing it from this perspective is so different. And it looks amazing at night... It’s a shame that architecture has become so mundane. Look at how much more impressive medieval architecture is. It has so much character, so much strength.”
I looked at her in amusement. Sometimes when she spoke, I felt as though she belonged in another time. She loved history and mythology. She loved old-fashioned clothes and old-timey movies. She loved old-age architecture and traditional food. That was one of the reasons I was so fascinated with her. She was an old soul.
There was nothing frivolous about her. She didn’t live her life based on other people’s expectations. She did what felt right to her and stayed away from society’s opinions. I realized that that was the one quality that had made this relationship last. I didn’t just lust after her; I respected her, I admired her. I wanted to know her as I had never wanted to know another woman before her.
“I agree.” I nodded. “But do you think it’s the architecture that lends character or the historical significance of the structure.”
“Both,” she replied promptly. “It can only be both. Its history gives you chills when you walk through the building, but its architecture alone can make you speechless with awe. You realize Notre Dame was constructed before man had the benefit of modern technology. It took nearly a hundred years to construct.”
“I do happen to know that,” I nodded.
“I love Gothic architecture,” she sighed. “Particularly French Gothic architecture. Seeing it just naturally makes you believe in evil queens and long-lost princesses and gargoyles coming to life.”
I laughed. “I think I’m missing something.”
“I used to daydream a lot as a child,” Natalie confessed. “Gothic Cathedrals and castles were always the setting to my daydreams. The architecture inspires fairytales, in my opinion.”
“For a second there, I thought I had misread the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
“Victor Hugo,” Natalie sighed. “He’s always been one of my favorites. The Hunchback was my second favorite work of his though. My first was always Les Miserables.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
At that moment, the door to our cabin opened, and an impeccably-dressed waiter walked in. He greeted us warmly and replenished our wine glasses. Then our first course was brought in – Oysters a la Russe. The moment the waiters disappeared, Natalie leaned in for a better look at her dish.
“Wow,” she said. “It looks…strange.”
“I take it you’ve never had oysters before?”
“I haven’t,” she shook her head.
“Try an oyster and then take a sip of the wine,” I suggested. “They’re pairing each course tonight with a special vintage.”
Natalie raised her eyebrows. “We’re getting a different wine with each course?”
“We are.” I nodded. “It’s traditional. They pair each course with the wine that will enhance the flavor palette.”
“It’s strange… I’ve known all that and yet it seems so…”
“So?”
“Decadent,” she said. “Extravagant. Makes me feel like…”
“A princess in a Gothic fairytale?” I offered.
She laughed. “So, what is the name of this wine?”
“It’s a Chablis,” I told her. “It goes brilliantly with oysters.”
We had a wonderful time eating our first course, and I saw Natalie’s eyes light up as she sipped the wine. “Wow,” she breathed. “This is quite the experience.”
“You’ve never had an authentic French meal before?”
“No, but it’s more than that,” she said. “I’ve never had a multi-course meal before.”
I felt a little burst of satisfaction in knowing that I could give her this experience. It made me excited for the rest of our meal. The soup course came next, and the waiters brought us a beetroot consommé with sherry. Then we had the poached salmon with mousseline sauce, which was paired with moselle. Next was Chicken Lyonnais with red Bordeaux, and our main course was lamb with mint sauce and red Burgundy. Finally, dessert was brought through and we enjoyed peaches in chartreuse jelly with French vanilla ice cream.
The last course was an assortment of fine French chocolates with coffee, and as soon as the waiters disappeared from the cabin, Natalie turned to me with a huge smile on her face.
“This has got to be the most amazing meal I’ve ever eaten,” she said. “No contest.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“Liked it?” she repeated emphatically. “I loved it. I might have to move to France now.”
I smiled. “That was actually more fun for me than I could have imagined.”
“And, why is that?”
“Well because for once, I felt like I was teaching you something,” I said. “It always feels like you know everything and I’m the student.”
“Hardly,” Natalie said, but I could tell that she was flattered by the compliment.
“I’m serious,” I said. “I thought I was quite a knowledgeable guy before I met you. Apparently, the only topic I can best you in is French cuisine.”
She laughed, and then she looked out at the Seine in all its glory. “Did you know that the word ‘Seine’ comes from the Latin Sequana? She was the Gallo-Roman Goddess of the river.”
I smiled. “And, we’re back. No, I didn’t know that.”
“And, did you know that it is believed that Joan of Arc’s ashes were thrown into the Seine after her burning?”
I smiled. “I didn’t know that, either.”
Natalie nodded and turned towards the water. “There’s so much history here… Maybe that’s why this city is so magical. There are a hundred million stories that have yet to be discovered.”
“It’s a romantic notion.”
“She was always one of my heroes, Joan of Arc,” Natalie continued. “She was brave and strong, and she was so very young. She was only nineteen when she died, but she still managed to live a whole life before she was burned at the stake.”
I smiled. “There’s still time for you to start a few revolutions,” I teased.
Natalie laughed. “As much as I loved and admired Joan, I wouldn’t want her kind of life. I don’t need to be a hero. I’d settle for being happy, really.”
“And, are you?” I asked. “Are you happy?”
“I thought I was.” She nodded thoughtfully. “And then I met you, and suddenly I realized I’d been using the word happiness in all the wrong places. You introduced me to what real, true happiness looks like.”
It was amazing how simple and straightforward she put it. She didn’t mince her words or hide behind her feelings. She offered the truth to me as though speaking truths was the easiest thing in the world. That alone was brave. She wasn’t trying to manipulate my feelings or get me to make a commitment. She was telling me how she felt because she wasn’t the type of woman to play games. It was refreshing, but it was also terrifying.
I recalled the morning after we had landed in Paris. She had told me she loved me twice, and I had been unable to reply. Another woman might have acted differently. Another woman might h
ave turned her face from me and moped around for the remainder of the trip, thus forcing me into saying the words whether or not I felt them.
But Natalie was different. She didn’t push for an answer, nor did she act upset or hurt that I hadn’t replied to her sentiment. She had got on with our trip as though she hadn’t just put her heart on the line for me.
We’d had breakfast in bed that morning, I had taken her in the shower twice, and then we had started our exploration of Paris. She hadn’t told me she loved me again after that morning; I didn’t know how to feel about that. A part of me wanted her to tell me she loved me again, and another part of me wanted to continue on as though no declaration had been made. Several times, I felt the need to address the unspoken moment, but I chickened out at the last minute.
“Chance?” Natalie’s voice was soft.
“Yes.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asked. “Because I don’t mean to be. I just… I suppose when I feel strongly about certain things, I tend to just speak my mind or my heart. I don’t expect you to return the sentiment. I’m just telling you where I stand.”
I looked at her for a moment, realizing how lucky I was to find a woman like Natalie. I rose from my seat and offered a hand to her. “Dance with me,” I said.
“Dance with you?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no room,” Natalie pointed out.
“We need enough room to hold each other and sway,” I told her. “We have enough room for that.”
Natalie smiled and took my hand. I pulled her close to me, and we started to sway in time to the music. We moved like that for a long time. I leaned in and kissed her long and slow and passionately. When we pulled apart, her lips were raw from the kiss.
“We keep talking about all your firsts in this relationship,” I said. “I was the first man you kissed and the first man you slept with.”
“You were,” Natalie nodded; uncertain of where I was going.
“We never really spoke about my firsts.”
“I wasn’t aware you had very many firsts left,” she said.
“Neither was I,” I nodded. “Until I realized you’re the only woman I’ve actually wanted to have a relationship with. Until I realized that you are the only woman that I’ve ever truly…loved.”