The Frenchman's Slow Seduction

by Flora Lanoux

  Carried away by desires I don’t, can’t, understand, I taste, suck, and lick his taut aching flesh, but instead of easing the clawing need inside me, it makes me more desperate, more needy. With a growl, Jean Paul threads his fingers through my hair and pushes into my mouth. But just as I feel him swell inside me, he cries, “Rachel, il faut arrêter!” Rachel, we have to stop!

  But I can’t stop. A wild, crazy, uncontrollable beast has been unleashed, making me pull, suck, and lick even more wildly.

  With a loud roar, Jean Paul pulls me up and rolls me over onto my back. Kneeling between my legs, he kisses me fiercely. Then shockingly, startlingly, breathtakingly, he thrusts into me with such suddenness, such force, that my whole body explodes from the most mind-blowing ecstasy. My body has to expand to fully take him in.

  Darting his tongue into my mouth, Jean Paul possesses me with a fury I hadn’t known existed. I reach up to the headboard to steady myself, feeling the whole length of him plunging into me over and over again. With Jean Paul’s every movement, jolt after jolt of the most exquisite sensations wrack my body. Overcome by a riot of emotions, I cry out, “Jean Paul, je t’aime.” Jean Paul, I love you.

  Groaning, he claims me with even greater fury, making me cry out even more loudly as he grows bigger inside me. With his arms under me, he holds me tightly and pushes into me more furiously -- until finally, explosively, cataclysmically, a burst of sensation as fierce as any natural storm catapults us from our physical bodies into a realm where there is only pleasure, love, bliss, and endless joy. As wave after wave of the divinest ecstasy washes over me, I feel like everything is a dream -- like it’s all been a dream -- like the whole world is a dream.

  In the morning, I wake up alone. Looking at a digital clock on the nightstand, I see that it’s only seven thirty. A wall of windows reveals blue sky, puffy white clouds, and brilliant sunshine. Hearing a noise, I turn and see Jean Paul walking into the room. Smiling, he climbs back into bed.

  “Je t’aime de tout mon coeur,” he says, pressing kisses along the side of my face. I love you with all my heart.

  “You’re up early,” I tell him, caressing his face.

  He kisses my palm. “I did not trust myself to stay in bed with you while you were sleeping.”

  “Oh?” I say as innocently as I can. “Why’s that?”

  He gives me a wicked smile. Taking my hand, he slides it down his abdomen, to someplace lower.

  My eyes widen as I feel the hard swell of him.

  “Golly, you are up early!”

  He gives a thunderous laugh. “Always, you surprise me, Rachel.”

  With a look of mischief, he takes my hands, holds them over my head, and kisses me deeply. “Je meurs de faim,” he rasps against my cheek. I’m dying of hunger.

  With my teeth, I clamp down on his tongue. Then I let him go. “Well, I’m really hungry too,” I tell him, “and a gentleman always lets a lady go first.”

  Keeping me prisoner, he shakes his head. “Not this time, Rachel. I’ve been up too long, and I need you too much.”

  His words send a shiver through my body. As if a switch has been flipped, the energy in the room instantly changes.

  Looking deeply into my eyes, Jean Paul says, “I couldn’t see you last night when we made love, but now I will be able to see how your whole body responds to me, and I want to see everything, Rachel.”

  My mouth opens.

  “Have I shocked you?” he asks, completely unrepentant.

  I laugh. “You must be a lapsed Catholic.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “Tu es trop vite pour moi.” You are too quick for me.

  Still holding my hands above my head, he pulls them together and uses one hand to hold me. Then he uses the other hand to pull the sheet down below my breasts. “Hmmm, I could start there,” he says. Pulling the sheet even lower, he lets his eyes roam over the tops of my thighs. “Or I could start there.”

  Every inch of my body is aching for his touch.

  With agonizing slowness, Jean Paul uses his fingers to trace a path down my chest, to my abdomen, and then lower -- his eyes widening as he discovers how ready I am for him. As he closes his eyes, I watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Tu es mon obsession -- un passion qui me tourment,” he rasps huskily. You are my obsession -- a passion that torments me.

  His words make me tremble.

  “Jean Paul…?” I say, suddenly unsure.

  His eyes darken, but he says nothing.

  I feel my face flush. “What do you want?”

  His pupils dilate. His look challenges me.

  “Everything?” I ask.

  His eyes widen.

  Suddenly, there doesn’t seem to be enough air in the room. Jean Paul makes me feel things, think things, I’ve never felt or thought before.

  As I lick my lips, his eyes hone in on my every movement.

  Wanting to make myself more comfortable, I squirm, but he pins me down more firmly.

  My lips part…

  “I want more of what we had last night,” he says darkly, “only this time, I don’t want you to hold back, or to hold me back.”

  My mouth is completely dry.

  Jean Paul’s eyes don’t leave mine. “What? Don’t you trust me, Rachel?”

  I don’t answer.

  Jean Paul lowers his head and gently bites my lip, pulling my delicate skin. “Do you trust me, Rachel?”

  When I stay silent, he sucks the tender flesh behind my ear, and I know he will leave a mark. “Do you trust me, Rachel?”

  “I don’t want to trust you,” I tell him.

  Jean Paul freezes. Pulling away, he says, “Are you not afraid?”

  “Yes.”

  Closing his eyes, he says, “Qu’est-ce que c’est cet feu dans mes veines qui me consomme?” What is this fire in my veins that consumes me? Then he kisses me savagely ... until I’m not sure where I am or what’s happening ... until the only thing I know is that I need him.

  Using his free hand Jean Paul does away with his boxers. Plunging his tongue deeply into my mouth, he moves over me until he’s between my thighs. Pressing his hard flesh against my body, he fondles my breasts, lifting them from underneath, taking their full weight in his hand. Mindless from the ecstasy of his firm, unrelenting touch, I cry out loudly.

  Without warning, Jean Paul plunges deep inside me, shocking me, spreading me, filling me. With searing heat, he claims me, causing wave after wave of the most scintillating pleasure to wash over me. Suddenly, he pulls away, flips me onto my front, and then lifts me onto all fours.

  “Jean Paul?” I squeak in disbelief, but all conscious thought flies out of my head as he claims me from behind.

  The fury of sensation he sends roaring through my body makes me cry out. Holding me firmly by the hips, Jean Paul claims me without restraint. Never before have I felt so primal, so feral, so wickedly real. My feminine flesh is pushed to its fullest capacity, beyond its fullest capacity. Jean Paul lets out groan after groan, holding me tightly. The room resounds with the noise of the headboard hitting the wall, the mattress springs creaking, Jean Paul’s deep guttural moans, my cries.

  Suddenly, I feel unable to contain him as his swollen flesh rubs harshly against my skin -- but I want more ... beg him for more. Jean Paul moves his hands to my breasts, pinning me where he wants me. Every part of my body cries out for his possession. “Harder!” I cry out. Jean Paul momentarily freezes. “What did you say?” he rasps in a barely controlled voice. “Harder!” I cry.

  Pressed against him, I feel him shudder. Gripping me tightly, he slams into me, and I cry out from shock as the full force of him ripples through my body. Jean Paul crashes into me repeatedly, pulling out almost completely and then pushing in as far, as quick, as hard, as he can. There’s no sanity anymore, something -- someone -- else has taken over. Jean Paul moans, groans, and thrusts, making me cry out, making me beg for completion.

  Heeding my pleas, Jean Paul slides his fingers down my abd
omen to my tenderest place and massages me while possessing me furiously, making me lose all composure, all sense of time and place. “Yes, yes!” I cry and beg. Jean Paul’s fingers and hips move faster. As the tension in me coils tighter and tighter, Jean Paul’s movements become even more frenzied. Feeling myself nearing my climax, I scream loudly -- until suddenly ... frantically ... furiously ... I explode into light, and sound, and color. As I tighten around the long hard shaft of him, Jean Paul becomes wild, frenzied, savage -- and I feel him get even bigger. Exploding deep inside me, he cries out my name. For endless timeless moments we moan uncontrollably as our bodies spasm -- conjoined by the sensations that are ripping us apart and melding us together.

  When our madness is over, Jean Paul gently lays me on the bed. Coming down beside me, he gives me a tender look and says, “I don’t recognize myself when I’m with you.”

  “I love you,” I tell him.

  “Tu es mon coeur,” he whispers. You are my heart.

  Pulling me close, he holds me, and we fall asleep.

  Jean Paul is the first to get up. While I linger in bed, he takes a shower and comes back wearing a pastel blue T-shirt with white jeans. I have to catch my breath; he’s that beautiful.

  “I’ll make breakfast,” he says, nuzzling me.

  When I get to the kitchen, Jean Paul’s standing over the kitchen sink eating a mango, small rivulets of orange flowing down his hands and arms. I can taste the sweetness on his lips.

  Later that morning, standing on Jean Paul’s balcony and looking out at the world, I think of the men who have recently passed through my life and the marks they’ve left. There was Reynaldo, who showed me that my hormones were working; Mike, who showed me kindness; and Bryan, who showed me what it was like to be full of love: all of them offering different things. But it’s Jean Paul I need: I need the way he talks, the way he looks at me, the way he touches and makes love to me, and his constant reassurances. And what’s remarkable is that he seems to need me just as much.

  When I walk back into the apartment, Jean Paul is sitting on the sofa.

  “Rachel, will you sit with me?”

  I join him on the sofa.

  “I would like you to have this ring.” He is holding an antique gold ring with an ornate latticework band. On the top is a tiny enamel oval with a winged angel and the words Mon Amour delicately painted. He slips the ring onto my finger. “It was my grandmother’s ring.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I tell him.

  In French, he says, “I adore you, Rachel. More than the stars, the wind and the moon. Will you marry me?”

  Taken aback, I say, “Jean Paul, I don’t believe in marriage. I love you, and I’ll be with you, but I can’t marry you.”

  Amused, he says, “Why don’t you believe in marriage?”

  “Because I’ve seen what it does to people. It gives them this false sense of security. They start taking each other for granted. Before people get married, they’re in love. They talk, look, and touch a certain way. After they’re married, they stop doing that.”

  “I won’t stop loving you,” he says. “It doesn’t happen to everyone. It depends on who you are. My parents are still in love after forty years.”

  “I’m sorry, Jean Paul, but I can’t. Don’t ask me to do it. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  He kisses me. “It’s okay, Rachel. You’re right. It doesn’t mean anything. We’ll just be together.”

  Later that day, I officially accept the job with Lou Ann and Joe, and Jean Paul and I move my things to his apartment.

  Two weeks later, as Jean Paul and I are eating breakfast in the kitchen, I decide that the time has come to tie up loose ends.

  “I have to go back to Michigan to take care of a few things,” I tell him.

  “May I come?”

  “It’ll just be for a few days. I think it’d be better if I went alone.”

  “When would you go?”

  “In a couple of weeks.”

  Taking my hands, he says, “I have always been waiting for you, Rachel, and I will always be here.”

  After breakfast, when we go for a walk in a nearby park, Jean Paul goes back to the car for something he has forgotten. Looking at him, I have the sudden fear that he’s not real.

  Later in the week, I buy my plane ticket for Lansing. I’ve decided to go back home for a week; any longer would place too big a burden on Joe and Lou Ann. As soon as I have my ticket, I phone Michelle to tell her my flight details.

  “Can you phone Mike for me?” I ask her. “I’d like to go to the clinic the morning after I get in to pick up some stuff.”

  “Are you sure you’ve straightened out the Mike thing, Rachel?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I called him the last time, I got the impression he thought you two might get back together.”

  “No way. I made it perfectly clear.”

  I don’t tell Michelle about Jean Paul or my move. I want to see her in person to tell her my big news.

  On the day of my departure, Jean Paul brings me to the airport. When my flight is called, he walks with me to the security gate. Hugging me, he says, “Rachel, please do not leave me for too long; I fear I may not be able to breathe while you are gone.”

  It’s a beautiful, sunny day for traveling through air and clouds. Twenty minutes into the flight, I fall asleep and dream of Nathaniel. I’m six, and I’m holding his hand as we walk in the woods towards a stream. At the water’s edge, he lifts me into his arms, walks to the center of the stream, and tries to place me on a rock that is sticking out of the water. Afraid, I hold on tightly to his neck and wrap my legs around him. He loosens my grip, places me on the rock, and then quickly walks away. Not wanting to be left alone, I jump off the rock and fall into the water; the current drags me under the water’s surface. When I realize that Nathaniel isn’t going to rescue me, I swim and crawl to the stream’s edge, and he gives me his hand. Looking up at him, I say, “Why didn’t you help me?” With a soft look, he answers, “Because I knew you could do it on your own.”

  Chapter 24

  When I walk out of the baggage collection room, Michelle rushes to hug me.

  “You look great, Rach. Geez, I didn’t think you were ever coming back.” She places her hands on my shoulders. “Rachel, I’ve got news.” Her smile is radiant. “Grant and me, we’re back together.” Jumping around in a circle, she twirls me with her.

  I drop my bags and give her the biggest bear hug ever.

  “Oh, Michelle, I’ve never been so happy for anyone in my whole life as I am right now.”

  “I know. Isn’t it great? Oh, Rach, when we make love, we really make love. It’s not just sex. A few years ago, I went to the bathroom in my hotel room late one night, and I heard the couple next door making love. The woman was moaning every time the man went inside her. I was mesmerized. I thought it was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. Now, when Grant makes love to me, I feel like that woman.” She puts an arm around me. “Come on. Let’s get your bags to the car. You’re coming to my place, right?”

  In the car, she asks about my trip. I tell her everything about Texas, but nothing about Jean Paul or my move.

  At her place, Michelle takes care of me, installing me on her sofa. “I’ll get us some drinks and munchies,” she says.

  Why can’t I take a deep breath?

  When Michelle gets back, I notice the engagement ring on her finger.

  “He kept it all these years. Can you believe it? I love him, Rach. He wants to get married right away, and I’m all for it.”

  “Congratulations, Michelle. You’re a different person.”

  She laughs. “Grant’s living in New York, but he’s moving here as soon as he can. He’s in town now, but he’s out visiting. He’ll be back at six. Tell me you’ll stay for dinner.”

  I smile. “Of course I’ll stay. I’m dying to meet him.”

  She fills me in on what’s been happening since I’ve been away. “Bryan went thr
ough a really bad few weeks, but he looks better now. I hope this won’t bother you, Rachel. He’s dating someone. Sheena Paul. Do you know her?”

  I smile. “She was one of the cadets taking the self-defence course. You could say she and I are kindred spirits. It’s okay, Michelle. I’m happy for him.” Steeling myself, I say, “I’ve found someone, Michelle.”

  After a few seconds, she gives me a brilliant smile. “You’ve been with him for two months, and you’re going back.”

  I’ve always admired how quick Michelle is to catch on to things. With my secret now out in the open, I tell her about my Texas plans.

  “Geez, Rach, you know I’m happy as anything for you, but I hate the thought of you being so far away.”

  “I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

  “Oh well,” she says, “that’s what planes are for, right?” We look at each other, unconvinced.

  At five o’clock, I tell Michelle that I have a couple of errands to run but that I’ll be back around six.

  When I get back to Michelle’s apartment, Grant answers the door using special crutches. I can’t believe how handsome he is. He’s over six feet tall, has gorgeous blonde curly hair and is wearing faded jeans with a dark green plaid shirt. I liked Grant before I met him, but I like him even more after. His face becomes radiant when he looks at Michelle.

  Hanging out in the kitchen, we cook, eat, drink, and talk. If there were a male Michelle, it would have to be Grant. He’s wisecracking, fun-loving, and above all, kind. As often as he can, he touches Michelle as if to reassure himself that she’s really there. When he disappears down the hallway to get a photograph, Michelle’s eyes follow him out of the room. She’s so obviously happy that I feel a sharp pang of guilt for not having realized just how unhappy she had been. As if she’s read my mind, she says, “Everything’s going to be okay now, Rach. The past doesn’t matter anymore.”