by S. L. Scott
“For what?”
After taking another sip, I reply, “For me. I have to be the best.”
“Why?”
“Because coming in second sucks.”
He chuckles. “You are tight, Kandace.”
“Tight?” I try to figure out what that means. “Ohhh, you mean uptight?”
“Yes, this uptight. That is you. Have you ever not planned and just acted before?”
“Sure,” I say, shrugging and hoping I believe my own answers.
“What about love? Have you loved? Deeply?”
“I’ve loved,” I reply a little on the snarky side and with a half eye-roll.
“I don’t know if I believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe.” I direct my attention outside to the sidewalk and the people passing by.
“I think you do, but that’s neither here nor there.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I can show you what it means to be free from the shackle you’ve placed around your heart and then, only then, will you discover how to really live life.”
“I don’t have a shackle around my heart. Just because I like to work hard and for that hard work to pay off doesn’t mean I’m not living.”
“That’s the shackle speaking.”
“Shackles don’t speak.” Defensively, I snap, “And I do not have a shackle around my heart.” Leaning forward and with an irritated, hushed tone, I add, “So kindly refrain from talking about my heart or me when you really know nothing about either.”
Running his hand through his hair, his expression warns me I’ve hit a nerve as his aggravation takes over. “Américaine typiquement têtue. Même si elle a les yeux verts les plus sexy qui soient et un corps à faire rêver, elle est frustrante! ” Spoken too fast for me to interpret, he then stands abruptly holding his hand out and says, “We shall leave now.”
“All of that meant you want to leave?”
“No, it meant… never mind. Let’s go.”
With the acceptance of his hand I know I’m agreeing to more than leaving the restaurant. Maybe it’s the champagne taking over my brain, but I’m okay with that. This passionate man has stirred all kinds of new sensations within me and if I’m not careful, I just might end up in his bed for more than sleeping tonight. “C’est la vie.”
Hand in hand, we walk out the door. Outside, we walk down the street in the opposite direction of the hostel. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“C’est la vie, Kandace.”
And like that, I let Olivier lead.
* * *
The last place I expected to end up was in a loud, extremely crowded neon light flashing nightclub in the bowels of some dirty part of Paris. This is what I get for trusting a stranger… practical stranger. Whatever Olivier is to me now.
I stand against the wall where he left me to retrieve drinks. The couple next to me are so up on each other that I’m not sure laws aren’t being broken. But maybe French law is looser… like them. I shake my shoulders hoping to loosen up a bit myself. When I look toward the bar again, I’ve lost sight of Olivier. Panicky, I scan the entire length of the metal bar, but don’t find him. Lifting up on my toes, I search the club for his head above the crowd. When I still don’t see him, I work my way through the club in the direction of the last place I saw him.
My heart is racing as I hurry around, thinking he might have left me here. I stop at the edge of the dance floor, wondering if he decided to dance with someone… someone other than me.
I’m grabbed by the waist suddenly and his voice is at my ear. “Miss me?”
Calm washes over me as I turn in his arms. “Might have.”
“Good.” He holds me tightly, our faces close, our lips even closer. “I ran into friends. Our drinks are at their table. C’mon.”
I follow him until we’re standing in front of a grouping of modern leather white benches. Olivier slips around the coffee table and three people part letting him sit down. He scoots to the side and pats the bench while looking at me. “Pardonnez-moi,” I say, stepping over their feet and squeeze in next to him.
After introductions they start talking, but it’s loud, too loud to really hear what they’re saying and I don’t think I would understand anyway. And here I thought a quick semester of basic French would get me by. I didn’t realize how submerged I’d be in the culture. I feel fortunate to see the ‘real’ lives of the French people and a little embarrassed of what I imagined their lives to be. I pictured everyone leading glamorous lives. They are just like my friends back home. I giggle to myself and Olivier bumps me. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing really.”
“I like seeing your smile.”
I turn to look at him. “Really?”
“Yes. Really.” His eyelids dip closed before slowly reopening. “I think you’re—”
He’s grabbed by the girl next to him before he finishes his sentence. Her hand remains holding his arm as I wait patiently. I watch as he leans in and she presses her mouth to his ear. He nods and smiles. She laughs with a head toss of her hair. I touch my own hair wondering what it looks like and hoping it’s not gone frizzy.
Olivier laughs, his attention still on the other girl, but then his hand lands on my leg, giving me a little squeeze. He says something to her, then sits up bringing his body closer to mine again. “My apologies,” he starts. “As I was saying, I think you’re very beautiful, but you know this, Kandace.”
He may have said that before, but it will never get old. When I look down, my face heating from his sweet attention, the side of my head rubs against his cheek. I stay, momentarily, liking this too much, liking him too much. When my eyes meet his again, I see the devil. Trouble never looked so tempting. My breath weighs down on my chest and I lick my lips in preparation…
His gaze lands on my mouth and I can almost feel the sweet pressure of his lips kissing mine. “Drink?” he asks, holding his empty glass.
“Olivier?” the guy on the other side of me calls him, shaking his empty beer bottle.
They chat a moment and he stands. The moment is lost, so when he looks to me again with questioning eyes, I reply, “Oui.” Meaning yes to anything and everything with him, but I’ll take a drink for starters.
As soon as Olivier is gone, the guy next to me leans closer. “Only English?”
“Juste un peu de français.” I smile and use my hands to show just a little French.
“My name is Savi.” His own smile is big, but a little on the smarmy side. “I’ve been to LA and Las Vegas.”
“I’ve never been to either. I’m an East Coast girl. Are they nice?”
“They are fun. Pretty women.” He holds his hands in front of his chest to signal big boobs. Fortunately, he doesn’t say it.
Feeling uneasy, I shift. “I should help Olivier carry the drinks.”
His words are rushed, but I hear him say, “Do you like sex?”
Shocked, I ask, “What?
“Make love. Have you let a Frenchman make love to you?”
I stand. “I’ve gotta go.” Working my way out of the group, I head toward the bar. I find Olivier just as he turns. His expression coats my insides, making me wonder if it’s possible to fall in love with someone in less than forty-eight hours. Maybe anything is possible in Paris. It is the most romantic city in the world, after all.
With the drinks between us, he leans in and whispers, “One more drink, then we go.”
“Yes, that will be good.”
Dropping the beer off to Savi, Olivier takes me back to the bench to sit. The next thirty minutes is like a sexercise in patience… I mean exercise. The sparkling wine makes me feel lighter than I’ve felt in ages. Looser too, but I blame that on Paris, not the alcohol.
The group is friendly. Savi is more friendly than most. I giggle when he flirts with me and Olivier possessively wraps his arm around my shoulders. Leaning back against his chest, I say, “J’adore Paris.”
His warm breath hits the shell of my ear, and he replies, “Paris v
ous adore.”
Awww. Paris adores me. “What about you?”
“I find you utterly irresistible.” His arm tightens. “Ready?”
“To go? Yes.”
“I meant for another drink since yours is almost gone, but I like your idea better.”
I laugh, completely embarrassed. “I’m not always so forward.” I finish my drink and find myself gravitating toward him as if there was space that still existed between us. The close confines of the crowded bench only heighten our connection. Olivier’s hand rubs gently down my thigh and back up. It slides again, taking the skirt of my dress with him. My breath catches in my throat but I like it, so I roll with it.
He stops and stands abruptly. With a wave, he speaks loudly to the group, “Au revoir.” Reaching down he takes my hand, helping me up.
The music seems louder as the hour has gotten later. We don’t talk on our way out of the club. Our words will just be lost in the beat anyway. But as soon as we reach the sidewalk, he looks at me, no smile at all. Instead, it’s a look that makes me want to do dirty things that will make me burn with regret in the morning.
What has come over me?
A hand with bad intentions rubs my lower back reminding me exactly what has come over me. He flags down a taxi and we get in quickly. Both of us on the same determined heat wave, leading us straight back to the hostel. Listening to him direct the driver makes me feel safe and taken care of. His hand slides over and takes hold of mine again as he eases back and looks out the window. There’s a confidence that appears to come easy for him and I find it so sexy.
“Top bunk or bottom bunk?” I ask, wanting to break the silence as my nerves start to kick in.
“What do you mean, Américain Rayon de Soleil?”
“Bad joke.”
“Joke?” he asks.
I smile, squeezing his hand, then shake my head. “Never mind. I was being silly.”
The cab comes to a stop out front and I pay this time. “I’ve got this.”
After paying we slip out and walk inside. The lobby is empty and I’m glad for the reprieve from Stefan and his crazy antics tonight. We sneak upstairs… or it feels like we’re sneaking upstairs though I’m pretty sure that no one cares what we’re doing or about to do. Olivier unlocks the door and pulls me in quickly behind him. The door is shut and I’m pushed against it. With eyes closed, his hands settle on my waist as he rubs his cheek against mine. With our bodies pressed together, I take a deep breath, inhaling him into my system before releasing all my inhibitions.
Chapter 5
Olivier’s hands were so sure a moment earlier have become tentative as he slides my sweater down from my shoulders. My purse is already off and the two items are hung on a hook nearby. My neck is taken by his lips as he kisses my skin, working his way up to my mouth. Our breaths intermingle and his words are calculated for me to understand, “Tu as si bon goût.”
My knees weaken knowing he’s ‘tasting’ me. I take his face in my hands and lock eyes with him. “My turn,” I say. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I close my eyes and lean in, pressing my lips to his. The sound of us making a song that fills the air and my ears as I get lost in him. Our lips part and our tongues meet for the first time. I love that the meeting feels natural and is filled with need.
I’m spun around and led backward to the bed. He backs away suddenly, breathless like me, and stares at me. The open blinds send a slanted, lined pattern across his body and face. He asks, “If we do this… er, ummm…. Like they say ‘there’s no going back.’ ”
With my chest heaving from the intensity, I say, “I don’t want to go back. I just want to move forwar—”
He takes me hard, his hands holding me to him, peppering me with kisses and phrases that sound more like swearing. I hold his shoulders, then slide his jacket down. The jacket is dropped as my hands reach his stomach. The hem of his shirt is lifted and I find the soft skin of his body over the hard muscles of his abs. He reaches down, grabs his shirt, and takes it off over his head in one smooth move. Reaching for his belt, he undoes it as I turn around for him. With his jeans hanging open, the belt buckle weighing down one side bumps against my backside. My zipper is pulled down the length of my back by assured fingers. My bra is undone in the process.
With his fingers, he traces down my spine and follows with his mouth. The dress falls to the ground landing with a poof around my ankles. I step out holding onto my bra while turning to face him again. Kicking off his shoes, he slides his jeans down and stands in his fitted boxer shorts before me. “Lay down,” he demands.
I sit on the edge of the bed before maneuvering my legs onto it. He leans down and takes my shoes off one by one with care. Getting onto the bed, he moves between my legs and so uncharacteristically like me, I let him. I feel his hardness as he moves higher until he’s hovering over me. With a finger, he pulls down the loose bra and begins rubbing his hand over my breast. Bending down, he takes my nipple into his mouth and sucks gently, then bites just enough to make my back arch up. Wanting more, I moan ever so softly. There’s more sucking before he moves over to the other breast and repeats the sweet torturous process.
My straps are taken down slowly, leaving me bare underneath him. His chest presses down on mine, our skin heating from the contact. With his mouth on my skin, he says, “Je vais te faire l’amour et ensuite te baiser de telle sorte que tu te souviennes de moi longtemps après avoir quitté Paris.”
Words coated in sexual prowess cover the nook of my neck. I react with uncontrolled heavy breaths, my mind swirling, not able to latch onto the meaning of what he said. In English this time, he says, “I'm going to make love to you, then fuck you so you’ll remember me long after you leave Paris.”
And with that, I grip my thighs to his sides, and rub against his erection, the few inhibitions I was holding onto annihilated by his promise. A promise I hope he keeps.
My panties are soaked as the feel of the cotton between us adds to the sensations, making me feel wanton and equally sexy. One of my breasts is squeezed, then kneaded as our lips find purchase against each other again. Our tongues are even deeper until his mouth owns mine and I have a feeling he already owns more when it comes to me. But my mind goes numb, my thoughts silencing as our bodies speak their own inviting language of love… and fuck.
The twin bed doesn’t offer a lot of room, but there’s enough for him to flip me suddenly on top of him. “Remove these,” he says, tugging at the side of my panties.
Staring down at him, I grab the waistband of his boxers and say, “Remove these.”
The cockiest grin I’ve ever witnessed crosses his lips and he nods. “I like this you.”
I roll to the side and strip the rest of the way. The panties were just an obstacle at this stage anyway. I may not have had sex with many guys, only two notches on my invisible bedpost, but this time is different. I’m different. I want this—not because I’m somebody’s girlfriend or because it’s that time in a relationship. I want this. I want him because he makes my body crave him in ways I’ve never craved someone before. “Not the normal me?”
He’s naked next to me and I’m fascinated by his hardened length. I run my fingers over him, causing his body to react. I love the control. He covers my hand with his and closes my fingers around his cock. As we rub up and down slowly, him squeezing me, me squeezing him, he says, “I like the other you too, but you’re relaxed.”
“I’ve been drinking.”
“You’re not drunk.” Our hands quicken.
My thighs tighten together. I’m wet in anticipation. I look up until our eyes meet. “No, I’m not drunk.”
He reaches to his toiletry bag on the nightstand and pulls a condom out of it. Moaning from pleasure as we jerk him off, he says, “Stop.” The word comes out harsher, almost chaotic. Our hands release before he has a chance to finish and he rips open the packet, slides the condom on, and then adds, “I want you on top.”
Maybe he can see the fear in my eyes
or can sense it because his expression softens. “Have you ever been on top?”
I shake my head shyly, suddenly feeling like he’ll judge me for my lack of experience. “But I make amazing chocolate chunk brownies.”
Laughing, he makes me giggle too. He pauses, staring at me. Then he says, “I will make you feel good.” His hand moves between my legs and his fingers slip between my lower lips, not hurried, but with purpose. When he begins to massage my clit, my head drops to the mattress and I adjust to give him more access, easier access. He sits up on his elbow, facing me. Dragging his fingertips upward, he brings them to his mouth and ‘tastes’ me again.
Lying back, he says, “Come here.” Directing me on top of him, I stop when I see he wants me above his mouth. I look down at him, my body flaming in desire and some new shame that he’ll not like what he sees or eats or tastes or whatever he plans to do to me in this position. “You taste so good. I want to do this for you and for me.”
Swallowing my humiliation down, I try to clear my head and go with the sensations again and position myself above him. He grips my hips lowering me down. Reaching forward I grab a hold of the bed in front of me. When his tongue touches me for the first time, I jump a little and my knees tighten around his head. “Relax, Sunshine.”
Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down and enjoy this. He kisses my inner thigh softly and I look down to watch him. His eyes are on mine as his head shifts and he kisses my clit this time, lingering there a moment before opening his mouth and sucking gently. My eyelids flutter closed as I feel him taking care of me in ways that no one has ever done. I move. My body is caught between pleasure and pain as he draws out parts of me I’ve never felt. As his tongue enters me, I realize how dirty, scandalous, and absolutely fucking amazing this feels.
My grip tightens on the wood that suddenly feels fragile under my fingers, my nails scraping against it, leaving notches of my own. My legs start to quiver as my body begins to quake, tremoring to life. Then he stops…
“What are you doing?” My voice goes up an octave with desperation.