Fighting Gravity

by Julie Adams

  Then I feel it. Like an ice cube placed on my spine, someone brushes far too close to me and takes too long getting around me, their arm and chest lingering. Tall and masculine. I can feel their breath on the nape of my neck. I gasp and jump away, taking quick steps forward. I look over my shoulder, the same group I had stepped out into, they look appalled either by me or the person brushing against me.

  A familiar scent that I can’t quite place filling the air.

  I can feel someone watching me, no doubt about it now. My stomach clenches and I walk faster. I can hear footsteps a ways back matching my pace.

  I don’t care if I look foolish, I run. The exit of the tunnel just up ahead. I don’t dare glance behind me, that’s what they always do in the horror movies before they trip and fall.

  I rush out of the arcade and onto the street. There’s more room to breathe, more light to see.

  “Mademoiselle, Tu vas bien?” I turn to a concerned looking policeman.

  “Oui, oui,” I glance behind me seeing no one suspicious. “Merci.”

  The policeman doesn’t look sure but he steps away, wondering if it’s me he should be worried about. “Bonne Journée.” The officer says as he goes.

  I briskly walk to the taxi stand and pour myself into the first cab. As soon as I’m inside I try to explain it all away. But I can’t, in my gut I know I was being followed. I shake my head, if I was, that doesn’t mean anything for sure.

  Not here, not so far away.

  I try not to let the events in the arcade set me on a downward spiral. I go home and I take a hot shower, I do my makeup and hair. Then I do some work since I left the theater early this afternoon. I’m still searching and calling for an opening band. I’m calming down from the days events a little at a time. Nothing a little wine won't help with.

  I get a text just as I’m heading for the door.

  Nathan: I’ve sent a car. It’ll be waiting outside when you’re ready.

  How could you not just melt at the chivalry?

  Me: Thanks. But you didn’t have to.

  Nathan: I know, I wanted to. Your safety is a great concern to me.

  Me: Thanks again. But I can handle myself.

  He doesn’t need to know about earlier. No one does. It was a stupid incident from some pervert. My phone dings again.

  Nathan: I know you can. But I can make it a little easier for you. I can take care of you, if you’ll let me…

  Me: And what do I get to offer in return?

  The reply is almost instant.

  Nathan: You. I only want you.

  I smile. They must teach them something about making women swoon in those English boarding schools. I text back quickly as I go down the stairs.

  Me: Deal.

  I'm full of anticipation as the black sedan drives the dark Paris streets to Nathan's. I feel good about how I look, and I can't wait for him to see me. It's silly, I know. But there's something about the look a man gets when you really doll yourself up that makes you feel like a goddess.

  When Nathan opens the door I get just the reaction I was hoping for. A sharp intake of breath followed by a glint in his eyes and a smile that grows wider as he looks me over, examining every inch of the whole picture again.

  “Belle.” He says pulling me inside and planting a kiss on my lips.

  “It smells great in here.” I compliment bending to pet Frankie as he waddles towards me. I can’t help but talk to him in my high pitched soft voice, it only makes him waggle more. The dog is so cute I want to steal him.

  When I look up, Nathan is staring at me with that look of admiration. “Can I help you prepare anything?” I ask straightening.

  “No, no. Relax, have some wine and keep my mutt company,” He smiles adoringly at the dog who yips at him.

  We- and by that I mean Frankie and I- follow Nathan deeper into the apartment. He points to the wine glasses sitting on the dining table and encourages me to help myself. I do. Sitting, Frankie settles next to my feet for a good ear scratching.

  “I hope you like fettuccine,” He says stirring something on the stove.

  “I do,” I reply sipping the wine, it’s crisp and fruity with the faintest bite of alcohol I’ve ever tasted in a wine. I admit I’m not a wine connoisseur by any means but this wine is delicious and probably heartstopping expensive.

  Nathan comes around the island carrying a basket of bread, a baguette he’s sliced and buttered with what I’m guessing is garlic butter by the wonderful aroma. He picks up his own wine glass and takes a sip. “I hope you’re hungry because dinner is done.”

  I raise my brows surprised. “Punctual.”

  He laughs, sheepishly. “It’s a blessing and a curse. I like to be on time.”

  “Sounds rigid,”

  “Efficient.” he replies, meeting my eyes.

  “Boring.” I tease.

  “Necessary.”

  I stare at him for a beat, weighing whether or not I should ask my next question. Screw it. No more hiding away. “And do you ever play hookey? Go off the radar for a little while, turn off your phone and just get away without a schedule?”

  He stares at me, that glint returning. “No. Never.” He steps closer to me, the back of his fingers running across my jaw, down my throat and skimming the V-neckline of the dress. “But you make me want to.”

  Now it’s my turn to lose my breath. His fingers dip below the neckline and I slightly arch into him. It’s only been a couple of days and here I am ready to forget food and everything else just to have him naked against me.

  “I’ll have to tempt you into it,” I say and he leans down and plants a soft kiss on my jaw.

  “First let me feed you. Then I’m going to peel you out of this dress and fuck you.”

  I laugh. “You read my mind, Mr. Erickson.”

  He brings over two plates laden with noodles in a creamy sauce and topped with grilled chicken sprinkled with herbs. “It looks great!” I say, the smell of it nearly making my eyes roll back in my head. I’m a girl that loves her pasta and bread.

  “Bon appétit.” Nathan salutes with his wine glass and we dig in.

  The first bite is orgasmic. Buttery, creamy, rich, and slightly cheesy like he added cream cheese. The pasta is done just right, and I can tell this isn’t something from the package but rather something he bought from an artisanal place where the pasta is handmade and fresh. The chicken is juicy and sprinkled with rosemary offsetting the fettuccine sauce perfect. And when Nathan feeds me a bite of the garlic bread, I’m tempted to snatch his plate and shoo him away so I can devour both.

  Nathan chuckles at the sound I’ve made. I redden just a bit, feeling a glutinous. “Sorry, but it’s so good.”

  His eyes twinkle mischievously. “I like making you moan anyway I can.”

  I roll my eyes. Which I’m told is a very American thing to do.

  “Where did you learn to cook like this?” I ask taking a sip of the wine that complements the dish so well.

  Nathan’s fork wavers for a minute and looks hesitant. He swallows then goes on. “My mère.” He sips his wine and clarifies. “My mother, she was half Italian.”

  “Ah,” I can see he’s upset. “She must have been a very good cook,” I say and take his hand, ready to change the subject if he wishes.

  He speaks before I can say anything. “She was. She didn’t cook a lot of dishes, but what she did was wonderful. She was good at a lot of things.” He says and I can see he’s picturing her and some memory or perhaps lots of them layered upon one another.

  “That must be where you get it from,”

  He smiles. “Must be.” He says coming back to me with a soft smile. Then he takes a bite of his food and I know that this part of our conversation is done. And I’m okay with that, he’s let me in, just a little, on something that is clearly painful to talk about.

  Eighteen

  Nathan

  I notice Lily is edgy tonight. When
the dishes clang against each other in the sink she nearly jumps out of her skin. She just doesn’t seem to relaxed like she usually does with me.

  “Are you alright?” I ask as we drink wine on the sofa, watching the tower sparkling in the night.

  She looks at me and smiles, it’s forced and tight. “Yes, of course.”

  “Are you sure? You seem tense…”

  She shakes her head and laughs. “Just a long day. And this view,” she practically sighs gazing out the window. “This view is easy to get lost in.”

  “Yes, from the moment I laid eyes on it, I wanted it to be mine.” She realizes I’m looking at her and blushes, ducking her head to hide her bashful smile.

  “I must be the luckiest girl in Paris to have met you, no not just met you, but to be here doing this with you,” she struggles for words. “Whatever we are… Not that we have to put a label on it. I’m only here for so long, and I’m sur-” She’s rambling and it’s cute.

  “I love you. I meant it when I said it. I don’t go around telling every woman I love them. So I would very much like to put a label on us, if that’s okay with you,”

  She smiles again, and it’s brighter than the tower. “Okay.” It’s soft and sweet and sends shivers down my spine.

  “Petite amie,”

  “Amie?” She asks, I forget how little French she knows.

  “It means girlfriend.”

  “And what do I call you?” She asks, curious to learn more.

  “Petit ami.”

  “Ah,” She says rolling the words around in her mouth soundlessly.

  “If you have a French boyfriend you should really take advantage of the perks,” I say resting my hand on her thigh.

  “I do, great food and great sex.” She winks.

  “I mean when it comes to conversing in French,”

  “My French is okay enough,” She protests.

  “It’s enough to get you through the day as a tourist, not as a local and not conversationally.”

  She rolls her eyes and I squeeze her thigh. “I can teach you,”

  “Is this some fantasy you have? Professor, student?” She points a finger from me to herself.

  I grin. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d like to take you to an event and don't want you to feel left out when most of the people at the table speak only French.”

  She looks a little frightened by the thought. “I don’t know.” She looks unsure, glancing at her wineglass. “I’m not really a fancy event type of girl. I get nervous in restaurants with white tablecloths for crying out loud.”

  A woman who wants nothing from me. A woman who didn’t know who I was and doesn’t care what my name means. Someone who wants no part of the limelight.

  Something inside me coils then bursts free, the feeling like that of taking the first deep breath after being underwater for too long. I’m so fucking in love with this woman that it’s all I can do not to get down on one knee and ask her to marry me. But perhaps first I should wait until she at least tells me she loves me. Otherwise, I might scare her so much she’ll be on the next flight back to America.

  “I promise to make it as painless as possible for you, but if we date it is inevitable that you will have to go to some functions with me.”

  “Can it just be fun concerts and shows, and the rest of the time I can be the doting, proud girlfriend?”

  “I want to show you off. I want people to know we’re together, that you’re mine and I’m yours.” I pull her onto my lap, straddling me. Her hair falls around her face and she looks so sexy, I’m already growing hard beneath her.

  “I like that last part, can you say it in French?” Her brow arches and I grab her ass instinctively, dragging her flush against me.

  “Tu es à moi et je suis à toi,” I whisper leaning in closer to kiss her. She pulls back.

  “More French, please.” I wonder if she knows she gave the slightest clench with her thighs, giving away her need.

  “Vous êtes si belle. Je veux te baiser,” I whisper taking her mouth with mine. Kissing her, my tongue parting her lips and delving into her wine sweet warmth. She touches mine with her own before pulling back and I can see her trying to work the translation. “What did I say, mon chéri?”

  “That I am beautiful and that you want to.... something, but I’m not sure, and I’m afraid to guess.” She grins.

  I trail kisses over her jaw and down her neck and back up, licking her earlobe before sucking it between my teeth. I whisper in her ear, “I want to fuck you.”

  She gasps when my hand slips further down her ass, my fingers finding her mound, already wet. I rub her gently through the fabric.

  “I really like when you speak French,” She groans leaning further into me when I find her sensitive spot.

  “Mmm, I really like how you’re always so ready for me.” I pull the fabric aside and slip a finger inside her, just teasing, not allowing more than the tip. She pushes down against me,, I hold her in place with my arm. “No, no. Let me tease you… until you can’t take anymore and are begging, then I will give you what you want. I promise, it’ll be worth it when I do.” She moans when I sweep my thumb over her clit again, then relaxes and lets me have my way. I want to fuck this tension out of her. I want to make her feel safe and loved. And whatever her day has been so far, I want to erase it and make it better. As much as I love the way she looks tonight- her dress the kind of thing men dream of- all I want to do is get her naked. That’s how I love her most, completely bare for me.

  I stand, wrapping her legs around me with every intention of carrying her into the bedroom when her tongue slides against my neck and she grinds into me. I stumble against the table and sit her on top of it, swiping the silver candlesticks off from it with my arm. I pull the dress up over her head and see her berry-colored nipples through the thin scalloped lace cups of her bra. It takes nothing to reveal them to me, I lash them with my tongue making her moan, long and breathy. Like a sigh.

  Beneath me she’s yanking her panties down her legs, they hang confining around her ankles when her arms can’t reach any further. I smile down at her and she looks up at me, amused and full of lust for me. In this moment she worships me almost as much as I worship her.

  I grab the dainty fabric of her underwear in my fist, pulling her ankles closer together, twisting the fabric then giving a swift pull until her legs are up in the air, pressed tightly together and she’s completely on display for me. I want lick across her wetness, but my throbbing cock won’t have it.

  “Fuck me,” She says pulling on my pants.

  “Say it in French, mon chéri.”

  She arches into me, her eyes falling closed as she searches for the word I said earlier. “Baise Moi, S'il vous plaît,” She breathes and it’s nearly my undoing, my language on her tongue and the added begging makes me so hard I think I may burst.

  I pull the condom from my pocket and slide it on. “Are you on the pill?” I ask.

  “I.U.D,” She says and lets out a sharp breath when I slide my shaft against her slit.

  “Good, we’re getting tested very soon, so I can be done with these damn things.”

  “God yes!” She exclaims when I push into her. “I want to feel you bare, I’ve never done that with anyone, but I want to with you.” She says. I pull back and thrust, she’s made me incredibly fucking happy with that admission.

  I’m so close and I know she’s not. I reach down between us and softly rub circles over her clit. I go faster, I know what she likes and it takes mere seconds before she’s breathless and moaning. I rub faster, keeping my touch soft and my thrusts hard.

  I push her legs further up using her thong for leverage, going deeper and hitting that soft, sensitive spot inside her. She clenches around me, her entire body tensing as she moans her orgasm.

  I don’t let up, I keep pounding into her. I take my fingers from her, rip the panties from her ankles and wrap my hands around her thighs spreading her open for
me. I keep thrusting and she comes again, still so sensitive from the first. When I reach my release, she shutters around me yet again, the pulsating from my cock setting her off.

  I hover over her trying to catch my breath, my breath whispering across her breasts, giving her goosebumps.

  “Mon Dieu,” She sighs then laughs. “All of Paris probably saw us through your windows.”

  I chuckle. “We’re too far inside the apartment for anyone to see.”

  “I hope so, I’m not really into exhibition.”

  “Really?” I sit up and raise a brow, she’s so goddamn beautiful all flushed. “The concert?”

  “I was fully clothed and we were in the dark alcove, I highly doubt anyone would have seen.” She seems unsure even as she says it, an embarrassed smile lifting her lips.

  “No one saw, I would never let anyone else see you come.” I kiss her between the breasts. “That’s for my eyes only.”

  I go to the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of sparkling water, offering her the first drink. She pulls from it greedily and hands it back. Her hand dropping to her side. I can see she’s tired, but the tension is gone. I grin. “Let’s go to bed,” I wrap my arm around her and we go into the bedroom.

  “I’m spending the night?” She asks, naively.

  “Isn’t that what couples do?”

  She nods. “I didn’t bring anything to sleep in,”

  “You’re in luck. I have quite the extensive wardrobe, take your pick of what you’d like to sleep in. Button down, undershirt, T-”

  She interrupts, “Do you have that sweatshirt I wore last time?”

  I nod. “I do,” I pull it from a drawer, glad I had finally found the will to wash her scent from it since she last wore it.

  She pulls it on and does a little shimmy like she’s snuggling down into it, and deeper into my heart. If this goes down in flames it’s going to ruin me.

  When we climb into bed and I wrap my arms around her I know I’ve found my safe space. My sanctuary. And it’s not a place but a person, what could be more dangerous to my self-preservation.