Twenty-Six
TWENTY-SIX
LEORA
T ime moves slowly when I'm with him. I can't quite explain how or why, but I’m enjoying it. As the first month passed, I would say we’ve become good friends, and I truly appreciate him—in all ways. I especially appreciate his dedication to keeping his body in shape. I have to remind myself that we're just friends, however, sometimes those platonic feelings for him tip towards lust. I can't help it; he's incredibly attractive, and his body is on another level of hot.
But it seems that my body doesn't understand what the meaning of "friends" is because when I see his arms, my brain starts envisioning him holding me, and I grow flustered. When I see his back, my brain thinks about the way my nails could run down it while he’s on top of me.
His hands make me think dirty thoughts, and it always ends up with me running to my bedside table to put my artillery to use. My body and brain have needs, and I’m only here to try to please them.
It’s only lust, so I have moments of weakness when I entertain the idea that we should just go for it, enjoy the time we have together, and reap the benefits. I have a feeling he thinks about me in those terms as well. I’ve caught him looking at my legs when I’m wearing my sleep shorts, or how his eyes will linger on my lips occasionally. I even saw him rearranging his erection one day when I was doing yoga in the living room.
Did I wear my shorts that accentuated the size of my ass on purpose?
Yes, I did.
Sue me, I’m only human.
I intentionally picked a time when I knew he would be home so that he could catch a glimpse of my ass in the air doing downward facing dog. My entire strategy revolved around making him notice me and, for once, lose his composure. I envisioned how he would grab me with those large hands before touching me in ways that would have left me screaming his name.
I think we’re just two horny people that need to get it over and done with. We’ll do the deed once or twice, and then we can focus on what’s important, which is deceiving people until after the hotel opening we’ve been working on. But I don’t think he will go for it. He’s very stubborn, has the self-control of a monk, and often mentions how this business agreement has turned out much better than he expected because we have become such good friends .
Somedays I hate that word, but that’s the situation I’m in, and I’m happy it’s with a man like Lucas.
He’s considerate. He wakes up early every morning to work out and prepares breakfast for both of us. If he has to leave for work earlier than usual, he ensures that I'm informed. Whether it's by leaving notes in the kitchen or telling me directly, he never leaves without making sure I'm aware.
He always asks me about my day, wanting to hear about it instead of only talking about himself, which is new to me. He seems genuinely interested in my life. Not to mention, he takes me out on dates. I know it’s to keep up appearances and meet new people, but I like it. It feels good when he puts his arm around me or holds my hand while we’re in deep conversation. It might seem crazy, but in those moments, it doesn’t feel like we’re faking it. It feels real.
Lucas has slowly opened up to me, and I feel privileged to be let into his world. I’ve learned that he’s a dog person and that he grew up with a Shibu Inu named Asal, which he told me means "honey" in Arabic. He even showed me a picture of them together. It was adorable. I might have made him send it to me, to make it the wallpaper of my phone.
He also loves to spend time with his charity, to be with the kids who’ve lost their parents, just like him. My heart swelled when he told me about them and he even promised to take me to see them soon. I really don't know how my uterus will handle that, but we’ll tackle that problem when we get there.
This morning, we slept a little longer because Lucas gave everyone the day off due to some plumbing issues in the office building. Despite that, he still wakes up earlier than me, as always, to make us breakfast. The smell of crêpes fills the air as I walk into the kitchen. Crêpes-day is my favorite; some days he makes the most delicious scrambled eggs, other days he makes me a smoothie, because, according to him, we also have to be "healthy." And apparently, to be healthy, we can't eat French toast and crêpes every day, which I disagree with, but I lost the battle the last time we discussed it, so I won’t bring it up for a while.
I catch sight of him standing by the stove, his back on full display. Oh, how I love it when he cooks shirtless. I halt in my steps, gazing at him for a few moments, admiring the sculpted contours of his physique. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it; he’s a masterpiece.
He turns to face me, his lips curling into a charming smile that shows off the dimples I’ve grown accustomed to as he greets me. "Good morning."
I settle onto a bar stool at the kitchen island and begin slicing up some fresh fruit while savoring the aroma of the steaming cappuccino in the cup he places before me.
As we sit down to enjoy our breakfast together—another sweet moment I’ve come to love—his phone rings, and he excuses himself from the table after seeing the caller's ID.
"Don't wait for me, eat your breakfast." He points to the food with a nod before walking away to take the call, leaving me alone to do as I was told. I’ve noticed that he’s quite adamant about me eating. Whenever I happen to skip a meal, or forget to drink water, he's quick to notice and immediately springs into action. He'll give me a gentle scolding and insist on buying me something to eat or drink to make up for it. It's as if he won't rest until he knows I'm taking proper care of myself.
I barely notice when he returns and says my name, startling me out of my reverie. As I turn to face him, my eyes are immediately drawn to his chiseled chest and toned biceps. His arms are crossed, making his muscles bulge even more.
My cheeks flush as I try to maintain eye contact, but it's impossible to resist the magnetism of him. He stands there, leaning against the wall, all confident and alluring, and I can't help but feel captivated by his presence as he fixes his gaze on me.
It’s not fair. I’ve been fighting my attraction toward him for a month, and if I hadn’t bought that little vibrator, I would have crumbled and embarrassed myself many days ago by either jumping him or begging him to jump me.
His gaze shifts to my lips, and a smile spreads across his face. As he takes a few steps towards me, I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact with him. Without a word, he raises his hand to my chin, his thumb gently brushing against the corner of my lips, his eyes locked on mine the entire time. "You had some sugar there."
His thumb brushes against my lips again, this time lingering over the fullest part before bringing his thumb to his own lips and licking off the sugar. I follow his movement, and my cheeks flush with heat as I get the overwhelming urge to lick the sugar off his thumb myself.
But just as quickly as the moment occurs, he casually sits back down on the stool next to mine and begins eating his breakfast as if nothing happened. I can't help but feel confused and flustered by the mixed signals he's sending me.
Is this what friends do in Europe? I've never experienced this level of intimacy with a friend before. Normally, people would tell me I had something on my face and then allow me to remove it. They don’t clean it off themselves.
What is he playing at?
After breakfast, I make myself comfortable in the living room, continuing the show we started yesterday. Sitting with Lucas and watching TV shows together has become my favorite part of the day. Just having someone to share time with is comforting since I don’t have my girls here anymore and I’ve yet to make friends in Nice. The only one I have is him, at least for a few more months.
"Are you watching without me?" Lucas makes a shocking gasp and puts his hand over his open mouth as he walks toward me. He’s now dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
Bummer.
"Oh, sorry. I just turned it on. You haven’t missed much." I lie—I’ve watched an entire episode.
A pillow smacks me in the face as if he read my thoughts, and laughter springs out of him. "I’ve heard the sound of the TV for at least thirty minutes, you liar."
I pick up the same green pillow and throw it back at him, but he catches it in his hands.
"Well, why didn’t you join me then?" I tease while looking at him through my lashes. He laughs as he lifts my extended legs so he can sit down and then puts them over his lap.
"Thomas called me again. I have some news."
That piques my interest. Thomas is his best friend who lives in Paris. "He’s a little upset that he wasn’t my best man at the wedding—not that I had one—but his wife has invited us to their home in Paris this weekend. I guess it’s their way of congratulating us. Amélie is great, you’ll love her. She’s sweet, just like you."
"I’m sorry, what?" I don’t think I heard him correctly.
"We leave this Friday."
A beat passes, then I pull my legs away from him and sit up. "Will we stay with them?"
"Yes."
This Friday, to Paris? Also known as the city of love? And then what? We’ll parade around as husband and wife, trying to convince his dear friends that we’re madly in love.
Oh, and let’s not forget that tomorrow is Friday.
"We can’t do that. Lucas, tomorrow is Friday! That’s not a lot of time for me to prepare. You’ve got to stop surprising me with last minute events." I shake my head. This is the third time—first when we got married, then the brunch, and now this.
"Yes we can, and we will."
I shake my head again. "No, we can’t. It’s one thing to pretend in front of colleagues and stakeholders for a few hours here and there. But do you really think you could pretend to be my husband for a whole weekend?"
"Yes." His answer is short and determined.
I laugh. "You have the emotional capacity of a battery that is about to run out. There’s no way you could pretend in front of them for that long. We have to look natural, and as good as I am, I don’t think I could do it. They’re going to find out about us, are you ready for that?"
"Like a battery that’s about to run out, you say?" He smirks and turns to me.
"Yes, you can fake it for a dinner or two, maybe, but never a full-on weekend."
He looks to the side and chuckles, displaying the dimple I want to kiss. Oh, and that sound makes my whole body tingle.
"I mean we both know it. There’s no Oscar on the horizon for you," I say, a giggle escaping my lips.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I just mean that we’ve been doing a good job so far, but we’ve been playing it safe. A true newlywed couple would act a little bit more obsessed with each other."
"Obsessed?"
"Yes, we’re supposed to be in our honeymoon-phase. People expect us to be all over each other, I guess. But obviously, we’re not going to act like that, which is why we shouldn’t go to Paris. They’ll see right through us."
"Oh, so you're saying I'm not affectionate enough?" At that, he moves closer to me, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he cups my cheek. Heat rises to my face as I struggle to find the right words.
"What are you doing?" I finally get out, trying to cover up my sudden shock at his closeness. He lets out a husky chuckle and leans in closer, his breath warm against my skin, his woodsy smell makes me think all kinds of thoughts—most of them dirty.
"What do you mean?" he whispers, and it sets my nerves on edge. I try to compose myself, but his touch and proximity make it nearly impossible.
"You're getting awfully close."
"What's the matter, Leora? I just want to get a better look at you." His murmur is low and seductive. I can feel my heart hammer as I struggle to keep my composure.
"Well, you can look from over there," I say, pointing my finger behind him to the other end of the room.
"You're very funny. I never realized it before," he says, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. "I like it."
My stomach flutters at his words, his touch sending electricity through my body. I struggle to form a coherent response, my words catching in my throat. "I-I'm . . ."
"Do you want to know how funny I actually find you?" he teases, his smile morphing into a seductive smirk and his eyes taking on a darker intensity.
Yes, please tell me.
My mind races with anticipation as I nod, unable to resist the allure of his charming gaze. Before I can even process what's happening, he’s leaning in so his lips are tantalizingly close to mine, paralyzing me.
"I think"—he slowly moves to my ear—"you're so funny that I want to turn that laughter of yours into screams as I bend you over my knees," he whispers, sending shivers down my spine. My mind goes blank—the intensity of his words leaving me breathless and my body aching with desire. Would he really do that? Is spanking something he's into? I’ve never done anything like that. My one and only partner liked it simple—at least with me. However, the mere thought of Lucas touching me, let alone spanking me, ignites a fire deep within me, and I feel the heat pooling between my legs.
"Wh-what?" I manage to stammer, feeling both aroused and intimidated by his boldness.
He grins in victory, as if he knows precisely what effect he's having on me. Before I can say anything else, he stands up and starts walking away. I catch him looking back at me with those infuriatingly charming eyes as he says, "Don't underestimate me, sweetheart. Go pack your bag."
I roll my eyes at him but as I sit here, alone and turned on, I know two things for sure: one, I'm definitely going to be in trouble in Paris, and two, I need to get back at him.