Chapter 30 Mais Oui
MAIS OUI
Jack
She was radiant in the gaslight from the streetlamps along the Seine.
The soft glow illuminated her, a faint golden light at night that made her all the more breathtaking.
She wore heels and a skirt, her strong legs on display for me, always for me, and a pretty top that was falling off her shoulder.
I’d already had her twice today. The second, the very nanosecond we’d arrived at the hotel room, I took her.
The door had fallen shut and I’d thrown her on the bed, stripped off her jeans and mine, and entered her.
It was a hard, fast fuck, but after that red-eye flight it was what we both desperately required.
It wasn’t enough to quench my desire, though, and after a nap, I’d put her on all fours, and made her cry out my name once more.
Then we’d behaved, spending the afternoon working.
She’d practiced her talk alone in the room at the Sofitel Hotel in the Eighth Arrondissement, near the Champs-Elysées and the Louvre, while I’d gone to a café around the block and worked on my laptop.
I’d drunk espresso at a sidewalk table, and watched the Parisians stroll by as I dealt with business matters related to vibrators, bullets, and butterflies.
It seemed quite fitting to work on Joy Delivered business in a city like this, where anything goes and everything went, where the residents embraced sex and sexuality.
Hell, even the politicians here often had mistresses.
Paris was a city that celebrated passion.
Judging by the P the heavy earthy scent trailing along with it.
The hotel wasn’t far and we both picked up the pace.
But soon I spotted the Palais-Royal nearby. I raised an eyebrow. “I think we got turned around. We’re a little farther away from the hotel than I thought.”
She stopped and turned in a circle, then pointed toward the avenue at the end of the next block. “I think we go that way to get back on track.”
The first drops fell then, and within seconds the skies were unleashed.
Michelle laughed, brushing the droplets off her face, unfazed.
She tipped her chin to an archway at the end of the block.
“I think that’s one of the passages,” she said, referring to the dozen or so covered walkways scattered throughout the city.
Ten seconds later, we ducked into the Galerie Vivienne, stepping through the tall stone archway that soared high above us.
We were inside a shopping arcade, stuffed with a bookshop, an old-fashioned toy shop, a store selling all sorts of hats, and more.
Our footsteps echoed across the mosaic-patterned floor.
The passage was lined with tall plants, and half-moon windows high above.
Michelle craned her neck to look skyward.
The curved ceiling was made of latticework windows, dark with the rain pounding out its steady drumbeat.
All the stores were closed except for a café at the far end, still bustling with patrons drinking wine and chatting into the night.