Chapter 8
We made it past the top of the stairs this time, but barely. In a frenzy of mouth fucking and gropes, Olivier’s back slammed against one of the other doors in the hallway that leads to our room. With my legs wrapped around him, my back slams against the next. Luckily no one answers.
Our door is opened, but I’m not even sure it was closed before I landed on the mattress with my shirt half off and my jeans half down. Jumping up, I practically tear my clothes off as fast as he does.
“Top bed,” he demands.
I scurry up the wooden ladder with him hot on my tail. He lies down and I settle on top of him as he rolls on a condom. As soon as he’s ready, I slide slowly down. Once I’m settled, his head drops back, his eyes close and he swears, “Putain.”
Placing my hands flat against the ceiling, I move, slowly picking up my pace. Deep. Filling. Spurring me on to want him deeper, I drop my weight and move rhythmically on top of him.
With him, my head clears and a singular goal replaces my daily concerns. Instinctually, I press down, the chase beginning. With my eyes closed, I say, “You feel so good. Make me come, baby.”
My hips are grabbed and all movement stops. Slowly opening my eyes, I look down at him. His eyes are open and focused. “You called me baby.”
After swallowing hard, the words come rushing out, “I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Don’t be sorry.” His grip loosens. “I liked it.”
“You did?” I lean down and kiss him.
“I did. I like this.” His voice goes quieter when he says, “I like you.”
“I like you too.” I sit up again. “Baby.” His hips jerk and I begin moving again. He makes me feel so much that I’m not used to, new sides of myself that I like. Going after what I want sexually is a first with him and he makes me feel confident. “I want you on top.”
Leaning down we kiss again. With our bodies joined, we roll over until he’s on top. He runs his hands from my hips to my knees, he pushes them up, opening me for him. He begins moving as soon as we’re reunited again.
I can’t stop myself from watching him. His strong jaw is defined when his head is back.
His Adam’s apple hits heavy with each swallow.
Olivier’s chest could rival Michelangelo’s statue of David—hard and defined, but smooth to the touch.
When he looks down, his blue eyes pierce my greens and in this moment, I actually consider his earlier offer.
I close my eyes to get perspective, but he can’t be ignored as my orgasm courses through me and I call out, “Olivier!”
He drops his arms to the bed on either side of me and pushes hard, thrusting with strength.
After I raise my hands to the bed railing above me, he continues as I hold myself solid in place.
Two grunts and a “Merde” later, he collapses on top of me, both of us breathless and panting.
Kissing my collarbone, he murmurs against my skin, “Reste. Stay.” He looks me in the eyes, his gaze weighted with more than I have a feeling he’ll admit.
It speaks to my heart in wordless observations and contentment.
“I want you to stay with me here in Paris.”
Despite being tired, I smile. How can I not when looking at him and feeling his deepest emotions? “Where would we live? Here at the hostel?”
“We’ll find an apartment.”
“I have no money saved. I spent it all coming here.”
“We’ll live off love.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Let’s not over think or complicate what’s good between us.”
He moves away and pulls the covers over me, then covers himself. “C’mere.” His arm is outstretched and I happily fill the opening.
“So love is all we need?” I ask.
“Love. Sex. Food. Drinks. Air. I think that covers the basic necessities,” he says, chuckling.
“Pretty much.” I close my eyes, exhaustion settling into my body. “I’m so sleepy.”
I feel his lips press to my forehead. He kisses me twice and whispers, “Happy Birthday, Sunshine.”
My smile takes over. “It’s my birthday. I almost forgot.”
“I was inside of you when you turned twenty-two. That means forever, right?”
“Ha ha.” I nudge him with my knee, but then I stop laughing. “Oh my God, you’re right. You were inside of me when I turned twenty-two. That definitely means something.” Sliding my head up to see his face, I ask, “Why do you call me Sunshine?”
“That’s for another day. It’s late. Go to sleep.”
“Okay.” With a goofy grin on my face, I whisper, “Goodnight.”
“Fais de beaux rêves.”
“Tell me what that means.”
With another kiss to my forehead he says, “Sweet dreams.”
“Fais de beaux rêves.”
On my twenty-second birthday I wake up alone on the top bunk in a room in a hostel in the middle of Paris. Other than the alone part, it’s good. I’m in Paris on my birthday. It’s hard to complain. Leaning over the edge of the bed, I look down to see if Olivier is here.
He’s not.
But a note and his phone are on the nightstand. Maybe he just ran out for a minute or even better, to get us coffee again. I climb down the bed and take the note in hand.
Cher Rayon de Soleil,
Joyeux anniversaire!
I have to work, but I want to meet you, take you out for a birthday meal. I’ve left my phone, so I can call you after work. I shall see you later, love.
Tout mon amour,
Olivier
I take the phone in hand and hold it to my heart.
Even I know him trusting me with his phone is like trusting me with his heart.
After dropping it into my purse, I pull out a dress I’ve waited to wear all week.
It’s frilly, has a bow for the belt, and makes me feel pretty.
I found it online and had to have it. It’s a perfect fit and I just knew it had to come to Paris with me.
After getting ready, I grab my purse and coat and head out. I had planned on visiting another museum, but I’ve decided to scrap my schedule and follow my heart to the Eiffel Tower—straight, no stops. I’ve been here for four days and still not seen it. That must be a crime by French standards.
Stopping in a bakery along the way, I get a hot coffee to warm me up along with a chocolate éclair to treat myself. If I can’t eat dessert first on my birthday, then when can I? I take in a few shops as I stroll to the subway station, finding a cute leather wallet with an embroidered design on it.
Back on track to La Tour Eiffel, I feel comfortable enough after walking most of Paris over the last few days to guide myself and leave my map tucked away.
Two train stops and one change later, I arrive in the 7th arrondissement.
The weather is clear even though it’s a little chilly, but I don’t mind taking my time, so I start walking again, but stop in my tracks.
There.
It.
Is.
The Eiffel Tower stands before me, tall and proud. I could probably stand here another hour admiring it, but I run instead, way too excited to play it cool.
When they ask if you want to walk, take the elevator.
Leave the stairs for those of us who like to linger at all the major levels.
I hate feeling rushed by others and can’t get enough of the view of this gorgeous, historical city.
I stare out for miles, imagining where Olivier might be.
Taking the phone from my purse, I check for missed calls.
There aren’t any, so I tuck it back in again.
I spend well over an hour enjoying the climb up and coming back down before leaving and finding a spot to sit on the lawn. I lay back, staring at the top of the tower against the blue of the sky. My birthday really couldn’t get any better.
Then a rap song blares from inside my purse. Olivier!
I hurry to answer. “Hi.”
“Hello.”
I pull the phone away and look at the screen before putting it back to my ear again. “Hello,” I say tentatively.
A woman says, “Hi, I’m looking for Oliver.”
“Oliver? You mean Olivier?”
She laughs. “Yes, Olivier. This is his mother. Is he around?”
“His mother? You sound American.”
“I am American. Just like Oliver. Who am I speaking with?”
I pause, stunned by her words. My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach, then I clear my throat when she asks again. I finally reply, “This is Kandace. Oliver isn’t here right now.”
“Kandace, will you let him know I called?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“Goodbye,” I say, hanging up. I sit there staring at the phone like it will somehow give me the answers I suddenly find myself wanting.
Answers to questions that aren’t even questions but realizations instead.
Oliver is an American, just like me. He lied to me.
About everything. When his accent faltered I didn’t think twice because it also thickened sometimes.
I gulp, trying to fight the tears of betrayal that are rapidly racing to be freed.
Why did he lie to me about being French?
I wouldn’t have cared. Being from the states could have bonded us even more through this adventure abroad.
More importantly when he was trying to convince me to stay, why not give up the act then? Why continue it?
I stand up, knowing I won’t get any answers sitting here at the base of a monument that is now tainted by the web of lies I’ve been caught in.
I take a taxi back to the hostel. I’m in no mood to appreciate a city that once held beauty.
I invested my heart into a sham and now I’m paying the price.
Tomorrow I leave and would have known no different, I would have gone on with my life occasionally remembering the Frenchman who stole my heart one time in France.
Instead, I’m left with memories of a con artist who traded my affection for a fuck.
..or three, maybe four. I shake my head not able to keep track anymore.
Feeling disgusted, I walk into the lobby with a mission. Stefan stands to greet me, no lady-friends in sight. “Bonjour, Kandeese.”
A new perspective firmly in place, he doesn’t look half the sleaze that Olivier... er, Oliver does to me now. Stefan is easy to figure out. He doesn’t hide his wants or who he is. Oliver... I get angrier and stop. “Bonjour,” I say, smiling sweetly. “Do you have any available rooms for the night?”
He makes this sexual hand motion and says, “Ehhhh, you and the Américain not getting along?”
“You knew he was an American?”
Shrugging, he says, “Of course, I knew this. He speaks French but, uhhhh, how do you say, slappy?”
“Sloppy?”
“Oui. Oui. Sloppy.”
“I guess I’m the last to know. So please tell me you have another room for the night.”
“I do. I have a double or a single.”
“Single please.”
He goes to the desk and starts typing. “It will cost you more to have a single.”
“That’s fine.”
Reaching into the drawer in front of him, he digs a key out. “Room quatre, first floor.”
Within fifteen minutes, I’m all settled into the new room for my last night in Paris.
Sitting down on the twin-sized bed, I sigh, then lay back.
Even though it’s my last night, I’ve lost my appetite and don’t have the energy to go out.
I choose to stay here until tomorrow. I have until lunch to explore one last time.
As for tonight, tonight I put in my earbuds, turn on my favorite playlist and hole up in the security of this room, trying to avoid the traitor who stole my heart.