Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
I blinked at Pierre. “Oh, ummm. . .” His apartment? Woah I was not expecting that.
“S 'il vous plait, I will show you wonderful things.” He kissed the back of my hand, and my heart fluttered. He rained kisses up my arm, and it was easy to fall for his passion.
I’d never been romanced before. It felt incredible, like I was living in an exquisite dream.
Yay me!
Ready to be swept up by the magic, I let Pierre lead me outside. He shut and locked the café door and positioned my suitcase on the footboard of his Vespa.
He sat on the seat and turned to me holding his helmet forward. My breath caught. My eyes drifted from one glorious aspect to the next. Pierre, looking devilishly handsome with his slicked-back hair and tight black jeans. The light blue Vespa and the surrounding scenery, complete with twinkling lights. I was in a living postcard. Everything about this moment was special. It was like I’d been caught up in one of those romance movies that I hated, but I was beginning to understand why people loved them.
“You can hold onto me.” Pierre patted his nonexistent belly.
I was about to do something that I’d wanted to do since the first time I’d arrived in Paris. The butterflies in my stomach twisted and danced. Excitement and anxiety filled the same space in my brain as I tugged his helmet over my frizzy hair.
My thumping heart hit disco mode as I hooked my bag over my shoulder, eased myself onto the Vespa seat, and wrapped my arms around Pierre.
The Vespa rumbled to life, and we scooted away from the curb. Each turn in the road gave me an opportunity to admire the flex and bulge of Pierre’s rippling muscles beneath his shirt.
I hadn’t felt this much exhilaration with my clothes on in years.
Actually, make that ever.
We passed restaurant after restaurant, all bustling with people. We passed shops, glittering with colorful lights and emitting ridiculously loud music. And we passed dozens of lovers who strolled along, arm in arm. We drove for miles and miles, weaving through the busy Paris streets, and I loved every single minute of it.
After a while, the streets narrowed, and the cars became less congested. It was a magical evening. The temperature was a comfortable twenty or so degrees, and the setting sun colored the clouds indigo and peach.
Pierre turned into a cobblestone street that was too narrow for cars. Row after row of apartments lined the alley, and Vespas parked near every doorway proved they were the vehicle of choice. Balconies jutted out from the apartments above us, all adorned with pretty potted plants and tiny wrought-iron table settings.
Halfway along, Pierre eased the scooter to a halt outside a turquoise door which was flanked with a couple of potted bougainvillea’s that blanketed the wall with leaf-laden vines and lush fuchsia flowers.
I climbed off the back of the Vespa, removed his helmet, and he took it from me. I attempted to drive my fingers through my hair. It was pointless; the knots were plentiful and stubborn.
Pierre smiled. “Did you enjoy the ride?”
“I did.”
“ Bonne soirée, Pierre .” A voice above us had Pierre looking up.
“ Bonjour, Mrs. Bauchenne .”
He rolled his eyes at me and leaned in. “Nothing gets past the old spinster. Quick, get inside before she starts her usual inquisition.”
He keyed the lock and pushed the door inward. A set of stairs filled the entrance, and a mess of shoes and umbrellas were a jumbled collection on the floor.
Pierre reached for my case and indicated for me to go first. His narrow steps creaked beneath my Del Reys as I admired the beautifully decorated walls with 1930s vintage wallpaper. Moody floral blooms on a captivating navy background gave the impression of an overflowing garden. The wallpaper alone set the scene for what I’m sure was going to be a richly decorated apartment.
“You’ll have to excuse my tiny apartment. After four ex-wives . . .”
He didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t need to. I’d grown up listening to Mother’s numerous partners complaining about downsizing after costly divorces.
The top of the stairs opened up to one room containing his bedroom, kitchen, and seating area. There was only one other door that I assumed led to the restroom. Every piece of furniture looked to be antique, including the stunning four-poster bed draped in sheer fabric and the Victorian-style six-arm brass chandelier dangling from the ceiling. The pink chenille curtains, trimmed with floral embroidery, caught my eye. They were ugly and not manly at all and didn’t suit the rest of the apartment. Maybe one of his ex-wives had chosen them, and he hadn’t had time to replace them.
Pierre eased in beside me and placed his arm around my waist. “Would you like to see my view?”
“I’d love to.”
He placed my case on the floor next to the bed, led me across the room, and pulled apart the heavy curtains. Two floor-to-ceiling glass-paned doors were behind the drapes. He opened the doors and together, we stepped onto a tiny balcony.
My breath caught as I placed my hands on the railing. It didn’t matter how ugly Pierre’s curtains were—the scene beyond them was priceless. Millions of lights dotted thousands of buildings like glitter. In the far distance, the very tip of the Eiffel Tower rose above everything in a grand display of prominence.
“Oh, Pierre, this is magnificent.”
“You’re magnificent.” He eased his arms around my waist, inching them beneath my breasts, and placed his chin on my shoulder.
Relaxing into his embrace, I breathed in his delicious scent. I wanted to absorb it all, to remember every single tiny aspect of this very moment.
It was strangely quiet on the balcony as if the whole world had retreated inside. I was both utterly content and buzzing with energy. A strange feeling fluttered through my body. It was overwhelming yet wonderful .
Everything about this moment was wonderful.
Pierre’s fingers nudged my hair aside, and he peppered kisses up and down my neck. His delicate lips on my skin produced little tremors through me that peaked my nipples. I closed my eyes, placing my arms over his, and savored every second.
Each touch of his lips to my flesh provided another shimmer of deliciousness.
Each whisper of his hot breath on my neck was like a masseuse untying every knot that had ever held me down.
With his hand in mine, he led me back inside and shut the curtains.
Pierre turned to me, and our lips met again. His tender kiss made the perfect moment even more so, and I opened my mouth, allowing his probing tongue entrance.
He was a magician taking my body on an enchanting journey. As our tongues explored, my hands cruised up and down the muscular planes of his back. His hand found my breast, and when he glided his palm beneath my mound and cupped it as if feeling its weight, I moaned. His fingers found my nipples, and he tweaked and flicked my sensitive buds until they grew so hard, they almost hurt.
His hand reached my stomach and he fumbled with the button and zipper on my denim shorts. His other hand curled around my neck, drawing me tighter to him and deepening our kiss.
The bulge in his pants nudged my belly, and following his lead, I undid the button on his pants and rolled down the zipper. I wove my fingers into his underpants, curled my hand beneath his bulge and released his cock from the constraint. Pierre gasped and eased back. We both looked down at his groin. His erection was thick and proud and protruding from the white elastic of his Calvin Klein’s like a flagpole .
It was magnificent.
Pierre was magnificent, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if I was actually having a wet dream.
His chest rose and fell, and his pupils grew wild, dancing around with want. Pierre yanked his pants to his ankles and kicked them free.
He turned his attention to me, and while he undid the buttons on my shirt, I did the same to him. In a flash, I was topless, and he was completely naked. He solved that anomaly by removing my shorts and panties. Realizing how stupid I must look with just my shoes on, I kicked them off and tossed my socks aside.
He stepped forward, pressed his lips to mine, and I reached down and wrapped my hand around his solid shaft. His silky skin was exquisite beneath my inquisitive fingers. My pussy pulsed a heady beat, eager to be touched. With our lips still locked together, he used his foot to guide my feet apart and glided his hand over my sex.
His first touch sent delicious shivers through me. But Pierre didn’t stop there; he was a man on a mission. His finger aimed for my throbbing hole, and although I gasped at the intrusion, I wanted more. Parting my legs farther, I bent my knees, opening myself up. While I glided my hand up and down his rock-hard rod, his fingers found a pattern, in and out, around my pulsing clit and back in again.
The repetition was exquisite, building an orgasm of mammoth proportions.
Gasping, our mouths released, and I clutched his shoulders. As his fingers plunged into me over and over, I let out a primal groan as I slipped into glorious self-indulgent bliss.
My juices trickled from my body and dribbled down my legs. It felt wrong, but at the same time it felt oh so right . I didn’t have a chance to catch my breath as Pierre hoisted me onto his hips. I wrapped my legs around him and, with his erection prodding my butt cheeks, he strode to his four-poster bed.
He threw me down. It wasn’t delicate by any means. But the urgency in that move was sexy as hell. Lust darkened Pierre’s eyes. He went to his bedside table, removed a condom packet, tore it open with his teeth, and rolled it on his cock in the space of about ten seconds flat.
Pierre positioned himself between my legs. He collected my ankles in his hands and lifted my feet up onto his shoulders. His steely expression told me that I’d better hang on for this one.
Pierre leaned forward, raising my bottom off the bed. His crown nudged my opening, then, with both hands squeezing my breasts, he glided himself into me.
He was slow at first, savoring every sensation. His eyes rolled back. His mouth eased open. Inch by inch, he pushed inside me. When he was all the way in, he paused, teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut.
Without warning, he pulled out and rammed his length straight back into me. It was hard and fast. Shocking yet incredible.
He did it again. Out and in. Hard and fast. And again.
My breasts slammed into my chin, and I clawed at the sheets, tearing them from the bedding as his rhythm grew faster and harder.
Pierre rode me like there was no tomorrow.
He let out a growl and drove deeper, plunging over and over.
With a animalistic moan, he emitted a full-body shudder.
His body stiffened and he remained in place for a few thumping heartbeats before he unhooked my ankles and collapsed on top of me.
We continued as one, clutched together and I glided my fingers over the fine layer of sweat on his back, exploring the contour of his muscles until his breathing returned to normal, and my heart settled back a pace or two.
It was the first time I’d ever experienced an after-sex embrace, and the pure joy of it made my insides glow.
All too soon, Pierre pushed up onto his hands and when his cock popped out, he gazed into my eyes. “ Mes excuses . I was not a very delicate lover.”
“Oh, ummm . . .”
“I wanted to take my time with you, but . . .” He trailed his finger around my nipple, teasing it to attention. “You drive me crazy.”
“Oh.” I had no idea what to say. It was impossible to comprehend that Pierre found me attractive with my helmet hair. I must look frightful.
He glided his finger over my lips, down my neck and between my breasts. “Next time, I will take my pleasure with you.”
“Oh.” That was my third oh in twenty seconds.
What the hell does he mean by next time? As in, next time I’m in Paris?
I was still recovering from this time.
He pushed off the bed. “But first, we must have wine.”
Holy firecrackers. His next time is tonight!
He drew my hand to his lips and kissed the back of my palm ever so lightly. I couldn’t breathe, scared that at any movement the delightful bubble I’d somehow slipped into would burst.
Pierre turned, and mesmerized by the bulge and flex of his butt cheeks, I eased up onto my elbow for a better view. He strode to the restroom and disappeared inside.
I flopped backward on the crumpled sheets and stared up at the sheer fabric draped across the four-poster bed above me. All the delightful butterflies in my stomach were now eagles, soaring on a wonderful after-sex high. My body glowed like a morning sunrise.
I was seeing a whole new world. I was alive. Free.
The toilet flushed, and Pierre reappeared, and with his cock flopping between his legs, he strolled to his kitchen. It was impossible to resist ogling the manly display of confidence. At the fridge, he opened the door, and when he bent over, I had a full view of his dangling balls.
Holy wow . I snapped my eyes away, trying not to giggle.
I rolled off the bed, tugged the sheet free, wrapped it around my body, and waddled to the bathroom.
My reflection in the mirror was horrifying. Not only was my hair worse than I’d envisioned but my flushed cheeks made it look like my freckles had gone all rabid on me and hit colony proportions.
Dragging my eyes away, I turned my attention to the dampness between my legs. I had no idea sex could be so messy. I glanced at the shower and then poked my head out the door. “May I use your shower?”
“Of course, take your time.”
I turned on the faucet and once the temperature was right, I stepped over the edge of the tub and entered the cascade. Deciding that wetting my hair would tame it slightly, I closed my eyes and tilted my head back.
My insides purred with post-sex glory and my whole body sang in blissful harmony. I felt like I’d run a marathon yet at the same time I felt complete and utter bliss. I was totally relaxed and couldn’t recall ever feeling so content.
A hand cupped my breast, and I snapped my eyes open. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Pierre stepped into the shower and fell to his knees.