Chapter 7 #3
Andreas signals to our waiter that he’d like the bill.
My mind is racing, I need to make a decision quickly.
He takes out his credit card and places it on the table.
He relaxes back into his chair and watches the waiter as he retrieves the card reader.
He runs a hand through his jet-black hair.
He’s at ease, exuding authority and strength once again.
In that moment, I realize I can say yes to his offer.
Even if it’s not the picket fence I someday want to have, how could I be immune to everything he has to offer right now?
His muscular torso, trapped in that tight shirt, begging to be freed.
His full lips, whose taste I know exactly, and want to taste again.
His dark eyes that make me shiver with anticipation every time he looks right through me.
I want to squeeze his backside and discover if my fantasies about the rest of his body are true.
I need to touch him and to indulge. It’s been so damn long.
If my mind still wants to protest, I quickly remind myself that Anna would be proud of me.
I need to do this; she’s never given me bad advice.
Andreas pays the bill, and we leave the restaurant.
The late evening sun casts a golden glow over Bruges.
Guides with little flags and microphones, waffle stands, horses with carriages, crowded terraces, they all contribute to the lively atmosphere of the city.
During the day, it can be a bit overwhelming and busy, but at this hour, there’s a unique vibe.
As if we’ve all just discovered the most beautiful city in the world.
A romantic city where you can get lost in the narrow streets, away from the grand historic squares and monuments, and where every house tells its own medieval story.
The old cobblestones, however, aren’t very practical when you’re wearing heels.
I wasn’t prepared for walking, so after a few dozen meters, I’m already struggling.
Andreas is telling me something about the street we’re walking on and its history.
Although that usually interests me, my full attention is now on maintaining my balance. Probably not a good look.
“Wouldn’t it be better to take off your shoes, Nora?” Andreas looks at me amused, and just at that moment, I take a wrong step and almost fall. As if he expected it, he immediately catches me by my waist. I grip his arm to steady myself.
“You’re probably right,” I admit.
I keep my grip on his muscular arm and take off my heels.
His hand remains on my waist, and we continue walking toward his apartment.
It feels wonderful to be so close to him, to not just yearn but to actually feel him.
His hand feels so strong and protective.
I’m exactly where I need to be. I almost instinctively rest my head against his shoulder but manage to hold back.
I startle when Andreas’s phone rings. He takes it out of his back pocket and frowns at the screen.
“Sorry, I need to take this.” He doesn’t let go of me, so as far as I’m concerned, it’s all good.
“Hey, Anthony, do you have more news? ... What did she try? ... You’re kidding?!… Isabella has already destroyed enough, use every resource you’ve got, okay?… Alright, thanks. See you later.” He hangs up and lets out a deep sigh.
“Everything okay?” It didn’t sound okay.
“Yeah, nothing for you to worry about. Work. Boring.” He rolls his eyes to emphasize his point.
“It sounded more exciting.”
“It’s really not, just a tricky case.”
He manages to create some distance between us again, even though he’s still holding me.
I realize I’m not going to get much more information.
He’s not letting me into his world. His grip on me tightens and he pulls me closer.
He senses I need reassurance. It works, because I immediately calm down under his touch.
When we arrive at B-Tech, I put my heels back on, and we take the private elevator to Andreas’s apartment on the top floor. The elevator doors open, and then I’m hit by one surprise after another. My cheerful mood is back in full force.
“It’s so beautiful here, Andreas. What a spacious, elegantly decorated living room.
This is totally my style. The floors are stunning too.
And the kitchen! Such bold colors and materials, but it works perfectly.
Can I take a look at the terrace outside?
” I’m like a bouncing ball. I don’t know where to look first.
“Go ahead, Nora, I’m glad you’re so excited.”
“Sorry if I’m being too curious. The real estate agent and interior designer in me are going wild.
I’m in love with your apartment.” I step outside through the sliding door and enter an oasis of greenery and tranquility.
“Wow, Andreas, what a lovely outdoor space, it's so unique for the city center. And a jacuzzi, amazing.” I try not to drool.
“Shall I show you the bathroom? Then you can wash out your blouse.”
“Oh yes, right, thank you.” Andreas leads me back through the kitchen and living room to the hallway and opens the bathroom door.
“Bathroom” might not be the right word. This is a full-on wellness retreat.
I see white marble everywhere, interspersed with bold dark gray tiles.
To the left, a massive custom-made vanity with a mirror that spans the entire wall above it.
How do you even get something like that up here?
On the opposite side of the room from the mirror wall, there’s a rain shower, a sauna, and something I suspect is a hammam.
The freestanding bathtub is right in front of me, under a large window with a view of Bruges’ city center.
Beautiful houses make me so happy. I can’t stop smiling, and I see that my good mood is contagious because Andreas also seems in high spirits.
Although, it quickly becomes clear to me that it’s for a different reason.
He looks at us in the mirror and places his hands on my shoulders.
My heart skips a beat, and I hold my breath.
The atmosphere in the room changes instantly.
The tension between us is almost tangible again.
You knew what it meant to come here with him.
“Shall I help you take off your blouse?”
It turns out to be a rhetorical question because I see in the mirror how he’s already undoing the top button.
Slowly, his hands glide to the next one.
I have time to change my mind, but I don’t want to.
I want to feel him. The third button follows, and my white lace bra becomes visible.
I see my own chest rise and fall in the mirror, breathing quick and shallow.
He places his hands around my waist to undo the bottom two buttons, pulls the blouse out of my skirt, and lets it hang open.
My eyes meet his in the mirror. We’re both looking at the same scene.
The beginning of an erotic film where I’m the main character.
He kisses my neck, behind my ear, while keeping my gaze in the mirror.
I moan with pleasure. As if my sound was the cue he was waiting for, he pulls the blouse off in one swift motion and throws it on the floor.
A shiver of cold and desire runs through me.
He steps closer, and I feel the safe warmth he radiates envelop my entire body.
I feel his erection against my backside and instinctively press myself against him.
His eyes darken, his hands find my breasts, and like a true predator, he pulls down both cups of my bra.
I startle and see my full, taut breasts in the mirror.
“You’re so beautiful, Nora, keep looking at yourself,” he says softly.
Through the mirror, I witness my own arousal as he skillfully massages the flesh of my breasts and then lightly tugs at my nipples, making me teeter on the edge of pain and pleasure. I tilt my head back, close my eyes, and whisper his name in a breath of excitement.
“I expect you to scream my name later, Nora,” he growls in my ear.
I nearly collapse to my knees at the sound of his command. I can’t wait. His hands move from my breasts to my back, and in one smooth motion, he undoes the clasp of my bra, which ends up on the floor along with my blouse.
“Pull up your skirt.”
His instructions are so direct. I hesitate slightly at this command, but ultimately, I do as he asks. I feel his hands searching for the waistband of my underwear and realize at that moment that I made a huge mistake.
“What kind of underwear is this, Nora?” Andreas asks sternly.
I snap out of the blissful dream, suddenly back in reality. With a blush on my cheeks, I reply. “It’s figure-shaping underwear, it just goes a bit higher and…”
“As if you need shaping underwear, I never want to see those things again,” he scoffs.
“Okay,” I squeak.
I should have gone for the lace thong, but a pencil skirt is quite tight, and a woman sometimes has to make choices.
Clearly, I made the wrong one. When I was getting ready, I never could have imagined I’d be undressing tonight.
As soon as Andreas finds the waistband of my slip, he tears the monstrosity apart and pulls it off.
“Much better like this,” he says, his eyes fixed on my bare behind.