15. Rule #15 No one is perfect—except for the one man you can’t have.
Amelia
Paris is rarely ever quiet. During the day, it hums with life. Voices, cars, music, the Métro buzzing beneath our feet.
Does he not see himself the way I do? Is that even possible?
For as long as I can remember, Matis has been nothing but kind and strong and wise. He literally shaped my standards for men without even knowing it.
And sexy. So goddamn sexy.
He smells delicious as I mold my body against his while we walk, slightly awkwardly with so little space between our legs.
It’s moments like these that I forget Matis is twenty-eight years older than me.
His hair might be graying, and his skin might wear some extra smile lines, but his soul is no older than mine.
We dream the same.
“I love this spot,” I murmur as we cross the Pont des Arts. He pauses at the top and turns us so we can stare down the Seine together. “I remember when this bridge used to be covered in locks. There was something so romantic about it, all those people professing their love for someone else.”
“I loved those too,” he replies. “But the bridge could not withstand the weight of that love.”
I remember that day, when they had to remove those thousands of locks, each inscribed with initials and names, so the structure didn’t collapse into the river. Now it’s a plain plexiglass wall to prohibit it happening again, and something about that makes me sad.
Softly, he whispers, “The world is truly romantic at heart.”
“Yeah…I guess it is.” Glancing up at him, I realize how much Matis has seen of Paris, three decades more than me, and I’m suddenly desperate to know it all. “What was your childhood like?”
Matis lets out a sigh as he stares downstream.
“When I think of my childhood, I think of my mother. I know we struggled and never had much money. There are distant memories of skipped dinners and Christmases without presents under the tree, but I have to try hard to remember those. What I truly recall is the way she made it all so magical. When I was hungry, she’d spend the last of her paycheck on my dinner but would skip her own, lying and saying she ate at work.
She would wake me up in the middle of the night so we could watch the snow from the rooftop.
She would take me dancing in the middle of Trocadero under the lights of the sparkling tower.
Because that is the thing about Paris. It is the city of love.
It’s meant to be enjoyed with someone you love. ”
My eyes grow misty as I turn my gaze up toward him. Now would be a perfect time to tell him I love him. Not in a familial way either. In the real way.
He is the man who taught me about love. It begins and ends with him.
“That’s beautiful,” I whisper.
He gazes down at me, and the contact between us grows thick with tension—romantic tension. Surely, he feels it. He must.
This isn’t how a godfather looks at his goddaughter.
This is how a man looks at a woman.
And I’m screaming inside for him to kiss me. Take me into his arms and kiss me so passionately on this bridge that the cobblestones beneath our feet remember what it was like to bear the weight of so much love.
We stare at each other for so long I’m sure it’s going to happen. His head even lowers and inches toward me, and my eyes start to close.
But I must have been dreaming or delusional, because before I get to feel the softness of his lips, he pulls away and clears his throat. “I should get you home.”
As he moves toward the other side of the bridge, I stand deflated. How much longer can I really do this? This constant unending push and pull between us. It’s exhausting, and I only have myself to blame.
Relenting with a sigh, I follow him. I stride up to his side, following him through the streets toward my house.
“I have one more stop for you,” he whispers as I link my hand with his again.
“Where?”
Instead of answering, he pulls me along the river. “Follow me.”
When we reach the wide, open platform that overlooks the river beneath the shadow of the tower, Matis stops.
The grand iron structure is long past lit up, so it stands in quiet darkness like a sleeping sentinel protecting the city.
It stopped sparkling hours ago, but it’s no less magical at this hour.
Trocadero has the best view of the tower in the city. Unfortunately, everyone knows it now, so during the day it’s congested with tourists, trinket dealers, and pickpockets. But right now…it’s serene and romantic.
Standing on the steps, I watch as Matis marches into the middle with his arms outstretched. “Dance with me, Trouble.”
I chuckle, biting my lip. He looks so suave and handsome out there it makes my chest hurt to even look at him. How can he keep doing this to me?
“But there’s no music,” I complain.
“We don’t need music, mon trésor.”
A soft gasp escapes my lips at the sound of that pet name. Calling me his treasure like it’s not earth-shattering for me. Like it doesn’t set my soul on fire. Like it doesn’t give me far more hope than a girl like me needs.
I have no choice now but to step down to where he’s stationed alone. He puts out a hand, and I slip my fingers into it. As he pulls me to his body, pressing his cheek to mine, I feel that determination to be free of this crush dwindle into a puddle of ash at my feet.
With only the stars above to watch us, Matis starts moving us slowly around the empty platform. The only sound is our feet shuffling against the stone bricks…that is until he begins to hum “La Vie en Rose” gently in my ear.
My eyes close as I let him sway me round and round. In all the romance novels and all the love stories ever told, not a single one of them could possibly portray a moment even half as romantic as this one.
Matis and I are the only two people on this entire planet at the moment, and we are here under the stars, silhouetted by the Eiffel Tower, dancing to the most iconic and romantic song ever hummed. My heart beats in time with his, and I squeeze his hand, hoping it conveys just how much I love this.
How much I love him.
He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t have some sort of romantic feelings for me, would he? Surely, he must know the effect he has. This can’t possibly be some harmless moment of innocence.
“Matis,” I whisper, no louder than a breath.
Still dancing, he turns and gazes down into my eyes.
If I don’t take this moment and try to get what I want, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life. Here goes nothing.
“Would you…kiss me?”
His feet stop and his eyebrows furrow.
I’d like to jump into the Seine with how humiliated I am for a split second. Before he can toss me in himself, I quickly add, “Only because…I didn’t get a kiss at the end of my date. And I really wanted one.”
Well, that is the dumbest reason I could have possibly come up with for asking for a kiss from my godfather, but I didn’t have a lot of time to brainstorm anything better.
“Amelia,” he replies, and I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational refusal about to leave his lips. He’s about to tell me how incredibly inappropriate that would be. Instead, he licks them, letting his gaze affix to my mouth. “Close your eyes.”
Heat floods my nervous system as my heart stops beating altogether. I have to remind myself to breathe as I let my lids drift closed and my lips part.
When Matis’s soft hands cup my jaw, I could weep with how perfect it feels. Slightly calloused warm hands hold me like I’m something tender and adored.
His treasure.
His body shifts as his mouth lowers, and I feel his warm breath tickle my face before his moist lips gently settle against mine. And just like that…the love of my life is kissing me.
My godfather is kissing me.
It’s nothing more than the pressing together of mouths, but it’s so much more than that at the same time. It’s a pocket of intimacy that only he and I exist in. It’s a black hole of affection, and it’s swallowing us up.
I clutch desperately at his sides, terrified that this moment will pass by in a blink before I’ve truly had the chance to savor it.
But it’s as if the moment our mouths are fused, something changes. There’s a shift. It goes from platonic and sweet to suddenly hungry and desperate in the blink of an eye.
On his next exhale, he shifts, moving his hands from my jaw to the back of my head. Suddenly, those hands are the only things holding me upright. I could melt at any moment, especially when our lips part at the same time, and I feel the soft brush of his tongue entering my mouth.
I let out a whimpering sound, and my arms tighten around him. The peek of tongue suddenly becomes dangerously passionate, and our kiss escalates. When his lips release mine, he doesn’t move away. It’s as if we’re pulled together by a magnetic force.
“Amelia,” he mumbles breathlessly against my mouth as if he’s crying out for help. But I am no help. I’m being swept away by the same torrent of desire.
My arms move up, winding around his neck and giving him free access to my body…which he takes. The fingers that so tenderly gripped my jaw are now cascading down my body and coming rousingly close to my ass.
Touch my ass. Dear Lord in heaven, I beg you…let him touch my ass.
“Matis,” I reply on a gasp after his ravenous mouth releases his teeth from around my bottom lip. Suddenly, we’re not so much kissing as literally devouring each other.
His body is hard against mine, and I keep leaning my weight into him, trying to feel every single inch and secretly searching for that telltale stiffness that I so desperately want to feel.
“Touch me,” I plead on a whimper as I kiss him back, digging my nails into his scalp.
At my request, he lets out a sound of anguish that soaks my panties instantly.
“I can’t,” he replies.
Which is a lie, because he can. And he does.
No sooner than those two words are out of his mouth does he palm one cheek of my ass with his large hand, squeezing it without mercy. Using his grip, he drives my hips against his, and I finally feel exactly what I wanted to feel.
The massive, rigid length of his cock, stuffed inside his tight pants, is hard against my pelvic bone, and I could die a happy woman at this moment. He’s hard for me.
All this confirms what I’ve always desired. He wants me. Matis sees me as a woman. He’s meeting me in the middle of this endless sea of yearning.
I take it back, though. I don’t want to die yet. Not until I feel that deliciously hard shaft inside me. Not until I know the exquisite sensation of taking him, his cock and his cum.
Then I could die a happy woman.
“What is happening?” he murmurs against my lips.
All my dreams are coming true. That is what is happening.
Everything I’ve ever wanted and dreamed about.
But then…I get greedy.
“Take me back to your place,” I beg against his lips. I move my hand from his neck down his body toward his stiff cock. Before I can reach it, he grabs me by the wrist.
“No, stop,” he mutters as he pulls his mouth away. My lips ache without the feel of his scratchy five-o’clock shadow against them.
“I don’t want to stop,” I complain as I reach back for the kiss.
But then he pulls away for real. Dropping his hands from my body, he turns away and puts distance between us.
And distance hurts.
“Matis,” I call, but he keeps his back to me. “What’s wrong?”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters to himself.
“Why not? It was great,” I reply with a forced laugh to try and lighten the mood. It doesn’t work.
“It was great, but…” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “That’s the problem.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“I think I should take you home now,” he says with defeat.
“Matis, please.” I take a step toward him, panic starting to buzz under my skin.
Did we just fly too close to the sun and burn out before we ever had a chance? A moment ago, I was thanking the cosmos for the greatest kiss of my lifetime, and now I’m sort of wishing it never happened at all because of the way he won’t look me in the eyes.
Instead of giving me the attention and comfort I’m craving, he starts walking up the stairs toward the street. “It’s late, Trouble.”
Never has Matis turned his back on me. Not once. It hurts more than I can describe. Tears swarm my eyes as needles prick my throat.
I don’t run or fight or give him hell. I quickly jog up to his side and try to pretend that everything is as it should be. Putting my hand in his, I cling to his side, hoping to remind him that I am still me and he is still him. We are still us.
I’d rather have that than nothing at all.