He learns forward, nuzzling into my neck, moving his lips closer to my ear. “I'm so sorry, baby,” he whispers, bringing goosebumps to my skin. His lips linger momentarily on my earlobe. “Forgive me?” He nuzzles further into my neck. I grab his chin and our lips meet, pulling on my heart with each long kiss. Our tongues intertwine and it's all I can do to control myself and not jump in his lap, undo his zipper, and take him right here and now. Even though it’s just been a few hours, it feels as though I haven’t kissed him in ages. I put my hand to the side of his freshly shaven face, run my thumb across the curves of his cheeks and down to his chin, then pull him closer toward me, for the first of many lip-locked moments of the evening.
seven
As the daylight of our second day in Paris fades into dusk, we navigate from the metro back to our hotel. The day was spent in the Marais district on the right bank of the Seine, where our eyes delighted from the colorful artwork from local artists, and the eclectic boutiques tucked between architectural gems. For lunch we enjoyed the most delicious falafel I’ve ever had at L’As du Fallafel, then spent the remainder of the afternoon strolling and kissing along the river.
My falling in love and love-making induced euphoria have only grown since our “discussion” yesterday evening. I peer across the room at my sexy boyfriend, opening his computer to check in on work. I feel so alive. So lucky. So in love? Ugh! The image of Max and his divine mouth pop into my head yet again, and I feel a twinge of guilt. I kissed a complete stranger after jumping to conclusions about Jack. It was wrong. Even if it felt so right?
“Hey, babe,” I call over to Jack. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for last night. I should’ve had more faith in you. I know I overreacted a bit.” I gloat to myself at my mature handling of the Lela situation, and take slight comfort in my apology, mentally noting it also counts for my kiss. It was a forgivable mistake, made under the guise that our relationship was over. We’ve earned ourselves a clean slate, right? We are falling in love after all.
Jack peers up from his laptop, his adorable, frameless glasses resting on his perfect, sloped nose. He says nothing, but rises from his chair and walks toward me, distracting me from my unavoidable self-doubt that this thing we have between us is real.
“Well then, it seems we’re both sorry. Do you think we need to make up some more?” The twinkle in his eyes reappears along with his naughty tone.
“Hmm, you might be right,” I giggle. “I guess I will allow you to make it up to me,” I proclaim. I feel myself start to pant as I toy with him. He grabs my head, kissing me on the edge of my lips, then he quickly works his way across to my neck. I’m still bundled up from our chilly day of sightseeing, so he begins slowly taking off my clothes.
“It’s like unwrapping a present,” he murmurs as he lifts off each piece. He works quickly, leaving me completely naked, save my scarf. My mind flirts with wonder about this sole piece of clothing and why he left it on me.
I watch Jack remove his black puffy jacket, followed by his blue-checkered button-up and navy sweater, and finally his undershirt and pants. I see the throbbing muscle beneath his boxer briefs and the arousal starts seeping through my bones. He slowly shimmies off his underwear, and stands naked before me, his body upright in a full salute. The few inches of space between us feel like an infinite distance, and I want to feel his warm skin on mine. Now.
***
The shower is warm and steamy, just like my hot and unbelievably talented boyfriend’s mouth. I let my mind wander while I run the soap across my body, feeling a tingle as the suds fall onto my breasts, which are still sensitive from our incessant and incredible lovemaking. My body recovers in the warmth, and I think of the events this weekend. I’ve loved being here with Jack. Paris is such a beautiful city, and even though we’ve fought, I feel closer to him than ever. In fact, the fighting just makes it seem more real. Real relationships have fights, and we’re just getting more comfortable with each other. Real relationships also require fidelity. I think of the complexities of Lela, and I frown and try to shake away the thought of her. As I do, the image of the lusty Max flashes into my mind again. Seriously, what is it with me?
After my shower, I dig through my suitcase and decide on a black and red dress, feeling the need to don some red given it’s Valentine’s Day. The slinky material is fitted on the front with a straight neckline, and the back of the dress dips down just far enough that I can’t wear a bra. I eye myself in the mirror for a moment, and notice how well it clutches my curves, but know I’m threads away from a wardrobe malfunction. More calorie-burning sex, fewer fries.
I catch Jack’s smile in the mirror, staring back at me from where he’s propped up on the bed. I blush, realizing he’s caught me in a rare act of self-admiration.
“What are you looking at?” I ask, spinning toward him.
“How beautiful you are.” He raises himself from the bed and walks toward me. “Need help with that?” He motions toward the zipper on my dress.
“Please!” He pulls up close to me and I breathe in his fresh scent, a mix of fresh aftershave and refreshing soap. He pulls up the last few inches of the zipper and smooths my hair around my ear.
“No earrings tonight? You’re always wearing some, which is why I can’t ever do this.” He nips my earlobe with his teeth, tugging it gently, then kisses my bare neck, and that familiar rush starts moving through me.
“Well actually, I just need to decide which ones to wear. Tell me what you think?” I walk back to my suitcase and retrieve two pairs. One is a large dangling pearl, the other my standard gold Tiffany knots.
He turns around toward me, with a freshly filled glass of champagne and a happy smile. “For you, my beautiful date,” he says as he hands me the glass.
“Thanks, babe. So which ones, the knots? Or should I stick with pearls?”
Jack eyes my options, then in one swift move removes something from his pocket. “Actually, I think this is what you need.” I look down at his right hand that extends toward me. My mind races as I see that he’s holding a dark velvet jewelry box. What? It takes me a few blinks to wrap my head around this.
“What’s this?” I ask, as a nervous but excited tone creeps into my voice. My heart beats faster as I anticipate the contents. Is this a ring? Holy shit. Is he proposing? What would I say?
“It’s your Valentine’s gift. Open it.” I look up and see him grinning, ear to ear. I pause, trying to take in the moment. He’s not down on one knee, so it can’t be a ring. Right?
I set my champagne glass down on the coffee table, and pry open the box. I instantly see the glimmer of diamonds as soon as light hits inside. The most beautiful, sparkling, heart-shaped diamond earrings I’ve ever seen are placed perfectly inside, each facet radiating against the dark backdrop. Fifteen round brilliant diamonds set in platinum create these brightly sparkling earrings. The box is embellished with the Tiffany & Co. logo, and my jaw literally drops open. This must have cost him a fortune!
I try to reel in my shock and stammer out some words. “Jack, these are stunning! But they’re too much, really.” I recall the Valentine’s gift I brought for him. A greeting card and a picture frame: both from Target. I considered it a thoughtful gift, something to put a photo in from our trip. I shudder at my naivety and make a note to bury his gift in my suitcase. No gift is far less embarrassing than the cheap frame.
“No, babe, I want you to have them. I know you love hearts, and with Valentine’s Day, well, I just thought they’d be perfect for you. Try them on!”
I happily oblige and walk toward the mirror again to place them in my ears. The earrings are big and beautiful. Not too overbearing, just big enough to show off the perfect stones. I admire myself in the mirror for a moment. Hearts are a little cliché, but he remembered how much I loved them as a kid. A few weeks ago I shared this tidbit with him, and this gesture proves he was actually listening! And he remembered. My heart melts with emotion toward him. Jack walks up behind me and slides hi
s arms around my waist.
I make eye contact with him via the mirror, our eyes locking in our reflection. “I really love them. Thank you, Jack. It’s such a thoughtful gift.”
“Well, you’re welcome. And Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” I turn and kiss him. A sweet, love-filled kiss. He breaks away for a moment, but keeps me close and turns me to face him. “And Jess, I know we’ve had a few”—he pauses, searching for the right word—“disagreements on this trip. But fighting or not, I’ve loved every minute with you since I met you.” My heart returns this notion and my body wants me to show him how I feel. I grab his smooth, freshly shaven face, and kiss him with every ounce of love that floods within me.
eight
The hotel bar is busier tonight. Most of the couches are filled with couples and groups of friends chatting and enjoying their Saturday evening. A light jazz plays in the background, but the sound of it is rather faint amidst the patrons’ loud voices. This time I visit the bar happily, giving my darling Jack a few minutes alone to finish up some work in our room before the romantic dinner ahead of us.
I observe the same bartender working this evening. He smiles as I approach the bar. “Bon soir, Mademoiselle. Est-ce-que vous voulez du champagne ce soir?” I flash back to twenty-four hours earlier, when I sat at this same bar with the mysterious Italian. I feel my cheeks redden as I think of him, and how ridiculously attracted I was to him. But God, that kiss. I shake my head. Get out of my brain!
“Oui champagne. Merci.” I turn away from the bar toward the main room to enjoy some evening people-watching. My hand reaches for my shiny diamond earrings, and a smile spreads across my face as I allow myself to be grateful for my boyfriend.
“Buongiorno. You’ve come to steal my seat, or my drink?” Holy fuckballs. My ears recognize him before my eyes do. It’s him. I move my eyes from his perfectly polished shoes to his pressed suit, and inhale his swoon-inducing scent as our eyes connect.
“Both, actually. But you’re late, I had to order my own drink rather than stealing yours.” I instantly flirt, just as the bartender places it in front of me.
His glowing hazel eyes and matching expression are clearly charmed by our banter. “Yet somehow I don’t remember setting another date before you left with your… friend?” The Italian-tuned English rolls off his tongue easily, the intonation and his judgment of my ‘friend’ notably intentional.
“Drinking can affect your memory. That must be it.” I flirt back, but my thoughts trail off to Jack. Knowing he sits just floors above me finishing up some work gives me extreme guilt, particularly as I sit here literally dripping from the intense pleasure he just bestowed upon me. And yet for some reason I can’t help but feel drawn to this stranger. You should just excuse yourself, Jess. Think about Jack. Right. Jack. My boyfriend. Who I’m totally falling in love with, and who just gave me these ridiculously amazing and expensive earrings.
I look up at Mr. Lust again and give him my best smile. “I was actually just on my way out,” I lie. I quickly search for a few Euros from my purse.
“Jess.” Jack’s voice startles me, and I instantly feel the guilt of an adulterer who should don a scarlet “A” rather than these stunning diamonds.
“Hey, babe, that was quick! Should we head out?”
“Yeah, my call was pretty quick. Why leave? You haven’t finished your champagne? And this bar looks fantastic. We have plenty of time before dinner.” I watch Mr. Lust out of the corner of my eye and see his immense amusement at my discomfort.
“Buongiorno,” he greets Jack. Oh, Jesus. I instantly fear for where this might be going. “Your lovely girlfriend was just telling me all about you, and your time in Paris.” What? My heart begins to race, my body filling with anxiety. Will he say something to Jack about our prior rendezvous? Just when everything was back on track with my Jack! Oh, fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Shit.
“That’s my Jess. She makes friends wherever she goes.” Jack smiles, not showing even the slightest hint of jealousy. God, he’s so trusting. “I’m Jack Clarke, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Jack, pleasure to meet you, I’m Maximus Ferrari.” I nearly wet my pants. That’s a real name? Of course, someone as hot as him would have a fucking sports car name.
“Really? I think I’ve been working with your company,” Jack responds, and I’m immediately confused.
“Ahh, are you a banker or consultant?” Mr. Lusty Sex Car responds.
“A little of both?” Jack laughs. “I specialize in M&A for Cooper Consulting.”
“Yes!” Max responds quickly. “On the Brazilian buy-side deal, I presume.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Been working on it for months. In fact, that’s what kept Jess waiting down here by herself,” Jack explains.
“I see. Which office are you in?”
“Atlanta. And where do you live, Mr. Ferrari?”
“Please, call me Max.” He reaches out his hand to Jack’s for the official introduction. I notice his strong hands, and recall them grabbing me intently, while his lips worked magic on mine just twenty-four hours ago. “Well, I am originally from a small town in Italy, but right now I live in New York City for my work. And you are both in Atlanta?”
“Yeah, we both live in Atlanta. Jess grew up there, but I’m originally from the Northeast,” Jack answers for us. Lust’s smile fades momentarily as he watches Jack pull me closer to him, resting his hand on my thigh. What was that? Could he be jealous of me and Jack?
“Ahh, Atlanta is a lovely city. I’ve only been there once though. I hope to do more business there in the future.”
“Yeah, we’re pretty happy there,” Jack says, squeezing my hand. I look up and notice Mr. Lust once again overly focused on my reaction when Jack touches me.
“Yeah, Atlanta is great,” I chime in.
“So what do you do in Atlanta, Jess?” Mr. Lust looks at me and I feel my knees go weak. Thank God I’m sitting down.
“I work for Global Airlines, our headquarters is in Atlanta.”
“Ahh, I’m actually flying Global to JFK tonight,” he says with a smile. “It’s a great airline. And who doesn’t love the southern charm?”
“Thanks, yeah, it’s been a fun place to work. It’s given me the opportunity to travel to places like this! Are you on the 10 o’clock flight?”
“You know your airline’s schedule well.” Max gives me a wink. “I should probably be going to the airport soon. And I’m sure you have Saint Valentine’s plans ahead of you?”
“Yes, heading to dinner after we get a drink here. It was a pleasure meeting you, Max. Feel free to give me a call directly if you need anything on this acquisition.” Jack then retrieves a card from his pocket.
“Thank you. It was a pleasure to meet you both. And if you're ever in New York, give me a call—we can even skip business and just have a drink.” Jack nods and extends his hand to meet Max’s.
“Have a safe trip home, it was great to meet you," I say, nervously extending my hand to Mr. Lust, in a polite farewell handshake. As his skin meets mine, I feel my breath shorten, feeling that familiar surge from his contact.
“The pleasure was all mine.” He stares straight into my eyes and moves his finger gently across my hand. I feel his touch move through me, as far down as my panties. He somehow makes me feel so alive, just from a simple touch.
“Arrivederci.” Max breaks hold of my hand and walks away, leaving me and Jack to our uninterrupted weekend of love.
nine
After spending hours navigating the tortuous Charles de Gaulle airport and its unhelpful employees, who are all seemingly on strike, I’m relieved to board the Global Airlines flight filled with smiling, southern flight attendants. The business class service greets us with chilled champagne and large, comfy seats for the ride home.
“Cheers, Jess.” Jack leans toward me holding his glass.
“What are we toasting to?” I ask, smiling happily at my handsome boyfriend. I notice
how natural he looks sitting up here, amongst the successful business travelers and globe trotters, important enough to blow thousands of dollars on one flight. His blue eyes are drawn out by his navy blue pullover sweater. The fabric stops just below his chin, and the open zipper runs to his sternum, showing just a hint of his dark gray T-shirt. He wears his favorite William Rast jeans, covered with a dark wash and tasteful distressing on the top half. His always-polished appearance makes me pay more attention to my own look as well. As someone who has often flown on transatlantic flights in sweats, I decided to class it up a little today, with an amazingly comfortable, yet classy, cotton sweater dress. With the addition of black riding boots, I almost look as though I belong here.
“To a wonderfully amazing trip, and the best Valentine’s Day I've ever had,” Jack toasts me.
“I’ll drink to that!” I respond cheerily, before leaning over and giving him a slow, sweet kiss.
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