Coco sighed. “This is so amazing. Can I tell Erin?”
“Of course!” I tugged at my hair. “She’ll probably think I’ve lost my mind here.”
“No, she won’t! She’ll be thrilled, just like I am. You deserve this, Mia. And don’t start overthinking it.”
I sighed. “I’m trying not to. Last night I didn’t let myself start analyzing it at all. You would have been proud of me.”
“But you’re starting to second guess things now?”
I tugged harder on my hair. She knew me too well. “It’s so unlike me to act this way. And when I think about the circumstances…”
“Why do you have to think about the circumstances? How does it feel?”
I closed my eyes, and he was there. I could smell him, hear him, feel him... Warmth blossomed at my center. “It feels good.”
“Well then.”
“You’re sure this isn’t stupid? Or slutty?”
“What? No! Damn it, woman, you’re young and newly single. This is what you’re supposed to be doing! Now listen. I want you to be safe, but keep having fun and throw your fucking caution to the wind, you hear me?”
I laughed. “I hear you. And I’ll try. Sorry for waking you, I just—I had to hear you tell me I wasn’t crazy.”
“You’re not crazy. And I’m totally jealous. I love you—call me again, OK?”
“I will. I love you too. Bye.”
I hung up the phone and stretched, feeling a soreness in my limbs and abs that hadn’t been there yesterday morning, and it widened the secret smile on my face. When I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, I realized I was tender in places that had not hurt for years. YEARS. Maybe not ever.
Under the hot spray of the shower, I washed my hair and lathered my body with shower gel, and as I ran my hands over my slippery skin, I recalled Lucas’s hands on me. And his lips. And his tongue.
And I nearly had to give myself number four because I got so turned on. No, don’t do it. I paused with my hand sweeping down my stomach. Wait for him.
But as I rinsed the shampoo from my hair, a cautious little voice inside me began to ask questions.
Was having sex with Lucas again a bad idea? Was I just setting myself up for more heartbreak? After all, he was leaving town the next day, and I was only in Paris for a short time longer. And what about after that? Would I ever see him again? Suddenly I felt like I’d swallowed a tennis ball.
Stop it right now. You are not planning a wedding with this guy. You are fucking him. You’re friends. And that’s perfectly OK. You do not have to think about the future, or even tomorrow. You have today and you can make it count.
Swaying back and forth beneath the water, I wondered if I could really do that—not worry about anything except being in the present moment.
You managed it well enough last night.
True. And I’d been rewarded with the best sex of my life, three stellar orgasms, and the promise of another fantastic day with a smart, sexy guy. What more could I ask for?
By the time I rinsed all the soap off, I was totally confident I could enjoy the day—and night—ahead without letting worrisome thoughts about the future get in the way of a good time. After all, Lucas didn’t seem concerned, so why should I?
And Coco was right. I’d been through a lot, and I deserved a couple days of pure, unabashed pleasure.
With the memory of Lucas’s eyes and voice and smell and fingers and tongue and cock overwhelming my senses, I put my hand back between my legs.
Somehow, I knew he would approve.
Lucas came for me at noon, greeting me with his customary kisses on the cheek. This time I kissed his cheeks too, and the touch of my lips on his stubbly skin ignited me. My belly whooshed like a torch catching fire.
Down, girl.
“Good morning.” I wondered if it would be gauche to suggest we skip sightseeing and get straight to the sex.
“Morning.” He brushed a curl back from my forehead. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a baby. You?”
“Same.” He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Except that I woke up thinking about you and I had a raging hard-on. I had to take care of it myself. I wished you’d stayed over.”
My heart thumped hard as I imagined him jerking himself off thinking about me. Fuck, that was actually really hot. I should have packed extra underwear in my bag. These are already wet. “I woke up thinking about you, too,” I whispered. “And I’m sore as all get-out.”
“Really?” He looked pleased with himself. “I could take you back up to your room and give you a massage. Would that help?”
I shook my head. “Tempting, but it wouldn’t help, because I’m pretty sure that massage would lead to other things.”
“You’re right. We better get going. The longer I stand here looking at you, the more my mind wanders to those other things.” He gestured toward the door. “Paris awaits, princess, and I know how you feel about Paris.”
I was about to say fuck Paris, let’s just get right to the other things when I remembered that this would be my last chance to see the city with him as my guide, and I really did love hearing him talk about the places he took me. “OK. What will we do today?”
With his hand at the small of my back, he walked me through the lobby and out of the hotel. “Well, I thought maybe we’d wander over to Le Marais first. There’s a lot of cool stuff over there, and the shops I wanted to take you to are in that direction as well.”
“Sounds perfect.”
We took the Metro over to the Marais neighborhoods, and on the train I thought about sex. Lucas held my hand as we walked down quaint streets and through charming village squares, and I thought about sex. We admired medieval and Renaissance architecture, ate sandwiches sitting on the grass in the Place des Vosges, and toured the Victor Hugo museum. I thought about sex the entire time.
I tried hard not to show it, but it was difficult, since every time I looked at Lucas my insides fluttered, or my lower body clenched up, or butterflies swirled in my belly en masse. No matter where my eyes would alight—his hair, his hands, his lips, and yes, OK fine, the crotch of his pants—I was assailed with memories of last night.
Jesus, Mia. You’re a fiend. Get a grip.
But I couldn’t help it. Sex had never played a particularly important role in my relationship with Tucker, at least not as far as I was concerned. But today it was all I could think about. And I knew that when I went home, I’d never go back to the way I was before, sublimating my own sexual desires to appease a man. I can’t believe I did that for so long. I never knew what I was missing.
Throughout the early afternoon, I wondered if Lucas was thinking about last night as much as I was. We talked a lot about different things—I learned he was twenty-eight, had only the two half-brothers and no sisters, was allergic to shellfish, and did not, in fact, have any tattoos—but neither of us mentioned sex once we left my hotel.
After leaving the Hugo museum, we decided we’d gone long enough without wine, so we ducked into a little bistro on rue St. Paul. Lucas ordered a bottle while I used the bathroom, and when I returned to our table by the window, he looked so delicious in the natural light I decided to be blunt.
I sat down and propped my chin on my hand. “So I have to ask you. How many times have you thought about sex today?”
“Over a million. Easy.” He didn’t even blink.
I burst out laughing. “Well, I’m glad it’s not only me.” Lowering my voice to a hush, I said, “I was beginning to think I was some kind of perv for thinking about oral sex in Victor Hugo’s apartment.”
He leaned across the table. “Don’t worry. That’s positively tame compared to the things I thought about.”
My stomach jumped. “Like what?”
“Not telling. I’ll just have to surprise you. Or scare you, one of the two.” He brought his lips to mine for a warm, melty kiss that turned my insides to liquid.
“Do both. I might like being a little fr
ightened.”
He put his mouth to my ear. “You have no idea what you’re saying to me. I’m so hard right now.”
“Want me to come sit on your lap?”
He groaned and sat back. “Don’t tease me. I can’t handle it.”
Actually I probably would have gone around the table to sit on his lap, but our wine arrived and after the waiter poured us each a glass, Lucas lifted his up.
“What are we toasting?” I lifted mine as well.
“Oral sex and Victor Hugo?”
I cocked my head. “Doesn’t seem quite right.”
“Hmm. Couch sex and Edith Piaf?”
I cocked it the other way. “Closer.”
“How about…unexpected sex that turns out to be better than you imagined it even though you imagined it all day long, including when you were at a cemetery and in a church?”
I nodded and pointed a finger at him. “Bingo.” We clinked glasses and drank to that.
#
While we were in the café, it sprinkled a little, but by the time we finished our wine, the drizzle had stopped and the sun was starting to filter through the clouds. Lucas said the stores he wanted to take me to were close by, so we headed in their direction.
The day had warmed up—or maybe it was the conversation and the wine—but I felt a little hot, so I slipped the loose white button-down I had on off my shoulders and tied it around my waist. I’d layered it over a pretty, feminine lace-trimmed camisole, which I wore without a bra. If my nipples poked through today, I wouldn’t care if Lucas noticed. In fact, I wanted him to.
“So what are you looking for?” he asked as we walked. “Clothing? Books? Jewelry? I’ll assume no furniture.”
“Well, I do have to find a new place to live when I get home. Maybe I can furnish it with antiques from Paris.” I grinned at him. “How much could shipping be?”
“I’m guessing a lot.” He was quiet a minute. “Did you live with him already?”
I was surprised he asked, since he’d said he didn’t want to hear any more about Tucker. “Yes.”
Lucas shoved his hands in his pockets. “Where will you go?”
“I haven’t really thought about it yet. And you know what?” I tugged a hand from his pocket and held on to it. “I don’t even want to. See?” Galloping a little, I shook his arm. “You’re a good influence on me—I’m only thinking about right here, right now, and not even worrying about anything else. Because right now I’m totally happy.”
He smiled at me and squeezed my hand. “Good.”
We spent the next couple hours wandering in and out of the shops in the Village Saint-Paul. I bought a pair of vintage earrings in an art deco style for Coco and picked out a beautiful blue cashmere scarf for Erin. While I was debating whether or not to purchase the scarf in a different color for my mother, Lucas tapped my shoulder.
“Hey, I’m just going to run across the street, OK? There’s a store I want to look in.”
I set the scarf down. “I can come with you.”
“No, you’re not allowed to come with me.” He took me by the shoulders and turned me back toward the table of scarves. “I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.”
“Okayyyyyy.” I glanced over my shoulder but he was already out the door. What the hell? Was he buying me something? Too curious to resist, I went to the front window of the store I was in and looked across the street, half expecting to see a sex toy shop.
It was a bookstore.
Get your mind out of le gutter, Mia.
Giving in to guilt, I bought the two scarves, folded them up in my bag, and went out to meet Lucas on the sidewalk. The afternoon was still overcast, but even the soft gray light seemed pretty, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool breeze on my face and arms.
In a moment I heard Lucas’s voice. “I got you something.”
I opened my eyes to see him standing there with a plain brown paper package. “You did? Why?”
He shrugged. “I’d been thinking about it since yesterday. Open it.”
Half of me wanted to berate him for buying me a gift and the other half was too excited to keep my hands from tearing open the bag. Inside was a paperback book with a medieval painting of a man and woman on the cover. I read the title and gasped.
“The Love Letters of Abelard and Heloise!” I clasped it over my heart, which had skipped several beats. “I don’t believe it!”
“Do you like it?” His expression was endearingly hopeful.
“Are you kidding? I love it! Oh my God, Lucas!” I threw my arms around him, and the force nearly knocked him backward. He laughed as he steadied us both, his hands on my hips.
“Good. I wasn’t sure they would have it, but I’m glad they did.”
Reluctantly, I released him. “Are the letters in French?”
“Well, originally they were in Latin, but they’ve been translated. This is an English bookstore.” He gestured behind me.
“Oh, Lucas, I love it. I can’t wait to read them.” My eyes were a little misty, and I struggled to swallow. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you’re not mad—they’re romantic and all.”
I slapped his stomach with the book before dropping it into my bag. “I’m over being mad. I’m all about the romance of Paris now.”
“Good to know.” He took the brown paper bag from me, wadded it up, and tossed it in a nearby trash container. “In that case, how would you like to see my favorite romantic place in the entire city?”
I flashed him a coy smile. “Is it your apartment?”
He laughed. “No. But it’s not far.”
“Good. Because I might need a little rest after all this excitement.”
“Well,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulder as we walked, “you’re definitely invited back to my apartment later, but I can’t promise you’ll get any rest there.”
I tipped my head onto his arm. “God, I love Paris.”
But what I nearly said was God, I love you.
How crazy was that?
#
On the Metro ride over to the Rodin museum, which was where Lucas was taking me, I asked him if he’d ever had a serious girlfriend.
He looked at me sideways. “Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “Just curious, I guess. You mentioned this place is your favorite romantic spot in Paris, so I assumed…”
“Oh. Well, yes I had a serious girlfriend for a while, but no, I never took her to the Musée Rodin. She’s in New York.”
A quick stab of jealousy made me press further. “How long were you together?”
“About three years, off and on.”
It surprised me, for some reason. “Wow, that’s a long time.”
“I guess.”
“Why’d you break up?”
“We wanted different things.”
“Ah.” I got the feeling his short answers were an indication he wasn’t that into talking about his ex-girlfriend, and probably I shouldn’t have asked, but I couldn’t resist one last question. “What was her name?”
“Jessica. You want to know her birth date and shoe size too?”
I smacked him on the leg. “Come on. I’m only curious. After all, you know a lot about me and Tucker.”
He grimaced. “Much more than I want to, thank you very much. Now no more talking about the past. It’s right here, right now, remember?”
“Yes.” But I couldn’t help wondering about Jessica, the lucky girl on the receiving end of his generous affections for so long a time. What did she look like? How long ago were they together? Why did they really break up? I wondered if she was still in New York and if he ever saw her. The jealousy returned, gripping me hard for a moment, and I had to take a deep breath and hold it until the ill feeling went away.
Here and now. Here and now. Here and now.
I took a few more deep breaths, and Lucas put his arm around me, draping his hand over my shoulder. His fingers grazed the skin just above the top of
my cami, really it was the top part of my breast, and my nipples immediately responded. I didn’t have to wonder long if Lucas noticed.
He tipped his head to mine buried his face in my hair. “You’re killing me in that little top. I’m not going to be able to walk off this train.”
I smiled. And I sincerely hoped the Rodin museum wasn’t very big. Nothing against nineteenth century art or anything, but I was working on a new list.
Things I Want To Do With Lucas
1) Test my blow job skills (and learn some new ones).
2) Take a shower (see what he looks like wet).
3) Let him do whatever thing he mentioned before that might scare me (whips and chains?)
4) Hear him talk dirty to me (a huge secret turn on)
5) Make him scream my name like I scream his (i.e., loud enough to wake the neighborhood, perhaps the 6th arrondissement, maybe even the whole Latin Quarter)
Not too much to ask, was it?
The museum wasn’t very big, but that wasn’t why I loved it.
As we wandered through, I could see why Lucas was so enchanted with it. Located in an eighteenth century mansion, each room was a wonder of light and shadow and elegance. The fancy baroque details of the house—the tall arched windows, the parquet floors, the detailed plaster and woodwork on the walls and ceilings, the gilt on the curvy antique furniture—all of it offered the perfect contrast to the raw muscular beauty of Rodin’s human figures.
Admittedly, part of my enjoyment was being there with Lucas, who held my hand and spoke quietly to me about Rodin’s artistic style and why it appealed to him.
“I like the way he didn’t make everything beautiful, you know?” We stood in front of a naked figure of a woman who appeared to be clutching herself in shame. “And I love the fragments, especially the hands. Look at this one here.”
He took my by the shoulders and turned me around, and I gasped as we approached a huge sculpture in front of a window. It was two hands, the wrists emerging from the block base, palms and fingers arched toward each other but barely touching. Soft light filtering through the panes created delicate shadows on the hands and in the airy space between them, and I wanted to try to capture it in a photograph, although I knew a picture would never do it justice. “They’re so beautiful. Are they praying?”
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