by Raine Miller
"I guess I'll just finish this fine breakfast myself if you're not hungry."
Like a switch being flipped, Giselle's eyes snapped open and she let out a huff of annoyance. When I kissed her cheek, a pouty frown crept over her face.
In the early days, Giselle had warned me she was not a morning person. "Gi in the morning," we called it. I took the opportunity to tease her out of it most days, but this morning I found her black temper incredibly cute.
Wriggling herself upright, Giselle accepted the fork I offered her and took a tentative bite, looking like the French sex goddess she was…with the sheet about to slip below her left breast as she ate her breakfast in bed. I'm going to miss this so much.
"One question," she said, in between bites.
"Just one?" I teased.
Giselle's obsession with questions was no secret. She enjoyed nothing more than to hit me with five or so questions at a time, fascinated by the responses.
She jabbed out her fork slightly, as if considering. "Just one—for now."
"Ask away, then." I tugged on the sheet and made it fall.
"Do I get to know what we are doing today?"
Leaning in, I kissed the tip of her nose, and then moved down to give some attention to her perfect and gorgeous breasts, smiling all the while. "This is how it starts."
It felt like déjà vu all over again flying down the highway in my Jag, Giselle wearing her spaceship of a sun hat looking beautiful and happy.
Although I wasn't taking her to Magnolia Gardens again. Today we were going somewhere she'd told me she very much wanted to visit but had never been able to go. The zoo.
Her excitement when I pulled into the parking area was the reaction I hoped for, but I know we were both feeling the urgency of time winding down for us. There was only a little bit left, and I wanted to make sure she was doing something enjoyable with the few hours that remained.
Still, seeing her as overjoyed at the sight of a doe lying with her fawn, I couldn't regret even a moment of being in a public place with her when I only wanted her all to myself. I had hoped that there was a chance we could figure something out after she returned to France. She could come back to the US again after she fulfilled the requirements of her visa in France. She could…if she wanted to.
"Just look at the bébé." God, I was going to miss how she found joy in simple things. It was how Giselle existed in life—laughing and dancing her way through it.
Leaning in, I whispered, "Hate to say it, but I think a baby deer is your true spirit animal, rather than the sparrow."
"Maybe yes," she said. She rested her eyes on me and became thoughtful. "And what would your spirit animal be I wonder.? Something proud and solemn I'd say. Like a stag watching over his deer family."
More of our past flashed in my head—the last time she had looked at me so deeply, at the beach, when she had first drawn me and made her less-than-flattering assessment. Hard. Proud. Closed off.
"Sorry if I was a bit blunt that first time I drew you," she said softly.
"How did you know I was thinking about that? Can you read minds too?"
She laughed and shook her head. "No, I am not a mind reader, but I can connect the dots much of the time."
I'd have to agree with her. Even now, as she looked at me, her eyes appeared to have an all-seeing gift. "Do you still see me that way?" I asked with a casualness I didn't feel.
She frowned and bit her lip. Not a good sign—
"In some ways, yes." She slipped her hand around mine and squeezed it. "In a lot of ways, though, no." Her shy gaze found mine. "When we spend a lot of time together, sometimes I feel like you are a different person. So warm and genuine and…" Her face scrunched up, and she slapped a palm to her lips. "There I go again, insinuating that normal you is this cold monster."
I gave her a smile that I knew was only for her. Nobody else had a chance in hell of making me smile after pointing out my faults to my face. "Don't worry about it."
She pulled her hand from mine. "No, I will worry about it. I need to make you understand. How…I cannot pinpoint what it is, but sometimes when you have been with me for a long time or"—she peered up at me and held my face in both of her hands—"Like now. Your eyes look different. Happier." Because you make me fucking happy, and I hate that you’re leaving.
"Because I am happy when I'm with you, but please don't let it go to your head, Frenchy."
She pushed up on her toes and kissed me. "I will not, Surfeur américain."
The rest of our time sped by far too fast. More cute animals to admire. More kisses shared along with some strawberries when we ate lunch. Finally, when she slumped her head on my shoulder wearily, I swept her off her feet and carried her to the car as she squealed in protest.
Inside the car, I begged for forgiveness in the form of kisses.
"Stop, Gage." Her face the textbook definition of absolute glee, told a completely different story. "I mean it."
"Your mouth says stop, but your body says go," I said, flipping up her poufy skirt. She only laughed more uproariously. As I traced my hands up her thighs, I admitted, "I guess you're right. We need to get started on our grand finale before the day is over."
Even though I was laughing as I said it, as was she…the words sliced into my heart with painful precision.
Hours later, after wining and dining her, and our time was ticking away too fucking fast, I finally had her where I really wanted her. The two of us alone in my house with the cool night air blowing in through the open balcony doors.
"Oh, what is this?" Giselle asked when she spotted the teal-and-gold-wrapped gift on my bed.
My hand on the small of her back urged her forward. "It's just something for you to put to good use, and I know you will." No way was I ever going to admit that I'd actually told Old Bat Art Lady to find gift wrap that matched the color of Giselle's crochet dress and the dark gold of her hair the first time I saw her waving at me on the beach. That secret would have to go with me to my grave.
The image of the very first time you saw her will too.
Giselle began opening it carefully, as if to preserve the pretty paper, then abruptly said, "Oh, what the hell," before the rest of it was ripped away in a haphazard second.
When she saw what it was, she fell silent. Almost in slow motion, she turned to me and did something I'd never seen her do before.
Her eyes filled with tears and she…cried.
Slowly she sat on my bed, holding my gift in her lap like it was the most precious treasure. "Oh, Gage, you didn't…"
I sat down beside her as she focused her teary eyes on the drawing set I'd found at Elysium—a tiered mahogany box containing a selection of the highest quality graphite, charcoals and sepias money could buy.
"But I did."
Giselle traced her fingers over the glossy wooden box lovingly before hugging it to her chest. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She leaned into me and gave me the sweetest thank-you kiss I'd ever received from giving a gift. As we drew apart, her shining eyes still locked on me, she said, "No one has ever been better to me than you have."
Her brutally simplistic words left me speechless, because I didn't feel like I'd done much for her at all. A few dinners and some outings, where if I hadn't watched her carefully, she'd have snuck to pay while I was distracted by something? That was what she meant? She was so far off from my truth if that was what she believed. Giselle was the one who'd given me far more than I could ever give to her. And that was the part that bothered me the most…because I didn't know what to say or how to explain it in words. No one has ever been better… And there was so much finality in her words. She was leaving.
But being the mind reader she was, Giselle caught on. She sensed my discomfort and took me out of that uncomfortable place in my head and replaced it with something much better.
Carefully placing the drawing set on the bedside table, she then climbed to the middle of the bed and spread herself out like a decadent feast ready to be
devoured.
"How may I ever thank you?"
The sultry roll of her r 's had me instantly hard. "I can think of some ways."
"I think you can too," she said with eyes half hooded and an arch of her back that let me know her pussy was already wet.
I crawled up on the bed beside her and slid my hands up her short skirt for the second time today, hyper aware that I wouldn't be able to do it again after this. I paused to admire the sight of her in nothing more than the lacy pink panties she had on, but not for long. I was on a mission critical with not a minute to waste. "As much as I love this view, I think—no—I know that these have got to go, baby."
She responded by arching her back and shoving her tits out…but best of all, by moaning for me in French. My favorite. I slipped my fingers underneath the lace and pulled them down her long lovely legs to unveil my stunning prize.
Then I slid my hands to the inside of her knees and spread her wide open. Yep, her pussy was wet…and very much in need of my mouth. As I descended to kiss and lick her to a perfectly pitched crying orgasm, in French of course, one thought looped through my head on repeat: How will I survive never doing with her again?
The knowledge that this was the last time was felt by both of us. So, while the sex took on a sort of harried urgency, we also relished each and every moment. After I made her come the first time, I stripped away every remaining stitch of clothing from her body until she was naked and perfect just as God had made her. I did the same with my own clothes while she watched until we were a matched set. We set out to savor the touch of our lips and tongues across every inch of skin we could kiss. My lips found a mole on the back of Giselle's left upper thigh I'd never noticed before. It felt cruel that I only discovered it now.
My lips skated down the line of her spine and settled on the dip above her ass, and then lower. The desperate moans escaping her pretty lips were music to my ears.
But it was her Oh, oui! that I lived for. That was when I knew I was really getting somewhere.
So, when I pulled her to her knees and opened her up to lick at her clit from behind, it was those two words I was gunning for. Even as my fingers slipped into her slick pussy, I didn't let up on my stroking until I heard her say them. The sound was as sweet as heaven's doors opening just for me.
Her golden hair had tumbled free of her ponytail, and now wildly shook as she contorted herself in abandon. Giselle was all about expression…in everything she did in her life. Sexual pleasure was no different an expression for her than the joy in blowing me in a patch of sunflowers. It was beautiful to witness, and I felt like she'd given me a precious gift to be able to be the one to help her with that expression.
When I finally pressed my cock into her sweet, sweet self, that thought disintegrated. All thought did. Thought was transmuted to sensation, two bodies learning and flowing as one. This is the last time. This feasting and clashing of kisses. This stroking and claiming and owning of bodies. This feeling of hands and fingers engaged in a dance nearing its inevitable end.
And, amidst it all, the omnipresent clash of us coming together, the in, the out. More and more, farther and deeper, her tight heat, my penetrating cock. Together. How we were meant to be for this perfect, last time.
And yet, it was too divinely designed to stop. We both moved with a sort of learned carefulness. To make it good, but not too good. Perfect, but not perfect past the point of control. Because then, it would be over. This is the last time.
So, we flowed from position to position like synchronized dancers who'd gone through this a hundred times, until we could make it look seamless. Fucking her became…life. Because every part of Giselle responded exquisitely to my touch. And yet, when she started clasping and grooving my dick into her, and new heights of pleasure started to grip me, I knew with a pang of regret, there was no putting off where this was headed anymore.
Not anymore. Not this finale of finales. This inevitable ending that was in our beginning. This building and growing and becoming.
Oh, oui became my refrain as we kept on joining into each other, merging into one unending moan. Flowing us onward. Surging me forward. My dick acting of its own accord. In and out and deeper. More and more. Neurons firing and nerve endings blasting. And through it all, us, coming as one. One organism. One urge. One being satisfying itself and then, finally…one release.
Her cry seemed to come from outside of her and my own groan was something I'd never heard before. I lost control completely, and my body flailed with hers, against hers, as hers.
Finally, it was over. And fuck if that didn’t feel so incredibly wrong. Over. Finished. Last. I hate it.
I held her in my arms. I didn't dare speak, lest I voiced the trite thing vibrating through my whole body, the only thing that would've been right to say: I never want to let you go.
I woke warm. She was still in my arms. My Frenchy beach fairy was snuggling against me in my bed. Everything felt wholly right and quietly, peacefully, still.
Except…I needed to piss, so I reluctantly disentangled myself from her sleeping form. When I left the bathroom, my bare feet made contact with something. In the sliver of moonlight sneaking through my curtains, I could just make out…my dirty socks.
Smiling grimly, I took one step more, then paused. Cursing to myself, I bent down, grabbed them, strode over to the hamper, and chucked them in.
There.
9
I woke up cold.
As soon as my eyes opened, I knew. She'd left. Giselle had gone without even saying goodbye.
Although I did have her cell number by now, I didn't bother, because I knew she'd already shut it off. No, I was almost certain where I would find her.
Tossing on whatever clothes in my bedroom floor radius seemed to take half an instant and several decades too long. Racing out to my car took too fucking long too.
Only a few minutes later, once I merged onto the busy highway, did I realize what I'd been in a race with: my sense of certainty. And if the paperweight lodged in my chest as I stared unseeing at the stream of cars ahead of me was any indication, I had lost.
After breaking the news that she was leaving, Giselle had made no real mention of her flight. What sort of moron hadn't asked her for that vital fucking information? Or would have figured the best plan was to head to the airport—not her place—first? I'm so fucked.
I glanced at my watch for the fifth time. Yep, it was 12:17 p.m. already—I'd somehow managed to sleep in until noon. Fuck. At least if Giselle wasn't at the airport, then I could probably catch her at her place still, right? Unless she was on her way out at this very moment and I managed to miss her by seconds. Epically fucked.
Whatever the case, all I knew was that I had to try to see her again and chastising myself as I sped along a busy highway wouldn't do me any favors.
Inside a few minutes and one shitty parking job later, I thanked the gods that Charleston didn't have numerous terminals like a bigger airport. Here I was, the only terminal Giselle could be in if she was at this airport and hadn't gone through TSA yet. She’d be flying to New York most likely because there were no direct flights to Europe from Charleston. My eyes slid from one faceless person to another, rapid-fire, seeing only that they weren't her.
There was a Caviar Banana stand (whatever the hell that was), a wooden-paneled stand called Harvest Grounds, and then there, in the corner, looking almost as stupefied to see me as I was her…my French beauty. She looked delighted, and upset, and contrite all at once as I rushed over to her.
When all those emotions had washed away, all that was left was a miserable expression.
"I am sorry, Gage." She looked at me with her eyes up and her head lowered, like a child about to be scolded. "I am very terrible at goodbyes."
Frozen motionless, half-believing my incredible luck of finding her here, I threw my arms around her and pressed her to me tight. "I'm just glad I caught you," I said against her neck, inhaling the scent of her so I could remember.
The motherfucking loudspeaker boomed above us, "1:20 p.m. flight to Paris through JFK now boarding. Please proceed to gate—"
Giselle eased out of my embrace and hiked her bag over her shoulder. "That is me. Late as always."
And yet, she didn't move. We stared at each other, as if willing the other to make the move, say the words. The right ones that didn't exist that would make this better. But what? What was the point? Her flight’s been called. This is it.
Giselle tried to smile, but her lips only drooped more before she shook her head and said, "Au revoir, mon beau surfeur." She pressed a finger to her lips and then blew a kiss to me before turning and walking toward the security checkpoint. My understanding of French had improved enough that I knew what she'd just said to me. She'd said it before. Goodbye, my beautiful surfing man.
I watched her go in a dreamlike state, realization descending on me gradually. The one thing that mattered. What I should've said.
Gi…I love you.
But I'd let it go too long…and now it was too late.
Those were fairy-tale heartfelt words for a different time, different place, and most of all…different person. Not me. Not the hard, proud, ever-closed-off disappointment of Gage Danielson.
Giselle had even said it herself. Sad. Because without her, that was what I was. Would be. Fuck.
Giselle
M'éloigner de lui était probablement la chose la plus pénible que je n'avais jamais faite. Mais j'ai vu son visage, et il ne pouvait pas exprimer ce qu'il ressentait pour moi.
Si Gage m'aime vraiment, il peut me le dire. J'en mérite autant.
Même lorsqu'il y a tant à donner à l'intérieur de lui, il a toujours peur.
Mon beau surfeur ne connaît pas encore la profondeur de ce qu'il pourrait offrir, si seulement il permettait à l'amour de traverser la douleur qui habite son cœur.
