by Mia Asher
Enough.
I give my head a tiny shake while feeling William unzip my skirt, letting it fall to the floor, and tugging my thong to the side. The room swirls around me. My legs grow weak, and I press my back to the mirror for support. I want to tell him to stop, that I don’t want him touching me, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Tongue-tied, I get lost in the unforgiving, sensual disarming of my body at his hands. My will dissolves. He’s on his knees while I remain standing, but it’s me who crumbles on the inside with each minute that passes.
Love is cruel for it makes one weak.
And William continues to punish me for it over and over again.
Moments pass and everything ceases to exist except for the both of us. William pulls me down onto the soft carpeted floor. His hands on me. His tongue moving inside me along with his punishing fingers. I bite my lip hard to stop a moan from escaping until I can taste blood. But it’s him I feel outside and inside this body of mine—he’s everywhere.
Obliterating light consumes me, and I come undone with his name on my tongue. He kneels over me and fists his cock, pumping it up and down fast and hard until his warm seed spills on my skin and a groan is torn from his chest.
We’re now lying on the carpeted floor, exhausted and bathed in the remnants of our lovemaking.
His fingers stroke my shoulder. “I have something for you.”
“Oh?”
He gets up, goes to his nightstand, and takes something out of its drawer. Package in hand, he comes back. “Here,” he says, handing me a white envelope.
Part of me wishes I could tell William that he doesn’t need to shower me with gifts. I don’t need anything. All I want—all I’ve ever wanted—is his love. I sit up and cross my legs. “I didn’t get you anything.”
“It’s all right.” He buries his hands inside the front pockets of his unzipped trousers that hang loosely around his hips. “Go on, open it.”
I follow his orders and find a key inside. I take it out and inspect it, turning it this way and that. “What’s this?”
“A key,” he adds with dry amusement.
“I can see that, but what’s it for?”
“It’s the key to an apartment in Paris.”
“We’re going to Paris?”
He nods, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand. “I have to go for work next week. And I’d like you to come with me.”
“You do?” I hate the fact that my voice is heavy with surprise and wonder, but I can’t remember the last time my husband sought my company during one of his trips.
“Yes, darling. Once my meetings are over, I can take a few weeks off, and we can spend the rest of the time having fun. What do you say, Val? Just you and me. No distractions. Away from everything. Like it used to be.”
“Like it used to be …” I let the words roll around my tongue, rediscovering their taste. “Do you think that’s even possible?”
“I don’t know, but we can try.” He sits down on the floor next to me and pulls me on top of him, his arms going around me. The all-encompassing hug robs me of the air I need to breathe. Burying his nose in my hair, he lets out a suppressed sigh. “I want things to go back to how they were before I …” He clears his throat. “Before I fucked up.”
“Do you really mean that?” I ask, afraid to open the doors of my heart again and let him back in.
“Darling, listen to me. It’s been a couple of shitty years, but I love you. No more pretending that things are fine this time. Let’s actually work through our problems.”
“I want to believe you, but … but I’m afraid, William.”
“I understand. How about this? Let’s start in Paris. And when we come back, hell, I’ll even go to couple’s therapy with you.” His palm cups my flat, empty stomach. “It might also be time to start filling our nursery.”
“Oh, William.” My voice breaks. “You really mean that?”
“Yes, darling.”
I cup his cheeks with shaky hands, the seeds of hope taking root in my soul. “Like it used to be, huh?”
“No.” He smiles his charming and dazzling smile that I fell in love with. “It will be even better.” He lowers his face and kisses me. It’s long and tender. Sweet and slow. It’s a kiss full of forgiveness and the promise of new beginnings.
Lost in his embrace, the ice surrounding my heart thaws completely, and I let him back in.
“MADAME, WE’RE HERE,” the driver says with a heavily French-accented English.
Snapping out of my reverie, I realize that we’re parked outside a very elegant building. There’s a plaque on the black gate surrounding it that says Avenue Foch. I feel butterflies in my stomach. This is where we will begin rebuilding our marriage from the ashes.
While I watch Pierre get out of the car and make his way to my door, my phone begins to vibrate. I take it out of my Birkin and see that it’s a text message from William.
William: Are you at the apartment yet?
Me: Just about. I’m outside the building. It’s beautiful.
William: I’m glad you like it. I miss you.
I smile. Such simple words, but they fill me with happiness. To know that he misses me—that he cares.
Me: I miss you, too. Can’t wait for you to be here.
William: I’ll be there tomorrow.
Me: I’ll be the naked woman on the bed. Waiting for you.
William: God, Val. You’re killing me.
I grin, slightly blushing. Me: Good. Hurry up.
William: I’m not going to let you out of bed for days, you know?
Me: I’m holding you to it.
Pleasure and desire swirl around me like an intoxicating perfume as Pierre opens the door and I get out of the black Mercedes. I pause for a moment to look around. There’s a pretty park across the street and more residential buildings in the surrounding area. Emotions heightened, the beauty and the romance of the Parisian architecture become even more breathtaking.
“Could you please take my suitcases to the apartment?” I say, handing him the key. “I’d like to stay out here a little longer.”
“Oui, madame.”
I watch him go inside the building before focusing on the empty park across the street once more. There’s a light, cool breeze rustling the leaves of the trees, making them dance. Mesmerized, their music envelops me. I pretend they are whispering their secrets to me, telling me that I’ve come to the right place, that we’re doing the right thing. And slowly, very slowly, hope spreads its warm light like a new dawn. I take a deep breath enjoying the view a little longer, then follow Pierre inside, a new spring in my step.
Pierre has placed my suitcases in the bedroom and is waiting for my next orders. I browse the place William has rented indefinitely, admiring the elegant décor. The furniture and walls are shades of ice white and cool grays. Everything matches. Everything is pleasing to the eye.
I trace a gleaming wood table sitting in the middle of the foyer with the back of my fingers. “Wow. This place is something else.”
Pierre nods in agreement. “Would that be all, madame?”
I remove my trench coat. “Yes, thank you so much.”
When he’s in front of me, he extends a hand with a card in it. “Here’s my number. Call whenever you need me. Your husband’s assistant hired me for the entirety of your stay in Paris.”
“You’ll definitely be hearing from me.” I take it from him and run my fingers on the cool paper, chuckling lightly. “I don’t even know where to go food shopping.”
We go over tomorrow’s schedule, and as he’s getting ready to leave, I notice the time. Noting it’s still relatively early, I realize that I don’t want to stay in. I’m in Paris after all. Paris! Excitement courses through me, making my body hum.
“One second, Pierre.”
With one hand on the door handle, Pierre glances in my direction. “Yes?”
“I think I’d like to go out for dinner.”
He lets go of the handle and tu
rns to face me. “Would you like me to wait for you until you’re ready to go out?”
“Oh, no, no need for that. I’d like to do some exploring on my own, actually. I was just wondering if you could recommend a place nearby with live music and great food? I don’t want to get lost on my first day here.”
“Of course. There’s a nice place not far from here. Great food. Sometimes they have a live band on the weekends.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“It’s straight down the road. You can’t miss it.”
After Pierre writes down the name and the directions to the restaurant, he takes his leave, I jump in the shower, thoughts of a delicious dinner already filling my head. Once my hair and makeup are taken care of, I choose a form-fitting short white dress with a cape and nude heels.
Clutch in hand, I leave the apartment behind and set out into the night. I’m a ball of nerves and crazy exhilaration and, maybe, a little fear.
I reach the restaurant without a problem. The place is low-key yet stylish, bathed in an amber haze, the aroma of truffle oil and butter float in the air. The people, lost in their own conversations fueled by wine and a good time, are dressed elegantly. To my left, near the floor to ceiling windows, there’s a band playing a jazzy tune. I smile. This is exactly what I was looking for.
I spot a svelte young brunette behind the hostess stand talking to a couple. As I wait for my turn, I hear that she’s speaking in English. Thank goodness. When the man and woman step to the side, I move to the counter.
“Hello, I was wondering if there’s a table available for one.”
“Bonjour,” she answers politely, looking at the computer screen in front of her. “There’s about an hour’s wait for the next open table.”
I thank her after she writes my name down, and head to the bar, which seems to be as crowded as the rest of the restaurant. There isn’t one seat available, and there’s a large group of people surrounding it like a barricade. Sighing, I remember seeing an open gallery next door. A more pleasurable idea forms in my head. Maybe I can take a quick look in there to pass the time instead.
As soon as I step in, I immediately realize the big mistake I’ve made. It appears like I just crashed a party, maybe the opening of an art exhibit. Everywhere I look there are people dressed to the nines. Waiters balancing trays full of drinks and hors d’oeuvres, and a violinist wanders the room playing what I believe is Mozart. It’s beautiful.
I’m about to leave when my eyes land on a painting to my left that makes me stop in my tracks. Hypnotized, every part of my me demands to see it up close. I hesitate, remembering that I don’t have an invitation, but dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes. I shouldn’t offend anyone as long as I’m quick and I don’t have anything to eat or drink.
The noise fades when I’m standing in front of it. It’s a lone poppy flower crushed on the ground, droplets of rain falling around it. The colors are dark, intense, the brush strokes powerful, angry. It makes me think of life and how fragile it is. One day you’re young and beautiful and the next you’re dying alone, forgotten, on the cold, hard ground.
I’m still absorbed in the painting when I feel someone’s presence behind me.
“Excusez-moi,” a woman addresses me in not such a friendly tone.
Shit.
Dread lodges in my stomach as I turn slowly, so very slowly, to face the slim woman dressed in black now standing in front of me. And yep, I was right. She looks pissed off.
An apology on my tongue, the woman starts to spew accusations in fast, heated French. She’s getting louder and louder. Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice that we’re drawing a lot of attention. Even the violinist has stopped playing. This would be a perfect time for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter nervously, raising my hands in peace. I close my eyes momentarily, cursing my clumsiness for not knowing French. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat, embarrassed and uncomfortable. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, but I’m going to leave now. I’m really, really sorry.”
She draws the attention of some very serious, angry looking men, maybe the security personnel, points irately toward me and the door. As they begin to stride toward us, I back off, fear making my steps unsure. “I’m going to leave now. No need to escort me out.” God, I need to get out of here.
Blindly, I turn on my feet when an arm snakes around my waist, taking me by surprise. Before I know what’s happening, I find myself pressed against a firm body. Shock courses through me as I raise my gaze to look at the man. The most vivid blue eyes I’ve ever seen focus on me, making me feel oddly unbalanced and short of breath. I stand there unmoving, figuratively and literally caught. His arms are like corded steel wrapping around my waist and pulling me closer to him. I gasp at the sensation of his hard body against the softness of mine. And as our gazes lock, a hot blush paints my cheeks bright red.
“There you are, beautiful,” the man says in perfect English, the slight trace of a French accent lurking in his voice. He smiles, an easy smile full of mischief, and I feel like I’m falling and falling. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Huh?
He lowers his head close to my ear and whispers, “Just go with the flow.”
“Wha—”
He takes my mouth in a kiss I feel all the way to my bones. My eyes widen in surprise. I try to push him away, but he lets go of my waist and tangles his hands in my hair, his fingers cradling my head, and brings us closer as though he was trying to fuse us into one. He slants his lips over mine, so the kiss becomes deeper, needier. His tongue pushes past my resistance, ready to conquer and take and take. And as it tangles with mine unashamedly and unapologetically, I can’t move. I can’t think. Shock and anger slowly melt into surrender. I’m rendered useless by the man ravishing my mouth and senses. Somewhere in my mind, there’s a small yet wise voice telling me to put a stop to it because this is wrong, to end the kiss before it consumes me.
But I ignore it all.
Because as his lips continue to savage mine, an inexplicable yearning so intense it shocks me comes over my being. I find myself kissing him back, needing more until he pulls away as though I was burning him.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says. His bright eyes roam my face, my lips, my cheeks, my eyes. He raises a trembling hand to run through his hair. Then, as though he’s remembered where we are, he grins slowly, throws his arm over my shoulders, and turns to face the lady who was yelling at me before. Dazed and confused, I blink a couple of times while trying to get my bearings. What just happened?
“Margot,” he addresses her. He winks at me before letting go of my waist. I see a window of opportunity to get away. I’m about to move when he places a hand possessively on the curve of my hip, obstructing my retreat.
“Don’t even think about it,” he whispers in my ear before he leans down, running his nose and lips along the side of my ear down to my shoulder. His touch raises goose bumps all over my skin, making my insides feel all tingly.
“I see you’ve met my date,” he says to Margot, his voice sure and smooth.
She crosses her arms over her chest, the golden bracelets adorning her thin wrists digging into her skin, and replies something in French.
Breathless and shaken to the core, I watch my French chevalier while making the very unpleasant discovery that he is, in fact, extremely attractive, although he looks more like the wicked villain in a novel with his swarthy looks than the knight in shining armor. A man’s face shouldn’t be that sinful, his body that virile. Everything about him from his wide shoulders to his crooked nose and pillowy lips is designed to bring a woman down to her knees, seduce her until she’s lost her mind. He’s danger inviting you to play, and only a fool would accept his invitation, or, perhaps only a fool wouldn’t.
“Yes, of course, I know her. She’s with me,” he replies in English again. Danger focuses on me, striking blue eyes against tan skin, and smirks before giving me a quick spank
on the ass. “Right, beautiful?”
“Right.” Blushing furiously, I throw daggers at him which makes him chuckle, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I’m sorry I was so late,” I say, smiling sweetly at him then pinch his side, hard. I smile a real smile when he flinches, hiding his howl of pain behind a cough. Gotcha. “I hope you didn’t miss me terribly, my love.”
“I missed you so much it hurt.” A cheeky grin tilts the corner of his mouth when he palms my ass. Slowly. Leisurely. My eyes widen at his intimate, provoking touch, wiping the smile off of my face. This man is deranged. Yes, that’s the only explanation for his behavior.
“Now if you’ll excuse us, Margot, I need a minute alone with my little love,” he says the last three words with barely contained laughter.
Margot appears confused at our interaction, her gaze bouncing from him to me and vice versa. She narrows her eyes, obviously not buying his story. Shaking her head, she rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say. Just see her out when you’re done playing,” she comments in English. So the infuriating woman knew English after all. And with that, she spins on her feet and leaves us, taking the two security guards with her. The circus over, the disappointed crowd disperses.
The stranger takes me by the forearm and makes me follow him to the back of the gallery where there isn’t another soul besides the two of us.
“Are you crazy?” I twist my arm, freeing myself from his hold. Indignation makes me shake from head to toe. “Why would you do that?”
To add insult to injury, the maddening, gorgeous man seems to be enjoying himself. “Easy, beautiful. I think I just saved your neck back there.”
“But—” He has a point. Darn it. “Thank you, but—”
“You’re welcome,” he adds cheekily, his mouth twitching.
“But you kissed me,” I say, my pride still smarting at the way he handled me.
“You didn’t seem to mind too much, ma chérie.” His lips curve dangerously as his heavy-lidded eyes fall upon my mouth first and then my eyes. “You kissed me right back.”
