Season Five: French Kissing, Book 5

by Harper Bliss

  “Believe me, I’ve had those moments as well.” Aurore glanced at her phone. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard from Claire yet.” She arched up her eyebrows. “To give me an earful about betraying her trust.”

  Solange nodded. “I do appreciate how hard it must have been for you to tell me that.”

  Aurore put a hand on her belly. “I followed my gut instinct.”

  “What does your gut tell you now?” Solange took a quick sip of wine, but kept her gaze on Aurore’s.

  “It tells me…” Aurore wiggled her fingers about. “That something very pleasant is about to happen in my life.”

  “Your gut would be very right.” Solange got up. She knew she needed to be the one to bridge the distance. Aurore had made the first attempt, with her decisions and what she had confided in Solange. The sign could not have been any clearer.

  She walked over to Aurore, took the glass of wine from Aurore’s hand and put it on the table. Then she hiked up her skirt so she could open her legs wide enough to straddle Aurore’s lap.

  “Why, Mrs Chief of Staff.” Aurore glanced up at her.

  “It’s Mizz.” Solange leaned in and kissed Aurore. As their lips touched, all the tension of the past few days—of the past few weeks—seemed to be replaced by something else. It didn’t melt away—as long as she was chief of staff, Solange would never have the luxury of her stress disappearing completely—but it took a step back. Because only when she was with Aurore could Solange allow herself to feel something other than the crushing responsibility she had chosen to shoulder when she’d started to work for Dominique Laroche.

  “Well, Mizz,” Aurore said when they briefly broke from their kiss. “I do believe we’re back on.”

  For some reason, as she unbuttoned her shirt, Solange thought about the blue blouse Aurore had given her once. She should wear some more colour, even if just to make her think of Aurore during the day. Solange had dressed in the same white blouses for as long as she could remember. She had a dozen of them, all neatly lined up in her closet at home. All the same brand. All the same size. Even throughout her affair with Aurore, she hadn’t allowed the tiniest change in her wardrobe. She would after tonight.

  If Claire could so easily betray her colleagues. If Dominique could so easily decide not to run for president again. If Aurore could so easily follow her instincts and have Solange eagerly tearing at the buttons of her blouse like that, then Solange could allow a minor change into her life. A splash of colour. And another kiss from Aurore.

  They had moved to the bedroom. Aurore’s gaze burned into Solange’s skin as she threw her blouse to the side. There was a time, not even that long ago, when Solange would never have undressed in front of another person. But Aurore had taught her that as well—she had taught her so many things about life that never before had appeared on Solange’s radar. That sex could be an utterly joyous activity, for example, that had her gasping for breath in her lover’s arms afterwards, delirious with what had just happened in that neglected body of hers.

  “I want you,” Aurore whispered.

  God, she was gorgeous. If this was her way of confirming they were back together, no wonder make-up sex had become a defining factor in their relationship.

  Solange pulled Aurore onto the bed and they tumbled backwards. Before they kissed, Solange looked into Aurore’s eyes.

  “I love how much you want me,” she said. She’d never previously been aware of anyone wanting her with the intensity Aurore did. That was another thing that kept pulling them together after every painful break-up.

  Aurore’s eyes narrowed. Her expression was serious. She could get like that—especially when they ended up in bed again after another break-up. For all her frivolity—and all her talk about it on her radio show and elsewhere—Aurore could be very earnest when it came to sex. The air of lightness that usually surrounded her could disappear in an instant. She would stare into Solange’s eyes, as though wanting to look into her soul and glean all the things from it that Solange couldn’t say out loud.

  Aurore kissed her and, as she did, slid her body on top of Solange’s. Oh the warmth of it, the comfort as well as the thrill. Solange would always be coming back for more of this. Before Aurore, she never even knew a heavenly sensation like this existed.

  Aurore’s hand had already started meandering down. She had equal amounts of patience and impatience inside of her. Often, after a break-up, impatience prevailed. Solange was always short on time—and sleep—so impatience often suited her. Perhaps after the election—after everything would be either lost or won—they could go somewhere and make love for hours again, the way they had done at the beginning of their affair.

  Aurore’s hand cupped Solange’s breast before making its way down. It briefly stopped at her belly button, a finger drawing a few incongruous shapes there. Then it dipped resolutely down.

  Instinctively, Solange opened her legs. She loved nothing more than the sensation of opening her legs for Aurore. In the beginning, it had been such a secret thrill. To have Aurore Seauve, one of the country’s most outspoken women when it came to sexual matters, touch her like that. Perhaps Solange’s expectations should have been sky high, but they hadn’t been. Solange had been in politics too long to know that, most of the time, what someone said and did in public didn’t necessarily align with who they really were.

  With Aurore, she had encountered a degree of authenticity she never knew she needed in her life. And with it, she had come to need Aurore. As an antidote for the cruel and shallow world of politics.

  Aurore’s finger slid up and down and then halted at Solange’s clit. It didn’t move. It just stopped there.

  Solange opened her eyes. Aurore’s face was right next to hers. If she moved a fraction, their lips would touch. So Solange did. Because Aurore’s kisses were a never-ending source of excitement. As Solange moved, only an inch, Aurore’s finger moved.

  As Aurore’s finger drew a circle around Solange’s clit, and their lips met again and again, Solange let her own hand meander down. She needed to feel Aurore’s heat. She needed it to engulf her. She needed to do this with her, to take the same delicious journey.

  Solange’s fingers reached Aurore’s wetness. As she touched a fingertip to Aurore’s clit, she felt Aurore’s finger skate along her own. It was the perfect mirror image to her desire. How could she have let this woman slip out of her life again? And for what? For the sake of politics? Solange’s job was intoxicating and she was addicted to its complexities, even to its difficulties, but all of this was so much better. If Aurore really was out of the Rivière campaign, Solange would step up as her significant other. She didn’t want to lose Aurore—and live without divine moments like this—again. Because this, only Aurore had ever given her.

  They broke from their kiss and looked into each other’s eyes. Solange could look into Aurore’s eyes forever and a day. They were dark and sometimes brooding, but always kind. Aurore had an almost infinite capacity to understand what drove people, and that very understanding was always on display in her eyes.

  Aurore must now have understood that Solange was getting very worked up. She rubbed her finger along Solange’s clit with more vigour. Her breath came faster—Solange’s breath followed Aurore’s rhythm.

  This woman, here in her arms tonight, might seem like an enormous stroke of luck in Solange’s life. In a way, she was, but Solange also believed, much against all the logical convictions she’d dedicated her life to following, that she and Aurore were meant to be. That the stars had aligned to bring them into each other’s lives. Even though they made a most unlikely pair, and they had a hell of a time making things work, Solange loved Aurore with such ferocity, she’d be willing to make some compromises herself. Love required compromises, she knew that now.

  Solange let herself be utterly mesmerised by Aurore’s dark glance, by the insistence of her finger on her clit, by the sensation of bringing Aurore to the brink of orgasm herself. And then she let go. The right to
climax, Aurore had once called it. Ever since meeting her, Solange had claimed that right time and time again.

  And this, looking into Aurore’s eyes—seeing them flutter open and shut as Aurore exercised her own orgasmic rights—was how Solange preferred her climaxes, because they made her ties to Aurore, however brittle at times, just that little bit stronger. It was another thread weaving them together—a thread Solange wouldn’t be severing any time soon.

  Aurore

  “I hope that was an adequate response to your question.” Aurore pushed herself a little closer to Solange. How she had missed that wiry, twitchy body in her bed.

  “How typical of you to be so elaborate about it.” Solange smiled at her. “You could have just said yes.”

  “I didn’t hear much complaining.”

  “Really? With all the moaning I just did?” Solange pressed a quick kiss to Aurore’s cheek.

  Aurore had to chuckle at Solange’s peculiar sense of humour. “Are you staying?” It was never a given.

  “Yes.” Solange cradled her head against Aurore’s arm.

  “Have you eaten?” Aurore put her hand on Solange’s tiny waist. She could swear Solange had lost weight since the last time they’d slept together. Breaking up all over again mustn’t have helped her already poor eating habits. Even after all this time, Aurore failed to understand how a grown woman could jeopardise her own health for the sake of work—always more work.

  “Plenty.” Solange’s lips spread into a wide smile.

  “As much as I would like to not move another inch this evening”—Aurore pulled Solange a little closer to her—“I’m going to get you some soup.”

  “I don’t want soup.” Solange sounded like the reluctant child she, sometimes, really could be. “I just want you.”

  “We have to talk.” Aurore knew very well she was bursting their bubble, but saying this out loud was her task in their relationship’s dynamic.

  Maybe later, if they made it far enough into this next reincarnation of their affair, she could make Solange understand that it was okay—vital even—to sometimes express the urgent need to communicate, but not tonight.

  “I’ve done enough talking for one day,” Solange said and threw an arm around Aurore’s waist.

  “Your shenanigans have left me famished. I’m going to eat something,” Aurore said. “Follow me to the kitchen or remain here all alone. It’s your choice.” She pulled herself out of Solange’s embrace. Solange might be keen to just pick things up where they’d left them—the way they’d always done—but Aurore wasn’t going to make that same mistake again.

  She slipped into her robe and threw the extra one she always kept around onto the bed for Solange.

  “You’d better have some cheese to go with that soup,” Solange said.

  Aurore brought her hands to her hips. “Who do you take me for?” With that, she headed out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen.

  After a quickly assembled late dinner, Aurore and Solange sat with their legs intertwined on the sofa.

  “I’ve spoken with Anne,” Aurore said.

  Solange’s muscles visibly tightened at the mention of Anne Rivière’s name.

  “I told her that because of my involvement with you, I would need some distance.” Spoken with was a bit of an exaggeration. Aurore had merely written an email and not yet received a reply. For all she knew, Anne hadn’t read the email yet. Some staffer could have deemed it not important while going through Anne’s email.

  “Really?” Solange sat up a bit straighter. “What did she say?”

  Aurore sighed. She had to tell Solange that they hadn’t spoken face-to-face—they hadn’t even talked on the phone.

  “Nothing… just yet.” The buzzing of the intercom startled them both. For a split second, Aurore thought it would be Anne Rivière, reacting to her email by stopping by. But surely she had better things to do at this hour. It was well past the time for anyone to drop by unannounced.

  Aurore looked around for her phone. Perhaps this visit wasn’t unannounced at all. Perhaps someone had been trying to reach her but she’d been too otherwise engaged to notice.

  “Do you want me to get that?” Solange asked.

  Aurore had just spotted her phone and, as the bell chimed again, jumped off the sofa. She checked her phone screen. Nothing.

  “I’ll get it.” She disappeared into the hallway and cursed herself once again for not having a system with video installed.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “It’s Claire Cyr,” the voice crackled through the intercom.

  “It’s almost ten,” Aurore said. Solange would want to watch the ten o’clock news soon.

  “I know it’s late.” Aurore wasn’t sure if it was the intercom making Claire’s voice sound so shaky, or the circumstances. “I only need a few minutes of your time. Please.”

  Aurore figured she owed Claire that much. She had relied on Aurore’s silence—something that Aurore had failed to give her. The woman currently sitting in her apartment was living proof—and a clear reminder—of that.

  She buzzed her in and quickly stuck her head into the living room. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Who is it?” Solange asked.

  The last thing Aurore needed was a confrontation between Solange and Claire. They might very possibly end up scratching each other’s eyes out.

  “No one important. I’ll be right back, I promise.” Aurore closed the door. In the hallway, she took her trench coat from a hanger and pulled it tightly around her, before stepping out into the stairwell of her building. She could talk to Claire for a minute, but Claire couldn’t come in—not with Solange inside.

  As usual, the elevator took ages to arrive at Aurore’s floor. She glanced backwards, at her front door. Solange hadn’t appeared in it yet—thank goodness.

  The elevator finally dinged and Claire walked out. Aurore wasn’t sure what she had expected—perhaps a tad of dishevelment—but not a hair looked out of place on Claire’s head.

  “We have to talk out here,” Aurore was quick to say.

  “Let me guess,” Claire said. “Because the president’s chief of staff is waiting for you in your bed.”

  Close enough. Aurore gave a quick nod.

  “I hope it was worth it for you,” Claire said matter-of-factly.

  “I’m sorry I had to betray your trust.” Aurore really was sorry about that. Telling Solange had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. She didn’t regret it—because it wasn’t as though Claire was innocent herself—but she was well aware of the repercussions of her decision. “Can we meet tomorrow? I do want to talk about this…”

  “I was hoping Solange would be here, actually,” Claire said, ignoring Aurore’s words. “I need her to get me in a room with the president.” Claire started walking toward the front door.

  Aurore jumped to cut off her access. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “The way I see it, it’s the least you can do for me.” Claire looked over Aurore’s shoulder, peering into the crack she had left the front door at.

  “What would you even say to her?”

  “You can play innocent in this, but you shouldn’t forget that you and I are, ultimately, on the same side in this whole thing.” Claire seemed to lose a bit of her bravado. “I just want an opportunity to apologise. That’s all.”

  “Ask Steph for access to Dominique,” Aurore said.

  Claire scoffed. “Steph’s a bit upset with me at the moment.”

  “So is Solange.” Aurore listened for signs of Solange venturing out of the living room. She’d probably switched on the news, or had taken the opportunity to check her phone.

  “Then you need to ask her for me.”

  “I don’t want to get involved.” What did Aurore have to do to completely get out of this? Stop sleeping with Solange, she guessed. “I never wanted any part in this. You came to me.”

  “And you lied to me.” Claire paused and looked Aurore in the eyes. “I
fucked up and I want a chance to make it right. Will you please talk to her? If anything, my approaching you gave you a way back in with Solange. That’s something, isn’t it?”

  “You could have called to ask me that,” Aurore said on a sigh.

  “Would you have picked up?” Claire nodded at the door. “I gathered you’d be rather busy having make-up sex.”

  “Fine, I’ll talk to Solange. But I can’t promise you anything.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Claire said.

  Steph

  Steph scratched Phénix behind the ears. Every single time she visited Juliette and Nadia’s place, that dog didn’t move from her side an inch.

  “Claire can’t resign,” Juliette said. “It would be a legal nightmare.” She glanced at Phénix—a gift from Claire after her last screw-up.

  “She has asked to see Dominique. Through Solange.” Steph suppressed a chuckle. The nerve of Claire was actually something to admire.

  Juliette’s eyes grew wide. “Is Dominique going to meet her?”

  “She hasn’t agreed to it yet, but I think she might.”

  Juliette blew out some air. “Did we miss something about Claire? Are we partly responsible for this?”

  Nadia put a hand on her wife’s arm. “You shouldn’t even ask that question.” She shook her head. “Margot is asking herself the exact same thing. What is it with Claire that she is deserving of so much compassion?” Nadia’s tone was unexpectedly fierce. “Would she ever extend the same amount of credit to any of us?”

  “I know you’re upset, babe,” Juliette said. “But I’ve known Claire all my adult life. I know her better than anyone. There must be a reason for all of this.”

  “Of course there’s a reason,” Nadia continued. “Claire Cyr’s unrelenting selfishness.” She held up a hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve known Claire a very long time as well, but come on… She has hurt both of you and Margot.” She blew some air through her nostrils. “Poor Margot. As if she doesn’t have enough to deal with already.”